Can't Match This: A Friends To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Xavier Neal

  Her eyes narrow at me though a small smile touches her lips.

  “What have I always told you two from the first time we met?”

  “Communication is key.”

  “Exactly. That doesn’t just apply to what happened to him in his past or what he feels is still weighing him down in his present. It’s across the board. People have yet to develop mind reading powers, which is what makes verbal expression, no matter how difficult it may be, imperative.”

  She hums at the notion seconds prior to turning the topic to me. “So, when are you going to verbally communicate to Gideon that you’re in love with him?”

  “Oh…” My head quickly shakes. “We’re not…Nope. Convo change.”

  Never said I was good at communicating. Just that it needs to happen in relationships. Which we are technically not in. Well, I mean a romantic one…And we’re not. Just because we have sex doesn’t mean we’re together. Sex does not equate to commitment. That’s a common misconception both genders make.

  “Fine.” Her quick surrender builds immediate worry. “Did you take that job Carly told you about?”

  Not surprised by the shift from one serious subject to another, I flop my hands into my lap. “I have a phone interview scheduled next week. If they like me then they’ll schedule an in person follow up.”

  Jaye’s jaw drops. “What?! You actually sent in your résumé?!”

  “I did.”

  “And agreed to a phone interview.”

  My finger creeps up to my lips. “I did…”

  “That’s amazing!” Her thrill threatens to grow a grin on my face. “You’ll love that job. I mean…really love it. And they’ll probably work with you to allow you to keep your hours at the clinic unaffected.”

  “That’s the hope.”

  She gleefully claps. “What did Gideon say about the whole thing?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  Her eyebrows dart down in perplexity.

  “Haven’t told him.”

  “Why…not?”

  “He’s been busy.” I gnaw on the edge of my nail. “You know last weekend we had the charity thing in Connecticut, and then this week he had a meeting in California on Monday before having to fly back to Connecticut to try to seal the deal with the player they were hoping to recruit.”

  “He’s been gone all week?”

  “All. Week.”

  And it’s been torture. Weird, mind-melting torture. Lying in his bed without him used to be no sweat but ever since things got…physical between us, it feels so empty when he’s not there. I’ve been breaking out the big guns to survive this week. Bought him a brightly colored polka dotted pocket square I think he’ll hate but pretend he loves. Rearranged his watches then pretended to hear the lecture I know he’s going to give. Sprayed some cologne on a pillow and curled up against it. I even made sure to keep my phone charged, so I could prop it on the mattress like he was beside me while we watched RoboCop to sleep. He’s texted me pictures and videos of BJ, which all prove the trip is worth it, while I’ve been sending him snaps of me raiding his fridge and enjoying his luxury bathtub. Strangely enough, this is the most glued to my phone I’ve ever been. He’s grateful. And…if I’m completely honest with myself, I hate not being more active this way sooner.

  “When does he get back?”

  “He landed at noon,” I inform.

  “And…instead of being with him all afternoon, you’re here with me…Why?”

  “Because you’re my other best friend and despite the demon inside of you, todavia te quiero.”

  “Which means?”

  “I still love you.”

  “Mm. That’s flimsy.”

  “But true.”

  Jaye tilts her head to the side.

  “What? I do! I love you and spending time with you.”

  Her eyebrows lift in demand for the remainder of the sentence.

  “Plus, he had a meeting, and then a date.”

  The glare she delivers sends chills to my core. “What the fuck do you mean he has a date?”

  “Date número cinco.”

  “Thank you, Dora, The Date Explora.” Her sarcastic retort warrants a smirk of approval from me. “You’re still doing that ridiculous deal?!”

  Slinking away from the conversation, I simply nod.

  “Why, Lennox?! Why? Why? Why?”

  “I have a good reason!”

  “Why!” She practically shouts. “Why on earth would you continue this bullshit charade when it’s obvious you both want each other? And before you try to sell me on that being a circumstantial conclusion, let me remind you that you had the best sex of your entire life this past weekend. With. Him.”

  It was the kind of sex they don’t put in movies because it would have to change it from an R rating to the old school X rating. I’ve never been bent in so many positions or been required to eat so many tacos for fuel in my entire life. No wonder women are always requesting seconds and thirds with him. The man has perfected sex the same way he has his wardrobe.

  “At first you were worried about being rejected, and then when that was put to rest, you were concerned about the effects on your friendship. Now that you’re having sex, that’s going to leave irrefutable changes for you two to deal with, so why wouldn’t you just bite the bullet and go all in?”

  “Because I’m afraid.”

  “Of?”

  “Everything happening only because it’s convenient.”

  Bafflement bursts into her eyes yet again.

