The next morning I stood on Henry's porch banging my fist against the dense iron of his front door. It was just before dawn, the sky was still murky and dark, and my best friend was likely still trapped in a deliriously good sleep. Well, enough of that.

     Under the fake rock in his garden I found the spare key and let myself in. The house was a geometric spectacle. All sharp lines and symmetry. He style was minimalist; his furniture simple but purposeful. He'd payed a fifty thousand dollar down payment on it with the money he'd made from his first published novel. An investment, he'd said. Hopefully more money would follow if he ever finished that sequel. In the meantime, his mortgage payments were satisfied with the income brought in from his day job.

     I turned on the lights as I moved, flooding his living room and hallways with sharp brightness from sleek, curved lamp fixtures. I stopped only to put on a pot of coffee in his chrome-covered kitchen nightmare. Henry's home was beautiful, and modern, and ergonomic, and...so not my style. No disrespect intended of course, he had a good eye, but where he saw elegance and sophistication I saw monotony and sterilization.

     Up the stairs and in the massive master bedroom Henry lay sprawled out under the covers of his enormous king-sized bed. I flicked at the switch by the door and watched as he tried to burrow himself deeper into his pillows.

     "Rise and shine, princess," I said with glee.

     "Fuck you."

     "That's the spirit."

     "What time is it?" he half mumbled, half moaned.

     "About five thirty."

     He let out an irritated groan. "What kind of psycho wakes up this early on a Saturday?"

     "People who own coffee shops. Come on, we're going to be late." The bed barely sank when I sat on the edge of it.

     "Why did I agree to do this?"

     "Cause you're my best friend and deep down you want to meet any guy I'm with to make sure he's okay."

     He sighed, "...I don't really care what you do either way to be honest."

     There was laughter in my voice as I yelled, "Get the hell up!" I yanked the covers back and flinched from the flash of skin. "Oh...thank God you wear underwear to bed."

     That made him chuckle. "Thank God for the both of us," He sat up, eyes still heavy, and yawned before staring down at my feet. "Are you wearing shoes? Why are you—"

     Whoops. "I'm sorry. I forgot—"

     "Take them off."

     I sighed but slipped out of them in a couple of easy movements and let them dangle from the tips of my fingers. "You're not gonna flake on me, are you?"

     His brow furrowed at that. "Of course not. Just give thirty minutes."

     "Okay. It doesn't start until seven anyway. We can swing through Burger King on the way."

     "Breakfast on you?"

     "Mmm hmm. And coffee downstairs."

     Fueled by the desire of a free combo meal he finally got up and got moving. It only took him twenty-five minutes to drink his coffee, shower, and throw on a sweater and some slacks—an amount of time that would have allowed me to do my hair and not much else.

     From his house we drove in his ugly lime green SUV to the I95, after a stop through the drive-thru at Burger King of course. By the time we hit the Kingsley Bridge the sun broke the horizon and illuminated the sky a pastel-like pink and gold. The waters of the San Juan River glittered beneath us as Henry battled six lanes of traffic.

     I was quieter than usual. Mostly just from nerves. I needed this to go well. I needed my boyfriend and my best friend of the last twenty years to meet and get along, or at least be cool with each other.

     "I can't believe you're dating a jock," Henry muttered through a mouth full of bacon, egg, and cheese.

     "He's not a jock."

     "He runs."

     "So?"

     "I bet he played football in high school."

     I shrugged. "That and baseball. But you played baseball too and I played softball."

     "Yeah, but this is like extra-extra-curricular jock behavior. Like, between work and family and you he had to plan this thing, and register, and practice and shit."

     I munched on hash browns. "Mmm hmm. He says he wakes up almost every morning to jog for thirty minutes."

     "Fucking jock."

     Pryor Stadium had been built in a prime location. It sat facing the bend of the river, just on the edge of downtown. The baseball diamond was to its right—home to Burenville's minor league team—and the Memorial Arena sat to the left—home to our bizarrely successful ice hockey team; also minor league. Behind them, I knew, the fairgrounds hid in irrelevance until the fall when the Agricultural Fair came back.

