We’d tried one time at his condo, but he lived . . . slightly Spartanly, should I say. Or to be more specific, I wasn’t impressed by his lumpy couch and bare pantry. Though, he’d at least bought the good beer and had promised that he’d have me over when the stuff he’d shipped over from the U.K. had arrived.
But it was either his place or mine, because going out to eat wasn’t exactly feasible for me at the moment. Or at least, not feasible without pictures documenting the event ending up splashed across the gossip sites. I didn’t want to get all dressed up, to do my hair and makeup. I wanted to be in my pajamas or sweatpants and an oversized sweater with my air conditioning blasting—and not as a protection from Damon, or protecting me from my reaction to Damon, but because they were cozy.
And because we were friends. Just friends.
No lingering touches. No more sex on the kitchen table.
No awkward silences or limited explanations of the past.
It was just him and me. Just as we should have been.
So, why did it feel like I was missing out on something?
Buzz. Buzz.
I blinked, pulled myself out of my head, and focused on Damon’s messages on my cell.
How’s the Ego?
(I know you’re on set for the day, so just call or text when you can)
I was smiling already because Damon was texting, but his use of our nickname for Grant had me stifling giggles. Because, man, was it apropos. But then my cell vibrated once more.
Also, can we reschedule Pizza Night tomorrow? I have a date.
My smile faded.
A date?
Damon had a date?
What the fuck? How dare he have the nerve to go on a—
“No, Eden,” I muttered, so maybe I was growing used to having him in my life frequently, but it wasn’t like I was ready to forget everything that happened to me and get myself a boyfriend.
Even if that boyfriend was Damon? my brain asked
Yes. Even then.
“This is a good thing,” I murmured. “He’s moving on. Just as it should be.” I sucked in a breath, forced my fingers to type out a reply.
Sure, we can reschedule. Want to do Friday night instead?
A few moments before another buzz.
I can’t. I’m leaving Friday for my trip.
We’d just talked the day before, and he’d told me he was going to take a trip up the coast, leave on Saturday, make a long weekend of it. Had that changed already?
I thought you were going on Saturday?
Also, why did my heart pulse at the thought of him making plans without me?
Changed my mind. So next week then?
Because I was slowly going insane, wanting things I had no business wanting. Sighing, I shoved down the urge to revolt and forced myself to remember this was a good thing. He was moving on, just like I’d asked. We were friends—
Except, date?
Fucking really?
I wrinkled my nose and then I tucked all the extraneous emotions away and sent him back a response.
Next week is great.
Then I turned off my cell, shoved it back into the pocket of the chair, and returned my focus to Grant and bearing witness to the insanity of his ego trip.
It was going to be a really long day.
I hadn’t heard from Damon.
Okay, fine. That wasn’t entirely fair.
He’d texted me a couple of images, pretty shots of the coast and one striking photo of a child climbing a tree, but that was it. He hadn’t given me any words or responded to me asking about his date, and he hadn’t texted me to ask me what I wanted on our pizza for our weekly hangout tonight.
He always texted to ask.
Even though my response was always the same.
Extra pepperoni and don’t skimp on the garlic bread.
He never did.
But now . . . radio silence.
“Shit,” I muttered, grabbing my cell and pulling up DoorDash. I’d order my own damn pizza and garlic bread, and I’d watch a bad movie all on my own.
I didn’t need yummy-smelling, velvet-voice Damon Garcia.
No ma’am.
No—
The doorbell rang.
Since I was in the middle of a huff, I didn’t stop to glance through the window to check who it was, and actually, I was feeling a little off. Not just emotional, but also really tired and cranky.
Though that probably just circled me right back to emotional.
Plus, my boobs hurt.
And also another thing to be cranky about. My period was afoot.
Ah, to be a woman.
Such a joy.
Anyway, I’d already turned the knob and was pulling the door open by the time I’d realized that was a stupid thing to do. “Shit,” I muttered and slammed it shut.
Then I looked out the window.
Then I saw Damon, balancing some pizza boxes.
At which point, I realized he'd seen me acting like an idiot.
Cool.
“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the knob, just as the bell rang again. I pulled it open and stood back.
“I thought you were holding last week against me,” he murmured, lips curving up at the edges. “I didn’t want to cancel. I just . . .”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I hurried to say. “And I’m sorry I slammed the door on you. I was distracted and didn’t look through the window.”
“You should be apologizing to the pizza,” he said, holding up the boxes. “Your extra garlic bread almost hit the dirt”—he glanced down at the porch as he stepped inside—“or the concrete, rather.”
“Meh.” I locked up behind him, already feeling better because he was nearby. And no, I wasn’t contemplating that feeling further. I was going to be blissfully ignorant and just pretend my heart hadn’t expanded with joy when I’d seen him there standing outside my door. Good plan, Eden. Can’t backfire at all. “Shut up,” I said under my breath to my ever-spinning mind and then pushed everything extraneous from my thoughts and focused on Damon. And the garlic bread. “That’s what the five-second rule is for.”
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Just tired.”
“Hmm.” He stared at me for a heartbeat
