Almost Boyfriend (Riverton Romance #1)

1

Keon Maddox had been my almost boyfriend for two hundred and eighty-seven days.

I knew the exact number because women kept records when men tried to survive on technicalities.

He had a key to my apartment, a toothbrush beside mine, and three pairs of expensive sneakers blocking the bottom of my closet. He knew how I liked my salmon, which side of the bed I slept on, and that my attitude became legally dangerous whenever I skipped lunch.

He had met my mother.

Helped my aunt move.

Changed the battery in my car.

Held my hand during a root canal consultation because dentists made me nervous.

That man had performed every boyfriend duty available except accepting the title.

Then he introduced me as his friend.

“My friend Page,” Keon said, resting his hand against my lower back like he hadn’t just verbally reduced our entire relationship to two people who occasionally exchanged Christmas cards.

I slowly turned my head toward him.

The rooftop lounge was packed with beautiful people pretending they weren’t sweating through their designer clothes.

Music floated from hidden speakers. The downtown Riverton skyline glittered behind us while waitresses carried tiny crab cakes that required three bites but somehow cost twenty-two dollars.

Keon looked unfairly good beneath the string lights.

He was six feet two, deep brown, broad through the shoulders, and built like he had personally carried every brick used to construct the city. His black waves were sharp enough to make a barber jealous, and his beard framed a mouth that had caused me to overlook several warning signs.

Tonight, he wore dark slacks, a black shirt open at the throat, and the gold chain I had bought him for his thirty-sixth birthday.

His cousin Tavron’s business partner smiled at me.

“Oh, I thought you two were together.”

Keon released a quiet laugh.

“Page is my people.”

My people.

Beautiful.

I had officially been promoted from friend to neighborhood organization.

I adjusted my tortoiseshell glasses and smiled so sweetly that Keon should have immediately checked whether his life insurance policy was current.

“Yes, I’m his people,” I said. “Apparently, I’m a whole community resource.”

The woman glanced between us.

Keon’s fingers pressed lightly into my waist. “Page.”

“What?” I smiled wider. “I’m agreeing with you, almost boy—”

He coughed loudly.

I lifted one eyebrow.

Tavron appeared beside us carrying two drinks, completely unaware that his cousin’s peaceful life had just ended.

“Y’all good?”

“I’m wonderful,” I said. “I just found out I’ve been volunteering.”

Keon sighed.

Tavron handed him a glass. “I’m staying out of that.”

“That is the first intelligent decision made by a Maddox man tonight.”

I stepped away from Keon’s hand and headed toward the elevator.

My heels struck the concrete with enough force to announce that somebody’s foolishness had reached its final destination.

“Page.”

Keon followed me.

I pressed the elevator button.

“Page, hold up.”

“I’ve been holding up for two hundred and eighty-seven days. My arms are tired.”

“Can we talk downstairs?”

“We can talk right here. The rooftop has oxygen.”

A couple standing nearby suddenly became fascinated with the skyline.

Keon lowered his voice. “You know what you are to me.”

“That’s wonderful because nobody else does.”

“A title doesn’t change how I treat you.”

“It changes how you acknowledge me.”

The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside.

Keon joined me before they closed.

Of course he did.

The man had ignored every opportunity to claim me, but he could sense when I wanted thirty seconds alone.

The elevator began its slow descent.

Keon rubbed a hand over his beard. “I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”

“Disrespect doesn’t require a business plan.”

“Page.”

“You have slept in my bed, eaten my groceries, and argued with my cable company. You come to my family functions carrying potato salad like somebody’s husband. Last month, you threatened a man at the gas station because he asked for my phone number.”

“He was too close to you.”

“He was standing beside the lottery tickets.”

“He had intentions.”

“So do you, apparently. They simply remain classified.”

His jaw tightened. “You already know how I feel about labels.”

“Yes. They frighten you. Meanwhile, unpaid girlfriend labor doesn’t disturb your nervous system at all.”

“That’s not fair.”

I leaned against the elevator wall.

At thirty-four years old, I was too grown, too pretty, and too tired to keep translating a man’s behavior into promises he refused to make.

My blunt red bob brushed my jaw as I looked at him. My black dress hugged every generous curve I had spent years learning to love. Gold hoops swung beside my face, and the expression in Keon’s eyes told me he remembered exactly what was beneath the dress.

That used to be enough to soften me.

Tonight, it irritated me more.

“I love what we have,” he said.

“You love access to me.”

His face changed. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He opened his mouth.

The elevator continued descending.

Floor twelve.

Floor eleven.

Floor ten.

I watched him search for an answer that should have been waiting on his tongue.

The doors opened in the lobby.

I stepped out.

“Page, come on.”

I turned around. “I am officially resigning from the position of almost girlfriend.”

“You’re upset.”

“Very observant.”

“Let’s go home and talk.”

“You can go to your home. I’m going to mine.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “So you’re ending this over an introduction?”

“I’m ending it because the introduction was honest.”

He stared at me.

The ache arrived before it had permission to settle inside my chest. Keon and I had laughed together until my stomach hurt. We had danced barefoot in my kitchen. He had held me while I cried about things I usually turned into jokes.

Walking away hurt.

Staying would have hurt longer.

“I need more than almost,” I said quietly. “You deserve whatever kind of life feels safe to you. I deserve the kind that feels whole to me.”

“Page—”

“Goodnight, Keon.”

I walked through the revolving door with my spine straight, my lips pressed together, and tears threatening to ruin forty-eight dollars’ worth of waterproof mascara.

Behind me, Keon remained in the lobby.

For once, he let me leave.