9. Rhodes
9
Rhodes
I ’ve never been cornered on the side of a building before, so this is a first.
“Delia, slow down.” I press my palms to the tops of her shoulders so she stops bouncing like she’s on a pogo stick. “Let me get this straight. You’re setting Paige up with a few guys and want me to be one of them?”
She stops moving and stares into my eyes. Or soul. “That’s exactly what I said.”
I drop my hands to my sides. “I don’t get it.”
She’s breathing heavily as if she just ran around the block. Instead, she has me pinned to the side of Upstairs Closet Thrift. I was walking inside to get Paige because she texted saying she wanted to show me a mushroom yard statue she was thinking of getting as a side table. The only word I needed to read was mushroom, and I was rushing inside to check her temperature and convince her she has enough.
Delia straightens. “Paige was telling me she’s dated too many dudes and wants to find someone she can connect with on a deeper level. So I told her I would interview a few guys, send her their numbers, and she could talk to them. Without seeing them. Like texting or voice calls or whatever. ”
I furrow my brow. “And what does this have to do with me? Are you wanting me to help? Because I can’t—”
“THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!” Delia shouts.
I rear back, flattening myself to the cold cinderblock wall and preventing me from escaping. She might shake me again. Or punch me. I think she could take me, honestly.
“My chance?”
I haven’t told anyone, aside from Cleocatra, about my feelings for Paige, so the fact Delia is insinuating I compete for her hand in some ridiculous way—which is any way—has me deflecting hardcore.
“Paige is my best friend.” Plus, I already have a plan, which includes just flat-out telling her. Soon. Ish. But it’s been a week since the dinner with Terrance, and I still haven’t opened my mouth.
She steps back and crosses her arms. “I’ve noticed how you look at her, and it isn’t friendly whatsoever.”
“What do you mean?” My hands might as well be painted red. I’ve been caught.
She huffs. “You keep asking questions you already know the answer to.”
My shoulders slump, and I relax. I promised myself I’d tell Paige how I felt when she broke up with Tim. This is my shot. And maybe it will be better this way. We can text just like we do all the time anyway, but she won’t know it’s me since I’ll have to get an unknown number. It’s not any worse than how I’ve been holding onto this secret. But if this ends the way I’m hoping it will, it’ll all be worth it. Right?
“Okay,” I finally say.
“Okay…you’ll be one of the guys?”
I deflate. There are other guys . “How many guys are you picking exactly?”
“Just two more. Your odds are good. And just know, I’m rooting for you.”
I swallow. “Why?”
“Because deep down, I think it’s how Paige feels, too. She just hasn’t been single long enough to realize it.”
Delia’s words remind me how much of Paige’s life she’s witnessed. She’s basically Paige's work wife. I know enough about her to understand this. She’s a bit of a player, with more boyfriends than I can keep track of, but she’s honest. Maybe that’s why she’s been such a good friend.
Maybe that’s what makes me such a shitty one for how I plan to lie to Paige about who I am. It’s all couched in fun and games, but eventually, Paige will find out it’s me. And what if she doesn’t choose me? What if we start talking, and it’s different?
Panic crawls up my neck and makes a home in my tonsils.
“You look like you swallowed a rodent.”
“Gross.”
She shrugs.
“And how long until she finds out it’s me? And…them?”
She studies her nails. “That’s up to her. But each party should agree on it, so I guess whenever you both are ready.”
And there lies the problem. I haven’t been ready for nearly two decades.
Since swapping stories at our lunch table, every class we shared, driving to community college together, dinners out as friends, I see those smiles and it’s like I can feel them. My pulse starts racing, heart hammering inside my chest. It was a slow fall, but when it happened, I landed hard.
“Go take a walk around the block; it looks like you could use it,” she says. “I’m going to go tell Paige we have our first contestant. ”
I don’t like how she says contestant , but she walks off before I can tell her this is a huge mistake, and I can’t do it. But all of my words bail on me, and I’m left to figure out how to tell my best friend that I like her.
My future says it’s going to involve a burner phone.
PAIGE HAS SPENT most of the car ride home telling me about Delia’s brilliant plan to find three guys for her to talk to in order to choose one.
One .
I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this much pressure. It could be close to when I entered the fishing derby at seven, or had to fake-play the saxophone during my fifth grade concert. My parents spent a lot of money to watch me press random keys like I knew what I was doing.
This is also the kind of pressure that built my online business. Now, it’s giving me the wild idea I can casually date, or get to know, or talk to Paige Turner. Not as a friend, but as something more. The mounting steam inside me is about to blow. How am I supposed to do this while also being her platonic friend?
