Chapter 3

So much for sleeping. My alarm goes off at its normal ungodly hour, but I haven't lost consciousness for a single second all night. My brain is too preoccupied with the man lying on my couch. My best friend since we were old enough to know what friendship is. The first boy I fell in love with. The guy I could never get over. The reason I moved away from home the first chance I got. The reason why all my relationships end with accusations that I'm emotionally unavailable.

There have been periods in my life when I tried to cut all ties with Beau. They never last. It hurts to be near him, to see him and talk to him, knowing I'll never have him. But it hurts even more to live without him. Either I'll miss him too much or he'll call me asking me where I've been. There's always something that draws me back to him, something that keeps me hooked, no matter how painful it is.

Beau has no idea, of course. He's straight. Always has been. He's never considered me to be anything other than a friend. He's never looked at another guy with even an ounce of interest.

I've only ever been tempted to say something that one time. Don't marry Lucy. I love you. Don't marry her. I didn't say that, though, at least not in so many words. I told him that Lucy was a nice girl, but they didn't seem like they were the right fit for each other. He didn't talk to me for a week after that. I can't imagine how he would've reacted if I'd told him what I'd really felt.

But now Lucy's gone. And he's here.

Not that it changes anything. He's still straight. I'm still in love with him. We're still best friends and we'll never be anything more than that.

Beau's a lump on the couch when I stumble out of the bedroom. But by the time I've relieved myself and brushed my teeth, the blankets he used are folded into a neat stack and the scent of coffee wafts out from the kitchen.

He pushes a mug toward me. The coffee is laced with cream and sugar, exactly the way I like my first cup. It's an indulgence, a jolt of richness to get the body pumping first thing in the morning.

I groan as the liquid gold flows through my veins.

Beau shakes his head. "There's more cream and sugar than there is coffee in that thing."

I throw him a glare over the edge of my mug. "It's only the first cup. Nothing wrong with easing my way into the day. There's plenty of time for plain black afterward."

"Mmhmm, sure." He takes a sip of his own black coffee. "Hitting the gym?"

I glance down at the workout clothes I'm wearing. "You want to come?"

His lips quirk into that smile that always makes my heart flip over in my chest. "Gotta make sure you still know what you're doing."

I don't bother with a snarky comeback. When it comes to anything gym-related, Beau's got me beat, hands down. I wasn't a complete nerd in high school—I was decent at track. But Beau was captain of the football team.

The gym I go to is downstairs in the same building. It's not fancy, but it's got all the standard machines and equipment. I can see Beau scoping the place out the second we step inside the door, assessing everything from the layout of the gym to the quality of their towels to their client-to-staff ratio.

"Up to par?" I ask.

"Hmm? Oh." He gives me a sheepish smile. "Yeah, it's fine. I just..." He glances around the gym again. "I've been toying with the idea of starting my own place. It's just a daydream, though. Nothing serious."

Nothing serious. Except now that he's mentioned it, I can totally see him doing it. Putting clients through their paces, designing workout schedules and nutritional plans, debunking the latest gym fads for how to get ripped quick. He knows how to run a gym. There's no reason why he shouldn't have his own.