Release Date: April 23, 2017
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According to the law of attraction, women and men can’t be friends.
Contrary to this myth, my friendship with Coriander Phillips does not rest on unrequited love or un-actualized lust. We’ve been inseparable since the day I pulled one of her pigtails and she punched me in the gut.
She’s hilarious, fun to hang out with. Together, we’re like peanut butter and jelly, spaghetti and meatballs, wings and beer. A match made in heaven.
She’s the bomb.
Did I mention she’s smokin’ hot? I’ve checked her out…maybe once or twice. Hey, I’m a guy.
Seriously, no awkwardness, no secret yearning for our relationship to escalate beyond the purely platonic. I’m the boy friend—the loyal shoulder she cries on, the dispenser of coffee, sympathy, hugs, advice, and affection with no expectations.
Until the invisible line between friends and lovers became blurry.
Now I want more. I want her.
All I have to do is convince her we can be more than friends.
Right?
If only it were that easy.
Hometown: Alpine, New Jersey
Relationship Status: Single
Occupation: Artist
Favorite Hobbies: Reading, karaoke, and hanging out with Dean
Author’s Muse: Meghan Markle
Dean Conrad Morello
Hometown: Alpine, New Jersey
Relationship Status: Single
Occupation: Hedge Fund Manager
Favorite Hobbies: Playing basketball with the fellas and hanging out with Coriander
Author’s Muse: Lance Parker
“You’re okay?” I ask Cori.
She nods, and pulls her coat more tightly around her, in an attempt to stop the freezing air from slithering up and down her body. Around us, the snow is falling like white confetti. We are moving slowly down the sidewalk to the crosswalk. I remove my peacoat and wrap it over her shaking shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“A gentleman always puts the needs of the woman in his arms ahead of his.” I slide my hand into hers, linking our fingers. With a gentle tug, I guide her to the right, away from the small group of college students leaving the bar. We continue in perfect harmony, fingers laced tightly.
“Not because she’s helpless or unable,” she says as we reach the corner.
“Definitely not.” I release her hand and focus my attention on the entertainment flyers papering the light pole, while we wait for the green light to switch to red.
“Why, then?” Cori rummages through her purse and produces a lip balm, which she swipes across her lips.
A taxicab slows in front of us, honks its horn. I wave it away, then turn to Cori. Her eyes are still a bit glassy from alcohol. “Because,” I start, my voice an octave lower than before. “A gentleman always wants to show a woman that she’s valuable and worthy of respect.”
“Thanks for tonight.”
I brush a snowflake off her cheek. “Anything for you, Moonchild.”
She tips her head, looks up at me, and flashes a smile that suddenly makes my heart feel way too big to fit in my ribcage. Before I realize what is happening, Cori wraps her hands around my neck, tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine.