My friend arrived from Atlanta late last night, and you'd think that she'd be tired. Not Savannah Loft. We have barely slept because we were up having the time of our lives. Not that it feels like it right now.
And of all the places in my decent-sized living room, complete with a plush sectional couch, two armchairs, and a bean bag nestled in the corner, she chose the carpet. Typical Savannah. She acts like the floor is her throne.
I return the milk carton to its rightful place in the refrigerator before spinning around to scoop up another spoonful of my soggy Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the ceramic bowl sitting on the kitchen island.
The island itself is cluttered with the aftermath of our late-night escapade. Half-empty liquor bottles, sticky shot glasses, and crumpled napkins litter the surface.
"Wanna go out tonight? Dinner maybe?" Savannah asks, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with her back curved and her eyes fixed on the floor.
We stayed up the entire night binge-drinking and spiralling into deep conversations that neither of us fully remembers. Now, we're two zombies dragging our limbs around the apartment, hungover and pitiful, the alcohol still coursing through our veins like a cruel joke.
"That's boring," I groan, rolling my eyes at her suggestion. "Why would I willingly sit and stare at your face in public?"
She raises a weak hand, her arm drooping like it's too heavy to lift. "You do have a point. But what else is there to do? It's really boring here."
Boring? After last night? I don't even have the strength to blink properly, let alone crave more excitement. Still, I entertain the idea—partly because I enjoy hanging out with her and partly because my tolerance for boredom has been razor-thin lately.
Not that I'm agreeing, she has been here for one night. I'm the one who's supposed to be complaining. Working a 9-5 is giving me PTSD. I have to wake up early in the mornings and resign myself to bed even earlier at night.
I'm starting to feel like a grandma.
"Well… we could go clubbing," I suggest, lazily twirling my spoon through the milk. "Today is my only day off left for the rest of the week."
Sav's head whips toward me, eyes squinting. "You didn't even tell me you have a job!"
And I won't. My profession isn't exactly the norm. And it isn't because I'm ashamed, but because the fewer people know, the safer they stay. Even though Savannah is my closest friend, I've never let her too far behind the curtain.
She'd eat up the drama like it's fiction—but this life? It's not a paperback thriller. It's real and dangerous. So I keep our connection warm, but distant. Safe. It's more comfortable that way.
I rub my temples as the pressure behind my eyes pulses. Every step I take feels like my soul is trying to leave my body. "What the fuck did we drink last night?" I mumble. "I haven't had a hangover like this in years."
Sav groans dramatically as she collapses on the carpet, limbs splayed. "I don't remember, but I'm never drinking it again."
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The afternoon sun beats down like punishment as Sav and I stroll along the uptown sidewalk, each of us sipping on oversized slushies. The icy sweetness is a small salvation—grape for me, strawberry for her, briefly cooling us as the heat clings to our skin like a second layer.
After making a last-minute decision to go out clubbing later, we hit three stores and now have shopping bags looped around both arms. My shoulders are already regretting it.
Sav takes a long slurp through her straw, then glances at me with a dreamy smile. "I love shopping with you for two reasons. Number one: you spoil me. Number two: you give the best outfit advice."
I flash her a toothy grin, reaching for her hand, "It's the price I'll pay to have an amazing friend."
We stop in front of a cosy bistro with lavender-painted window frames and the scent of garlic butter wafting through the air.
"Does brunch sound like a good idea?" I ask, already eyeing the menu posted outside.
"You won't hear me complainin'," she chirps, eyes lighting up. If there's one thing Savannah loves more than a good story, it's good food.
We step inside, heels clicking against the tiled floor. The room buzzes with the late lunch crowd, and heads instinctively turn when we enter. Maybe it's the confidence we carry or the coordinated outfits, but either way, eyes follow us.
I scan the room, and my breath pauses when I spot him.
There, tucked into a corner booth with his head tilted down toward a laptop screen, is Vaughn. His messy black curls, slightly fogged glasses, and that familiar intense focus. The sight is like watching a movie I've seen too many times but can't stop loving.
He takes a bite of his quesadilla without lifting his eyes from the screen. I smile.
Sliding into the booth beside him without a word, I lean in to surprise him with a kiss on the cheek but he turns at the wrong moment, and my lips land square on his.
"Zuri!" he exclaims, eyebrows shooting up.
I laugh, unapologetic. "Vaughn."
He blinks once, then chuckles softly. "I was wondering who kissed me… and why I liked it."
That earns him a playful nudge. It's not the first time we've kissed, far from it, actually, but that's the past. I wrap my arms around his neck, drawing him in a little closer. I didn't realise how much I missed him until right now.
He kisses my cheek gently. "Hi, sweetheart."
I smile, leaning into him. His crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, reveals a tease of chest hair, and his scent wraps around me like a drug I thought I'd quit.
Vaughn went from being my boyfriend to my best friend, and for years, we've been too attached to ever fully let go.
Like it or not… sometimes people don't work out as couples, but they're still meant to be in each other's lives. And I think that's the case with Vaughn and me.
Of course, the attraction between us flares up now and then—we're both attractive people, and we know it.
But I try my best not to complicate things. We already tried, and it didn't work. There was a reason for that.
"This is unusual," I say, trying to pull back while his hand stays planted on my lower back. "What brings you here?"
"Needed a change of scenery. My apartment was starting to feel like a prison."
A sudden cough jolts me back to reality.
Savannah.
Shit. I completely forgot about her standing there.
Vaughn finally turns and notices her for the first time. She's awkwardly clutching her shopping bags like they're a barrier between her and the booth.
"Hello," Vaughn says warmly, motioning for her to sit. "I'm Vaughn. It's nice to meet you."
Savannah sets the bags aside and slides into the booth across from us, avoiding my gaze. "I'm Savannah," she smiles, but this one doesn't reach her eyes. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I can say the same," Vaughn replies with a grin, eyes roaming over her in quiet interest.
I stare at her for a few minutes, observing the way her fingers toy with the charm on her purse and how uneven her breaths come.
Not wanting to make matters worse, but at the same time, give her space to breathe, I clear my throat. "We were thinking of having brunch. Do you mind if we join you?"
"Not at all. I could use the company."
Sav picks up a menu and studies it intensely, grateful that she no longer has to perform. "Argh, why do they make everything sound so good? I can't choose."
"I'll take the BBQ ribs with fries… and mashed potatoes," I say, handing my menu to the waitress.
"I'll go with a grilled chicken sandwich," Vaughn adds, closing his laptop with a soft click.
Sav's still undecided, biting her lip like it'll help her think faster.
"Get your top three," I tell her. "It's on me."
Her head whips up, "Really?"
I nod, trying not to show how guilty I feel for ignoring her earlier. It's the least I can do to cheer her up a bit.
Once we place our orders and settle in, the conversation begins to flow like it used to. Vaughn slides back into his usual charm, Savannah warms up with every sip of her drink, and I find myself watching them both with a quiet smile, grateful but unsettled.
Because just as I begin to let my guard down, that sensation returns.
A prickling on the back of my neck. A subtle chill under my skin.
The undeniable feeling that someone… is watching me.
I glance around, scanning the room to see if this threat is real, but all I spot are a few men in a corner booth, eyeing Sav and me like we're some dessert on display.
So I pull myself back into the moment, reaching under the table to find Sav's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. A silent apology for the way I acted earlier.
She flashes me a soft, knowing smile before shifting her attention back to Vaughn, who's now yapping about some anime he's recently gotten into.