I hear a loud knock on my apartment door followed by Nathan’s voice. “Bree! You here?”
“Be out in a second!” I yell from my bathroom where I’ve just finished applying my face mask.
It’s only 5:30 PM. He’s a little early to pick me up for Jamal’s party, and I’m still in my strappy black leotard with my herringbone textured leggings overtop, but more importantly, bright green goo is currently hardening on my skin. I should probably worry about what Nathan will think of me in this thing, but honestly, he’s seen me in worse. And this is one of the perks of never anticipating a relationship with your best friend—you can look like dump and still hang out!
Welcome to the bright side, friends!
I leave the bathroom and head toward the kitchen where I see Nathan rummaging through my fridge. He’s bent over when I walk in, and my stomach does a flip at the sight.
“Apples are in the bottom drawer,” I say, forcing my gaze away from his derriere, because, umm hello, friends don’t ogle friends’ butts. Even when those butts look amazing in a pair of tight, grey chino pants.
“Ah—thank you.” He stands up and shuts the fridge with his spoils in hand. When he turns to face me, the apple is already between his teeth and he freezes mid-crispy-bite. His eyes widen and his smile grows on either side of the red forbidden fruit.
“What?” I ask, leaning back against the counter like everything is perfectly normal. “Do I have something on my face?”
He lets out a guttural laugh, and the sound is so him it stirs me in ways a woman with her face painted like a frog shouldn’t be feeling. In fact, I shouldn’t be thinking sexy thoughts toward Nathan ever, but it’s just…it’s DIFFICULT, okay? I’m a woman with very opinionated ovaries, and let me tell you, they’re real hussies. Currently, as Nathan rips the bite off that apple and tilts his head at me with a playful smile, they are down there waxing poetic about how his soft, white tee fits him so well it looks like a deity plucked him up by his feet and dipped him headfirst into a sensual cotton pond. In conclusion, I am deceased at the sight of him.
“Should I be worried about whatever is happening here?” He wiggles his big man fingers across the front of his face.
“Only because when I wash it off, I’ll be so devastatingly gorgeous you might die on the spot.”
It’s a joke, clearly a 100% facetious statement, but Nathan swallows his bite of apple, and then his eyes do a very odd thing: they tiptoe down my body.
It only happens that one time and his gaze doesn’t take the same path back up, but part of me wonders…no! No wondering! Shut up down there, you little instigators.
I register the wink of desire running through me and do the same thing I’ve always done over the last six years, what every good co-ed best friend dynamic has perfected. I dart around the kitchen like I have something very important to do, pretending like it never happened. At all costs, I NEVER acknowledge the feeling of desire.
I turn toward the counter at my back and find a cherry slushie in a Styrofoam cup. I gasp like it’s a goblet full of stolen jewels. “YOU BROUGHT ME A SLUSHIE!?” I have to say this in a way that projects my voice and conveys excitement without cracking the mask on my face. It’s an important skill to master in life.
I hear him chuckle and bite into the apple again. “You said you were craving one, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean for you to go get me one,” I say before putting the straw in my mouth and taking a long sip until my brain freezes deliciously.
Nathan is staring at me before looking grumpy and shooting his gaze down to his phone. “It’s really not a big deal.” He thumbs his screen then sets his phone down on the counter with a loud thud. “I’m so sick of this thing,” he says, dashing an anxious hand through his hair. “I feel like it goes off nonstop. I can never get a break.”
He leaves my little galley kitchen to move into the living room and plops down on my couch. I can’t help but chuckle at the sight of him, limbs completely sprawled out and hanging off every surface of my teeny-weeny furniture. He looks like he just climbed down the beanstalk and decided to nap on Baby Bear’s couch. His dark eyes close, and I sense how tired he is. Just looking at him and knowing the kind of schedule he has to keep makes me exhausted to my bones. I want to wrap him up in my bright yellow throw blanket, feed him soup, and make him watch cartoons all day.
“We could stay in and watch a movie, you know. I’m sure Jamal will understand if we miss his dinner.”
Nathan doesn’t open his eyes. “Nah, I want to go. It’s important to him that I be there.”
I sigh, knowing Nathan is as immovable on his reluctance to pass anything up in favor of resting as I am about taking money from him. I imagine a girlfriend would probably climb right on top of him and pin him down, giving him no choice but to stay in for the night.
But I’m not his girlfriend.
I shake myself from that fantasy. “Okay, well I need to go wash this goop off my face and then we can—”
I’m interrupted by the sound of Nathan’s phone buzzing on the kitchen counter. I look over my shoulder, but he holds up his hand, signaling for me to leave it be. “Shhh, no one move and maybe they’ll think I’m not home.”
“I can answer it and pretend they have the wrong number.”
“No one believed your French last time.”
That’s true. Tim, Nathan’s manager, made me hand Nathan the phone right away.
