What if he had ignored his best friend’s warning and pursued Leila anyway? He was only nineteen at the time, not exactly in the frame of mind for a serious relationship. Would she have made the difference, or would he have just broken her heart? Scenarios flooded his mind, but somehow they all rounded back to Leila in that damn shower.

The water kicked off before his thoughts finished, and he was thankful for the interruption. It was foolish to dwell on the past, and especially about things that could never happen. Or, at least, things that could never happen again. He took the last bite of his breakfast, standing to go grab a bottle of water, when he heard her voice boom down the hallway.

“Drew! You’re going to be late!”

She must have heard the television still on, he decided, but before he could alert her of his presence, she turned the corner. Her hair was wet and dripped down her bare shoulders as she clutched a barely there, navy towel around her. She sucked in a breath, her eyes rounding as she took in the vision of him standing before her. “You’re not Drew,” she stuttered, taking a step back and tightening her hold on the towel.

He swallowed. “Guilty.”

Eyes on her face. On. Her. Face.

His adrenaline kicked into overdrive, or maybe it was his tortured and abandoned libido. Either way, he could have cried.

Leila’s gaze darted around, unsure of what to do with herself. “What are you doing here this early? It’s not even six o’clock yet.”

A hundred different excuses and lies ran through his mind, but he decided against it. They were friends now, and that meant he could be honest. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explained while mentally shouting at himself for flinching when the slit in the towel suddenly revealed two more inches of thigh. “Obvious reasons.”

She watched him intently, and he wondered what she was thinking. So for good measure, he pointed at the plate of bagels sitting on the coffee table. “I also brought you breakfast.”

She peeked over the couch at the plate, and then frowned at him.

“What? You don’t like bagels?” The disappointment was evident in his voice, but he was too distracted to really care at the moment.

“Yes, bagels are fine. It’s just—” she paused, studying him for a moment before deciding whether or not she wanted to continue “—I was going to make you eggs when we got back.” She nervously tucked a strand of her wet curls behind her ear. “You know, to make you feel better because—” then she pointed to her nose and winced “—obvious reasons.”

He sighed. His nose looked gruesome. The swelling was much worse, stretching across his right cheekbone, up into his eye. Not to mention the unrelenting pain. However, a small bit of the constant, throbbing ache dulled at the thought of her wanting to make him feel-better eggs. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I appreciate the thought.”

She smiled weakly at him. “How does it feel this morning?”

He could feel her scrutiny, and practically read the guilt on her face. “Fine. It doesn’t hurt at all,” he lied.

She shook her head at him, laughing. “You’re full of shit.”

“You’re right.” He grinned, touching it gently with the tips of his fingers. “But I’ll survive. Now come eat breakfast with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let me go put on some clothes first.”

“I don’t recall making that a stipulation.”

They smirked at each other, and his body relaxed.

It was real. They were actually friends now.

He couldn’t keep the constant grin off his face as he waited for her to come back, and he felt like a complete idiot for it. When had he ever been giddy over becoming friends with a girl?

Never. The thought was ridiculous.

He smiled anyway, unashamed and unfazed by the scrutiny of his own self-consciousness. When she returned, beautiful as ever, he noticed something different about her. It took him a moment to realize it was the hint of freckles sprayed across her cheeks. He’d never noticed them before.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, glancing over while she grabbed the plate of bagels. She dove into them as if she hadn’t eaten in days, and it made him smile.

“You have freckles,” he told her as if she didn’t know.

“I am a redhead,” she reminded him with a laugh. “It’s kind of a package deal.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “I’ve never noticed them before,” he explained.

“Well, normally, I wear more make-up, and it covers them. I usually don’t host company fresh out of the shower.”

“Your choice, not mine,” he said with a smirk.

She shook her head disapprovingly at him, but that was it. He was happy his harmless flirting no longer set off a hate-filled chain reaction that ended in them screaming at each other. It was progress. “I like your freckles,” he decided with certainty. “They’re endearing.”

She snorted. “You’re really laying it on thick this morning.”

Henrik shrugged, still unashamed. He eased closer to her on the couch. “I find these endearing as well.” He smiled, touching his finger lightly to her neck where the string of tattooed hearts trailed up behind her ear. He remembered those hearts, his tongue on them, his lips pressed against her smooth skin, and more importantly, the sigh it had elicited.

Her entire body went rigid, her hands clenched around the plate in her hand. “W-w-what are you doing?”

“What’s wrong? You look at mine all the time.”

She shot a sideways glare at him. “Once,” she barked. “I looked at them once.”

This time he snorted. “Sure, whatever you say.”

She eased away from his touch, her stern expression still visible. “What?” he asked again.

“You have to push the limits on everything. Don’t you?”

“I barely touched you.”

“That’s not the point, Henrik. You don’t touch friends like that.”

He cringed. At first he didn’t realize why. It was the word friend. He didn’t like the way she said it. Or rather, he didn’t like what it meant.

“Who made that rule?” he tried, fumbling around for a solution. “I touch my friends all the time.”

“I’m sure you run your hand seductively up the side of Austin’s neck every morning.”

He raised a curious brow. “You thought that was seductive?”

He honestly hadn’t been trying anything, but judging by the scowl she shot him, his innocent gesture had been taken out of context. “Sorry, I was just—” he began, but realized no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change anything. She was right. Friends didn’t touch friends like that. “I’ll keep my hands to myself from now on.”

“I didn’t say that,” she grumbled more to herself than him before stomping out of the room.

***

She was exceptionally quiet on the walk down to the parking garage, and Henrik knew her well enough to leave it alone. They were similar that way. Talking would only make it worse. “Keys?” she demanded, reaching her hand out.

He lobbed them over to her, but she paused, frozen in place as they hit her shoulder and fell to the ground. Henrik followed her gaze, and his stomach sank. Of all the mornings for a hot pink thong to be tied to his windshield wipers, it had to be today.

He groaned, stomping past her to quickly rip it off. He left her to throw it in the nearest trashcan, and when he returned, she hadn’t moved, not even an inch. He slowly picked up the keys and held them out to her.

She looked at him, her nose scrunched up. “Does that happen a lot?”

“More than you’d think,” he sighed. “It’s annoying.”

“And disgusting.”

“Well, at least those looked new,” he added, turning toward the passenger side door.

He could see her gaping through the window. “You mean sometimes they’re not?”

He opened the door, laughing. “I keep rubber gloves in the dashboard.”

Her face was contorted when she finally opened the door and hopped in. She busied herself with the heater, her demeanor returning to normal. He didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned. A part of him wanted her to be mad about the panties, because it meant she cared.