“So do you think you can make it?” Abigail, my editor, says to me over the phone. “Again, I am so, so sorry that this is last minute. Things at the publishing house have been crazy lately, everyone is gearing up for the summer.”

“I can make it,” I tell her.

“Great, I’ll go ahead and book the flight and email you all the details.” She pauses. “Will you be going alone or should I try and get two seats. If I get two, then I’m afraid it can’t be a business class seat.”

“Uh,” I stammer. “I—I don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to process it…”

“I understand. How about you email me later today and let me know. Don’t want to wait too long, the LAX to New York flights are often sold out at such short notice.”

I tell her thank you and hang up, dazed.

My editor just called to tell me they’re having a book launch party in New York for the release of Everything’s Ruined, and obviously, they want me to attend. It’s a month before the actual release of the book, which is why the whole thing has caught me by surprise but she says it’s mainly for the review sites and there will be a lot of bloggers, press and industry people there, plus advanced review paperbacks to give out.

Now my dilemma is whether to go by myself or not.

It’s been ten days since that incident with Marina’s dad.

Ten days since I stayed the night at her house.

Ten days since she fell asleep in my arms.

Ten days since I realized I’m in so fucking deep with her, there’s no way out for me.

And despite the fact that I kept my hands to myself, that we didn’t even kiss, that I showed a fuck load of restraint to not completely devour her, things have changed between us.

It was apparent the next morning. The ease we have around one other was gone. Tension replaced it instead. I know Marina was smarting because of what happened with her father, I know she felt ashamed and embarrassed and I did what I could to let her know her feelings were unwarranted. What happened with her father was rough, there was no doubt about that. But it only made me want her more, to know that I was shown this dark part of her life. It made me feel special.

But even with all of that, I wonder if she’s feeling what I’m feeling. This shift that grows bigger and bigger each day, like two fault lines sliding against each other, inches at first, until, over time, you can’t bridge the gap. You can only fall into the void between the people you used to be to each other.

Marina will never stop being everything to me. She always was. But now…she’s becoming more. She’s no longer a part of my life, she is my life. Every single waking thought I have, it’s about her. Every word that yearns to leave my pen, they’re about her. The friend I had, the girl I thought I knew, I was only scratching the surface with her before. I had no idea just how perfect for me she could be.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. On paper, we’re still friends. We still text and talk, even though we haven’t seen each other in the last ten days because we’re so busy.

At least, I hope that’s the case. I’ve been busy writing, going to the gym, practicing new songs with the band and auditioning new keyboard players. I’m trying not to think about the book because, honestly, it’s terrifying. But I would shove all of that to the side if it meant being with her. Ten days is a long time to be apart and even though it was sometimes the norm for us back when we were friends, well, this just shows how much things have changed.

But Marina has other plans. She’s determined to bring in extra income to her business, so with the whole couples dating night being a bust (I mean, whoever thought combining bees and romance together would work has a few screws loose), she’s trying to take her classes online and make educational beekeeping videos that people pay for. Which means writing out a lot of material for her to go over before she even takes it to camera.

I’ve offered to help her film when it comes time but until then, she’s pushed me to the side and I can only hope that it has nothing to do with the changes in our relationship. We’re on that razorback ridge between being actual friends and being something more and I wouldn’t blame her if she was too scared to take the first step in either direction.

Still, I don’t want to go to New York alone. I wouldn’t take Scooby or Frank, so Marina is the only one I really want by my side.

I decide to call her.

Marina picks up on the third ring. “Hey,” she says softly and her voice is like an arrow to my heart.

I’m fucked.

“Hiya,” I say back, smiling as a reflex, probably like an idiot, and so glad she can’t see me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just outside, having a coffee, watching the girls.” She sounds relaxed and happy which immediately puts my heart at ease. With all the turmoil with her father lately, it’s a nice change.

“How are the online courses coming?”

“I’m almost done. Thank god. I don’t know if it will be complete shit or not but hey, it is what it is.”

“It won’t be shit. It’ll be mint. You know your stuff. Maybe you could incorporate that waggle dance for the camera.”

She laughs. “Yeah right. This big ol’ butt of mine wouldn’t even fit on the screen.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of your arse.” I pause. “Speaking of your arse, how about it coming to New York with me this weekend.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I guess there was a better way to say that. My publishers are throwing a party for me in New York this weekend. In Manhattan.”

“But your book doesn’t come out for like six weeks, right?”

“You’re right.” I’m impressed she remembers. Then again she’s always been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to Everything’s Ruined. “But they wanted to get a jump on it. It’s more for publicity and connections. I guess they want me to meet people.”

