Falling for My Best Friend (Fated #1)

Falling
for my Best Friend

Hazel
Kelly

©
2015 Hazel Kelly

All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied,
or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your
support of the author’s rights is appreciated. 

All
characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons is
purely coincidental.

“Something in the way she moves

Attracts me like no other lover”

– Something, George Harrison

Something told me this guy wasn’t going to be up for a quick
fuck, and my suspicions were confirmed when he asked me the question that was burning
the tip of his tongue.

“So have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Wouldn’t I have had to fill out
some paperwork or something? I think I’d remember that.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you would remember. Like for me it was really
profound.” He leaned back so he’d have room to talk with his hands. “Like there
was my life before I was born again and then after.”

Cory wasn’t the first religious guy I’d met on Tinder, but it
didn’t happen that often. Still, I thought religious people were supposed to
find love in Bible study or something so it always caught me off guard.

“But there’s no paperwork,” he added, as if that was the only
thing stopping me from joining the club.

“Interesting,” I said, picking up my panini with both hands. “So
you can just, like, hand your life over to Jesus anytime then?”

“Pretty much.”

“What made you want to do that?” I asked, deciding it was too
early to pass judgment on whether Cory was harmless or crazy.

He fingered the wooden cross around his neck. “I was going
through a dark time and-”

Let me guess. “As a teenager?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on,” I said, taking a big bite.

“Anyway, I started self-harming-”

Maybe we had more in common than I thought.

“And I knew I needed help.”

I covered my half full mouth with my hand. “And who better to
help you than Jesus, right?”

Cory furrowed his brows. “It’s not a joke, Lucy. I could’ve
died.”

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean- sorry. I was just trying to lighten
the mood.” Since this is supposed to be a first date and all. “Please finish
your story.”

He looked down at his salad like he was trying to decide if I’d
offended him too much for him to continue. “I almost died of an overdose one
night.”

“Can I ask what you-”

“Cough syrup.”

“Cough syrup,” I repeated, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah. And when I was in the hospital, Jesus came to me and told
me that my life was worth fighting for.”

“Are you sure it was Jesus?”

He craned his neck towards me. “I think I would know Jesus if I
saw him.”

That makes one of us. “So he saved you?”

“Basically.”

“Wow.” I wanted to ask if it ever occurred to him that he was
just hallucinating, a common side effect of robotripping, but I didn’t want to
make light of the epic high that had changed the course of his life.

“I know. After that, I knew I didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I see,” I said, pulling down my sleeves and feeling afraid enough
for both of us. “And what makes you think I need to be saved?”

“Everyone needs to be saved.”

“Oh, so it’s not personal?” I asked, reaching for my Sprite.

“Well, you do look like you might need some guidance.”

“Guidance?”

He shrugged.

“Please elaborate.”

“Just from the way you look.”

I tilted my head at him. “You mean because I have pink streaks
in my hair?”

“I don’t know if you’re just trying to get someone’s attention,
but you don’t have to try that hard for Jesus.”

I laughed. “Do you feel cheated because my hair was different in
the pictures you saw of me on Tinder?”

“Not at all. I just think sometimes when people change the way
God made them, it’s indicative of some deeper pain.”

“Sorry- what do you do for a living again?”

“I’m sort of between jobs right now.”

“Right.”

“But I’d like to have my own skateboarding academy.”

“Oh.” Is that even a thing?

“That’s why I’m living at home right now. To save money so I can
start my own business.”

“I see. Well, you don’t need to worry about me, Cory. The pink
streaks are only temporary, and they aren’t a cry for help.”

He reached across the table and put his hand on mine.

I felt my blood run cold.

“Good,” he said. “Because you’re perfect just the way God made you.”

“I really appreciate that,” I said, trying to remember the last
time I shared a Dear Diary Moment with a deadbeat lunatic.

He slid his weirdly small, hemp wrapped wrist back towards him.
“If you’ll excuse me. I need to go to the little boy’s room.”

I forced a smile as he got up.

As soon as he turned the corner, I pulled out my phone and
called Aiden, but it went straight to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a
message and dialed Fiona’s number as fast as I could.

“Hey, Luce. What’s-”

“I need you to stop whatever you’re doing and come rescue me.”

“I can’t right now,” she said. “I’m with a client.”

“How soon will you be done?”

“I’m only mixing the color now.”

“Full color or highlights?”

“Highlights.”

“T-bar or-”

“Half-head.”

“Shit.”

“Sorry,” she said. “You okay?”

“Apparently it depends on who you ask.”

“What?”

“The guy’s a Jesus freak,” I said, whispering into the phone.

“So why isn’t he on Christian Mingle? What the fuck?”

“I know.”

“Did you try Aiden?”

“Yeah. He didn’t pick up. He’s probably sick of rescuing me at
this point.”

“Plan B then?” she asked.

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you so much. You’re the best.”

“No problem,” she said.

I hung up the phone and laid it on the table so I wouldn’t miss
her call.

