Pretty Boy D by Rachel Jonas

7

Joss

After “work”—if I can even call it that yet—I finished unpacking my things, put Victor someplace safer than a shoebox in the closet, then broke down all the boxes and took them out to the dumpster. I even got up the nerve to call my uncle, only to have him confirm that he did in fact give my internship spot to whoever was next in line. He apologized profusely, but then explained that he had to act quickly. With plans to spend the summer in Europe, as soon as my father reached out, the runner up got the call.

It burns knowing that my father—someone I thought had my best interest at heart—would do something so underhanded. But I’m starting to see the man for who he really is.

Selfish. Mean. The asshole of all assholes.

Shake it off, Joss. You were doing great. Just move forward.

On a lighter note, with all the boxes gone, my room feels a bit homier and less like a storage room. With so much time on my hands, I even got some of Dane’s things put away. He’s a guy and it would’ve sat there forever otherwise.

Now, as I stand at the stove, preparing dinner, I’m hoping this gesture doesn’t give the wrong impression. The point is to show my gratitude for Dane opening his place to me, but now that I’m thinking about it, unpacking his things and cooking for him might come across a bit too… girlfriend-y.

Well, shit. I’ve already spent my last dime on chicken, rice, and roasted carrots. No turning back now.

Bored and waiting for the timer to go off, I grab my phone from the counter and scroll through my feed, seeing what I’ve missed after keeping busy all day. Mostly, it’s pics of people’s meals, mixed drinks, and pets, but an image posted an hour ago has my full attention.

A lean torso covered in sweat, biceps far more stacked than even just a few months ago, and a face that’s handsome, but not too handsome. Rugged is a good word. The look he’s giving is anything but innocent. It’s lethal.

Yeah, he definitely lives up to the name Pretty Boy D.

I haven’t blinked in a full minute because I’m stuck gawking at him, imagining what my best friend looks like without clothes.

Not my proudest moment.

Thislapse reminds me of the one I had when he came into my room this morning, half-naked. So, I check the reaction quickly this time, opting to peek at the comments instead since doing so is officially my job now.

As expected, the reactions are about as explicit as what I found in his private messages earlier, only no nudes. If I didn’t already know it, I would after such a close look at his account—these women want him.

Bad.

“You cooked?”

Shocked, my eyes flash toward Dane at the sound of his voice. I was so engrossed in his update I hadn’t even heard him come in. He can’t see my screen, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like a kid caught sneaking cookies.

“I… I um… yeah,” I finally force out, fumbling to shove the phone inside my pocket.

His eyes narrow with suspicion. “Shit, was that porn or something?”

He flashes a wicked smirk when asking and, naturally, the sight of it makes me even more jumpy.

“What? No.”

He’s still giving me that look. “Let me see your phone then,” he teases, coming closer.

“It wasn’t that. I was just—”

You were what, exactly? Staring at his pic? Staring at the waistline of his shorts, wishing you had magical powers to see what he’s hiding beneath them?

He’s laughing now, letting his gaze slip over me. “Damn, was it that kinky?”

I’m positive my face is red now. The heat blooming upward from my neck tells me so.

“It was just something personal,” I lie, which I normally hate to do, but this doesn’t count.

His glare stays trained on me for a bit, then he backs off, allowing my heart to settle again.

Finally.

“Now that the interrogation’s over, you hungry?” I ask, still trying to mask my own guilt.

“Starving.” After answering, he watches as I move to the oven to peek inside.

“Well, the chicken’s almost done.”

“Good thing I showered at the gym then. Just let me put my stuff away.”

I nod as he walks off, pretending I didn’t just picture that—him covered in lather, rinsing it down the drain until all I see is smooth, bare skin.

By the time he makes it back, I’ve plated the food and gotten us set up on the fire escape. It’s a perfect night to dine outside, so we’ll make use of the small, wrought-iron table and matching chairs the previous renter left behind.

“Out here.”

Dane diverts his path when I call out, then drops down into the seat across from mine. As I stare at his tousled hair, the way the faint rays of the summer sunset touch his skin, I realize I was right.

Cooking him dinner does feel extremely girlfriend-y.

Not even sure that’s a word, but I’ve used it twice now, so I’m gonna pretend it’s a thing.

“I saw that you put some of my shit away. I owe you,” he says, glancing up from his plate to flash a smile.

“I hope that wasn’t invasive. I just had extra time and thought I’d help you out. Having extra time is also the reason I cooked,” I add with a nervous laugh. “Well, that and because I wanted to show my appreciation.”

“For?” he asks, popping a carrot into his mouth.

“For letting me stay here. For being a good friend. All of it.”

Chewing, he shrugs casually. “You never have to thank me for anything, Joss, but… you’re welcome.”

God, he’s perfect.

I’m failing at this whole keep-things-in-perspective plan, so I try to make light conversation.

