Chapter 7
November – JAKE
ME: What’s the name of the studio again?
ALANA: Melody in Motion.
Since the night Alana kidnapped me against my will and forcefully fed me an obscene amount of alcohol, I’ve made texting with her an annoyingly regular occurrence. I try to make it seem like the conversation is going to be strictly project related, all while finding new angles to mess with her.
This may not be the most gentlemanly thing I’ve ever said, but messing with Alana has quickly become the most fun I’ve had in the last six months.
I like her snappy remarks and how her nose scrunches when I say something outlandish.
I like picturing her doing it when I text her something I know will spark the reaction.
I also like how she pretends my comments don’t affect her at all, when I know they very much do.
Needless to say, my new fascination with her has made for an entertaining last few weeks.
The good news is she hasn’t caught on to this bit of mine, or at least not enough to stop it. In every conversation, her comments are valid and useful to the project itself. Mine remain vague, subtly pointless, and usually include just enough poking to get her attention.
We’re currently working on a music slash dance studio she wants to open one day, and as promised, she’s taking the assignment seriously. So, naturally, I’m asking questions that are of absolutely no help at all.
ME: Eh, I feel like we should revisit it.
ALANA: Why on earth would we do that?! We spent, like, three hours picking out a name last Tuesday. It’s done. I already made the logo and did all the marketing designs this week.
ME: Idk. Projections for Hustle & Mo’ are looking prettyyy good.
This is in no way true. I haven’t done projections for either name, and I’m more than sure her title will do just fine, if not better than my ridiculous option, but she doesn’t need to know that. Not right now, anyway. I just want to get her over here.
ALANA: Jake. I will actually murder you if you make me change the name right now.
ME: It’s not me, it’s the projections! Murder them. Also, you should know murder is highly frowned upon as a new business owner. Gonna be hard to get a loan as a convicted felon. Just sayin’.
ALANA: UGH! Are you home??
ME: I’m here, baby.
ALANA: Don’t call me that.
ME: Sweetie?
ME: Honey?
When she doesn’t answer, I kick it up a notch.
ME: I know you liked it when you called me Daddy.
I can almost see her crystal eyes squint with her nose scrunched, a tinge of pink hitting her cheeks. I can hear that frazzled little grunt she gives as if she’s actually frustrated with me.
ALANA: First of all, YOU called yourself that, and no, I did NOT like it.
I smile at my phone, remembering the night we played pool.
The way her eyes danced playfully across the table and landed on mine.
The sway of her hips as she sashayed from point to point, finding the right angle before she sank each ball.
The way her cheeks became a perfect tint of rose, first with alcohol, then with a want she tried to hide.
The way her eyes lingered on mine and said the same things mine did.
My grin widens.
ME: Liar.
I like knowing I had that effect on her. I like the idea of spending time with her. I like her.
As a friend, my brain autocorrects.
Yes, of course, as a friend. I’m obviously not interested in anything more for my life, and this is no exception. But that doesn’t mean we can’t flirt. Friends flirt. Flirting is harmless. Flirting is fun.
At least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
If I wanted to be honest, I’d admit there’s a certain danger in how easy it feels with her—how natural it’s become to look for her reaction, to want to hear her laugh, to find excuses to keep her talking just a little bit longer.
I'm allowing it because this whole thing is temporary. There are no strings attached because there can’t be.
Once this semester is over, I’m out of here, and this will all fade to black.
I swallow hard, ignoring the curling disappointment that’s working its way up my spine, that familiar whisper reminding me that good things never last because they aren’t meant to.
I refuse to acknowledge said dangers because it feels good not to. Like closing your eyes to make the monster disappear. Sure, you know it’s still there behind your eyelids, but it’s less scary when you don’t have to face it head-on.
Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like anything was fun.
Even longer since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman’s company without the shadow of someone else’s ghost in the background.
Without the guilt, the lies, the hollow aftertaste of something that was never really mine still dangling before me.
This friendship—if that’s what this is—feels different. It feels…right. And maybe that’s exactly why I should stay the hell away from it.
My phone vibrates back to life with a text from Alana a minute later.
ALANA: I will be at your house in twenty minutes. Do not TOUCH your computer until I get there.
Just knowing she’s coming shakes away the darkness that was beginning to loom over me.