“Well that’s awesome. I’m so happy for you.”

“So will you come?”

“You honestly want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ll have to see about funds, I’m not sure I can swing it right now.”

“Marina, you’d be covered.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Then she gasps. “Oh my god, if it’s in New York, then obviously Jane is coming right?”

Oh right. Jane.

“Well, I suppose, I haven’t talked to her yet but…”

“Of course she’s coming. New York is like a few hours by train from Boston. Oh my god, this will be so cool. Are you sure you can cover me?”

“Yeah, the publishers said I could take someone. Don’t worry, they’re paying, not me.”

“Oh this is so exciting. I’ll have to get a new dress. I’ll get to see Jane. I have to invite Naomi too, make it a total girl’s trip.”

“Naomi?” I repeat. Not that I have anything against my stepsister or Naomi, but this has suddenly morphed into something else entirely. I had wanted to invite Marina to New York. Just Marina. Show her off as my date. Maybe…get a hotel room together.

But obviously I’m being a fucking loon right now because that’s not on her radar whatsoever. It’s gone from a potential romantic weekend away to a bloody girl’s trip.

“Laz?”

“Huh?”

“It’s okay if Naomi comes, right? I mean I know I just invited her and all and it’s cool if you say no. I know for sure you wouldn’t have to pay for her. It’s just with what happened with Robert and now they’re going through a divorce, I think it would be good for her.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. She can come. The more the merrier.”

Marina practically squeals. “Okay, great! Yay! I’ll give her a text and let her know. Do you want to invite Jane yourself or should I?”

“Go ahead. It’s your girl’s weekend right now,” I say flatly, wondering if she’ll pick up on my tone.

She doesn’t. The one time she’s not overly intuitive. “Okay I’ll do that. And Laz…?”

“What?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

I swallow hard, a strange warmth radiating through my chest as her words sink in. She’s the only person I’ve had in my whole entire life that has told me they’re proud of me. I’m not sure I’ve realized it until just now.

“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice coming out choked. I clear my throat and say, “Go tell Jane and Naomi the good news. I’ll text you the details later.”

“I will. Bye, Laz.”

I hang up and stare at my phone for a few moments, just letting every bloody thing overwhelm me. Usually I run from anything like this, anything deep and complicated. I run by way of my pen. Writing is an outlet, a way to process, a venue for my feelings to live so I don’t have to face them myself.

But today, it feels too new, too unique. This isn’t something I’m used to, this sliver of rejection that’s working its way through my skin. I’m sure Marina meant nothing by it and there’s absolutely no way that she could have known my plans, my wants. It’s not like I came out and said, “Hey, I was thinking you could come to New York for a romantic weekend, we could share a room. I want you so fucking bad.”

Perhaps I should have said that but it’s too late now. This is happening and maybe it’s for the best. I’ll get to see Jane this way, which is nice since I only saw her briefly two years ago when she came here for Christmas. And I’ll have a whole entourage with me while I navigate the publishing world, so I don’t have to do it alone.

But who needs an entourage of people when I only need one.

The weekend comes in a flash and before I know it, I’m picking up Marina from her house to drive us to the airport.

I haven’t laid eyes on her in two weeks now and the sight of her walking towards me steals the breath from my lungs, causes my blood to turn to mercury.

She’s a fucking angel.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing a long white sleeveless top over jeans, her blonde hair billowing out behind her and shining in the sun.

I immediately get out of the car to help her with her luggage, a carry-on hardcase that’s been adorned with a bunch of Honey Bees & Palm Trees stickers.

“I like it, is this a new logo?” I ask, peering at it as I put it in the trunk. It’s better I’m staring at the suitcase than her because then I’ll act like a dead idiot and that’s the last thing she wants before a “girl’s trip.”

“Yeah, I got it made last week. Thought free advertising wouldn’t hurt.” She takes a step toward me, opening her arms, her smile wide and free and open. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Laz, where’s my hug?”

Jesus, it’s already awkward. Normally I would give her a hug without thinking but now I’m so hyper aware of everything I’m doing around her.

She’s still your Marina, still your friend, no matter what you’re feeling.

I step into her, wrapping my arms around her while hers go tight around me. I close my eyes for a second, breathe her in, feel every nerve in my body spring to life. The longer I hold onto her, the harder I’m going to get.

“You look bee-tiful,” I say lamely, trying to make it all a joke because if it becomes a joke, then I don’t have to be afraid.

