The Best Friend Zone

Normalcy.

He’s sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of sweatpants that look dangerously good on him, watching TV with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says without turning around.

Smiling, I continue into the living room, and stop in front of him. “How did you know I was there? The stairs don’t even squeak.”

He pulls me onto his lap and kisses me. “ESP. I meant to come clean about it sooner, but now that I know we’re serious…”

For a second, I blink, confused at how serious he looks.

“Really?”

His grin spreads like a sunrise, as cocky as it is playful. “Nah, you pretty little sucker. I just saw your reflection in the TV screen.”

“Idiot! Don’t you dare think I’m that gullible.” I playfully slap my hands on his bare chest, then run my hands across his pecs, loving the feel of his skin.

He kisses me again. “You hungry?”

“Again? Are you?”

“Yeah. Thought I might starve to death before you woke up. Figured we’d eat leftovers together, though.”

I kiss him and climb off his lap. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“I know.” He stands up and gives my butt a teasing slap. “I wanted to.”

Just when I think I’m out of new reasons to love him, the way he—whoa.

What?

Am I totally sure this is love? The kind that lasts for life? The feeling that hits in a balmy, spinning glow when you’re face-to-face with The One?

I stare at him as he warms up our food, trying not to gawk like a total weirdo.

Oddly, for some reason, the big L-word scares me as much as being kidnapped, just in a different way. A very different way.

If I love Quinn Faulkner…fully, wildly, irreversibly, then that means making a life together.

It means giving up Chicago, the dumb director job that was already gone, and maybe even dancing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “I was just thinking about what I want to eat. Lo mein or fried rice?”

He laughs, flashing that world-shredding smile.

“No rule saying you can’t have both. I think we’ve burned off a week’s worth of carbs lately. There’s still plenty of everything.”

I nod and take a chair at the little table in the kitchen.

“You’re right. Both sound pretty good, actually.”

I wish I weren’t just talking about the food.

The both I’d really love to have involves keeping Quinn and my dance career.

The Chinese food is just as exquisite the second time around, but I’m not able to eat much.

My mind puts a real damper on my appetite.

I want Quinn.

I want what I have here.

Maybe I even want to stay here in Dallas and live where we’ve always been the happiest.

But then, what will I do with my life? I’d be lucky to nab a few clients as a personal trainer or something in this little town.

My mind continues tossing around questions, not finding any answers, for the next two days.

Until the moment when I open the front door and see my mother standing on the porch.

24

We’ve Goat Company (Faulkner)

The sleek rental car in the driveway is no surprise when I get home.

Granny Coffey called this morning, warning me her pain-in-the-ass daughter-in-law was arriving today to convince my peach to go home with her.

I’d tossed around calling Tory, warning her, but ultimately hadn’t. I’ve committed to not interfering in a meeting this important.

I’ve had plenty to chase after the past couple days.

The criminal machine Ted Goode ran goes deeper than I’d expected, multi-layered, and Section Chief Powers has asked me to return to the FBI as a part-time consultant to help with the big investigation that has tendrils branching out in several other cold cases.

I said no.

He told me to think about it for a few days.

To his credit, he’d pointed out that Justin’s death wasn’t my fault. I’d already accepted that years ago, as much as anyone could.

As for Tory’s kidnapping, there are no excuses, and that’s the problem. I can’t let my work hurt her again. Ever.

Having Bat Pickett locked up where he belongs again helps, but it’s not the final word.

If I knew she’d be happy as a lark here in Dallas, forever, then I’d tell Powers there’s no question.

No need for me to think about anything.

I’m not positive that’s the case. And if she’s not interested in staying, then neither am I.

This little town has too many memories tangled up in that woman to live a life here without her.

Nah, I’m not gonna try and influence her decision. I’m committed to her having the final say because I respect her that much.

Folks have been marching her around her entire life.

This time, the choice is hers, and hers alone.

Whatever she decides, I’ll man up and accept it—even if it means her future can’t include me.

I shut off the truck, shake off the heebie-jeebies the thought of meeting Gloria Redson-Riddle-Coffey gives me, and open the driver’s door. My feet feel like solid stone as I drag myself to the house and up the porch.