I chuckle at the message, tossing my phone on the couch with a victorious smile. Hook, line, and sinker.
I’m not worried that I don’t have projections to show her. In about eighteen minutes, when she walks through the door, I’ll tell her I used the wrong factor somewhere, and she’ll roll her eyes and yell at me for bringing her across campus for nothing.
And then she’ll stay, which is all I really wanted in the first place.
“What has you all Smiley Cake Jake today?” Nate mocks from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” I say dismissively with a stretch, rising from the couch. “How long you gonna be around for?”
“Not long.” He smirks over at me as he stirs his creamer into his coffee. “Why? You and Hot Friend gonna bang on the couch?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m just saying that if you are, you should lay down a towel or something because I had that girl Jennifer over there a couple days ago.”
I shake my head. “That’s…too much information.”
“Or is it not enough?” He wags his brows, and I laugh despite how gross he is. “She gets great coke, if you’re interested. Addy’s, too.”
“I’m not, but thanks, anyway.” I may be a drinker, but drugs are something I’ll never touch.
Nate, on the other hand, is the epitome of the Wall Street stereotype.
Big finance guy with a fast-paced energy.
Except he’s never been to Wall Street. Or even had a job.
He doesn’t even do his class work. His college mantra is literally C’s get degrees.
“What’s up with you and Hot Friend, anyway?” he asks, rinsing his mug and placing it in the dishwasher.
“Nothing.” I shrug, ignoring his demeaning nickname for Alana, though it is quite fitting. “We’re friends.”
“What kind of friends? The fucking kind?” His brow arches suspiciously, and I wonder what the point of his question is.
“The regular kind. Why?”
He shrugs. “Just asking.” I immediately hate the way he says it. How it implies… I don’t know. Something I don’t like.
Nate is a handsome guy. Charming as hell, too.
His dirty blond hair and piercing green eyes captivate both tourists and college girls like a shiny new toy they can’t wait to get their hands on.
He’s tactical in his efforts, knowing exactly which diamond white smile to shine at which unexpected prey.
I’ll be the first to say the poor girls never stand a chance.
It’s never bothered me before, and his antics have rarely affected my life, but right now, it feels like a problem.
A problem because my mind is starting to race, wondering which of those smiles would work on Alana. Which glitter in his eye would make her lips curve upward and her cheeks flush pink. My stomach sours at the idea that any of them would. Which is alarming because I shouldn’t care at all.
Because that’s none of my business.
Before I have the time to dwell on the thought, Alana bursts through the door.
“Alright, Cooper. You and me. Let’s go,” she exclaims, letting the door fall shut behind her. Nate eyes her amusingly, his grin overly playful. His eyes move from Alana to me.
“Well, that sounds promising,” he says. I shake my head with a dismissive smile, and Nate offers a single nod at Alana in greeting as she drops her bag on the counter and pulls out a notebook. “Hot Friend.”
“Nathan,” she says dryly. She turns to me with a smile. “Hi,” she breathes, and when her blue-gray eyes land on mine, my body freezes. The warmth travels from my gut, up through my chest, and lands on the curve of my lips.
“Hi,” is all I respond with, but it sounds like more, even to my own ears.
We stand there for a silent beat. My eyes on hers, hers on mine, Nate’s bouncing between us.
“OH-kay, I’m gonna head out,” Nate practically yells in announcement, breaking us from the tiny spell we briefly fell under. “Got that thing with Lacey Macey. Plan on takin’ her downtown and all around, if you know what I mean.” He winks. Alana scowls before the two of us turn our backs to him.
“Too much information, Nate!” we yell in unison.
Alana moves to the living room, and I follow behind her before Nate pulls me in by the elbow. “Hey, you don’t care about this Macey thing, right?”
I swallow and clear my throat, not wanting to talk about this right now. My head snaps to Alana, then back again. “Not at all.”
“You sure? Because I can totally turn her down. I mean, I know you two had a thing or whatever—”
“Nate, it's fine, man. Really. It was nothing.” I glance over at Alana, praying she’s somehow become temporarily deaf over the last few seconds.
“Okay, cool. I’ll see you later.” He pats my arm before taking backward steps toward the door. “See ya soon, Hot Friend,” he says with a salute to Alana.
“Or, fun thought—never again,” she sings in response.