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She’s fucking beautiful.
“Why the face?” I ask, noticing her scowl. “You’re still ranked number one in the world, and you just got paid two hundred dollars to give a speech full of platitudes to high schoolers.”
“Platitudes?” She crosses her arms. “I put my heart and soul into writing that speech.”
“You remixed a bunch of quotes from Pinterest.”
“Thank you for un-remixing them for me.” She smiles, but she doesn’t let it stay. “Stephen broke up with me today.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “I don’t remember what he said. I don’t even care.”
“Wasn’t your boyfriend from four weeks ago named Stephen, too?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You think so? If you’re forgetting your boyfriends’ names this quickly, you’re getting into my territory.”
“No, I won’t set foot in your territory until I contract a strain of syphilis.”
“Fuck you, Penelope.”
“I’ll never be that desperate.” She leans against my chest, and I run fingers through her hair.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me, Hayden?”
“I can list way more than one thing,” I say. “What do you mean, though?”
“As of a few months ago, we’ve stopped counting my breakups as often,” she says. We’re just naming them so I won’t feel so pathetic about the number of guys who don’t want to stick around that long.”
“That’s what dating is, Pen.” I’ve given up on her ever relinquishing her hopeless romantic ways. “Every guy you meet can’t be the one. Even if you get along great in the beginning, that doesn’t mean you’re meant to stay together for the long term.”
“I guess …” She repositions her body so that her head is in my lap. Then she shuts her eyes.
“If it makes you feel any better, most people who claim they find ‘the one’ at your age end up divorced five to ten years later with kids that hate them.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “That does make me feel better.”
“Good. You’ll find a good boyfriend eventually.”
“At the rate I’m going, it won’t happen until I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s a better age anyway, since you have so many ridiculous expectations.”
“At this point, I’ll settle for a guy who won’t cheat on me.”
“Every guy who ever dared to cheat on you was an idiot.” I kiss her forehead, and she smiles again.
I stare at her cherry-red lips and suddenly feel the need to taste them.
Brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead, I lean down to kiss her, but I catch myself when I’m inches away.
What the fuck am I doing?
Her eyes are still shut, and her lips are tempting as hell, but the fact that I almost crossed the line is wrong on too many fucking levels.
“Shit.” I gently grab her hands and pull her up. “I just thought about something. I need to head back to my office.”
“Now? Do you want some help?”
Not from you right now … “No, I’ll call you later, though.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know.”
I ignore her call that night, trying to figure out what the hell almost happened on that park bench.
It was too natural and easy on my part. There was no hesitation whatsoever, and that means we need to set some better boundaries.
Perhaps we can cut back on the phone calls every night, do away with our Wednesday evening dinners, or ax the park meet-ups on Sundays. Or maybe I can stop giving her a ride to practice and showing up to see her competitions.
Fuck.
I honestly don’t want to let go of any of it, and I can’t believe that she’s become this engrained in my life. Our friendship has evolved far past me giving her breakup and guy advice, far past the typical “I’ll be there for you, you’ll be there for me” framework.
It’s almost like she’s my … girlfriend?
“I can’t even go there right now,” I mutter and grab the remote.
I turn on the television and see my “father” starring in his latest bullshit commercial. Dressed in a custom suit and tie that cost more than what most people make in a month, he’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“If you or your loved one needs one-on-one support with a trusted professional, come down to Heartstone Therapy,” he says. “We have more than fifteen locations nationwide to serve you.”
Per the cheesy script, his new son—a two-year-old who is also named Hayden, jumps into his arms.
“I love you, Daddy!” His mouth is full of red gummies.
Thankfully, the screen transitions to a far more entertaining toothbrush commercial.
I still find it tragically ironic that he’s a leading family therapist, despite leaving my mother and me out to dry years ago. That no one has ever bothered to look below the surface and discover how much of a fraud he is.
I flip through the channels, settling on a business infomercial. As I’m taking out my notebook, the doorbell rings.
Walking over to it, I see Penelope standing there with an oversized duffle bag.
