The Best Friend Zone

Yeah.

This so isn’t helping.

The strange, forbidden pulse and heat flaring between my thighs shouldn’t be happening.

My life is so messed up right now, and I really don’t need complications like my beast of a friend turning into the perfect hero before my eyes.

At least I know my strengths, though.

I’m too good at messing things up all the way around. Hence Quinn’s need to come save my bacon twice so far.

In all fairness, today wasn’t my fault.

Still, he’d arrived, bolting to the rescue like a knight in shining armor.

Sighing, I pull the truck into Granny’s driveway and park it far to the left so she has plenty of room to back her Nova out of the garage if needed. Owl follows me through the garage and into the house where Granny stands near the counter, wearing a white apron that says I cook as good as I look, and holding a purple monster in her hand.

“Hmm. What were we going to make out of this rascal again?” she asks without any sort of greeting.

“Eggplant Parmesan,” I say, feeling guilty about not being able to make it tonight, but I can’t back out on Quinn after that.

“Right. Another one of your mother’s meatless wonders. We’ll find a way to spice this boy up.” She opens the fridge and puts the eggplant back in the vegetable drawer, then rummages around on the other side. “Say cheese! I hope you like a lake of mozzarella with a side of eggplant, dear.”

She pulls out two bulging bags of shredded cheese with a saucy grin on her face.

“Aw, Gran, it’s delicious with just a little,” I say. “No lie. You’ll like it once you try it.”

“Maybe so, but it won’t be tonight.”

“Oh?”

She pulls out a head of lettuce and various other vegetables, stacking them neatly on the counter. “I just accepted an invitation to go next door. Otis and Velma are firing up their grill and have an extra steak. It’s a sample cut of the new Barnet Farm’s meat and rather delicious, or so they say. Wanna join me? I’m throwing together a shrimp salad as our contribution.”

“Well, actually…I just accepted an invite to eat at the diner.”

Granny looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Really, now? Did the Faulkner boy come to his senses?”

“Um, don’t know about that, but…yeah. It’s Quinn.”

Stupid blush.

Stupid tongue.

Stupid me.

“Well, well, finally some good news around here! What did I tell you, Tory?” She lets out a loud cackle as she closes the fridge door.

“Gran, it isn’t like that. We’re just—”

“Nooope. Not listening. No colorful f-words around here, young lady.” Still smiling, she presses her hands against her ears and walks away.

Yes, having a normal conversation with my grandmother someday is still on my bucket list.

Owl stands up from his spot on the floor and stretches, blissfully oblivious to my death by embarrassment.

“Hope you’re hungry, you little bear,” she whispers, patting Owl’s head. “I’ll be sharing my steak with you instead while Tory goes off on her big date.”

Oh my God.

Ignoring her insanity, I head for the sink to wash my hands.

“Is that all right?” I ask her, turning the faucet on. “Him staying here with us? I figured it’d be easier that way than dragging him back and forth.”

“Quinn? Most certainly,” Gran says without a lick of hesitation.

“What? No, I…” My heart pounds so hard the rush renders me speechless. “Not Quinn. Owl. You know that’s who I meant! Anyway, with him here, I don’t have to drive over to Uncle Dean’s to drop him off or pick him up in the mornings.”

“Of course, it’s all right. I love having baby mammoths as guests.” She pulls out a cutting board and whacks the head of lettuce in half with one slice of her knife. “And the invitation remains open for Quinn anytime. I adore having cavemen around the house, too.”

“Gran!” I huff out a breath, awed that she’s reached a new level of insufferable. “Why are you riding this train so hard anyway? Now that I’m busted, is that the plan? Just hitch me up with some local boy and marry me off?” Grabbing a towel, I add, “I mean, I remember you not wanting me to spend too much time with Quinn years ago.”

“Back then, you weren’t a grown woman. You were a young girl with a crush, and Quinn was that older boy.”

“I never had a crush on him.”

The words taste like ash. Did I mention I’m a terrible liar?

“And I’m still a virgin.” Her eye roll leaves me dizzy.

“Gran!”

“What? You can’t believe it?” She hacks at the lettuce again, muttering to herself. “Join the club, Tory. I don’t believe a word out of you either, dear. And don’t wheel me off to the nursing home just yet. My memory’s as clear as a looking glass. I’ll be pushing daisies before I forget how you mooned over that boy every summer since you got caught trying to break into Farmer Faulkner’s bees.”