Chapter 52. Helping My Homeboy Get Over His Ex

I’ve been in love with my homeboy—technically my best friend—for as long as I can remember.

But if I ever called him that to his face, it would be one-sided as hell. I still tell other people he’s my best friend, just never when he’s around. The second I do, his whole face tightens like I’ve insulted his bloodline. He says I’m “too much,” that I don’t act “girly” enough, that I’m always “acting like a stud.” Whatever that means.

I never confessed ten years ago in college, so I’m damn sure not doing it now. Besides, he’d never see me that way. I’m deadass confident about that.

Yet here we are, in his living room, rain drumming hard against the windows. I’m sitting on his worn leather couch, legs spread in my usual baggy cargo pants, and oversized hoodie, and he’s curled into me like a broken thing. His head is heavy on my chest, arms locked around my waist, face buried between my breasts like he’s trying to disappear. He’s crying again—third time this week in a row