A moment later, Cory came around the corner with his fly open.
Part of me wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

“Could you squeeze in some dessert?” he asked. “Or would you
rather just go for a drink somewhere?”

I felt my chest tighten at the lack of good choices, but I knew
if I started drinking with this guy, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Plus, it was
hard enough to make sure I didn’t offend him when I was sober. “Dessert would
be great.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been thinking about
the double chocolate brownie all day.”

“You come here a lot?”

“You could say that.”

“Am I missing something?”

He laughed. “This is my parent’s café.”

“What?”

He pointed to a small pastry counter at the back of the room.

When I turned to look at where he was pointing, a middle aged
couple waved at me. I lifted my hand. “I take it those are your parents?”

“Yep.”

“Do you always take first dates here or-”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Don’t you feel a bit- I don’t know- stifled dating in front of
them?”

“Not at all,” he said. “They’re eager for me to meet someone
and-”

I bet they are.

“Bringing dates here saves me a lot of money.”

“How convenient,” I said, relieved that I wouldn’t need to go
Dutch on this character building experience.

“Plus, the food’s delicious, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “My panini was… unforgettable, and the hand
cut chips were fantastic.”

He smiled like he cut them himself.

“Why don’t you work in the café with your parents if you’re
between jobs?”

“I tried for a while, but washing my hands so much aggravated my
eczema.”

Charming.

“So do you want the brownie, too, or would you rather have the
strawberry cheesecake?” he asked. “They’re the best choices in my opinion.”

“I think I’ll go for the cheesecake.” 

“Cool,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table. “I’ll be
right back.”

I couldn’t decide if this set up was weirder or on par with the time
I went out with the Indian guy whose parents sat at the next table while we had
a drink.

The guy assured me that he wasn’t as traditional as his parents,
but I kept imagining what it would be like for them to lay in the bed next to
us while we got it on. In the end, I announced to the family that I had
diarrhea from eating bad meat and excused myself… forever.

A moment after Cory brought our desserts over, my phone began to
ring. I picked it up immediately. “Hello.”

“If you don’t leave right now, all the kittens on Earth will
die,” Fiona said.

“Oh my god- don’t move. I’ll be right there.” I looked across
the table at Cory with wide eyes before shoving the phone in my purse.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I have to go,” I said, standing
up. “It’s an emergency.”

His face fell. “Oh, okay. Do you want to take your cheesecake to
go then?”

I looked down at the glistening red jelly coating the fresh
strawberries. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” I picked up the cheesecake with my
fingers and wrapped it in my paper napkin. “I’m sure I’ll be better off taking
it… in case I’m at the hospital all night.”

Cory stood up. “Do you think you’d like to go out again
sometime?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Not because you’re not a great guy-”

He parted his lips to speak-

“But I know Jesus would always come first in your life, and I’m
looking to be someone’s number one.” Or at least someone’s bit of fun and
certainly not someone’s project.

“I understand.”

“But I hope you find someone as special as you are.”

“You, too.”

“And your fly is open.”

He looked down and his cheeks flushed. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” I slung my purse across my body. “Please tell your
parents the food was delicious.”

“Sure.”

“Good luck, Cory.”

“Take care,” he said.

I hurried out the front doors into the fresh air at a kitten
saving pace. As soon as I was around the corner, I started walking normally
again and unwrapped the cheesecake.

When the first sweet bite hit my tongue, I felt like writing a
poem. It was so good I had to stop walking for a second to savor it. In fact, I
was relieved that I’d ended things so maturely with Cory since it meant I could
go back for another slice sometime.

Thank god I hadn’t said I was an atheist.

He was holding his dead arm with his opposite hand, looking
pissed as hell. I could tell by the way he was walking that he’d dislocated his
shoulder again.

I grabbed my table and set it up.

“Are you as sick of this as I am yet?” Tommy asked.

I turned around and patted the folding table. “I doubt it.”

He sighed and hopped up, wincing as he got situated. “Why is it
always my right shoulder?”

“Cause that’s the one you always land on.”

His brow relaxed for a moment as if understanding the pain made
it more tolerable.

“Relax for me,” I said, taking his arm from him.

“But I’m better with my right hand. When it comes to scoring a
try, I feel more comfortable holding the ball that way.”

“Yeah, Tommy, I get that, but it wouldn’t kill you to practice
more with your left.” I extended his arm out to his side.

He was obviously in pain, but he didn’t moan once.

“Ready?” I asked.

He nodded and clenched his jaw.

I pulled his arm out slowly until it popped back in place.

He put his hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Hold on. I’ll get you some ice,” I said, walking over to grab a
pre-packed bag from the cooler.  

“When you say practice more with my left, you mean cradling the
ball?”

“Well, that wouldn’t hurt,” I said, handing him the ice. “But
everyone knows you always go down on your right. If you’d switched hands at the
last second, you might’ve been able to reach over the line.”

His face fell.

“Not that it wasn’t a great effort, but-”

“It’s cool,” he said. “I know you’re right. I was just desperate
for the points so I was afraid to risk trying something new.”

