Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SOPHIE
“Oh my god,” I say on a laugh as I stumble through the front door of Tyler’s house, immediately tripping over a shoe I must have left there this morning.
Or yesterday. Or any day, really. Most of my shoes live in the entryway now because I never know what shoes I’m going to want until seconds before I walk out the door, and even then, I change my mind at least three times, so keeping them in my room is an exercise in futility.
I look around and realize that actually, it’s not just my shoes.
On a quick sweep, I count two lip balms and four hair ties on the entry table in the bowl Tyler keeps there for keys, four jackets tossed haphazardly over a chair, a single glove I was sure I lost poking out of my tall winter boot—not to be confused with my short winter boots discarded in front of the coat closet—and, by my count, at least three different bags shoved into two different corners.
“You can tell me to clean my shit up, you know.” I turn to Tyler as I kick off my shoes, wavering a little when I try to get the second one off.
Tyler tries to steady me with a hand on my hip, but momentum is not on my side, and I go careening directly into his chest. His perfect, hard, beautiful chest that smells incredibly good despite the fact that we spent the entire night dancing and yelling showtunes at the top of our lungs in a hot, sweaty club.
I’ve never worked harder in my life than I do to suppress the shiver that wants to wrack my body when Tyler’s other arm winds around my waist, securing me to him.
My brain knows he’s only doing it so I don’t fall to the floor in a heap, but my traitorous body doesn’t get the message because it’s just spent the last three hours attached to Tyler in some way.
His hand on my hip, his lips at my ear as he talked over the music, his fingers laced through mine, and, for a couple delicious minutes I’m still not entirely convinced weren’t a fever dream, both of his arms wrapped around my waist and his cheek resting on my hair during “Seasons of Love.”
I just barely resist the urge to run upstairs and lock myself in my dark bedroom so I can relive that moment over and over again for all eternity.
So yeah, my body has forgotten Tyler is firmly in the friend zone and has staged an all-out revolt.
Except are we in the friend zone? Because there is so much about tonight that felt…
more than friendly, and I’m awash in the what happens now of it all.
It’s almost like we’re one tiny toe over the just friends line I’ve always been careful not to cross, and I have no idea how we got here and what it means.
My first instinct is always to say it means nothing.
That it’s a mirage borne of three years of wishing and hoping and wanting this man to be mine and all he was trying to do was get my mind off the interview I really should get around to telling him about at some point.
Except there were a few times tonight where Tyler looked at me and I could swear there was something extra there.
Like he was seeing something he never has before.
The hope is terrifying in its enormity.
“Why would I do that?” Tyler asks, letting me go so he can bend down and untie his own shoes.
“What?” I ask, realizing my brief mental breakdown cut the thread of the conversation in my head and I have no idea what we were talking about.
Tyler stands and smirks at me like he knows right where my brain went. “Why would I want you to clean up your shit? I like it where it is.”
I snort, dropping my bag on the floor and yanking my sweater over my head, tossing it onto the pile of jackets.
“There’s no way that’s true. Your house is perfect.
Then I move in, and two weeks later it’s the before shot for one of those decluttering, perfect-home-vibes-or-bust social media accounts. ”
Shrugging, I walk into the living room and drop down on the couch, kicking my bare feet up on the coffee table.
“I’ve made peace with chaos as my brand.
My mom is like that too, so I come by it naturally.
Neither of us can think in organization.
But you didn’t sign up for that, so feel free to tell me it’s driving you bananas. ”
Tyler takes the seat next to me, sitting so close our legs press together, and when he reaches over and flicks my bracelets, linking his finger with mine, unexpected emotion I don’t quite understand crawls its way up my throat.
With his other hand, he grips my chin, turning my head until our eyes catch, and the intensity behind his gaze has me sucking in a quiet breath.
“The only thing that would drive me bananas is if you didn’t do it.
” He squeezes my finger with his. “The day of the flood when you came home after work, you burst through the door, dropped all your bags, and kicked your shoes off so hard they hit the wall. Do you know what I thought that night?”