Nathan grabs the lime green pillow resting under his head and pulls it up to bury his face in. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction that hums through me because I get to see him like this, because he only lets his guard down with me. “I’m sure it’s just Nicole or Tim wanting another piece of my soul.”
The phone stops ringing.
“Someone is dramatic tonight.”
Nathan peeks over the pillow and lifts a brow. “I’m dramatic every night.”
His eyes shut again, and I let myself have one last good long look at him. He’s lying on top of a pile of clean clothes that have lived in that spot for a week. There are nail polishes scattered all over my coffee table and bills open on the floor. The funny thing is, Nathan is the physical manifestation of order and tidiness, but he’s never once tried to clean up my space. (And thank goodness because I know under the pile of leggings in the corner of my room is an open magazine with a red pen lying underneath, and if he ever moved that pile, I’d have no idea where the red pen is when I need it!) He’s never made a negative remark about how I like to live messy or suggested order in my life. He just lies down on top of my clothes.
I mentally grab myself by the ponytail and pry myself away from Nathan to rinse the cracking mask off of my face. I change into some cute and casual partygoing jeans and a t-shirt, and just as I’m exiting my room, I hear a loud series of quick buzzes erupt from Nathan’s phone in the kitchen. It’s a new voicemail alert. I’m down my short hallway and almost to the living room when Nathan yells, “Hey Siri, play that voicemail.”
I love technology. Giving us these little servants.
The next voice I hear, though, stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s my landlord.
“Hello, Mr. Donelson, this is Vance Herbert…”
I turn around and make eye contact with Nathan, who’s now sitting up stiff as a board on the couch. We both stare at each other for exactly one second, and then we simultaneously bolt for the kitchen. I was closer, though, so I’m the one to get to the phone first.
I pick it up and make a break for my bedroom. Nathan is right on my heels and trying to catch my arms, but I zigzag and evade his grip. Quick, someone put me in the NFL. We sound like a pack of elephants stampeding the apartment building, all while Vance’s voice continues on in a soft, monotone cadence. “I just wanted to let you know that all of the paperwork has been finalized—”
“BREE! GIVE ME THAT PHONE!”
“Not a chance!”
I make it into my bedroom and try to slam the door in his face, but his big hand catches it and thrusts it back open. I lunge to jump over my bed, hoping to make it to my bathroom where I can lock the door. But Nathan grabs my hips mid-jump and hauls me down onto my bed. I grew up with an older sister, though, so I’m practically CIA level when it comes to protecting my stuff.
I shove the phone down into my bra—the one place I know Nathan will never go.
Just as he flips me over so my shoulders hit the mattress and he’s hovering over me, arms pinning me in on either side, we hear the final words from Vance. “…and you are the official owner of the building. I had my realtor pass the keys along to yours and will be calling Ms. Camden to let her know I’ve sold the building and she’ll have a new landlord from now on—but as discussed, I will not mention your name. If you or your realtor could call me back and let me know which name and contact you would like me to give her, I’d much appreciate it. Have a nice day.”
The room goes eerily silent, except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I’m looking down at where his cell phone is silhouetted under my sports bra, and when I lift my gaze, Nathan’s black eyes are staring at me. He looks like a man who just lost everything in a bad hand of poker.
“You…?”
He doesn’t need me to finish my sentence. “Yes.”
Neither of us make an effort to move, and for a moment the shock of it all leaves me frozen. My eyes trace the line from Nathan’s shoulder down his bicep, to his elbow, over his tan forearm dusted lightly with hair, and to his hand pressed into my comforter.
“You bought the whole building?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
“Wh—why?”
The look on his face says he does not want to answer. “Because I’ve been wanting to invest in real estate?”
“Nathan.”
He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple go up and down. I can feel his body heat all around me. “Because he kept changing the terms of the lease agreement and it was just easier to buy it outright than negotiate again. The guy is sleazy.”
I blink a hundred times. “Wait…why did you say the lease agreement, and not your lease agreement?”
The fact that he takes several seconds to respond almost tells me everything I need to know before he even speaks. “Because technically for the last four years…it’s been our lease agreement.”
The reality of it crashes into me and I shoot out from under him to pace the room. “NATHAN! Have you been paying part of my rent all this time?!”
He swivels his legs so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his knees in front of him, watching me walk back and forth. “Yes. I have.”
I groan/whimper as dollar signs suddenly start rotating through my vision like a slot machine. Nathan has been helping me financially for FOUR YEARS when I have explicitly told him I don’t want any of his money! This is one of my rules for being friends with him: No accepting monetary gifts. These rules are important to me because they help me keep our friendship in the right box. If I start letting him help financially, if I move in with him, if I attend fancy events and partake in all the perks girlfriends get, I’ll get confused!
He might think it’s nothing because he doesn’t have feelings for me, but I will 100% get things mixed up in my head, and it will crush me when he never wants to be more than friends. Maybe I’m silly, but I’d prefer to not have my heart stuffed into a trash compactor if I can avoid it.
