Conflicted

I click Send and toss the phone on the couch next to me. No sooner has it hit the seat than he’s calling me. A smile on my face, I pick it back up and press Answer.

“Hello?” I say.

“Three a.m. munchies? Should I be asking questions?” he teases.

“I fell asleep when I got home from work and only just woke up,” I grumble, ignoring his joke. “And Ariel hasn’t done the shopping yet so I’m left with nothing to eat.”

“You’re snappy when you’re hungry,” he chuckles. I hear the jingle of car keys in the background. “What do you want? I’ll bring it over. You have the choice of Burger Shack or Burger Shack.”

“You’d do that for me?” I say, even though we both know that was the motivation behind my text. “A cheeseburger and fries should do me.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, chuckling.

I curl up on the couch in front of the TV while I wait for Lucas. This isn’t the first time he’s gone out of his way for me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. When we were fourteen, he borrowed his gran’s car and drove an hour to visit me after my parents decided to send me away to a language camp for the summer. Yes, a language camp. After four weeks of intensive learning, I was insanely bored but fluent in Japanese. Lucas broke me out and we spend the whole night on the beach, eating junk food. It was the only way I was able to get through the last two weeks of that stupid camp.

Much to my relief, Lucas is fast. I hear him pulling up outside less than ten minutes later. I race outside and meet him as he climbs out of his car. He hands me my food and shakes his head.

“Am I allowed to come in, or is this a case of you have your food so I can go now?” he asks, his tone dry.

I give him the finger and then walk back inside, munching on my fries. He follows me inside and sits down on next to me on the couch, pulling my feet into his lap. I groan as he begins to rub them, the sensation almost orgasmic.

“You look tired,” I observe.

“Yeah, well, it’s nearly four in the morning. You know how well I sleep.”

It’s true. He’s always awake. I have no idea how he functions. He runs his hand through his dark hair and I look away. Sometimes I feel like if I don’t catch myself, I could stare at him for hours. Everything about him amazes me—probably more than it should, considering our platonic relationship.

Over the years I’ve memorized every little thing about him, to the point that when we’re talking on the phone, I can close my eyes and picture his face and know that when he’s laughing, the left side of his mouth lifts about an inch higher than the right, or that his jaw twitches when he’s angry or passionate about something.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my day went?” I say lightly.

“Oh yeah. How did it go?” he asks, with about as much enthusiasm as he’d have about a trip to the dentist.

“Really good. I think I’m going to learn a lot from him. You should see all the information I have on this case. It’s like my birthday come early.”

“I’d rather not,” Lucas says, rolling his eyes. He reaches over and takes a big handful of my fries and I grunt in protest. “So, what’s he like?”

“Aaron? He’s nice. Friendly and professional,” I say, distracted by trying to rescue the last fry from the bottom of the packet.

“Huh. Just what you want in a boss, I guess,” Lucas mumbles.

There’s an edge to Lucas’s voice and I can’t work out why, but I’m beginning to sense a pattern. Every time I mention the internship or Aaron, I get the same reaction. He’s never been jealous before, so I can’t work out why he would be now. Especially when there is nothing to be jealous about. It can’t be the job, because we’re studying two completely different fields. Not to mention the fact that Lucas is allergic to effort. He’d never apply for anything that required more than the minimum. He jumps to his feet so quickly that I jump, spilling my drink. I glare at him.

“I better get back and try and get some sleep,” he says.

“Because you have such a big day ahead?” I’m joking, but it comes out more scathing than I’d intended.

Lucas raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Worry about yourself, Lace, and leave me to me,” he retorts.

It’s a fair comment so I bite back my response. I hate that I sound like a nagging wife, but I can’t help myself. He has the potential to really get somewhere, and it shits me that he wastes that when others have to work so damn hard for it. Like me.

But he’s right: what he does is none of my business because I’m not his wife.