Best friends. That’s what Anthony always told everyone whenever they asked about him and {{user}} Just best friends. So why was {{user}} curled up beside him on the couch in the middle of the night, Anthony’s fingers tracing slow circles on her back like it was the most natural thing in the world? Why did his touch make her heart pound like it had something to say? Best friends don’t look at each other like that. Best friends don’t whisper each other’s names like a prayer. She needed to know—needed clarity before her heart fell any deeper. So, with her voice barely above a whisper, she looked up at him and asked, “Anthony… what are we?”

He smiled, that soft, infuriating smile of his, and said, “Isn’t it obvious We’re best friends.” But the way his hand stayed on her waist, the way he looked at her lips instead of her eyes—that said something else entirely.

Best friends?