Chapter 12
“We are friends.”
I don’t know what Tanner meant by declaring that we were friends. I don’t see how we can have any form of friendship for various reasons. Obviously, he’s my boss, and our work dynamic would make that relationship extremely inappropriate because I’m technically considered “underneath” him. And let’s not forget that friends do things together, like hang out. I rarely hang out with the two friends I have, and he’s somehow expecting me to find space in my life for a third?
I already feel overwhelmed.
The moment I walked into my building with his jacket wrapped around my shoulders, I rounded the corner, walked up to the first landing of the building, and tucked myself into a corner while I waited for him to walk away. Friends text each other, and I don’t have a way to remind him that it’s both late and cold out and that he probably shouldn’t hang outside my apartment complex like a stalker. But I suppose it doesn’t make me look much better being tucked away in a corner, watching him from a window.
He takes a final look at the building, his gaze sweeping over the windows until they land on the window I’m currently standing near. He can’t see me, thanks to my current location, but his stare lingers for a moment before he subtly shakes his head and walks back in the direction we came from.
Goosebumps scatter across my arms, and I suppress a shudder, almost as if I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.
Friends.
The word ruminates in my mind as I finally step away from the window and up another set of stairs that lead to my apartment. I could’ve taken the elevator, but the burning in my legs from taking the stairs distracts me from the lightness I feel in the deepest parts of me. Tanner and I aren’t friends, so I’m not entirely sure why I’m getting excited about something that won’t happen. He was intoxicated when he said it…right? Surely, it was his way of getting under my skin.
When I’m finally standing in front of my apartment, I quickly unlock the door and step in, locking it behind me. Leaning against the door, I quickly toe off my shoes and scoff to myself before walking through the living room. I don’t bother turning on any of the lights because I’m headed to the bathroom to start my nightly routine and then straight to bed.
Friends.
I nearly scoff, shaking my head as I begin washing my face. Honestly, I think more than anything, I’m confused by his desire to be friends with me. Sure, I’m nice enough once people get to know me, but it’s more complicated than that. I’ve been burned by friendships growing up and throughout college because I wore my heart on my sleeve. I trusted that people would look out for me and have the same intentions for our friendship as I did, only to get screwed over in the long run. The friendships I’d created weren’t toxic or anything severe like that, but they didn’t know how to prioritize spending time with me, and I was expected to do the same. Or, people would only talk to me when they wanted advice or needed somebody to vent to, but if I were to need the same space, I wouldn’t ever receive it. That was how the majority of my friendships growing up were, too, and looking back on it now, I’m sad nobody viewed me as enough. I am enough, and always was. It still hurts knowing that my past friendships were too involved in their own agenda to realize that I was deserving of high-quality friends, too.
So, the idea of being friends with a man who comes from a completely different upbringing than me nearly makes my body break out in hives. I don’t know him well, but I don’t think we’re compatible as friends. He’s somewhat cocky and annoyingly handsome, even though I’d never directly admit it, and it just wouldn’t work. Even tonight, his overbearingness about my safety was suffocating. The gesture was kind, and I knew it came from a place of concern, but I’m not used to people taking care of me. Of course, Sam and Gia are some of my best friends and do the same thing, but I trust them. I’m not there with Tanner. I mean, seriously—tonight’s the first night I’ve called him by his name, not Mr. Moore. We aren’t friends. We couldn’t be. Everything is too different between us, and that’s a harsh reality he’s going to have to accept.
I reach for the towel draped on the holder and pat my face dry, hanging it back up and sniffling before quickly combing out my curls and throwing it in a messy bun. My ancestors would clutch their pearls knowing I don’t sleep in a bonnet, but I hate the way it feels on my ears, and I can never get comfortable. I use a scarf and satin pillowcases, so it’s not the end of the world.
Once I’m finally bundled underneath all my blankets, sleep pulls me under not long after, the last thought in my head about the man who walked me home and his declaration of friendship.