Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
–Peter
The movie ended too soon.
The soft comfort of leaning against Ezra, of letting my brain go blank for ninety whole minutes, vanished like my virginity after freshman year orientation in college. The theater lights flickered to life, bright and unforgiving, and I’m immediately slapped in the face by the reality of what tomorrow brings, and all the soon to be attention along with it. Needing a distraction, I thought about the upcoming school year.
I still had a few weeks before school started, but I needed to get my classroom fully set up. And I know Ezra—soft-hearted sucker that he is— will help. He can’t help himself. He loves the smell of schools for some sick reason. He says it’s the paint, glue, Crayola markers and broken dreams. It's his signature scent and I freaking love him for it.
I chewed my bottom lip, still, I should at least pretend to be responsible and go pick up more supplies tomorrow. Decide on a theme for this year’s fifth grade class. Last year, I swore if one more kid said “no cap” to me in the middle of a lesson, I’d make baseball caps the actual theme. Like, everywhere. On the walls. On the spelling tests. Hanging from the ceiling like a fashion-forward Sword of Damocles.
It was an empty threat, of course. That class moved on to sixth grade, unbothered and unscathed, while I remained behind—battle-worn and slightly traumatized.
Ezra tossed our popcorn in the trash, followed by the empty Twizzlers bag. Then, without a word, he slipped his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders.
I didn’t even realize I was cold. But my arms were covered in goosebumps, and my heart did something traitorous. It skipped a bit, reminding me that good guys do exist, and that sometimes they exist in the form of a best friend and a line that won’t and can’t ever be crossed. He was my only solid. You do not dabble with your solid. Everyone has one person, like the one that will die for you, go to prison for you, bury a body, and tell you you’re hot when your pants are on backwards; he’s my one and only. Losing him would be like losing the ability to breathe. I refused it. And as cranky as he acted, I knew I was his too. We didn’t have many friendship understandings or rules—except that one.
Do not fall for your best friend.
Do not sleep with your best friend.
Do not kiss your best friend.
And never, ever, marry your best friend, because what happens when the façade slips and you’re left with nothing. What if, you’re wrong? I glance at him, remembering my silent rules and wonder if he even knows if they exist? Probably not, he’d have already given me the spreadsheet with them if he did.
“See?” I teased. “You can be a gentleman.” I used the banter as armor, as a reminder of that line in the sand; best friend only.
He pushed his green glasses higher on his nose. “Last time I did that, the girl thought I was mugging her and maced me in the face.”
I frowned. “Was she… a stranger?”
He shook his head. “Grandma Blue, first time I met her. Remember? Oh wait, you don’t because you left early and abandoned me at the mall with her. National treasure, that woman. Tell her I say ‘hi.’”
I laugh out loud as we head to the car, still wrapped in his jacket like it’s some kind of protection spell. Ezra is a walking contradiction. He drives a blacked-out Corvette, quotes Sorkin scripts, and basically makes love to Microsoft Word. Life’s weird.
“You working tomorrow?” I asked as we cross the lot.
“Yeah,” he said, opening my door. “Helping develop an app that tells you what to eat. Also known as: the human brain. Should be super fun.”
I slid into the seat with a grin. “At least it pays well enough for you to live your best grandpa-core life. Rebuilding vintage PCs, collecting old processors, playing Oregon Trail until you die of dysentery…”
He shut the door and gets in on his side.
The engine roared to life. Ezra peeled out like Vin Diesel, which would be cooler if I didn’t know he once sprained his wrist trying to high-five someone after pickleball.
“At least I manage to stay alive on Oregon Trail,” he mutters. “And hey, you’re right—I shouldn’t complain. Tech money gives me flexibility. And time to help idiots do reality dating content for TikTok.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am your favorite idiot.”
Another snort. “The big practice date’s tomorrow, remember. I’ll come over early to film, get everything set up, make sure the guys sign NDAs, and handle the legal stuff you’d ignore if I wasn’t here.”
“That’s why I have you,” I said quietly. “I need you, Ezra.”
His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.