     We were directed to park in lot A, free of charge for once. They'd opened an area near the practice field and set up booths and a stage where some local band played terrible folksy country music.

     "I didn't know there was going to be so much out here," I shouted over the music.

     "They cover these at work sometimes. They try to make it interesting for the spectators."

     Interesting was right. Half the crowd was in athletic gear—compression shorts, running shoes, sweat bands, and numbers printed up and tacked to their person. The other half of the crowd was full of family and friends. They talked and ate and let their kids go play on a bouncy castle that someone had sat up.

     Others crowded around the vendors that lined the pavement just in front of the stadium. They were hawking their wares, as was usual for business people, but more importantly they were handing out freebees.

     When Henry saw the spark in my eyes he tried to reason with me, "Please don't embarrass me."

     "I don't know what you mean." I smiled as sweetly as I could.

     "This is like Sam's Club twenty-oh three all over again."

     "If there's free shit, I'm going to get some. I don't know why you trying to be cute."

     "See, the thing is...I'm grown—"

     "Oh, Here we go."

     "So, when I want something, I can use the money I get from my adult job instead of having my hands out like the rest of these plebs—are they giving out free hats?"

     I followed his gaze to a booth where crowds of people were grabbing merch off a table advertising a real estate office. "Looks like it, yeah."

     "Fuck it. I'm getting a hat."

     We spent the next twenty minutes going from booth to booth. Henry was able to grab a handful of snacks; plastic wrapped cookies, bananas, small bags of chips, and juice boxes. I meanwhile made myself comfortable at a vender giving out samples of product from her soap shop. I grabbed a couple of locally made bars of soap—oatmeal honey and jojoba—and some free mini bottles of sunscreen.

     By the time I got back to Henry my phone sent me the telltale buzz of a new text message. "Shit."

     "Who is it?" Henry's hypocritical ass said from underneath a baseball cap.

     "Uh...probably my boyfriend." I tossed my haul in my purse and retrieved the phone.

     "Oh right. Him."

     I was having so much fun I forgot the plan was to find him when we got here. "He sent me a text."

     'Are you here' Simple and to the point as usual.

     I tried to convey an apologetic tone, 'Yeah. Just got here. Sorry I'm late.'

     After a few seconds he sent back a reply, 'I'm already on my way to the starting line See you at the finish'

     Like magic a voice came over the intercom instructing all runners to the starting line. Stadium employees materialized and started herding the crowd toward one of the entrances. Henry and I went inside. Without the runners the crowd was sparser, and we were able to get an aisle almost completely to ourselves.

     "So, what's he like?"

     A smile spread across my face. "He's nice. And sweet. And, surprisingly, he can be funny."

     "And he treats you right?"

     "I wouldn't be with him if he didn't."

     "Good. You know, not that I care."

     "Sure."

     The sun was fully up by now and beating down on the back of our necks like a heat lamp, so I rummaged through my purse and pulled out the old collapsible umbrella. Opening it, I let it sit on my shoulder to shield me from the strengthening heat.

     It took precisely ten minutes for Henry to start complaining, "It's so hot," he said with a wistful glance at my umbrella.

     "Yep."

     "Barely even feels like winter."

     "Nope."

     "Can I use the umbrella."

     "Nope."

     "I burn faster than you."

     "Not my prob, Bob."

     "Please."

     "Ugh. Fine. But you have to hold it for the both of us."

     "Okay," I made a big show of passing it to him and leaning close enough for us to both benefit from the shade. After a minute of holding it, purple frillies and all, he read my mind, "Don't say it—"

     "You lookin' mighty dandy holdin' my umbrella, Mister." I exaggerated my southern drawl to an appalling degree.

     "Goddamn it." I apologized for being so obnoxious by trading him the bottles of sunscreen for a cookie.

     Fifteen minutes later the crowd started cheering as runners—mostly young men at this point— came jogging on to the field and across the finish line. After a couple dozen of the faster runners, I spotted Manny. He looked as fine as usual; wavy black hair, brown skin, muscular arms and legs.