She laughs, that gorgeous sound, and smacks my arm.

God, is this flirting? Is this just us?

When the fuck did I start worrying about everything?

This isn’t me.

“You better keep all those bee puns to yourself this weekend,” she says, heading to the passenger door which I quickly open for her. “It’s all about you now. Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” I tell her, going around to my door and getting behind the wheel. I twist in my seat to face her, my arms resting on the wheel. “I’m nervous.”

But she doesn’t need to know that the book launch and party are the least of my concerns right now. It’s she that’s making me nervous. Making me wonder what I might do around her. I feel like that ridge we were previously tiptoeing across is coming to a blunt end really soon and we’ll have to decide which way we’re falling.

It’s going to be a change either way.

“You’re going to be fine,” she says, reach out and putting her hand on my shoulder. I can feel the heat of her palm through my T-shirt. It trips the memory of us after our date, when she grabbed my face, a desperate grip, and kissed me like she’d been starving for me her whole life. My heart starts to skip at the thought and I’m living it all over.

I lick my lips. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she says, her eyes focusing on my lips for a moment before she blinks. Meets my eyes. Smiles. “Now let’s get going, we don’t want to miss our flight.”

Naomi left for New York yesterday to have some early girl time with Jane, so it’s just the two of us on the flight. It’s funny how you can know someone for a long time, sit beside them on countless drives, but when you get on a plane with them, it’s like entering new territory.

I tell her this just as the plane leaves the gate and starts taxing down the long runways of LAX.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she says. “Our relationship just entered a new level. Like, you didn’t know I need a window seat.”

Naturally, when I found out I gave her the window seat, though now I’m squished between her and this heavyset guy with big elbows.

“And,” she goes on, “I didn’t realize you needed so much legroom.” She glances down at my legs which are almost askew trying to fit under the seat in front of me.

“These seats aren’t built for anyone over six feet tall,” I tell her. I side-eye the guy next to me. Or anyone over three hundred pounds. Hell, I barely fit myself and I consider myself to be in tip top shape.

“And that you’re a nervous flier,” she goes on.

“What makes you think I’m a nervous flier?” I ask.

She lifts her hand and points subtly at my headphones. “You have headphones at the ready, I saw you take an Ativan earlier, and you’ve been tapping your fingers incessantly so far and you’re not even listening to music yet.”

“I’m a musician. That should cover all of that.”

I won’t dare mention that I actually am afraid of flying and I actually consulted the 8 Ball before the flight, asking if the plane was going to crash. It said MEH, which wasn’t very comforting.

“Right,” she says, leaning in close to me so our faces are inches apart. It would be so easy, so fucking easy, to lean in closer and kiss her. Inappropriate, for sure, but easy. “I’ll be watching you.”

“I wouldn’t mind that one bit,” I murmur to her, my eyes never leaving hers.

Don’t you fucking see? Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?

And then something comes across her eyes, a spark of enlightenment. But she doesn’t balk from it. She doesn’t move. Her eyes remain locked with mine. I’m wondering if my heart might just leap out from my chest. Land in her lap. At least then she’d see.

Then Mr. Elbow Elbowson jabs me in my ribs.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

And of course the moment is ruined.

As many moments have been so far.

If I was a betting man I’d wager that the gods have something against the two of us being together.

Jane is completely smashed.

She’s got her arm hooked around Naomi’s and is holding her champagne glass high in the air, as if she’s making an announcement or a toast, but she’s not saying anything. She’s just holding it. Her arm must be getting tired.

My book launch party is in full swing, heading towards winding down. After Marina and I arrived at JFK, we took a cab to the Dream Hotel in midtown where the publishers are putting me up, just around the corner (in Manhattan terms) from their office. I thought they’d put me in something stuffy or corporate but I guess they thought a hipster Instagram poet deserves a hipster hotel.

Marina already got herself a room there once she learned where I was staying and I completely buggered it all up by not asking her to share the room with me. I didn’t even have to phrase it in a complicated way, I could have just said “hey, to save money why not just stay with me in my room. I have two beds.” Even though I have a king, but we could have sorted that out after she committed herself.

And, naturally, Jane and Naomi also decided to stay in the hotel too. I guess it’s a good thing that Marina isn’t sharing a room with them because I have a feeling if I try and steal her away later, they’ll put a stop to it. I’ve never really been sure if Naomi likes me or not, she’s so bloody prickly. And Jane, well I love her but she’s warned me many a time about “never laying a finger on Marina.”

