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He leaned back with a sigh, his head on my thigh, and looked up at me. “Yes. That did help. You were right.”

“Told you.”

“Thanks.”

But he didn’t move. His eyes had closed, and he seemed to be half asleep.

His head was practically in my lap. It didn’t seem to faze him, but it felt incredibly intimate to me. Suddenly, my heart was racing and my mouth was dry. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Nothing else existed at that moment. I had never seen anything as ruggedly beautiful as him. His jaw was strong and square, and at least a day’s worth of dark stubble covered his cheeks. His lips were soft and full. He never wore sunglasses, and there were small squint lines around his eyes, slightly pale against his tan face. His lashes weren’t long, but they were thick and jet black.

I could have looked at him all night. I was aware of some strange feeling which seemed to suffuse my entire being. It was overwhelming—almost painful yet not unpleasant. I felt that I must certainly be glowing with it. This current that was flowing through me felt like a fever through my skin. Surely he could feel it where his head was touching my thigh. How could he be so close to me, touching me, and not sense what I was feeling? I had always been attracted to him. I had always enjoyed spending time with him. But I realized at that moment that at some point over the past few weeks, it had become something more.

I loved him.

It was a painful realization—so painful that it took my breath away—discovering that I was totally in love with this man who would never love me back.

I wanted nothing more than to kiss him and was both annoyed and relieved that I could not possibly do it from where I sat. I knew I would not have been able to stop myself otherwise. My hand moved of its own volition and came to rest along his cheek, my fingertips just touching his jaw. His eyes drifted open, and he looked up at me, his green-in-gray eyes looking into mine, and I knew he could see it in my eyes. There was no way he could look at me at that moment and not know what I was feeling.

He slowly put his hand up, grabbed my fingers, and pulled them away from his cheek. He didn’t let go of my hand. His voice was very quiet but very gentle when he asked, “Are you sure you’re not making a pass at me?”

I couldn’t even answer at first. It certainly had not been my intention at the beginning, but at that moment, I didn’t think I could bear to not have him.

“Would it work?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

He hesitated for a second, but whether it was because he was unsure of the answer or because he knew I wasn’t going to like his answer, I didn’t know. But then, just slightly, he shook his head. “No.”

It was the answer I expected, and yet I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had to close my eyes, had to remind myself to take a single, shaking breath. I could barely speak around the sudden lump in my throat. “I guess it doesn’t matter then, does it?”

I started to pull away, but his hand, still holding my fingers, suddenly gripped tight. “Jared?” When I looked back down at him, he said, “Do you want me to leave?”

The question surprised me, and I answered honestly. “No. Not at all.” I pulled my hand away from his and stood up, not facing him, one hand over my eyes. “Matt, I….” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but what came out was, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said it with such gentle honesty, and it made me feel a little better. It was a relief to know that at least my desire for him would not cost me his friendship. But I still couldn’t look at him. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him get up and put his shirt back on. He came over and put his hand on my shoulder, waiting until I finally looked up at his face. He gave me an almost-smile and said, “Come on. Let’s go make those nachos.”

WE SPENT the last Sunday of August on my couch watching football. We were as excited as kids on Christmas to have the season under way. For the morning game we cheered for the same team, but for the afternoon game we were cheering against each other. I had never experienced such a perfect feeling of camaraderie. We laughed at each other and insulted each other and occasionally threw things at one another and drank too much beer. And near the end, he sighed happily, leaned back next to me on the couch, and said, “I’m definitely coming here every Sunday.”

“Don’t forget there’s football on Mondays too.”

CHAPTER 14

I RIDE my bike to and from work year ’round, resorting to my car only when there’s snow on the ground. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve always suspected that it’s the only reason I’ve managed to stay thin. Most of the time I enjoy it but not today. We were having one of our late afternoon thunderstorms, very common for Colorado in early September. The rain was chilly, and visibility was limited. The worst part was that I had originally planned to stop at the store on the way home since there was nothing edible in my house. But with the rain, I found all I really wanted to do was get home and get dry.

Maybe Matt would come by tonight, and we could order a pizza.

I had my head down and was pedaling down the sidewalk as fast as I could when a car hit me. It was coming out of a driveway, moving slow, which is probably what saved me. The driver was talking on his cell phone, not paying attention—just like Lizzy always predicted. I hoped she would be happy.

He hit me on my left side. I felt the front of the hood hit my head, and then I flew out into the street. Later, I would realize how lucky I was that no cars were coming. I slid a few feet across the asphalt on my right side before coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking! Are you hurt?” The driver was already out of his car and leaning over me. I recognized him from around town. His name was Jason. Other than that I didn’t know anything about him.

“I think I’m okay.” Actually, I had no idea. I was stunned and trying to survey the damage. Nothing hurt yet, but that didn’t mean anything.

“I think I better take you to the hospital.”

When I looked up at him, I was surprised to see how scared he looked.

“I think I’m okay.” I was actually more worried about the state of my bike.

“You’re bleeding.” Jason pointed toward my left ear.

I put my hand against my head, and it came away covered in blood which was quickly washed away again by the rain. “Oh shit.” I realized there was blood on my shirt and in the rainy water on the street.

Jason was starting to panic now. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

The pain was starting to come now too. It was either let him take me or wait here for cops and an ambulance. I got in his car.

“THE wound on your head looks worse than it actually is,” the doctor told me. “Of course, if you had been wearing a helmet, you would be home by now with only a few bumps and bruises instead of bleeding in my emergency room.” I knew he was right. Worse than that, I knew that Lizzy, Brian, and my mom were all going to give me the same lecture at least a hundred times over the next few days. “There’s no sign of concussion, so once we’ve got your wounds clean and bandaged, you’ll be able to go home. Do you have somebody you can call to pick you up?”