Choices

"I'm sure your dad would flip his shit," I say, probably the only smart thing I've managed to say thus far, "And I'm sure, for the record, that Eddie would be a terrible choice."

Rachel raises an eyebrow at me, a moment before the light changes and we'll have to cross the street to rejoin the group. I pretend I don't see it for an instant, and then when I do I sigh and roll my eyes.

"Come on, Rachel. You're way too much woman for him. You would eat that poor boy alive."

So we're laughing again when we rejoin the group, the two of us cackling and thick as thieves and the rest of the group just side eyes us as we string along by the outskirts waiting for the final minutes to pass before the blissfully boring tour kicks into gear again.

Subtle are my machinations as I take little steps to circle us around the group while we wait, pushing Rachel this way and that until she bumps into Eddie without noticing. Not hard, but I think it just might be the first bit of physical touch they've actually had.

"Sorry about that," Rachel says warmly to him, snapping a look over to me, "My friend here doesn't know how to keep the proper bit of personal space, clearly."

Eddie mumbles something about not minding and blushes, taking a full step back that Rachel closes with a half step.

"What did you do during lunch break?" Rachel asks him, "Did you find a good place to eat?"

Eddie shrugs, "Street meat."

He blushes harder and then quickly overcorrects, "Just a hot dog from a vendor."

"Wow," Rachel tries to pry a little more out of him, "And then what?"

"Uhh, nothing?" Eddie says, "I mean I wasn't hungry after that. I don't generally have much of an appetite."

"Shocker there," Rachel teases, "With your build I'd figure you'd be constantly chugging down protein shakes to keep up with your routine at the gym. You squat what? Double your bodyweight, bro?"

She laughs and he doesn't, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he perceives judgment instead of flirting.

What a fucking idiot.

"What did you do with the rest of your time, Eddie?" I ask him, trying to fix the miscommunication, "I mean you didn't spend the whole break just eating one hot dog."

"No I..." he flails, "I got some work done?"

Now I know what he means by this, but Rachel doesn't. And that's exactly the point because she presses a little more.

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