Free Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) by Penny Reid Page A

pudding, but it turned out to be mayonnaise; of course I didn’t realize it was mayonnaise until after I had a huge spoonful in my mouth, and, of course, I couldn’t spit it out, because we were at his parents’ restaurant for dinner. I still hated mayonnaise with an unholy fire.
    In fifth grade he gave me the nick name Skinny Finney which stuck with me until college.
    W orst of all, in sixth grade he became best friends with Garrett.
    And even through all of it, the baiting when I was a kid and the persecution when I was a teenager, I couldn’t seem to force myself to loath him like he’d apparently despised me.
    I was so confused—his outburst at the hospital then later apology, his request to be friends, and now his flirting with Sandra as well as the arrogant and flippant retorts. I had Nico-mood-swing whiplash.
    I clenched my jaw and glanced around the small hallway, over Nico’s shoulder toward the door of the gym. I was officially flustered. I wanted to scream at him, indulge my instincts, give in to the spiteful verbal sparring match—as was our typical pattern. Instead I clamped my mouth shut.
    I was determined to let the old habit die . I didn’t want to be that person anymore.
    My voice was a bit higher pitched than normal as I tried to literally and figuratively avoid the minefield of his last statement. “Well, Sandra and I are going to head in, so . . .  See you later.”
    I stepped to the side, hoped to walk around him , but he mirrored my movements, effectively caused me to collide into his chest. Nico’s hands lifted to my bare shoulders and he held me in place. It was one of those moments where my body ceased listening to my brain.
    My brain said: Step away from the naughty hottie.
    My body said: . . . I like cookies.
    “Wait, where are you sitting?” He dipped his head such that only eight to six inches of air separated us, “Where’s your table?”
    Nothing is more frustrating than being attracted to someone who is a complete jerk —except for maybe also caring about that person despite continued abuses. I was such an idiot.
    I cleared my throat and my eyes—the traitors!—focused on his mouth . “We’re, uh—”
    OhMyGodYouSmellFantastic .
    “—we’re at table ten , I think.”
    “You should sit with me, with us.”
    Sandra and I responded at the same time, talked over each other.
    Me, shaking my head: “No, no, we’re not supposed to switch tables—”
    Sandra, nodding her head: “Yes, we’d love to. What table are you?”
    Nico smiled warmly at Sandra. They both pretended like I hadn’t spoken. Matters weren’t helped by his thumb dancing little sweeping caresses over the exposed skin of my shoulder, rendering me mute.
    “I’m at table two, right next to the dance floor.”
    “Well then, we’ll just see you inside.” Sandra hooked her arm through mine, pulled me out of Nico’s grip and toward the gym. “But first we’re going to go to the ladies room so we can talk about you.”
    The sound of Nico’s laughter followed us only as far as the inside of the gym where it was swallowed by loud chatter and dance music.
    Sandra leaned close to my ear and semi-shouted. “Where is the bathroom? Lucy! You have some ‘splaining to do.”
    I frowned— not at her, at the entire situation—and pointed in the direction of the girls’ locker rooms. She grabbed my hand and maneuvered us through the crowd. My once carefully coiffed waves of blonde tumbled over my shoulders in a messy mass.
    No sooner were we inside did she open her mouth. I clamped my hand over it and with the other raised a finger to my mouth. Her eyes grew large and her eyebrows lifted. I motioned with my head toward the showers, silently asked her to follow.
    Once we were tucked within the last stall in the last row, I closed the curtain then covered my face and breathed out forcefully.
    “Please don’t ask .”
    “Oh, girl, I’m gunna ask.” She cut me off with a calm whisper. “And you’re