Chapter Twenty-Four: "Wheel of Fortune."

LARINE GOT A HAIRCUT.

Her long blonde hair that had been so close to her waist now barely grazed her shoulders. The style was accompanied by curtain bangs and lighter highlights that made me stare at her for longer than I should have when I got home from work that Thursday.

She had a soft smile on her face when she showed me, swinging her head from side to side, "What do you think?"

She had a face that could pull off any hairstyle. But I also knew that this was just another method to the madness. She kept touching it. Even now when I came down the stairs, in different clothes. She was lying down on the couch in the living room with a blanket over her legs, her hands in her hair. Caressing the strands as if she couldn't believe what she had done.

I watched her go strand by strand through her hair, just thinking, not entirely focused on what she was doing. "You look great," I assured her as I approached her, fixing the white hat on my head that I had planned to match my shoes. 

She flinched at my unexpected voice but recovered quickly. She pulled her fingers away from her hair as she turned to face me. 

Larine perked her head up. "Aven here yet?"

"Not yet," I had told her all about our plans for tonight. I invited her too, but she declined. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"And be a third wheel?" She scoffed, shifting the blanket over her legs. "Not likely."

"You're not going to be a third wheel." If anything, she would be the first wheel. She would be the priority even if Aven's face came into my mind and penetrated my thoughts.

Disbelief clouded her expression as she held onto the back of the couch. "You can't be serious. Especially not after the pictures you posted on Instagram."

"His comment was harmless." No, it wasn't. 

Larine shifted to her knees on the couch, the blanket falling around her legs. "That picture you posted of the two of us? Good choice by the way."

"You helped me pick the photo." I deadpanned.

"And you made an excellent choice," Her grin was cheeky. That photo was placed third, after a picture of all of us and a picture of me. "But anyway, he could've just said something in general, you know? Like a fire emoji, or like, commented about something we did yesterday. A little inside joke—but no."

"Larine."

"He said 'toronto looks good on you'." She put her hands on her hips. And as if I didn't catch it the first time, she decided to yell the words, "HE SAID 'TORONTO LOOKS GOOD ON YOU'!"

"I HEARD YOU!" I yelled back with a grin. She said it as if Yasmeen hadn't texted me about it eerily a minute after he had commented. As if I didn't stare at the comment for five minutes during my break at work.

Larine wasn't going to let the entire app of Instagram go. She was an avid user, had a picture on the app at least once a month and her private Instagram which she had granted me access to had some kind of update almost every day. 

She'd deleted every single picture she had with her ex with teary eyes last night when Aven had dropped us off. She'd left the house this morning, headed out for a run and sat on this couch. I didn't think she moved. But if she was invested in whatever the hell I had going on with Aven, I was going to allow it if it took up a part of her mind that wasn't centred on her ex.

"Did you comment on his picture?"

"What is there to even comment?" I asked, leaning on the back of the couch to pull out his Instagram. There was one picture of the two of us Larine had taken walking ahead as we were exiting Union station. He was grinning at something I had said in the photo. I didn't remember the conversation, but I was a little surprised he had chosen that one to post.

"Daddy?"

"Larine--" I grabbed the pillow, attempting to shove it in her face.

She deflected the move easily, laughing her ass off as she set the pillow down. "Fine, you don't want to be upfront. I get it."

"Do you?"

"No," She confessed but thankfully changed the subject. "Oh, Iman texted saying that there was a party and invited me out to meet some people. That means I'll be fine, and you can go and have fun on your music date."

"It's not a music date."

She wasn't convinced. "Uh-huh."

"Have fun at the party but text me if you need anything, okay?" I told her, pushing off the back of the couch.

"Jaime," She tucked her hair behind her ears. "You don't need to worry about me."

"I think we're at a place where I can say that I can worry about you," I said. My hand had returned to the back of the couch, feeling the fabric beneath my fingers. "Even before, I would have either way. Mariam and Yasmeen are the same. Mari might actually help you break Benny's hockey stick and Yasmeen would probably give you a really good hug. She gives good hugs."

Larine softened at my ramble. I offered a small smile before switching to another app on my phone. "You know, the three of us share our locations whenever we're out. Just in case."

We never had the time to ask her. Every time Larine had left the house, Benny was involved, and a note was left on the fridge stating that she had left.

I couldn't properly decipher her expression. It seemed to be a mix of surprise and astonishment at my gesture. I shrugged. I didn't think it was that big of a deal. The two of us turned on our location for each other.

"I have volunteering tomorrow morning so I'll be home early but if you're back early from hanging out with your sister, I might just rope you into another marathon of Days of Our Lives."

"Aren't you watching that with Yasmeen?"

"The traitor watched ten episodes without me." I almost spat out just when there was a knock on the door. He never picked me up without knocking or ringing the bell.

Larine shot me a grin. "Have fun on your date."

"Larine." Her laugh was the last thing I heard when I stepped outside to face Aven only to see that he was already skipping down the staircase.