     From the other side of the finish line he scanned the crowd from behind reflective sunglasses. When he saw me—waving like a lunatic by the way—he smiled and waved back. When he saw Henry, however, his smile dropped.

     "Uh oh."

     "What was that?"

     "Doesn't look like he's happy to see you."

     "He knew I was coming right?" When I wouldn't look him in the eye he said, "Evie!"

     "I didn't think it would matter."

     "Fuck. Okay, we have to rethink our whole strategy now."

     "Maybe he'll be cool."

     "Maybe."

     We met him out front. He stood before us all sweaty and serious and like someone had just punched him right in the throat. If we were in private I would have defused the tension by immediately jumping his bones—as you do. But this was public, and I was on a mission to introduce these two. No matter how badly this could turn.

     "This is Henry," I said laying the charm on thick.

     Manny's eyes remained cool as he stared Henry down. "The friend. Right."

      "So anyway," I tried to move the conversation along. "Good run or whatever you say at these things."

     "Yeah," he looked over at me. "So, did you drive here?"

     "No, we came in his car." I gestured toward Henry but he seemed determined not to interact with him more than necessary.

     "Cool, so I guess I can take you home."

     "Uh, yeah." I sent henry a look.

     He understood. "So yeah nice to meet you, but I've actually got something else planned, so I should get going."

     "Okay. Call you later." When Henry was out of sight I gave Manny a frustrated look.

     "What? You heard him. He had somewhere to go."

     I sighed at that. "He didn't have shit to do this morning."

     "Then why did he—"

     "Because you were being weird."

     "How was I—"

     "You said I could bring a friend with me."

     "Well, yeah—"

      "So, what was the problem?"

     He hesitated. "I thought you'd bring Alice, okay."

     "I asked but she was busy, so I called in my alternate."

     "I just assumed you'd be here with one of your little girlfriends. Instead you were with a man."

     "It's just Henry."

     "Henry's still a man. I was blindsided."

     I guess I could understand. "Okay maybe I should have warned you he was coming. I didn't think it'd be a big deal."

     "It's not. I get it. Your best friend's a dude. It's fine, I just...it makes me a little uncomfortable."

     "I'm sorry."

    "Don't be."

     I laughed. "Can we start the morning over?"

     "Hell yeah."

     "So, good race then."

     He smiled. "Placed one hundred and seventh out of a thousand three hundred."

     "Not bad. Of course, it's every girls dream to date the hundred-sixth fastest runner in this cancer race. That would have been hot."

     "Sure you won't make an exception?"

     "I could be persuaded." He grabbed my hand and started leading me toward the parking lot. "Where are you taking me?"

     "Back to my place."

     "Sir, I am a lady. I don't just follow strange men back to their houses like a common trollop."

     "That's not the tune you were singing two nights ago."

     "Why, whatever do you mean? I'm as innocent as a spring morning."

     He smiled at that. "Even you don't believe that bullshit."

     Once we got to his house, this cozy two story number with four bedrooms, he excused himself to the master bathroom. I entertained myself by playing with Bertie, Manny's large brown shelter dog. When he came from the shower nude, dripping wet, and staring at me I was still playing naïve.

     "I hope you haven't gotten any improper ideas while you were in there?"

     "Maybe a couple."

     I laughed as he pulled me into his embrace. "Not in front of Bertie! She's too pure to see that." He shut me up with a kiss.

     An hour later I lay in Manny's arms listening to the slow rhythmic beating of his heart. We'd drifted off to sleep together, but now I lay awake and stared across the room and toward the master bath.

      I gave my head a little wiggle, just enough to feel the tickle of his chest hair against my cheek but not enough to disturb him. I waited, but he kept sleeping. I lifted my head up higher and stared at him, ready for any movement. He didn't even flinch. I risked pushing myself away from him, but he stayed dead to the world. Perfect.

     I eased off the bed and quickly shuffled my way into the bathroom, making sure to close and lock the door behind me. Once inside I stepped in front of his outdated porcelain sink and stared in horror at my reflection. My hair was as wild and dehydrated as tumbleweed. It was the price paid for keeping it long and curly. Some days, when I put the work in, my curls were sleek, shiny, and layered over my shoulders like a fine, black tapestry. It was beautiful. Regal even. But if my highs were high, then goddamn it my lows were hella low. On my worst days it looked dry and brittle, and like my momma didn't love me enough.

     I turned on the facet and dunked my head under the running water. After it was soaked I rung it out, coiled it on top of my head and searched Manny's closet for some kind gel to set it. After I was done I quick dried with a towel and hid the evidence.

     As I was walking out of the bathroom he was waking up. "Your hair looks nice."

     "Must be blessed by the hair gods."

     He smiled and bounded off the bed with one smooth movement. The sheets dropped from around his waist. Oh great. He'd gotten excited again within the last two seconds somehow. And I'd just fixed my hair too. I tried to dodge his hands, but he was too fast. He pulled me against him and crushed his mouth over mine.

     When I came up for air he was trying to gently lead me back to the bed. "Aren't you tired from all that running?"

     "Not even a little."

     "Wouldn't you like to talk?"

     "About what?"

     "Uh, Life."

     "Maybe later."

     "I probably should go to work."

     "I thought you said Jackson was putting in some extra hours today."

     "Shit, I did, didn't I?"

     "Evie, are you trying to get out of here?"

     "Nope. I just like playing hard to get."

     "Trust me, you were hard to get."

     "Funny."

     An hour later he'd knocked out again and I'd pulled another quick-wash trick. I sat up in bed scrolling through my email and yawning against the pull of sleep. I promised him I wouldn't work when I was with him, but I usually reneged sometime in the third act.

     Pasha had left a couple of quick questions. One about a blend of coffee that we'd run out of and the other about how long a LARPing planning committee would be renting out the room on the second floor. I text her back and moved to put my phone down before an alert let me know that I had another email.

     It was from someone named Trudy Bergman asking if she could set up a consultation on Monday. She wanted to hire me to find someone.

     "Hey, I thought you said you weren't going to work today," I hadn't even noticed that he'd woken up.

     I turned the screen away from him as subtly as I could. "Yeah sorry. Just needed to answer a couple of questions from Pasha."

     He sighed but accepted it. "I'm getting hungry. You want take-out?" He got out of bed; still as naked as the day he was born.

     I let my eyes rake over his body. "Yeah."

     "Chinese?"

     "Ooh, I could go for Chinese." I started a reply to Trudy Bergman as he rustled around for the takeout menu.

     "What does she want?"

     "...Hmm?"

     "Pasha?"

      "Uh...just wondering where our last can of coffee is."

     He didn't even question the absurdity of that. "What do you want?"

     "Hmm?"

     "From the Chinese place."

     "Mushu Pork...and some wontons...and some eggrolls."

     I glimpsed over at him to make sure he wasn't looking over my shoulder before I sent an email back.

     I'll be available Mon at 1 PM at Taste Teas. 5932 University Ave.

     As Manny dialed the Hot Wok up the street he smiled at me. I could tell him about this new business venture I'd embarked on, but we'd had such a fun day. Why spoil the mood? Besides, it was only a matter of time before he caught me.  And it practically wasn't even a lie in that case. Not a big one anyway. At least that's what I liked to tell myself.

     "Could I ask a favor?" I said when he'd hung up.

     "Anything."

     "Have dinner with me and Henry." He sighed. "And his girlfriend."

     "He has a girlfriend?"

     "Oh, yeah?"

     "I don't know..."

     "I'm not trying to make you best friends. Just come and meet him properly. You'll feel a lot better about our friendship after. I promise."

     "And if I don't?"

     "You will!" God, I hoped so. "You'll go, and you'll see that there's nothing between us. And you'll laugh about this whole thing later."

     I could see the skepticism in his eyes, but he caved so easily when I asked him to do things in that particular tone of voice, "Okay. I'll do it for you." He leaned down and gave me an affectionate peck on the lips.

     Perfect. Now I just needed to convince Henry to pass his newest fling off like she was his girlfriend. How hard could it be?