Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) Read Free Page B

was bitter, and his indisputably handsome face was marred by an ugly sneer.
    “Especially me.”
    “That’s not how I remember it.”
    My face flushed at the double-entendre and his eyes ignited with satisfaction. Some of the sneering ugliness was replaced with smug male arrogance. Even as I internally eye-rolled, I hoped Rose wouldn’t pick up on his complisult (compliment + insult)
    I understood that he had every right to be angry with me. I was still angry with myself. But the timing of this conversation, his timing, was exceedingly not cool. This situation was not about him or us or what happened eleven years ago between two grieving teenagers.
    He was engaging in machismo asshattery, and I would have none of it.
    I forced casual steadiness into my voice and redoubled my resolve to resist participating in his bait-fest. “You knew me a long time ago.”
    “I’ve known you all my life . We pulled pranks on my brothers, we had a monopoly game that went on for three years, we built a tree house in your backyard, our dads took us to our first Cubs game together.”
    “That was a long time ago.”
    “We used to have sleepovers. . .”
    I flinched, said nothing.
    “I know you better than anyone.” His words were a suggestive whisper and patently false.
    “ Not for the last eleven years.”
    “ Well—” He spread his arms out; his voice deceptively calm. “There’s no time like the present. Let’s get reacquainted. We can start with you treating Angelica.”
    “I’m not the doctor you want .”
    “You are the doctor I want.” He grew adamant, louder, like someone who was used to getting his way by raising his voice.
    “I’m not the doctor Angelica needs.” I pressed my palm to my chest, held it there because my heart was once again hurting.
    “You don’t get to make that decision.” His adamant became obstinate.
    “In this case you should listen to me, I know what I’m —”
    “ I don’t have to do anything. We’ve already established that you’re not perfect.” His obstinate became pigheaded. Usually I didn’t mind a good old yelling match, but I had no desire to scare the four-year-old little girl in the room.
    “ N-Nico,” his name felt strange on my tongue, because my voice was quiet, but I wanted to yell at him; I stuttered as my frustration peaked, “E-everyone makes mistakes.”
    It was his turn to flinch , and I thought I saw something resembling pain paint a shadow over his features; his voice increased further in volume until it was a booming shout, “Well one person’s mistake is another person’s—”
    “ Niccolò!” Rose’s sharp warning was whispered, but it was enough to keep him from finishing the thought.
    He clamped his mouth shut and shot to his feet, pulled both of his hands through his hair then drummed on his leg with restless fingers. His eyes flickered to mine then to the door.
    “I need a cigarette.” He mumbled.
    He was gone before I registered he was even moving, and the door shut behind him.
    The room felt quieter, calmer without him in it. The beige didn’t seem so dull. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so dim.
    He’d always been a larger -than-life presence. Growing up in our small town it seemed everyone was drawn to him. Everyone but me. When we were kids and we played together he unsettled me, made me self-conscious. He was too. . . magnetic. Even then I didn’t trust myself around Nico, because I had difficulty saying no to him. I couldn’t compete with his restless energy, and I didn’t like being overwhelmed by it.
    We’d just spent twenty minutes together , and already I was exhausted.
    I rubbed the space between my eyes with my index and middle fingers. Frayed nerves began to mend, and I released a cleansing breath.
    I didn’t realize I’d been staring at the door until Rose inter rupted my meanderings.
    “It’s so good to see you.”
    I blinked at her. “Ah, thank you, Rose.”
    “ Are you Rapunzel?” A small voice sprung