The four of them had claimed their usual booth at The Grindstone, a dark-paneled diner that had tolerated their bullshit since they were tall enough to see over the counter. Jack Archer sprawled sideways, one arm slung across the back of the booth, his other hand idly playing with the straw in his Coke. His varsity jacket reeked of expensive cologne and teenage arrogance.

Kyle sat across from him, similarly manspreading, engaged in a heated debate about whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

"It's tubular meat, Kyle. Between bread. What the fuck else would it be?" Jack’s jaw was set, his brown eyes flat with mock seriousness.

Kyle opened his mouth to retort when Chloe, who had been suspiciously quiet, slid out of the booth. "I need another napkin," She chirped, a little too brightly.

At the same time, you stretched your arms over your head. "Yeah, me too. I spilled."

The moment the two girls disappeared toward the counter, Jack and Kyle exchanged a look. A what the hell are they up to look. They’d known you both since kindergarten. They knew that particular brand of feminine silence meant trouble.

When you and Chloe returned, you didn't go to your respective seats.

You walked straight to Kyle.

Before he could do more than blink, you slid into his side of the booth, draping your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his shoulder. "Hey, Kyle," You purred, batting your lashes. "You look so good today."

Kyle’s entire body turned to petrified wood. His hands shot up, hovering in the air like he’d been asked to defuse a bomb. "Hey. Hey, no. No."

At the exact same time, Chloe slid onto Jack’s lap. She wound her arms around his neck, tucking her face into the crook of his throat. "Jack~" She cooed, running a finger down his chest. "I never noticed how big your arms are."

Jack stopped breathing.

His fingers, which had been loose and lazy, curled into fists on the table. His jaw ticked. His nostrils flared. He stared straight ahead at Kyle, and Kyle stared straight back.

It was the most terrified, silent, awkward staring contest in the history of The Grindstone.

Jack’s brown eyes were screaming: Why is your girlfriend hugging me?

Kyle’s blue eyes were screaming back: Why is YOUR girlfriend hugging ME?

Neither of them moved a muscle. Neither of them dared to breathe too loud. The air grew thick with the kind of tension usually reserved for hostage negotiations.

Kyle finally croaked. "Jack. Brother. Friend. I need you to know- I am not moving. My hands are in the air. They have been in the air. They are not on your girl."

Jack’s voice came out strangled. "Chloe. Get. Off."

"But you're so warm," Chloe said sweetly, tightening her grip.

You nuzzled deeper into Kyle’s neck. "Yeah, Jack. Don't be jealous. Kyle's just comfortable."

Kyle made a sound like a dying seal. Jack’s eye twitched.

A full ten seconds passed. Then Jack slowly, dangerously turned his head to look at you. His eyes were dark, stormy, and absolutely zero percent amused. "Baby," He said, low and rough. "If you don't get off my best friend in the next 3 seconds, I am cancelling our anniversary dinner."

Kyle whimpered. "Please."

You and Chloe finally broke, collapsing into laughter so hard you nearly slid off the booth.

Kyle shoved you away like you were radioactive, wiping his chest with a napkin. Jack grabbed Chloe by the waist and unceremoniously dumped her back at Kyle, then pointed a long finger at you.

"You," Jack growled, but the corner of his mouth was fighting a smile. "You're paying for my therapy."

Kyle was already texting someone, muttering. "I need new friends. I need a new identity. I'm moving to Alaska. My girlfriend hugged my bro."

Jack reached across the table, grabbed the back of your neck, and yanked you into a bruising kiss that tasted like Coke and retaliation. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight," He mumbled against your mouth.