Tyed

“Ten shades of super-weird. I did well during cardio and managed one good kick, but got really weird vibes from Ty.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “That * almost crushed my hand. Don’t let him hold any babies.”

I giggle uncomfortably, wondering if I should tell him how Ty kicked everyone else out of the room so I could punch his arm for five minutes. Probably not. After Shane’s recent I-Want-To-Get-In-Your-Pants vibes, I’m not sure spiking this disastrous recipe with Ty’s action is the right thing to do.

“How’s the Elizabeth Passion research going? Spoke to Izzy yet?” I ask.

"I'm sure Professor Penniman isn’t expecting me to talk to someone who actually models for them. I got an interview lined up with one of their PR people next week. I got shit handled."

"You're kidding me, right?" I sit up straight, searching his face. "You grew up with one of their biggest models, and you refuse to get her help. What happened between you two when you traveled to France and met her there?"

Am I nuts for thinking these two did something behind my back that made them hate each other's guts? Last night when I tried to talk to Izzy about Shane she switched the subject to the weather. The weather!

"Nothing. Nothing happened. No drama. Don't act like we ever got along."

"You never avoided each other either. Well, up until recently."

"We move in different circles." He shrugs, his jaw tensing.

I sigh and shake my head. "Talk to her. Even if she acts like she doesn't give a damn, I know Izzy. She hates it when people are mad at her."

As if on cue, my BFF presses the pause button and grasps my shoulders firmly. I immediately know we are going to have The Talk. You know, the one when you smash your friendship into a million pieces because one of you decides they want to know how it feels to take a roll between the sheets. I need to put the brakes on this thing, fast. We cannot have The Talk. I’m not ready for The Talk. Talking is overrated. Why can’t we all just watch zombies being killed? (Sorry Ty, didn’t mean you.)

“Listen, Blaire, we gotta talk.”

Crap.

“What’s up?” I cock my head with a casual smile, but my discomfort is evident. I wish I were the zombie Rick has just smashed a rock into and not my human, flustered self. I can’t lose Shane, but I can’t date him either.

He is perfect, just not for me. In fact, if anything, he is way out of my league. I see how girls look at him, laugh at his jokes, whisper when his Mustang drives by. He is friendly, outgoing, funny and most girls would find him drool-worthy. Just...not me.

I never really got how best friends can turn into lovers. I know too much about him. Hell, he knows too much about me. There is nothing mildly mysterious or sexy about our dynamics, and that's why all of this seems so crazy.

Guilt washes over me as Shane grabs his beer, tips his head back and drains it in one swig, slamming the empty bottle down on my table.

“Here goes...Blaire, you’re one hell of a girl, but I suspect you already know what I think about you. You’re the girl who can make a guy laugh, but also make him think. You can be one of the guys, but somehow remain so freakin’ hot at the same time…” Shane looks down toward his feet.

Maybe I should fake a faint. Or pretend to throw up. Scratch that. I can totally throw up for real right now. It’s just sad that all this delicious food will go to waste…

“And you,” he continues with a humorless laugh, “you have no idea how beautiful you are, which kind of makes you even hotter.”

Oh no, he’s still talking. So what’s it going to be, Blaire? Faint or puke?

I don’t want to hurt him. He is awesome, and deserves someone far better than me. I’m broken, I’m raw, I’m in trouble.

“…and it occurred to me that seeing as we’re both blindingly intelligent, passionately intellectual, sexy beasts, we could…”

I want to yell at him to stop. He’s driving in the Friend Zone. He cannot switch lanes to Boyfriend. That’s an illegal turn. Two double yellow lines.

“We could…”

Buzzzz. My doorbell rings.

Phew.

Talk about timing. I play exasperated, when in reality, Darth Vader could be standing on the other side of the door and I’d be completely okay with it. But…I’m not expecting anyone.

I dart toward the door like my ass is on fire and glance through the peephole. For some stupid, inexplicable reason, I hope to see Ty on the other side, despite the fact he doesn’t have my address and I basically rejected him earlier today by asking him not to kiss me.

It’s my mother.

“Mom?” I open the door. She rushes in, her hands full of paper bags.

“Hello little peanut!” she chirps, dumping the bags on my kitchen island. I stand in the middle of my apartment, shifting my eyes from a startled Shane to a cheerful Mom. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe this mess. My mom never shows up unannounced. She must come bearing a pretty insane piece of gossip. Shit, I hope Izzy isn’t pregnant.

“Oh, Shane, honey, I didn't know you'd be here. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and bring Blaire some…some—”

Some more reason to let Shane know this conversation is over?

“—snacks. I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun.” She waves the air frantically, like she is putting out an imaginary fire.