It was pitch black at 7 PM in November but the porch light shining only reminded me how light seemed to be his best friend. It reflected off of him, his energy, his skin and the smile I caught a glimpse of since he was already walking to his car. "Why are you happy?" I asked.

He redirected his smile to me, and I didn't fight my own as my lips rose in reciprocation. "I've never played an instrument before."

He really hasn't played an instrument before.

Thanks to the key Laurence had trusted me with to the music rooms on campus, we sat in one of my favourite rooms. There were no windows and the wallpaper surrounding us was an ugly yellow, but the piano pushed up against the wall was finely tuned, unlike a few of the others in adjacent chambers.

I got to hear Aven fiddle with the piano, hurting the poor keys as he randomly attempted to ear 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'.

And fail.

After rounds of me telling him that he may as well have been tone-deaf—and I have heard the man sing, providing me further evidence—I went slowly, putting a summer of me teaching kids grade 1 to grade 8 piano to good use, without any of the technical books at hand.

"This is the middle C. Press your thumb," Aven did as I asked. "Okay good. Most of the time as a beginning, your thumb is likely going to be here. Now, this is the D." He let out a little laugh and I nudged him with my elbow. But it didn't help that even I grinned. "Then the E, F, G, and you repeat the alphabet as you go along. So, A, B, C, D, E, F, G. There we go."

"What are these thingies?" He asked me, pointing to the black keys.

I snorted at his choice of diction. He sounded like his sister. "Those are black keys, usually called a sharp or a flat. And this would be called a C sharp."

"Why do they call it that?"

"I don't know." I did know. Musical theory was something I hated growing up, but it stuck.

"Why don't they call it something else? Black key 1 and black key 2. Green and blue." He's ridiculous when he's in a good mood.

"Green and blue?"

"Metaphorically."

"Metaphorically?" When I turned to look at him as my fingers started dancing along with the keys, his lips were twitching causing me to shake my head. But his focus was on my long digits. "Go ask the piano gods why they didn't name it that."

Aven glanced at the music sheet that was left on the stand. A song I recognized. "What does crescendo mean?"

"Getting louder."

I didn't have to look at him, taking one hand off the piano to nudge him on the side as he started laughing again. "I didn't think piano would have so much sexual content. No wonder why you play it."

"Shut up."

His lips rose even higher, the curiosity swimming in those brown irises. "Am I lying?"

Another thing he's been doing since last night. I didn't answer him. I didn't look at him either. We were secluded in a small room with no windows that had never felt so small until this moment. Filled with him, his scent, his words, his mind, in an area that I dominated.

The volleyball court was his territory and I had never felt this way when I was in it. But him in mine never made me feel so aware of everything in the small space. Of the papers on the stand next to us and pushed off to the side. Of how his arm kept brushing my own over and over again every time we spoke. My fingers itched to touch him yet I opted for the piano, keeping my hands on a place they've belonged for years.

Aven watched me in silence. He watched my fingers move to the melody of a song I had memorized so long ago, engraved in me without having to look at the papers. A sensation rose within me, tickling my chest as my concentration heightened. I crossed my way past Aven to move to the designated lower octave before moving my hand back in the proper position at the right tempo. At the tempo I allowed as the melody went from piano to fortissimo. And when the staccatos came into play, Aven's eyebrows shot up.

"Fuck." He audibly whispered.

While I liked playing with a partner like Laurence, while I liked playing solo, I did thrive with an audience around me. Competition after competition growing up, occupying my time while I waited for my sister to come home and entertain me even when she had loads of schoolwork to get her to where she currently is in her life. Even with my family forcing me to play the piano during the holidays, my birthday, all only prepared me to dance my fingers along the keys so easily, so moved in front of others.

How ironic that this, music, was one of the reasons why the man next to me became my friend. I considered our love of music one of the few things we had in common, even when it caused us to clash, it brought us together.

When I was done, I released a long breath, straightening my digits. When I turned to Aven, he was staring at me, lips in an O formation. "Stop," I whispered.

"You're good."

"I'm decent," I admitted, pushing my braids that had draped over my shoulders behind them as I looked through the sheet music on the side.

"No, you're good." The sincerity in his voice made me take a deep breath.

I was good. I shrugged. "I won a few competitions."

He didn't believe that. "Define a few."

"Let's just say that weekends growing up were mostly spent with tired fingers."

"See, that's sexual," He muttered. "You can't tell me that wasn't purposely sexual."

I opened my mouth to speak when my phone buzzed from the nightstand, a text message coming in from Yasmeen. I quickly answered her as Aven tested the keys next to me. "No word from Mariam, still?"

I sighed, "No. So much for confronting and conquering."

Aven stopped playing with the keys. "What? Isn't the motto divide and conquer?"

I explained the reason behind the little motto Yasmeen had practically coined (and honestly should patent) and reminded me of since October. And when I finished relaying the information, I realized that the whole thing sounded childish but Aven only rubbed his bottom lip in thought with his index finger before saying, "That's smart."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, considering you are the least confrontational person I know," I must've made a face at that because he was quick to speak. "It's not a bad thing. I just don't want anyone to walk all over you. Yas is right. This is good for you."

