“Come on, dude,” I say, groaning. “That’s what my brothers would have said.”
“Because they’re right, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but why do you feel like you don’t have a spark when you kiss other women? It’s because deep down, you know they’re not Lia. These weird out-of-body feelings you’re having are because the woman you love is getting married in four weeks, and you’re panicking about it.”
“But . . .”
“No buts, man. Face the facts, you love her, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the better.”
I drag my hand over my forehead, his words stabbing me in the stomach, in the chest, racking up my anxiety.
Is he right?
Do I love her, and I’m just realizing it now?
My mind conjures up the image of her in her dress and how I felt, how I wanted to be the man who kissed her in it, how I couldn’t take my eyes off her, how I felt absolutely sick knowing that dress wasn’t meant for me but for Brian instead.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say as I look up at Banner. “Fuck, I think I like her.”
Banner shakes his head. “Nah, man. You love her. End of discussion.”
I pace my living room, Banner’s words on replay in my head.
I try to tell myself he’s not right.
That it’s conjecture that seems like it could be spot on, but really isn’t.
That maybe I’m just reading all these feelings wrong.
But every time I hear her move around in her apartment, my skin breaks out into a clammy sweat, because I’m pretty sure . . . Banner is right.
After I left his place, I came back to mine, where I opened another beer, and I’ve walked circles around my apartment. Never stopping, just pacing, trying to get a grip on these feelings, trying to convince myself that Banner is wrong, that I’m wrong, that all of this is fucking wrong.
Panic.
Nausea.
Worry.
It’s swirling around, making me feel crazy. Making me uncomfortable. Making me think things I shouldn’t be thinking like . . .
What if I had kissed her in the dressing room? What would she have done?
What if I marched over to her apartment right now and told her how I’m feeling?
What if I pathetically asked her to reconsider the wedding?
Knock. Knock.
Oh fuck.
That has to be her. No one else visits me.
Unsure of what to do, I clench my sweaty palms and say, “Uh, yeah?”
“Breaker? It’s me. Open up.”
“Oh, uh . . . Lia, is that you?” I even roll my eyes at myself.
“Yes, Breaker. What are you doing? Open up.”
“Ha, sorry,” I call out, even though I don’t move. “Um, just give me a second.” I spin around in a circle, trying to figure out what to do as if something can be done.
Nothing, you dipshit, nothing can be done. It’s not like you can take a washcloth and soap to your feelings and scrub them away quickly. Doesn’t work like that.
Face the facts. This is going to be awkward for you.
Reluctantly and with heavy steps, I head over to the door, open it, and then lean on the edge, attempting to look like the epitome of a casual man NOT in love with his best friend. “Hey there, uh, how are you? Doing good? Wow, the heat today, am I right?”
Her brow curls up in question. “Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird, I’m just . . . uh, striking up a conversation. Am I not allowed to talk about the weather with my best friend? Anyway, is there anything I can help you with?”
With a skeptical look on her face, she says, “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Uhhhh, what now?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“Brian left for San Jose tonight for an emergency meeting with one of his clients, and he won’t be home until Sunday. I’m just, I’m not feeling super great, and I don’t want to be alone.”
“Ah, I see.” I nod slowly.
“So can I stay the night?”
Ha. Spend the night here with me? That seems like an absolute disaster waiting to happen. I’m barely hanging on by a thread, and the cure to all of that is a temptation I can’t consume.
What could I possibly say that would communicate I’m pretty sure I love you and therefore you can’t be here?
There’s nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
So . . .
“Of course,” I squeak out. “Yeah, you know, because you’ve done that before. You’ve stayed the night, so that shouldn’t be weird.”
Her brows narrow even more. “Why are you all fidgety and sweating on your upper lip?”