“Rhodes!” Paige shouts.
I slam on my brakes, so I don’t hit the car in front of us. My arms are straight, locked at the elbow, but after scanning the front of my vehicle, I note I’m a full car length away from the truck in front of me. We’re safe. I’m good.
“Is everything okay?” she hesitantly asks. “You seem…distracted. Is it your dad again? I thought you said he was doing alright? Work? Have you been reading the comments section again? I told you to let me do that so I can us e an accent.”
Steadying my breaths would be a lot easier if Paige wasn’t gripping my forearm and looking at me with concern in her pretty eyes. I try to form a few thoughts without blurting I’m going to date you .
“Dad’s fine,” I assure her. He’s been more tired lately, but that’s what recovering from his second stroke has been like. “And, no, I haven’t been reading the comments on my videos.”
After gaining thousands of followers through various social platforms, everyone seems to have an opinion. It’s taxing to always be confronted with what you don’t do right, or how silly your idea is, which is why I avoid reading them unless I’m in a good mental state.
Now would not be that time.
But I’m freaking out for a different reason. One I can’t tell my best friend because it’s about her . Breathing anything of this to Paige—or Amber, for that matter—is not a viable option. The more I think about this, the more I wonder if I can do it. This is becoming real.
The back of Paige’s hand is on my forehead. “Maybe you should go home and lay down. You might be getting sick.”
The light turns green, and I slowly edge the gas pedal. “I’m not sick. I’m…”
Shit. This is my first lie in this whole process. The first time I’m withholding the truth from Paige in such a blatant way. But isn’t this what I’ve been doing? Lying about how I feel for all these years? I don’t want to do this anymore. The secrets, the hidden feelings. I just want to tell her.
A little longer, and then she’ll know .
“I’m tired because I went to the gym.” Not a lie, since the gym has always been a safe haven of sorts. A place I can work out my anxiety and leave feeling an entire Snickers bar better.
“Ah. Went too hard on the bouncing machine? ”
Paige has never been to my gym…or any gym, really, so she has no idea what anything is called and often makes up different exercises or machines for her own pleasure.
“No such thing as a bouncing machine. But I did row today.”
She tries to conceal a laugh, but she sucks at it. “And did this help you achieve your lifelong goal of rowing to Hawaii?”
I laugh because that isn’t a goal of mine. “No. It’s just a good full-body workout.”
“Sure it is.”
I clear my throat and ask something I’m not entirely sure I want the answer to, “So, has Delia picked the guys yet?”
“Only one.”
That’s me.
“Oh,” I manage. “Just one…who is it?”
I’ve never been good at fishing—hence the fishing derby I didn’t place in—but here I am, casting my line.
“I don’t know who, silly.” Paige puts her feet on the dash. “That’s the whole point of this experiment. I don’t know who they are, and they don’t know who I am.”
I very much know who she is.
“The point is to get to know each other on a deeper level. Find someone I can relate to instead of just gawking at and admiring their abs.”
I’m not about to torture myself by asking how Paige knows some men have abs. We’re not going there today.
I make a noise at the back of my throat that has her turning her head.
“I’m sure you think this is dumb.” Her tone is just shy enough that it makes me want to assure her. It’s what I’ve always done.
I glance between her and the road. “Not dumb. Just not…normal? ”
“I guess that’s the point. Normal hasn’t worked for me. And who’s to say bumping into your husband on the street is normal, anyway? I might need a dating experiment like this in order to find my soulmate,” she says with a wistful tone.
“And that’s what you want from this? A soulmate?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, yeah. That’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. Someone I can be myself with, be around without getting exasperated, and…”
She doesn’t continue.
“And…what?”
“Nevermind. It sounds silly in my head. I’m sure it’ll sound worse out loud.”
I lower my voice and grip the wheel tighter. “Come on. I want to know. Alfredo .”
“Of course you’d say that.” She exhales. “I hate feeling lonely. All the guys I’ve dated have been there in a physical sense, but not emotionally. I want to feel seen and understood. Loved, I guess.”
The words that have been locked inside me for as long as I can remember push at my zippered lips to be spoken, but I say nothing. I don’t tell her that she’s been running from one relationship to the next because she doesn’t know how to be single—alone. I don’t explain that none of the other guys are good enough for her. Or how she already has what she’s wanting.
She has me.
I keep my mouth shut.
But hell if I’m going to leave this game without trying.