The Friend Game (Games for Two #1)

Chapter 17

I DON’T KNOW WHAT he does, but Luke does in fact handle the situation. Over the next couple of weeks, I don’t hear another word from Lexie Stone or anyone else about the phallic pottery incident. Of course that includes Luke. I don’t hear another word from him about it either. Or a word from him about anything else for that matter.

It’s very depressing. Especially since Brooke started seeing some guy she met at the piano bar, and is therefore largely unavailable to the rest of the world. Thank God for Sydney who is equally unattached and has become my lunch companion at Grace Canyon. Her and Belinda– although Belinda often has other lunchtime commitments that seem to largely revolve around some online book clubs she’s a part of and phone calls with her husband.

It’s late Wednesday night, and I’m on my phone scrolling through Pinterest for holiday art ideas. Christmas in Arizona is kind of a strange time, since everything is so decidedly not white. It makes all of the snow crafts I’m looking at feel a bit silly. Am I really going to have a bunch of AZ kids make a picture of an aerial view of a snowman when most of them have probably never even seen a real snowman?

I edit my search bar to say tropical Christmas crafts and I’m much happier with the results this populates. A pineapple Christmas tree! Now that’s more like it. I snuggle back against my pillow and start pinning.

A text from an unknown number interrupts my perusing, and I sit up with a squeak. Holly stirs from her spot on the foot of my bed, one eye popping open to stare at me.

“Eeeeee!” I squeal, earning myself a full-on glare from Holly. That dog loves her sleep. She’s a 12 hours a night, 9 hours a day kind of girl. “Sorry, Holly,” I appease her, “but this is Luke texting me! Remember him? The guy you’ve kissed and I haven’t?” Mm. Sobering thought.

I shake it away and focus back on my phone, adding his contact info before typing my reply.

I reread my sent message with a smile. A smile that slowly fades as his typing bubbles appear then disappear with no reply arriving. Oh gosh. My ribbing was too much. Now he’s trying to figure out a way to nicely cancel our March date. Which means, of the two of us, my dog will be the only one to ever kiss Luke Abbott. I quickly try to salvage the situation with a new text.

My only response is another round of gray typing bubbles. Why am I such an impulsive human being? New rule: Type out a text, then wait five minutes before sending it, thereby giving myself plenty of time to debate both the potential merits and pitfalls of sending said text.

Whoops. Did not wait five minutes and now I’m awkward and sound totally cocky. Look at me, I’m so irresistible you need your subconscious to invent dreams where I’m a ridiculous human just to keep yourself from kissing me in the pottery wheel room.

I’m debating the merits of going completely off-grid, when a text from Luke finally arrives.

Wait–what?! I squeal so loudly Holly, who’d somehow managed to doze off again, startles awake once more and lets out a baleful howl.

“Sorry,” I tell her again, even though I’m not sorry. Luke thinks I’m irresistible!

Well, that’s basically what he’s saying, right?

Shoot. That sounds desperate.

This time Holly is more prepared for my squeal, so rather than howling in surprise she gives me a deeply affronted look, then waddles out of the room presumably to find a quieter sleeping location.

I’m figuring out a suitable reply when my phone starts ringing. It’s him.

I answer the call, my voice embarrassingly breathless. “Hello.”

“Hey.” His deep voice traveling down the phone line makes my stomach flip. “So I messed this whole thing up,” he says ruefully. “I had this plan to strike up a nice friendly text message exchange, then I go ahead and turn it into this whole,” he pauses, searching for his next words, “forbidden romance text exchange,” he finally comes up with.

“Forbidden romance text exchange,” I muse. “I see it’s Belinda you’ve been hanging out with instead of me.”

Luke chuckles. “No way. I’m avoiding her too. That woman is like my own personal shoulder devil. Every time I see her she’s on me about you.” He imitates her voice, “Contract-shmontract, Pastor Abbott, go get your woman.”

I laugh. “I swear I didn’t put her up to that.”

“I know,” he replies, then clears his throat. “The thing is, Hannah, I don’t like staying away from you.” He sighs heavily. “But I also seem to completely forget about my contract every time I’m with you. ”

“Wow,” I breathe, “did you do your dissertation on the Song of Solomon or something because those are some very romantic words for a pastor.”

He huffs out a laugh. “That right there is my very favorite thing about you, Hannah Garza. You make me laugh like nobody else.”

“Is this the part where I admit I wasn’t even trying to be funny?”

Another chuckle. “Can we do this more?” he asks.

“Talk about Song of Solomon?” I tease.

“Talk period,” he replies. “On the phone, I mean.”

I smile into my phone, glad he can’t see my dopey expression. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Without seeing him I can’t be sure, but I think he might have a dopey smile on his face too.

“So what’s this I hear about someone giving the church nativity set a Hawaiian makeover?” I ask as I settle back against my pillows, ready for some pillow talk—of the just friends variety, of course.