  “I’m convenient, Jaye. I already fit into his life, into his schedule. He doesn’t have to fight to make things work with me because he’s already spent so long making sure it does as his best friend. Being with me…doesn’t require him to put himself out there or put forth effort into cultivating a relationship with someone new. I’m worried that…” the words taste like vinegar as they’re regurgitated, “he’s settling for me. That he can do better…should do better…but won’t because I’m in the way. Because I’m already here. Because it’s easier to just work with what you have than to find someone that sets your soul on fire. I know with these dates that he’s at least getting to see there are better offers…better matches for him out there.”

  She tilts her head to the side and gives me a short, soft grin.

  “I love Gideon. And I love him enough to let him go when he realizes he’s ready for someone better.”

  Jaye leans over to pat the top of my head. “You’re an idiot.”

  It’s my turn to let my mouth become agape.

  “But so is he. You’ll both eventually figure out that you’re perfect together and then be two idiots in love…Just like the movie with Mathew Perry and Salma Hayek.”

  “Fools Rush In is the movie you’re referring to.”

  “Yeah, well, your movie would be called Idiots Who Are Taking Way Too Long to See The Obvious.”

  “That would be a terrible title for a movie.”

  “But accurate.”

  I roll my eyes at her commentary to which she giggles.

  For another few hours, I pass the time with the Cox family. We have burgers together per the demands of the pregnant woman, put together puzzles with Rainne, who provides us all with snuggles, and then have a subtle start to a counseling session where I simply open the door for them to get the real conversation going once I exit.

  To my surprise, I don’t receive a single text message from Gideon. I don’t expect them during his dates because that’s rude and would mean he’s not giving the woman he agreed to be set up with all of his attention; however, he usually sends one when he’s returned home, and I’m not there. Both reasonable reasons for his lack of reaching out has my stomach in knots. Either he’s still on said date, meaning they’re hitting it off, or things are going extremely well, and he’s invited her back to his place to seal a different kinda deal.

  The kind I was hoping I would be the last one he ever signed with.

  God, Jaye is right.
/>   I am an idiot.

  At my apartment, I decide to distract myself to the best of my ability. The mention of the ‘90’s romance sends me on a Mathew Perry path that starts with the aforementioned flick yet veers to the darker side with The Whole Nine Yards, inevitably leading me to Die Hard since, once you see Bruce Willis on screen, you have to see him in one of his more iconic moments. Throughout the films, I slip into a baggy white shirt, ditch my bra, banish my shorts, make a small grocery list, check emails, and fill in my schedule for the week after remembering I have a lady doc appointment on Thursday.

  Not that I don’t trust Gideon in that department. He literally tells me and shows me everything. I’ve seen his clean bill of health. I even recall the one time he was worried about crabs because he couldn’t stop itching his crotch. Turns out he was just having an allergic reaction to some fancy fucking soap he got when he was in France. Aside from him discussing his health habits, I know where he keeps his condom stash, though the fact it isn’t beside the bed is something I do find fascinating. Most people keep it there for easy reach, but he keeps his in his closet, in his accessory dresser, in the drawer below his watches yet above his wallets. Like he never expects to need it in his own home. Like it’s just one more thing he tucks on himself during his morning routine inspection.

  My quoting along is unexpectedly interrupted by my phone vibrating on the end table. I leave one hand on the keyboard as if needing it to hold my place in the email and use the other to feel around behind me for the device.

  The flashing text alert from Gideon has my heart trying to punch a hole in my chest.

  What if this is it?

  What if this is the text that turns us back in the direction we came?

  What if this is the text that tells me I was right? That what happened was purely out of convenience because this woman, the woman I found him, is his perfect match.

  Bile burns up my esophagus as another text from him flashes.

  Fuck…It’s worth two texts?

  Yup.

  Worst case scenario has arrived.

  I shove down my sadness and swipe it open to reveal his messages.

  OG: Where are you?

  OG: Why are you not home?

  My eyes dart around the apartment to reexamine my location.

  Am I…Am I not?

  Me: I…am?

  OG: You’re not.

  Me: I am LITERALLY sitting on my couch watching Die Hard.

  OG: FML. WITHOUT ME?!

  His reaction receives a hearty laughter that I’m convinced he can hear regardless of our distance.

  OG: Be there soon. Prepare to start it over.

  I lightly snicker at the demand, take it back to the beginning, and leave it paused per his request.

  Despite his decision to come over, my mind is still a battlefield of uncertainty. Sure, he was wondering why I wasn’t at his place, but that doesn’t mean the date didn’t go well. It just means he wasn’t willing to fuck her on the first night, or that maybe they went to her place instead because he has it in his mind we’re roommates and having sex where I can’t hear would be the more respectful choice. Or maybe he did take her back to his place, fucked her in the guest room, and then was just curious as to why I didn’t meet him in the kitchen for a celebratory beer. Or maybe…just maybe he liked her but not enough to give up on whatever is building between us.

  About forty-five minutes later, a sharp knocking interrupts my infamous ‘90’s Girl Power mix that includes classics from The Spice Girls, Christina, Britney, Shania, Mariah, and of course Ms. Whitney Houston. The laptop gets transferred to the cluttered coffee table, near a stack of medical journals, and I bounce over to the door to the rhythm of the song.