I shrugged. “You can afford to take more risks on the field though.
You’re one of the few guys who have the basics down.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Aiden.”

I grabbed a spare rugby ball from next to the sideline and
showed him what I meant. “See if you cradled the ball in front of you instead
of so far to your right side, you could keep your options open until the last
second. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“And at the very least, it would be good for your shoulder.”

“I appreciate the advice.”

“Well, don’t just appreciate it. Take it,” I said. “Cause if
this keeps happening, you’re going to need surgery, and then you’ll really be
pissed.”

“No shit.”

I smiled.

“You miss it?” Tommy asked, shifting the pack of ice.

“Most of it,” I said. “Not the beating your body takes, but I’ve
found it’s hard to replace the thrill of competition- of going to war with the
team- once you leave the game.”

“Coach says you were the best player that ever played here.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, bending down to get some
painkillers out of my bag.

“He said you could’ve played for the Eagles if you hadn’t left
the game.”

I put a bottle of water down next to him. “Yeah, well, Coach says
a lot of things.”

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked. “To play for the country?”

I tilted my head at him. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I guess so, but I’m afraid to admit it in case it doesn’t
happen.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” I said, handing him some painkillers.

He tossed them in his mouth and squirted some water in to wash
them down. “What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be afraid to admit what you want,” I said. “You
should be afraid of anything that might keep you from getting it.”

He swallowed.

“Take it from me. Your dreams can be taken away from you in an
instant. As long as you’re in with a fighting chance, do whatever it takes to go
after them and don’t apologize for it.”

His eyes were focused on me like he was rethinking his whole
approach.

Suddenly, a loud whistle pierced the air. I looked over my
shoulder and saw the team running to the middle of the field for a huddle.

Tommy hopped off the table, taking the ice pack with him.
“Thanks, Aiden. For the shoulder… and the tips.”

“Come see me when you’re done out there, and I’ll give you a
splint.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still have the one from last time. I’ll
have one of the guys help me out in the locker room.”

“Sounds good. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” he said. “Enjoy your weekend.”

I folded up the table and gathered my things, wondering how long
it would hurt that the whistle to huddle up didn’t apply to me anymore.

But at least I was still close to the game. And even though there
was less glory on the sidelines, I knew that the work I was doing made a huge
difference to the players, and there was satisfaction in that.

I gave the assistant coach a wave and he nodded that I was free
to go so I slipped my phone out of my pocket to check the time.

I had two missed calls.

I called Lucy back first.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hey you.”

“Sorry I missed your call,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I needed another rescue.”

“You still with the guy?”

“No, Fiona bailed me out with an emergency call. I’m on my way
home.”

“Where are you now?” I asked. “You need a ride?”

“No, I’m on Clark and Dawson. Nearly home.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the problem with this guy?” I asked, picking up my bag
and heading towards the parking lot.

“There’s someone else.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. And that someone is Jesus.”

I laughed. “Oh dear.”

“I told him I didn’t want to be his number two.”

“Sounds like your date was number two.”

“Very funny.”

“Well, if you don’t need my help anymore, I gotta run. I have a
missed call from Chelsea.”

“Alright. Catch you later.”

I hung up and dialed my girlfriend’s number. She answered as I
was throwing my bag in the trunk.

“Chelsea Delacroix.”

I walked around to the driver’s side. “Hey. It’s me.”

“Oh, sorry. I don’t have my contacts in, and I thought it might
be the people from the casting I went to earlier.”

“No problem. You called?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to remind you that I’m making dinner
tonight so don’t eat on your way home.”

“Great,” I lied. “I’m starving. What are we having?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it something I can pronounce?”

“It’s not quinoa if that’s what you’re asking.”

Thank god. “Alright. I’ll see you in a half hour.”

I hung up the phone and got in the car, thinking I must have
been the only guy in the city who wasn’t excited to hear that his girlfriend
was doing the cooking.

Then again, it served me right for dating a model. Normally, it
was fine. I liked dating someone whose job also required them to take care of
their body. But I also had a great fondness for butter, dairy products, and the
occasional anything fried in oil, all of which were ranked just behind
terrorists on Chelsea’s scale of evil things to be avoided.

As a result, we often got in a fight when she cooked because I
would make some not entirely flattering observation about the seasoned vegan
bullshit that she made like “this tofu reminds me of how I used to chew on the
strings of my hoodies as a kid” or “this quinoa looks like a pile of eye
boogers,” and she would get so offended you’d think she invented tasteless
food.

Of course, even when I didn’t say anything, she’d get annoyed
when I got hungry an hour later and started scrounging for food in the kitchen.
But what could I do? Unlike her, my stomach wasn’t the size of a Cadbury Egg.

To be honest, I was sort of hoping she would recognize the
pattern and stop cooking for me since it only put stress on our relationship.

Unfortunately, it seemed her talents were limited to walking in
a straight line, keeping track of money, and giving good head.