Rys: Hot date?
Heath: Nah, just Atzi.
Rys: Right. I forget that you’re in denial and she’s blind. I’d be more supportive of this insanity if you had some benefits.
Rys: Try sex with your BFFL… it might even sweeten your mood.
Heath: I’ll bring you some chocolate cupcakes. Which are the only benefits I enjoy from my FRIENDSHIP with her.
Rys: Don’t you dare text me with shouty caps. And I wasn’t talking about those, but be sure to bring them over. I’ll have dinner ready for the love of your life.
Heath: Thank you, sis.
When I arrive at Decadent Dreams, Atzi is outside the store, holding three white boxes. She even added a purple ribbon to each one of them. I park immediately, opening the trunk. When I get out of the car and see her, I come to a complete stop.
Atzi is beautiful, but some days, she just takes my breath away.
Today, she’s wearing a tank top, a pair of barely-there shorts, and combat boots. She’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and if we weren’t just friends, I would be shoving her against the car and fucking her.
Rys isn’t wrong when she says I’m in love with my best friend. I just don’t act on my feelings. Atzi will never know how much she affects me. Thankfully, I’m wearing sunglasses, so she can’t see I’m actually drinking her all in. From her dark, wavy hair cascading down her back to her tattooed legs.
I wish I could just lean down, kiss her lips and devour her. Instead, I say casually, “Hey.”
“Hi, Doc.” Her dazzling smile makes her warm beige skin glow. Those rich brown eyes crinkle, but not enough though. I can see the anger in them, maybe even sadness.
“Did you empty the entire store?” I ask as I take the packages.
She grins. “Maybe? I added a few cupcakes since Rys told me you promised her some.”
Sometimes I forget Atzi is part of the family network. That explains one of the boxes, but three?
I probably misjudged how serious the relationship was with Mr. Married-asshole. So far, it had seemed casual, but if she has to consume that much chocolate in one night, something is wrong. Wasn’t this date three or four? It’s been only a month and a few days since they met. Everything was platonic, or so I thought.
Before I continue analyzing the situation, I simply say, “I didn’t know you were in love with the fucker.”
“Pfft, as if. I’m pissed at myself because I didn’t see the signs.”
I press my lips together, studying her. She does look angry, but seriously, is it only because she missed the obvious? Is she fucking kidding me? I told her so.
If I could, I would pull out a piece of paper and a pen to draw a graphic to explain to her those signs in greater detail so it doesn’t happen again.
“It was pretty obvious. He was a douchebag. Didn’t I say that from the beginning?” I shut the trunk and try to sound as calm as possible.
“You only said don’t swipe, block.”
I huff. “It’s the same.”
“I can’t discriminate against guys based on your poor judgment. You judge everyone, and according to you, no one is good enough for me.”
“Because they don’t deserve you.”
When I get inside the car, she begins to open and close her hand as if it’s a puppet. “This is you judging my dates, ‘Wah wah woh fuckers wah wah fuck… They’re all the fuck wah, and wah wah woh wah wah fuck fuck.’”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“That’s exactly how you sound like, a Charlie Brown adult with a copious number of fucks thrown in. Have I ever commented about the women you date?”
If I wasn’t trying to make a point, I would laugh at her insane but funny comparison. “I don’t date.”
“That’s yet another issue and a half. You’re just Grey’s Anatomy-ing through life.”
Her gibberish draws out a chuckle that soon becomes full-blown laughter. “Really? Grey’s Anatomy-ing—please enlighten me.”
“Sleeping around with nurses, doctors, and patients.”
I can’t stop laughing. “Do you really think I have the time for that?”
“Do you deny that you’ve bedded several colleagues and nurses?”
This is exactly why she’s my best friend. Even when things are crappy, she laughs and makes me laugh.
“Bedded? Is that even a word from this century?”
“De-flec-ting.” She singsongs the word.
“I’m not deflecting shit.”
“Listen, you can say whatever you want, but I know the stories.”
If I wasn’t driving, I’d be staring at her in disbelief. “Stop making up shit about me.”
“Remember that time a nurse caught you fucking in the janitor’s closet? Or the one when you were in an empty room, and the hospital board was making rounds and almost caught you?”
I frown. Who told her that shit? The stories are all true, but they’re not mine. My other best friend, Benedict Farrow, is the one who likes to fuck around.
“That wasn’t me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you know about them and… more importantly, that was Benedict.”
She snaps her fingers. “Oh, right. He thinks he’s the McSteamy of New York City.”
I glance at her. “Who told you about that?”
“Never mind.”
“Atzi?” My voice sounds threatening. She knows I’ll drag the answer from her, even if I have to tickle the fuck out of her.
“It was Rys’s friend, Aubrey?” she whisper-hisses. “Yes, I remember now. It was during the last New Year’s Eve party Fern organized. She told us about his sexcapades—most of us were drunk. According to her, he taps into his McSteamy often. I don’t doubt that you do too, but you’re more discreet.”
“Are you done comparing us with one of the most tragic and inaccurate shows in the history of television?”
“ER might be more inaccurate.” She rubs her hands. “We should rewatch it.”
Anything but that. I adore this woman, but bingeing a series that reminds me of work—and is not realistic in any way—isn’t the best way to spend my free time.
Why can’t she just be normal and ask for a cheesy romantic comedy?
“I’d rather schedule a root canal,” I argue.
“It’s either that or—”
“I’ll take rom-coms for three hundred, Alex.”
“Or we could watch a marathon of old Jeopardy episodes.” All the energy drains away from her. It’s like someone disconnected the plug and she’s about to shut down.
And I almost smash my forehead against the wheel. I’m a fucking idiot.
When she was young, her father used to watch Jeopardy reruns. He always tried to guess before the contestants answered. According to Atzi’s stories, he always got them wrong, and her mother laughed at him.
Why is she acting like this?
“How heartbroken are you?”