“So the first time…all those years ago when Vance told me he was going to raise the rent and then had a sudden change of heart…that was you? You called him and negotiated to pay the part of my rent I couldn’t afford?”
Nathan’s long lashes blink his answer in morse code. “Bree…”
I whip around to him so hard I’m sure I’ll have a crick in my neck tomorrow. “What? Do you want to apologize now that you got caught? Now that you’re in trouble?”
“No.”
“No?!” Somehow that answer is even more infuriating.
“I can’t apologize because I’m not sorry that I did it.” He’s so calm and collected. Mr. Cool Cucumber here to throw on his sunglasses and show us all up.
I, in comparison, feel like Ms. Erratic Woman Who Stuck Her Finger In a Light Socket. “How can you not be sorry? You went behind my back! You lied to me all these years. Oh gosh, I’m thousands of dollars in your debt!” My hands press into my cheeks.
“You owe me nothing. Not a single dime. You’re not in my debt because I don’t need anything from you.”
“Yes, I do owe you!” My voice is screeching. “How can you not see that this is horribly uncomfortable for me, Nathan? I told you I didn’t want to take your money, and I meant it.”
Part of his cool and collected facade is cracking. He stands quickly. “Why? I’ve never understood! It makes no sense to me. You are my best friend, so why can’t I help you when you need money? I have more than I know what to do with!”
“Because you won’t always be here for me, Nathan!” Okay, whoa, that was way too loud. My statement cuts through the air like a foghorn in a bar fight. People are poised with chairs over their heads, ready to crack them down on their fellow outlaws and all blinking at me.
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because it’s true.” I can’t meet his eyes while I say this. “We’re just friends. What happens when I start relying on you financially and then one day you get married and your wife suddenly doesn’t like it that you’re paying for another woman’s rent and all the other things you’d pay for if I let you?”
He shifts from one foot to the other. “I…I wouldn’t marry someone who would be like that. I’ll find someone who’s comfortable with our friendship the way it is.”
I laugh a short, sad laugh. “There is not a single woman who would ever be okay with it, Nathan! It’s an inevitable fact that we have to face. One day we will not be able to be so close anymore. You will fall in love and marry a kickass woman who wants you all to herself—as she should—and you will want to give her your whole heart too. That is why I cannot rely on you financially.” There’s an uncomfortable twisting in my chest. It’s only half of the truth, but it’s all I can reveal.
I stare at him, hoping he will finally get it through his beautiful, benevolent head that I can’t let him be my sugar daddy.
Finally, after a long, thoughtful pause, he says, “How come you’re not also falling in love and getting married in this scenario?” His tone is nothing but playful. “Seems unfair that I get to find my fairytale love and you’ll be over there penniless and lonely.”
I growl and shake my fists in the air. “I’M PAYING YOU BACK!” I punctuate it with an indignant stomp. Ceiling drywall dust flits through the air like snow.
He shakes his head. “No you’re not. I won’t let you.”
“Yes. I. Am.” I blink furiously at him. “I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I will find a way to pay you back. And I expect a normal lease agreement to be settled between us! No deals!”
“Can you stop yelling? Your whole ceiling is about to cave in. And seriously, Bree, that smell is getting worse. It might be more than one dead raccoon.”
He’s lost all reason! Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs! I’m over here telling him our friendship has a ticking clock on it and negotiating a fair rent, while he’s in la-la land talking about raccoons.
“You will not distract me.” I jab a finger right in the center of his taut chest. “It’s time for you to promise me you will stop meddling in my financial affairs. Promise me right now or I’m not going with you to Jamal’s party tonight.” I cross my arms and jut my hip out. There. I’m in charge of this show, buddy.
A dangerous glint slowly enters Nathan’s eyes as he steps closer, forcing me to press my finger harder into his chest. “Sorry, but no.” He steps a little closer. “Do you know what it’s like to see your best friend care for every single person under the sun but herself? I watch you pour everything into those girls and their families, going above and beyond to not only give them incredible dance instruction but also make them feel loved in the process. And for some reason, you think that same kindness shouldn’t be extended toward yourself.”
His smile turns defiant now.
“Well, tough, friend. I have millions of dollars and I will spoil you with them if I want. You’re going to have to throw me off a bridge if you don’t want me meddling in your life, because that’s what friends do. So get used to it. Oh, and you’re getting a good deal on your damn rent from now on. So are the people in the pizza parlor below the studio.”
I gasp. “Not fair! You don’t get to go all soft-squishy-teddy-bear Nathan on me!”
“I just did. And if it helps you sleep at night, pretend I only did all of this as charity for your girls. It had nothing to do with you.”
“That’s it. I’m not going with you tonight. End of story. You need to be taught a lesson.” I fold my arms. I am a solid, immovable stone. I will not be swayed!
Nathan’s laugh is the last thing I hear before I’m scooped up and tossed over his shoulder, butt aimed up toward the sky.
