California Dreamin' 4 - Belonging With Her Best Friend by Canary Kristin

Author:Canary, Kristin [Canary, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B09LY3KMXC
Publisher: Dreaming of You Press
Published: 2022-06-20T04:00:00+00:00

I normally sleep really well.

But ever since Eric became a guest in our house, sleep has been harder to come by. Add to that the sorta-kinda fight we had earlier today—well, given the fact it’s now two a.m., I guess it was technically yesterday—and I’ve been lying here in bed staring at my ceiling for the last several hours, totally sleep deprived.

The scene has played out over and over in my mind. Several of the preteens approached me after the carwash, teasing me about how cute Eric and I were together. Even Sonia—Sonia!—told me she thought we made an adorable couple. When I told her we weren’t together, she said, “Why not, honey? If I was twenty years younger, I’d be giving you some competition.”

But it’s Eric’s expression—and his accusation about changing for a guy and doing something I don’t want to do—that are giving me the most heartburn. Literally. (Never eat an entire half of a pizza in an attempt to drown your sorrows. It always comes back to haunt you. Or burn you, as it were. Ask me how I know this.)

He acted nonchalantly, but I can still see the stiffening of his shoulders, the angry bend of his lips, the strong tilt of his chin. And when he returned from inside Java Awakening, my favorite coffee in hand, I thanked him and set it on the curb—and didn’t touch it again.

Eric and I don’t fight often. In fact, I really can’t remember the last time I was actually angry at him. Hurt, sure. But what has him so twisted up? If he likes me (as my friends seem to think), then why doesn’t he just tell me so? And if he doesn’t, he has no right to be upset if I want to date another guy.

But maybe I’m actually upset at the situation, not him. At the fact that I want him to want me—and yet, I can’t want that.

My head hurts. Maybe an ice pack will offer some relief.

I climb out of bed and head down the hall, pausing before stepping into the living room. It’s darkened except for the blue glow of the television set. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust and I realize Eric is sitting on the couch staring at the muted TV.

He punches the remote. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Several long moments pass before I clear my throat and point toward the kitchen. “I was just going to get an ice pack.”

“Headache?”

“Yeah.” Then I start to move.

“Shelbs.”

I pause next to Eric, look down at him—really look. Sitting on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, his hair is disheveled and his scruff is strong tonight, and he’s wearing a white undershirt and blue and black checked pajama pants. He’s so … casual. And at home.

Here. In my house.

My fingers dig into my palms as I clench fists on either side of my body.

He catches sight of them and grimaces. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did today. I was a total jerk.

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