“Okay, I’ll work on getting some cash.” She bats her damn eyelashes at me intentionally—I can tell because there’s a smirk forming at her lips.

Sighing, I stick out my hand. “Give me one of those pins in your hair.”

She releases my shirt, plucks a pin out of her hair, and hands it to me. Grunting and pretending I’m more annoyed than I really am, I bend down in front of the door and quickly pick the lock. When I shove the door open, she jumps up and down, clapping her hands.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She throws her arms around my neck and embraces me tightly.

“Don’t thank me,” I tell her, uneasy and kind of turned on, something I always feel whenever she hugs me. Lila is off limits. She’s a friend. Just a friend. It’ll never work out. Relationships never work out. Look at the one that you had. “Just pay your damn rent and quit losing your keys.”

“Yes, boss.” She rushes into the house eagerly, leaving the door open behind her, and hurries toward the hallway. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I ask, standing in the entryway of her two-bedroom apartment, which is much nicer than mine: painted walls, a crack-free floor, and the carpet isn’t loose. “Sit around here and wait for you? Is that what you want me to do?”

“Don’t pretend like you’re totally not enjoying the idea.” She pauses at the corner of the hall and grins. “Besides, you could just come join me.”

I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile. “I’ve already told you a thousand times that you can’t handle me, baby.” I bite down on my tongue on the baby slipup. I don’t use endearing terms with women. Ever. My dad used to use them on my mom when he was trying to kiss up to her after he beat her and she’d always let him butter her up. It made me hate affectionate terms and affection in general.

She turns around and puts her hands on her hips, arching her eyebrows. “And vice versa.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I say, because I picture Lila as being extremely bossy and orderly in bed and I like women who get caught up in the moment, who love to do things without thinking about them first and who can completely and utterly let go of everything going on in the world. Who don’t care if they have money or material things. I like women who are like London. The problem is, she seems to be the only one of her kind and she no longer exists.

Lila laughs and I roll my eyes again, feigning annoyance. Then I chuckle when she sticks out her tongue and I have to bite on my own because the movement draws all my attention to her mouth. Despite the no-touching rule I made, I still can’t help but picture the many things I’d like her to do with her mouth that would require a lot of touching.

Once she vanishes down the hall, I get comfortable on the sofa and start channel surfing, but I can find only three channels and I wonder if she hasn’t paid her satellite bill either.

“Damn it, Lila,” I mutter and then take my phone out of my pocket. I think about just calling Micha and asking him to ask Ella, Lila’s best friend, to call Lila because she’s obviously gotten in over her head, but then it just seems weird and makes me seem like I’m scared of Ella, so I call her myself.

She answers after two rings and I can tell from her tone of voice that she’s trying to figure out why I’m calling her. “Ethan?” she asks warily. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I say. “Or maybe… I don’t know… it all kind of depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you’ve talked to Lila lately or not.”

“I haven’t heard from her in, like, a week,” she says. “I texted her the other day, asking her how she was, and she said she was fine.”

“Well, I think she was lying to you.” I slump back in the sofa and something pokes me in the back. “Maybe you should call her.” I reach around behind my back and pull out an empty prescription bottle. The label’s ripped off so I can’t tell what it was for. I wouldn’t think anything of it, but I used to keep my drugs in something similar and it gets me wondering. No, there’s no way Lila would be doing drugs. She’s way too fucking preppy. I twist off the cap, glance inside, and then take a sniff. It doesn’t smell like anything I’m familiar with. Shaking my head, I put the lid on and toss it onto the table in front of me.

“I’ve actually really needed to call her,” Ella replies. “Because I’ve been meaning to tell her… something…”

“You’re being weird,” I point out, kicking my feet up on the table.

“Yeah, I know,” she admits. “But I’m being like that for a reason.”

“Well, if you have a reason then I guess we’re okay,” I joke sarcastically with a heavy sigh. Ella and I have always had this issue with each other, due to the fact that it always felt like she was interfering in Micha’s and my friendship. We’re not as bad as we used to be, but our clashing personalities will always sort of hinder us from being good friends. “Look, can you just call her and talk to her?”

