Page 22 of Clinically Awkward

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re not?”

“We’re... friendly. That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Friends hang out outside work. We don’t—well, except tonight.”

“So we’re colleagues who are friendly but not friends, and tonight is a statistical anomaly?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s the most complicated way of saying ‘we’re friends’ I’ve ever heard.”

“We’re not⁠—”

“Viv. We’re friends.”

I opened my mouth to argue. Then closed it. Because the truth was, I didn’t know what we were. My fingers curled around the table edge, trying to steady the tremor I hoped Quinton wouldn’t notice. The scent of fried food drifted through the air, mingling with bursts of laughter from nearby tables. A neon beer sign flickered near the stage, casting everything in a soft, golden haze.

“You’re overthinking this,” Quinton said, his voice softer now. “It’s just a comedy club. We’re just two people who needed a laugh. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Everything is complicated.”

“Not everything.”

“Name one thing that isn’t complicated.”

“Nachos.”

I blinked. “Nachos?”

“Nachos,” he confirmed. “Chips. Cheese. Jalapeños. Simple. Delicious. Uncomplicated. The perfect food.”

“Nachos are not the perfect food,” I shot back, trying not to smile. “Next you’ll tell me nachos are a superfood,” I teased, earning another genuine laugh from Quinton.

“They absolutely are. They’ve got carbs, protein, fat, and vegetables. That’s a complete meal.”

“Jalapeños are not vegetables.”

“They’re technically fruit, but they’re culinarily classified as a vegetable, so I’m counting it.”

“You’re very passionate about nachos.”

“I love nachos. I’m not protecting them.”

The drinks arrived. Two vodka sodas and a pitcher of IPA, and Quinton immediately poured me a glass. “Try it,” he said. “It’s local. Award-winning. Probably pretentious as hell, but maybe good.”

I took a sip. It was good. Damn it.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Fine?” He looked genuinely offended. “That’s an award-winning IPA and you’re calling it fine?”

“It’s good. It’s adequately hoppy.”

“Adequately hoppy,” he repeated. “You’re killing me here, Viv.”

He laughed. Actually laughed, and the sound was so genuine that I found myself smiling despite my best efforts not to.