This was the best bad decision I’d made in a long time. Definitely better than my ill-advised purchase of the RompHim, though I maintained I rocked that outfit. The only issue with a button-up one piece was that I had to wrestle the entire thing off to take a piss. That and the fact that it squeezed my twig and berries like it was trying to make juice for Sunday brunch.

I ran my fingers through my unruly hair, the long, curly strands wreaking havoc on top of my head. A few quick swipes with the buzzer would tame them, but, then again, so would a hat. I inched a little closer to the mirror and skimmed my cheek, debating the same fate for my two-day stubble.

Screw it.

I trekked into the kitchen, my messy hair a problem for another day. On the counter sat a partially opened package the size of a small shoebox, a piece of duct tape curling back from the side that was pulled back. I snickered when I thought about what was inside—hundreds of tiny bouncy balls. No way in hell Felix was going to be able to guess that one.

A booming knock echoed through my apartment while I was shoulders deep in the refrigerator, a chicken wing in my mouth and a bowl of pasta salad cradled in the crook of my arm. “One sec!”

The bowl thunked as I set it down on the counter and I ripped off a chunk of cold chicken while I sauntered over to the door. I readjusted my gaze downward a bit after I swung the door open. “Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you.”

Felix wheeled right by me. “Dude, how many times to we have to go over this? Pants. You need to put on pants before you answer the door.” He shook his head.

I glanced down at my Captain America boxer briefs. “These don’t count? I mean, I think they should.”

“Let’s put it to the little sister test. Would you want Daphne hanging out with a guy who’s only wearing that?”

“Well, I’d applaud his taste in superheroes, but fine.” I took another bite off my drumstick. “Point taken.” I pointed the half-gnawed-on chicken wing at him. “You want some? Or macaroni salad? I think I’ve got some leftover pizza in the refrigerator, or some lo mein? Actually I may have—”

“I’m good.” He ran his hands over his wheels, gaze locking on to mine. “Actually, I just stopped by to bring you a present.”

He lobbed something at me. It rattled in the air and I managed to catch it with my non-chicken hand. “Tums? You brought me Tums?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “For your gut. I hear it’s been giving you some trouble lately.”

I licked my fingers clean. He’d always been a smart bastard. “What’d Jules tell you?”

“That if men just learned to talk about their issues instead of grunting like cavemen the world would be a better place.” Felix sighed. “But I’d have to be an idiot not to notice The Blackbird’s newest addition and that she’s the girl from the gala. She’s the redhead, isn’t she?”

“Dani.” Her name slipped through my lips. It seemed like the more times I allowed myself to say it, the easier it was to do. “That’s her.”

He drummed out a beat on his thighs. It was something he always did when he was thinking, parsing a situation. “You wanna tell me about her?”

I snickered around a forkful of macaroni. “You gonna braid my hair too?”

He flipped me a one-finger salute and a sarcastic smile.

“Fine.” I tossed my fork in the sink. It ricocheted around the basin with an echoing clang. Even though I’d mentally moved past it, dwelling on this part of our history never failed to rip the hunger right out of me.

I gave him the short and sweet version—the CliffsNotes to a depressing story no one would want to read. Just the highlights, the ups and downs. “Then she showed up at the gala and you know the rest.”

Felix had traded his distracted drumming for wheeling in endless circles around my apartment. Around the island, circling the dining room table, down the straightaway to the living room, running the length of the windows, and then back again. “So what’s the plan?”

“I . . . am going to Hogwarts.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he finally said, “Are you high?”

“It’s a metaphor.” I rolled my eyes. Sometime between seeing Dani go all ninja warrior on the guy at the bar and her fleeing the scene I’d come to a decision. “If you had the option of going to Hogwarts for a few weeks, months, maybe a year or never getting to go at all, what would you choose?”

“I’d go—”

“Exactly.” My stomach twinged so I sought out another fork and went back to work on the macaroni. “See, Dani and I were . . . indescribable. Like the hottest sex you’ve ever had times ten. But it was more than that. I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Let’s just say I know what you’re talking about.” Felix scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Well, no. I know you’re thinking about you and Jules and it’s not quite like that. Subtract all the love stuff from the equation and then you should know what I’m talking about.” I snapped my fingers. “It’s like I got to have phenomenal sex with my best friend. You know?”

“You realize that to the rest of the world I’m your best friend, right?”

I snickered. “I’m totally telling Jules you said that.”

“It’s like talking to a child.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Look, I know you’re all excited about going back to Hogwarts or whatever, but did you miss the part of your story where you were actually in love with Dani?”

“Past tense. This time I can set the rules, mitigate expectations, it will absolutely not be a big deal at all. Friends, sex, the end.” I traced an X over my heart. “This guy is not invited to the party.”

When I said it, it sounded like it could be true. Like it wouldn’t be a big deal at all. Mind over matter. If anything happened with Dani, I’d be going into it with my eyes wide open. It was what I did in my everyday life, the whole no-strings-no-attachment deal. Just because Dani and I had history didn’t mean things had to be more complicated than that.

“If you say so, man.”

I leveled my fork at him. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“I’m cautiously pessimistic.”

“The saying is actually cautiously optimistic.”

“And yet I feel more pessimistic than optimistic about the situation.”

“You suck.” I angled the bowl at him. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“Can’t.” His gaze traveled around the kitchen, purposefully avoiding mine.

“Can’t?” I laughed. “What, are you dieting?”

“The wedding planner gave me—”

“The wedding planner?” The laughter intensified so that I had to double over. “Scary Annabelle has you on a diet?”

“Fuck you.” He swung at me, half-heartedly, missed by a mile but managed to deliver a solid blow to the box on the counter. The cardboard box hesitated for a second, teetering on the edge before plummeting to the ground. Bouncy balls of every size exploded across the room—pink, purple, blue, ones with sparkles, and ones painted with swirls.

We both stared as they pinged across the room.

Felix gaped at me. “What. The. Hell.”