“Is she there now?”

“Yeah, but she’s in the shower.”

“And where are you?” There’s insinuation in her tone.

“Sitting on the couch.” I click the television off with the remote. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know.” She pauses and I know whatever she’s about to say is going to irritate me. “In the shower with her or watching her take one.”

“Well, I’m not,” I say dryly, more offended than I probably should be. “Look, just call her, okay? I’m going to go.”

“Fine,” she mutters. “God, you’re in a bad mood.”

I’m not sure who hangs up first, but we probably do it at the same time. I’m about to put my phone away when I get a text. I’m guessing it’s Micha, because I figure Ella went and told him that I was being a jerk, but I’m surprised to find that it’s from London’s mom, Rae. I haven’t talked to her in more than seven or eight months, around the time I decided to give a go at living my lonely wanderer dream, living my life to the fullest, mainly because Rae had called me and reminded me of everything that happened, the stuff I’ve tried to forget—the life I tried to forget, yet I always feel imprisoned by it. But when I hit the road, there was the whole Micha and Ella drama. Micha was boozing it up, going completely fucking crazy because he thought Ella cheated on him. I remember when I got the call from Lila telling me what was up.

“You need to go to New York, now,” she’d said.

“Um, no thanks,” I’d replied. “I’m trying to escape people, not go to a city packed with way too many of them.”

“I don’t care what you want,” she said, sound like a spoiled brat, which she did a lot. Then she proceeded to tell me how Ella had told her, after multiple shots, that she’d only told Micha she’d cheated on him because she thought it was the only way he’d let her go. That he was too good for her and her insanity and deserved someone better.

As much as I agreed that Ella was insane, I didn’t think the two of them should split up. They have the kind of love that most people, including myself, will never understand or experience. I don’t think I even had it with London.

So I’d agreed to go to a city I hated, to help fix the problem and try to make things right between the two of them even though it wasn’t my responsibility. Why do I always try to fix things? I have no fucking clue other than it drives me crazy when other people are acting crazy when clearly they have it really good.

I slide my finger over my cell phone screen and read the text over.

Rae: I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I wanted to check up on you and see how you were doing.

That’s not the real reason why she’s texting and I know it. She wants the same thing she wanted from me seven or eight months ago.

Me: I’m fine.

Rae: Have you thought anymore about taking a trip to Virginia?

Me: Not sure I can.

Rae: Why not? You know it’d be good for both of you.

Me: No, it wouldn’t.

Rae: Please, I really need your help… London’s getting worse.

And there it is. The real reason she’s texting me. She wants hope. She needs to know that she’s doing everything right. And she wants me to give her the resolution. But I can’t because giving her false hope—going there and seeing London—means finally letting go. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, whether I can allow myself to let go and fully accept reality. That what’s done is done and I have to let go and move on.

Me:You know it’s not going to do any good. It didn’t the last time I tried and from what you told me seven months ago, everything’s still the same with her as it was after the accident.

Rae:But I want to change that. If you’d just come visit her, you might be able to change it. You were so close to her when it happened.

No, I can’t. No one can. You know this—everyone does—and I don’t want to see what I lost. My finger hovers of the button as I deliberate what to type back to her.

“Oh my God, I feel so much better,” Lila says, tousling her wet hair with her fingers as she walks out of the hallway wearing only a towel. My jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s a really, really fucking short towel, one that gives me a view of her thighs and if she turned around, I could probably see the bottom of her ass.

“Is that a hand towel?” I ask, half joking, half serious.

“No,” she replies simply. She seems more relaxed and laid-back than when I picked her up. “Just a normal towel.”

I try not to stare as she sinks down on the sofa beside me. She doesn’t even bother trying to keep the towel closed and I get a glimpse of her thighs, which I’ve touched once so I know how soft her skin is. Just seeing them, I have to ball my hands into fists so that I’ll keep them to myself.