“You know, I was thinking. We should decorate out here. I mean, it’s bigger than most fire escapes, so we could totally string some lights around the rail, get some clay pots out here, a few plants…”

Sunlight makes the green centers of his eyes burn when he peers up, cutting his chicken while smiling.

“What? You hate it?”

He shakes his head, taking a bite. “Nope. Opposite. I like that you’re making plans, feeling at home.”

I suppress a grin by sipping from my glass.

“Been sleeping okay?” he asks. “I know being in a new place can be weird.”

I shrug. “Actually, it’s been fine. How about you?”

He shrugs, too. “Pretty sure I’ll rest better once I have an actual bed.”

When he mentions it, I feel kind of bad his new one—a custom-made California king—won’t be delivered for a little while yet.

“Not to mention how sore I’ll be once practice starts next week. Should be fun,” he jokes. “Aren’t you starting cheer soon?”

“Yeah, but we won’t be meeting as often as you guys. Thank God,” I add with a laugh.

“You nervous?”

“About being on the squad? Nah, not really. Won’t be too different from dance as far as conditioning is concerned.”

He nods, agreeing. Then, my phone vibrates for about the third time in the last sixty seconds. It’s still in my pocket from when I tried hiding it, so it rumbles against the wrought-iron seat, loud and obnoxious.

“Need to get that?”

I meet his gaze when he acknowledges it this time. I set my fork down to silence it. “Sorry. It’s Carlos. I can call him back.”

“Ah, Carlos,” he says in a tone I find extremely hard to read. “So… what are you two exactly? Friends? More?”

I glance up at him, unable to hide my smile. “Funny you should ask. He was wondering the same about me and you.”

There’s a pleased smirk on his lips now. “Interesting.”

“Yup. As soon as I told him we’re sharing this place, he gave me the look.”

He knows exactly what I’m talking about. It’s the same look we’ve been getting since we were young. That look of disbelief when we tell anyone that the only thing between us is friendship.

“Your guy friends always feel threatened,” he adds with a cocky air to his tone, letting me know he isn’t completely oblivious as to why. I mean, he’s seen himself in the mirror.

“Well, he can feel however he wants about it. I’m pretty sure whatever we’ve got going on is dead in the water. We live a world apart.”

I spoon rice into my mouth before looking at Dane again. He’s kind of picking over his food now, which is a far cry from how he’d been enjoying it a moment ago.

“What is it? Does something not taste right?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

“No, everything’s great.” That answer leaves me even more confused, which is why I set my fork down and reach for my napkin.

“Then, what is it?”

It takes a bit for him to even look at me, but when he does, I see more than I think he means for me to see.

“I’m just wondering… is that the only reason it’s not working between you two? Distance?”

The question seems simple enough, but it feels loaded. Like, he’s asking a question wrapped inside another question.

One I’m not sure I want to answer.

Scrambling for a response, I shrug. “I mean, I suppose that’s had a lot to do with it. Our only means of communication is video chat, and we can’t build much of a foundation with thousands of miles between us.”

When I finish, Dane nods slowly, thoughtfully, but his eyes never leave me. My heart flutters, and now I’m worried that I’m the one being too transparent.

So, I scramble again.

“But this Shawna thing should be good, right? I mean, from the looks of it, she’s got a pretty big following. That’ll lead to some crossover once you two start making appearances together. Assuming that’s Rose’s agenda, that is.”

The next look I get from him hits me right in the chest. It’s like he’s confused and wounded at the same time, maybe wondering why I’d bring that up now.

Don’t bend on this. You know the lines have to stay clean. No blurring whatsoever.

“I’ll reach out to her first thing in the morning to set something up for you guys,” I say quickly, before I change my mind altogether.

I still have his attention, and it’s incredibly uncomfortable. Mostly, because he has yet to respond to my announcement. But then he swallows hard and seems to snap out of… whatever that was.

“Yeah, of course. Sounds good.”

We finish eating in silence, and I gather our dishes when we’re done, needing an excuse to put space between us.

You’re doing the right thing, Joss.

I mean, aren’t I? Not only is setting him up with Shawna good for his career and good for strengthening his rapport with Rose, but I’m beginning to think it’s good for our friendship, too. Maybe if we aren’t so focused on each other things won’t get so confusing. So… overwhelming.

I set our dishes on the edge of the sink and start rinsing them to load into the dishwasher. Meanwhile, my thoughts are a mess, wondering if I just made a stupid move. I feel so torn I’m sick to my stomach, but only until I give myself a reality check.

Mom and Dad were best friends once. Then, they gave into their feelings and, from there, the relationship went to shit. I’ve seen that scenario play out with my own eyes, so it’s decided. No matter what my heart says, I have to think with my head. Dane and I can never be more than what we already are.

Period.