“What?” I practically whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from his.
“I thought about how much I loved it. Proof of Sophie,” he says with a smile, and warmth gathers in my chest. “A reminder that you’re here, and this is the place you come home to.
At least for a while.” He says that with a tiny frown, as if the idea that this is temporary displeases him.
It displeases me too. “I love having you here, Soph. Tripping over your shoes and helping you find the glove you’re sure you lost and collecting your hair ties so you always have one when you need it.
Sticking lip balms back in your purses when you take them out and forget to replace them and washing your favorite pajamas so you never have to wear the backup pairs I know you secretly hate.
All your stuff everywhere is you, and I never want you to be anyone except for exactly who you are. ”
His smile turns soft, and when he strokes a thumb over my jaw, I decide I live here now.
Sitting next to Tyler on his couch with his hand on my face and his pinkie linked with mine and his eyes radiating a calm sort of happiness that takes my breath away.
“You’re my best friend, Sophie. My favorite person. And I really, really like who you are.”
His eyes bore into mine, filled with intensity and the slightest bit of heat that makes everything inside me shimmer. The silence between us is so thick it’s tangible, and the air practically vibrates with anticipation. With want. With…heat.
Oh, holy fuck.
“Bed!” I practically yell, jumping up from the couch like my ass is on fire because if I stay here next to Tyler for one more second, I’ll kiss him.
I know it for sure. A girl only has so much restraint, and when her best friend is looking at her like that and sitting there all hot and disheveled and abundantly kissable, she needs to get the fuck out of dodge before she takes a sledgehammer to the friendship and, potentially, our entire twisty, convoluted family tree.
Kissing one’s best friend is not something to undertake on a whim.
I need to think. I need to breathe. Yes, breathing is good.
I should definitely breathe. Except when I inhale deeply, it’s instant regret, because instead of breathing in clarity, I breathe in Tyler, and that’s the opposite of helpful.
Fuckity fuck.
Tyler’s quiet laugh yanks me out of my head.
“What?” I ask warily, looking at his smug, stupid, gorgeous face.
The grin he flashes should be illegal. “Looks like you were thinking some big thoughts over there, Sal. Want to share with the class?”
I pin him with a glare. “What is happening right now?”
He shrugs casually, spreading his ridiculously well-muscled arms over the back of the couch. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m just sitting here, scrolling through my mental recipe box, trying to decide what grilled cheese to make for our late-night snack.”
That’s not at all what he’s doing and I really, really need some answers, but my brain catches on grilled cheese and suddenly I’m ravenous. “It’s two in the morning.”
This time Tyler lets out a full-blown laugh. “When has that ever stopped us? It’s Friday night and we danced and sang our asses off for hours, subsisting only on Shirley Temples and the worst fucking french fries I’ve ever had.”
I blow out a breath. “They were pretty bad, weren’t they?”
Tyler shakes his head sadly. “You know, I’ve always been solidly in the camp that believed even terrible french fries were good because, french fries. Tonight proved me wrong. So wrong, in fact, I think I need to make my own to erase that travesty from my brain.”
“Your own french fries?” I ask, wondering if I’m in an alternate universe where one minute Tyler looks at me like he wants to eat me alive and the next minute he’s carrying on about the injustice of terrible french fries.
His face lights up. “One hundred percent yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Now?”
He jumps up from the couch and smacks a kiss on my cheek, beaming at me.
“Of course. Now is the best time because it’s now.
The algorithm gods were on my side this week and served me a video of a grilled cheese with bourbon caramelized onions and french fries on the sandwich.
On the sandwich, Sal. Can you even think of anything more amazing?
It’s going to be the best thing either of us has ever eaten, and we’re eating it tonight. ”
Laughing a little helplessly because what even is this night, I shake my head. “Okay, make us late-night french fry grilled cheese. But first I’m going upstairs to change. There better be an icy Dr Pepper waiting for me when I come down.”