But as far as I can tell, Jane doesn’t suspect a thing between us. Not that there is anything to suspect, though I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate our fake dating thing that eventually led to real making out that might eventually lead to…

I try not to get carried away with that thought. I’ve bucked against it all night, tried desperately to stay in the moment instead of the what ifs.

It’s been a hell of a night too, one I won’t soon forget. First I went to the publisher’s office, alone, and met with Abigail and the rest of the team. I have to admit, it was extremely fulfilling to be lead around those offices on the Avenue of Americas, seeing all the books of all the authors I admire on shelves, feel the energy of the rooms.

After that (and after signing about a hundred ARC paperbacks they’ll give away as promotion), I headed back to the hotel for dinner with Marina, Jane and Naomi. Then we headed over to this art gallery for the launch.

It’s all so surreal still. I’ve met some bloggers and readers as well as journalists and other people in the publishing industry, plus most of the team behind the book. People are constantly coming up to me, wanting a selfie, wanting to shake my hand, wanting to meet the man behind the words.

And yet the most surreal part of the night is that Marina has been with me every step of the way, always by my side. I’m not sure if she’s noticed it or not but every time I introduced her I did so as “This is Marina,” and I would put my hand at the small of her back. I didn’t mention her being my friend.

Naomi yawns and looks around her. “I hate to be a party pooper but this party is starting to poop.”

“That was mad eloquent,” I tell her raising my champagne glass and finishing the rest.

Jane finally lowers her arm. “Naomi is right,” she grumbles. “I’ve been trying to get another drink for fucking ever.”

“That’s what you were doing?” I ask.

“There’s a cool bar by the hotel,” Marina says, staring down at her phone and using Yelp as she always does to find the best of everything. “Right next door.” She looks to me and the effect is extra devastating. I’m not sure if it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve had or what but her lips are extra pouty and smooth, her lipstick having worn off long ago and leaving a faint pink stain behind.

It makes me think about other parts of her, wet and pink.

I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to move past it and failing. This isn’t the best place to get a raging hard-on.

“Laz?” Jane says and I tear my eyes away from Marina over to her. “Is it rude if we go?”

I let out a sigh of relief and shake my head. “I don’t think so. Most people are leaving now and everyone else left behind seems pretty goosed.”

“Goosed,” Marina says with a snort. “I swear, you always have a new name for getting drunk.”

“I have many names for it,” I tell her. “Because that’s what we Brits do best. Speaking of, you need another refill.”

I’m about to reach over and grab her glass but Jane snatches it from her first. “I’ve got this,” she says and then grabs Marina and pulls her along with her.

Now it’s just me and Naomi. Oh, and Brent, a graphic designer at the publishing house who hasn’t said a word the entire time we’ve been here, just standing beside us and staring at Naomi.

Here comes the small talk.

“So what do you think of the cover?” I ask Naomi, holding up a copy of my book and waving it at her. All of us have a copy to take home and even though it’s an advanced review copy and not the final printed version (which I am told will have embossed font), it felt amazing to hold it in my hands for the first time.

But Naomi isn’t looking at the cover. She staring at me, totally unimpressed. Which is her go-to expression, I know.

“What are you doing, Laz?”

“What?” I glance at Brent, hoping to glean some information off him as to what I’m doing but he’s still staring at her with quiet intensity.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says and points her copy of the book at me until the corner of the spine is jabbing me in the chest. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I’m enjoying my book launch?”

“You’re playing with her feelings.”

“What?” I exclaim, a little too loud. Some people look over. Luckily not Jane and Marina who are at the bar and chatting to Abigail.

“Don’t play games.”

I show my palm to her in surrender. “Naomi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not playing with anyone’s feelings, nor am I playing any games. Not yet, anyway, I did pack a deck of Cards Against Humanity for later.”

She presses her lips together, eyes narrow. “I know the likes of you.”

I flinch. “You do not,” I say sharply. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me.”

“I’ve seen your type,” she says.

“And I’ve seen yours.”

Her eyes flare up like my words have invoked the bowels of Hell. Maybe they have. Both Brent and I take an instinctive step backward.

“And what’s my type?” she asks, challenging me to slip up.

But I won’t.

“Someone who took a chance on love, who never deserved to get screwed over and who did get screwed over. Proving that sometimes even the best intentions and the purest hearts can get fucked over by love.”

She blinks at me and I can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words because I’ve hit the nail on the head.

I go on. Pressing my luck, maybe. “And so now you think all guys are the devil.”

“Not all guys,” she says quickly. “Just guys who play games. I’ve been through all that, pure heart and whatnot, and now I know what to look for.”

