“It’s called Word Nerd.”
“—have a nickname for her that no one else uses, and hang out with her even though you’re allergic to her cat. Did I miss anything?”
“I’m also allergic to Mack, but I still hang with him.”
Mack slapped a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt. Truly.”
Colton raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that I don’t understand why you’re friend-zoning yourself on purpose.”
“Leave him alone,” came a calm but commanding voice from the other end of the table. It belonged to Malcolm James, NFL player, resident feminist, and Zen master. “Men and women can be friends without it needing to be sexual.”
“Except in his case, he actually wants to have sex with her,” Colton said.
Noah clenched his fist against the table. “Watch it.”
“Yeah, dude,” Mack said, shaking his head. “That was uncalled for. We don’t talk about women like that.”
Colton shrugged sheepishly and mumbled an apology.
Malcolm spoke again. “The so-called friend zone is nothing but a social construct designed to give a man an excuse to justify why a woman might not want to have sex with him. It’s a bullshit lie, and we all know that. So leave Noah alone about his relationship with Alexis. We should be commending him for proving that men and women can truly be friends.”
Like a class that had just been chastised by their favorite teacher, the table fell silent but for the crinkle of paper.
It didn’t last long. Mack finally looked up with a sigh. “All I’m saying is that maybe she’s ready, Noah.”
Noah felt something pop in his brain.
“It’s been eighteen months since—”
“Don’t say it,” Noah snapped. As if he needed Mack pointing out the calendar. Noah knew exactly how long it had been since he’d met Alexis. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was the circumstances.
And they weren’t right. Not then. Not now.
Maybe not ever. Which was as depressing a thought as the idea of dancing.
Noah stared at the plastic bag on the table. He didn’t want it or their help. And he sure as shit didn’t need romance novels to remind him that he was currently a walking romantic disaster. Unrequited love made for a pathetic happy ever after.
But when things broke up an hour later, Noah took the book with him. Because if he had to pretend to read a damn book to get Mack off his back, so be it.
CHAPTER TWO
This was it. Alexis Carlisle could feel it. This was the day the shy young woman was finally going to talk to her.
For a full week, the woman with the long brown hair and rotating collection of sweatshirts had been coming into the ToeBeans Cat Café—the coffee shop Alexis owned—to sit quietly in a corner with a book, alternating between petting one of the café’s resident felines and shooting nervous glances at Alexis.
But today, she didn’t have a book. Today, she simply looked around, her gaze lingering on Alexis whenever she thought Alexis wasn’t paying attention.
In the eighteen months since Alexis had come forward as one of more than a dozen victims of sexual harassment by celebrity chef Royce Preston, Alexis’s café had become a gathering spot for other survivors of harassment and violence. Nearly every week brought a new woman to the café in search of a supportive ear, an understanding hug, or guidance on how to get out of a bad situation. Alexis didn’t choose this, but it had become her responsibility. Along the way, she’d learned to spot the signs of a woman ready to talk.
She turned to the barista—her friend and fellow Royce survivor, Jessica Summers. “Can you handle the counter for a little while? I’m going to try something.”
Jessica nodded, and Alexis jogged into the back and through the kitchen to the closet where she kept the box of gardening supplies she used to maintain the brick landscaping beds that flanked the front door of the café. They were in desperate need of weeding and pruning, and this idea could maybe kill two birds with one stone. She lugged the box through the café, pretending to struggle more than she really was with its weight. As she approached the door, she wedged the box against the window and once again pretended to struggle as she reached for the handle.
The act worked. The young woman approached with a tentative smile. “D-Do you need some help?”
Alexis schooled her face into what she hoped was gentle friendliness and hid the fact that her insides were skipping rope and singing a summer-camp song. “Thank you, yes,” she said, hoisting the box against her chest. “I need more hands.”
The woman reached around Alexis to open the door and then took another step back to allow Alexis to walk outside.
“Chilly today, huh?” Alexis said, bending to set the box on the sidewalk.
The girl let the door swing shut. She pulled her hands inside the cuffs of her sweatshirt as she answered. “Yes. I—I didn’t expect it to be this cold here.”
“You’re not from Nashville?” Alexis crouched to pretend she was looking for something in the box. She wanted to keep the conversation going but didn’t want to be too aggressive. The last thing the women who found their way to her café needed was someone prodding them to talk before they were ready.
“Huntsville,” the woman said. “It’s still a lot warmer there than here.”
Alexis found her gardening gloves and stood, as if that’s what she’d been looking for all along. “I’ve never been to Alabama. How far of a drive is that?”
“Only a couple of hours. That’s why I thought maybe it would be the same weather here.”
Alexis shoved her gloves in her pocket. “We’re just having an early cold snap,” she said, keeping her voice as light and casual as possible.
“Maybe.” The young woman bit her lip.
Alexis extended her hand. “I’m