  Gideon greets me with a wide grin upon it opening. “It sounds like TRL in here.”

  A smirk sneaks onto my face.

  “Where’s your ‘We Love You Carson’ sign?” His joke is proceeded with him squeezing by me, the plastic bags he’s carrying accidentally brushing me in the process. “Or would you have gone specific? Maybe ‘I heart B2K’?”

  I shut and lock the door behind him. “Oh, like you would’ve passed up the opportunity to hold up a ‘Britney Please Dump Justin For Me’ sign?”

  “Good rebuttal.” Gideon chortles as he drops down onto my couch. “You in the mood for chicken or beef?”

  Joining him on the couch, I try to contain my joy of the taco spread he’s laying out. “One and one?”

  “Figured.” He pushes two foiled objects in my direction along with two small sides of salsa. “Beer?”

  My nod is immediate.

  Gideon grabs them from the other bag and begins to pop the tops. “Press play.”

  “Uh…how about a please?”

  “How about a thank you for midnight tacos?”

  I helplessly smirk at the counter. “Gracias.”

  A triumphant grin swiftly grows. “De nada.”

  “Though this feels like pity food,” my mumble is accompanied by the starting of the movie.

  “Pity food?” Gideon promptly inquires. “What the fuck does that mean?” The lack of immediate answering causes him to snatch the remote and return the movie to its still form. He nudges me with the side of his dress shoe to command my attention to his. As soon as our stares meet, he repeats, “What the fuck are you implying, Lenny?”

  My mouth suddenly runs Sahara level of dry.

  Gideon’s brown gaze maintains its piercing projection, and I suddenly feel like there’s a noose around my neck.

  I can’t just flat out tell him all my fears. That would make him fucking sprint for the hills. I know, I know, I preach to anyone who seeks my service the importance of communication, yet in my own life I tend to cut it short when it comes to the one person who probably could benefit from it the most. But how do you just blatantly tell someone you hate the idea of them loving anyone else? How do you word vomit feelings you’ve been keeping vaulted for…over a decade? I mean…yeah…I blurt out a bunch of shit, but most of it is meaningless or in good spirits. None of it has ever been life changing.

  Except that one time I stopped Mateo from marrying a woman who was clearly cheating on him.

  “Lenny.”

  “Pity because…” my words struggle to form the remainder of the sentence, “you…forgot to check in on me regarding dinner.”

  Gideon’s gaze remains skeptical.

  “Lucky for you, Jaye and Archer took mercy on me. I could’ve withered and died waiting on a text from you.”

  He finally rolls his eyes and returns to playing the movie.

  Relief nestles itself comfortably on my shoulders.

  “You know the fridge at home had plenty of food. You just hate having to cook for yourself.”

  “Why would I cook for myself when you and restaurants do it so much better?”

  The corner of his lip kicks up seconds prior to him having a bite of his taco.

  “And why are you hungry at midnight?” Against the nagging in my mind to not verify my earlier worries, I press on, wanting to rip it off like a Band-Aid. “Are these post bang munchies?”

  Our eyes lock once more.

  His lack of immediate response forces me to clamp my jaw shut tightly to prevent further accusations from spilling out. He casually chews on the food in his mouth making time suddenly slow down to an excruciatingly painful speed. Finally, he announces, “These are ‘haven’t eaten in over twelve hours’ tacos.”

  Relief prepares to make an appearance yet is beaten by shock. “What? Why? Wasn’t dinner on the date agenda?”

  “It was, but the trip to the ER intervened.”

  “What?!”

  Gideon nods and moves his taco towards his lips. My slapping of the back of his hand to stop the process has him grousing, “Didn’t you just hear me say I haven’t eaten in twelve hours? Why are trying to starve me? Do you want me to wither and die in front of you?”

  The teasing reference to my earlier statement gets a chuckl
e out of us both.

  “Seriously, OG. What happened? Why were you at the ER, and why didn’t you call me? I’m your emergency contact.”

  “It wasn’t for me.”

  I throw my hands up in question.

  “Gretchen, the twenty-nine-year old, Argentinian adrenaline junkie who looked like a Sport’s Illustrated cover, but sounded like she had been smoking a pack a day for the past fifty years, decided that rather than go have dinner, we would first go visit some friends of hers who were performing motorcycle tricks on the outskirts of the city. I met her there. Learned her favorite recreational activity is to swim with sharks, and her next favorite is tricks on her bike. Conversation died there due to one of her pals encouraging her to perform. Regardless of being called a pussy for objecting to her doing that shit in front of me, you know since I’m a fucking stranger and have no idea what her skill levels actually are, I repeatedly voiced my concern, considering she hadn’t done one in a couple weeks as a result of the trip she had been on for work. By the way, sports journalist was a good try,” Gideon compliments. “Had it not been for what happened next, we probably would’ve had a lot to talk about.”