“You’re talking about me and Marina, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”

“You know we’re just friends, right?”

“No,” she says. “You aren’t. She told me about your dating game.”

“So?”

“So. I told her it was a mistake.”

“Why? We’re both bad at love. Why not fix it?”

“Because she’s not bad at it. She just hasn’t found the right guy yet.”

“And who would the right guy be?”

“Are we talking about the blonde with the big rack?” Brent suddenly says.

We both look at him, look at each other, ignore him.

“The right guy,” Naomi continues, “is someone who knows what he has when he has her. Someone who doesn’t kick her to the curb when things get real.”

“Okay. So what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Because you’re her friend and you’re… taking advantage of her.”

I shake my head, run my hand over my jaw, trying to not lose it on her because she couldn’t be more wrong if she tried. “Why don’t you ask Marina about all of this? I haven’t done a thing.”

She looks over her shoulder at Marina who is now walking over with Jane. She steps closer and pokes the book into my chest again, leaning in close with hard eyes. “Marina is my best friend. She’s yours too. Leave it that way. Please. Because if you fucking hurt her, in anyway, I will cut your dick off.”

“Whoa,” Brent says. “I am out of here.”

“Yeah, whoa,” I say to her. “And what makes you think we’re more than friends?”

She just shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything else. Just open your fucking eyes, will you, Laz?”

“I got you a drink,” Marina says appearing at my side. She holds out a cold beer and I take it from her, trying to smile my gratitude, hoping my hand isn’t shaking. “I figured you were tired of champagne.”

“Thank you,” I tell her before I gulp back the beer, knowing that Naomi is still watching me. If she wants me to open my eyes, I will.

“Hey, don’t drink it all,” Jane says, thrusting her glass of champagne out toward me. “We have to do a proper toast. Here’s to Lazarus Scott for proving to every little hipster out there that they too can become Instagram famous if they just dream hard enough and use the right hashtags.”

“Fuck off,” I tell her, laughing, and we all clink glasses, finishing the rest of our drinks right there.

“Woooo!” Jane shouts, twirling around. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Amen,” grumbles Naomi.

“I should go say goodbye to Abigail,” I tell Marina. Without thinking, I grab her hand and hold it tight. “Come with me.”

She inhales sharply, nods and I lead her over to my editor who is sipping from a water bottle and talking to a man in a suit I don’t recognize.

“Thank you so much for everything,” I tell Abigail. “Really. I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” she says. “And that you could make it. I know it was last minute.” She looks to Marina. “Can I just say, you’re a very lucky woman.”

Marina glances at me, wide-eyed, and I know she’s seconds from correcting her so I beat her to the punch.

I squeeze her hand and say quickly, “I’m the lucky one here. If you’re looking for a book on beekeeping for the Instagram age, this is the gal for you.”

“Oh really?” Abigail says and I can see the ideas sparking in her eyes. “You’re a beekeeper?”

Marina nods, apparently speechless for once. I’m not sure if it’s because a New York editor is interested or that I’m pretending we’re together.

“Here,” I say, letting go of her hand to fish out my wallet from my back pocket. I pull out one of Marina’s business cards, albeit with her old logo, and hand it to Abigail. “Look her up. You won’t be disappointed.”

She takes it, looking it over. “Well isn’t this something?” she says. “A power couple on Instagram. The poet and the beekeeper.”

We say our goodbyes and then start walking toward Naomi and Jane by the front doors.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Marina says in a hush as I hold her hand and pull her toward them.

“What, pimp you out or pretend I was your boyfriend?”

“Both, actually.”

I shoot her a cheeky smile. “Better bee-lieve it.”

She rolls her eyes but at least it grounds her again.

“God you guys are slow,” Jane says as we approach. Her eyes trail down to our hands entwined together. I can almost feel the pulse in Marina’s palm ticking against mine in preparation for whatever Jane is going to say.

“Holding hands?” Jane notes, slurring her words a bit. She tries to raise a brow but ends up frowning instead.

“It’s New York City, Jane,” I tell her. “You never know who might try and snatch me up on these mean streets.”

They all start laughing and we head out into the night.

I don’t let go of Marina’s hand. Not for a second.

She’s not pulling away either. When we walk back to the hotel, the air thick with humidity we just don’t feel in LA, she’s right by me, leaning in, her shoulder against my arm.

We don’t say anything. Everything is so electrically charged already, I don’t think words need to be said. “Open your eyes,” Naomi had said. But my eyes are open. Maybe not always, but they are now.

I’m not ending this night alone.