Riot

“Oh God, have you no imagination?” He strikes a dramatic pose with his hand on his chest.

I stare. What the fuck is he doing? “No, I don’t. So?”

“Great.” He relaxes, grins. “Let me explain. Pax has been my friend since our school days. She rarely shares what’s in her heart. But she trusts me.”

My hands curl into fists. She trusts me. Me, not this moron. “Really.”

“Really.” Oblivious, he props his hip against the back of the sofa. “She told me what happened two years ago, asked for my advice on what to do. I told her to go to a therapist but she decided to come...to you.”

Again that appraising look.

Wait a sec. Is he checking me out?

“She said it didn’t go too well, and I thought it was over, but then…” He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Then she refused to say another word about it, or you.”

“So?”

“So if you knew Pax well, you’d know the things she doesn’t talk about are the ones foremost on her mind.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re not a mind-reader.”

“No, I’m her best friend.”

What are we even talking about? Shit. “So she never talked about me.”

“That’s correct.”

Dammit. “And that means she’s been thinking about me.”

“You’re a little slow on the uptake,” he winks, “but so hot I’ll forgive you.”

Blink, blink. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Nah. I wouldn’t do that to Pax. Can’t compete with her anyway.”

Holy shit. Laughter bubbles up inside me and I force it down. “No, you can’t.”

“I thought so.” He looks pleased about that. “Has she eaten today?”

“No. I was gonna…” I huff. “Prepare something for her.”

“You can cook?”

I shake my head.

“Right. Let me go say hi and you can help me. We’ll make her a feel-better soup.”

“Feel-better soup?”

“Yeah. Stay put. Or even better, go and put a T-shirt on or something, otherwise I’ll never get anything done. Oh boy.”

Fanning his face he pushes off the sofa and walks out of the room, when all I can think of is—Pax’s friend is gay, and I was on her mind.

***