Was it though? Was it really when my stomach formed knots at barely being able to handle having a conversation with my friend over one guy and now we weren't speaking? "Hey," Aven whispered, his fingers barely grazed my chin for my attention as if he didn't have it already. He kept his fingers there, turning my head to face him. "I'm sorry that she's not talking to you, but things will pick up."

"Promise?"

Aven's lips twitched but I was serious. I needed someone's word on this, on top of my own. He realized. He blinked once and the amusement was gone, moulding into honesty. He dropped his hand. "Promise."

My phone buzzed once again but the message wasn't from Yasmeen. Iman. Immediately, I started putting on my jacket. "Piano lesson over?" Aven asked.

"Larine," I said. Aven stood. He didn't need me to say another word, holding the door open for us to slip through and exit the music rooms.

When we arrived at my house, we found Iman and Larine sitting between a bowl of popcorn. The two of them were yelling guesses at the screen as a rerun of Wheel of Fortune played on the TV. Iman's eyes lit up at the sight of Aven. "Oh, thank God. Thought I was going to have to Uber home."

Larine shot Iman a frown. Her eyes were red. So very red that my heart pulled. She sniffed. "I said I would give you a ride home."

"No," Iman shot her a look, throwing popcorn, and getting it in her hair.

"You're picking that up," I ordered, taking off my jacket. Aven took my jacket from me, heading down the hallway to put it, along with his, in the closet. The simple gesture made my eyes linger on him for a second too long before Iman's voice cut through any thoughts that could have formed. 

"Okay, okay, don't get all Yas on me. I spilled orange juice on the carpet once and she scolded the life out of me."

"That was you?" Larine asked just as Aven returned.

"I cleaned it up!" Iman exclaimed.

I walked over to the stain on our living room carpet. The orange spot was faint, but it was still visible. Aven started chuckling after he examined the mark himself. "No, man. You can see it."

"Well, shut up. I did my best."

"Not good enough." Larine muttered while I said, "No you didn't."

But our words fell onto a man with selective hearing, who chose to pull Aven down to sit next to him as the next round started on Wheel of Fortune. I opted to change into comfortable clothing and when I came downstairs, I found Iman in the kitchen picking around in the fridge like he always did whenever he was here. I reached into the cabinet, took out a box of chocolate chip cookies and handed them to him.

Iman leaned against the counter, scarfing down one of the cookies. I lowered my voice, watching Larine and Aven discuss what the next word could be through the open door as I asked, "She okay?"

"She's fine. Just wanted to leave the party." Iman said. "I don't think she has that many friends."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I've seen her with others."

"Others that were more or less associated with her ex." Iman pointed out. "A few people were asking her about him. At the party. He's on the hockey team so people know him, you know? It just got too much for her."

I nodded, understanding, "Thanks for bringing her back."

Iman shot me a look that said 'of course', reaching out to give me a fist bump. I bumped it accordingly watching him go back to sit next to her on the couch. Heartbreak. Iman must understand her completely. He had to have seen himself within her. Maybe that was why he volunteered to be the one to take her out tonight.

Aven had gotten up and walked into the kitchen just as I was pouring myself a glass of water from the Britta. I took out another glass for him but my focus as I went to obtain it went to wondering what was captivating his gaze. Or more importantly, why he was staring at my outfit; a very simple long sleeve crop top and black sweats.

"What?" Too many moments of him looking at me like that. Too many.

He lifted his gaze up, shaking his head. "Nothing."

Sometimes I wanted to crawl into his mind just to get a glimpse of what the hell he was thinking up there, but this was a time I had a pretty good clue what was in there. I slid the glass of water over to him. "Thirsty?"

His ears were red. So, in more ways than one, I assumed.

"Thanks." He said, taking a sip and not answering my question as we heard Iman and Larine yell out answers from the living room.

When I went to put the Britta back in the fridge, I felt his eyes on me again.

I felt his eyes on a specific part of me.

I turned around quickly, raising my eyebrows in question. I caught him just as he raised his eyes up to meet my own. Aven's ears were no longer red in embarrassment, his hot and cold behaviour being a sign of his normal for me. He searched for the words to defend himself before he rubbed the back of his neck, coming up with nothing. "Sorry?"

He wasn't sorry.

We tested the waters, just grazed the liquid but this? He was about to go take a deep dive and swim for as long as he could.

"You do that to all your friends?" I asked slowly. "You check out Iman's ass?"

He shook his head slowly, his lips rising. "Nah."

"So, just girls who are your friends? You'd check out Larine's ass?"

Aven narrowed his gaze at me. "Is this you attempting to confront and conquer?"

Yes. "I shouldn't have told you about that."

"No," He grinned, putting both elbows on the table, his index finger on his bottom lip. His lip that looked too appealing from where I was standing. "I like it. Keep doing it."

I cleared my throat. "Okay, then, you didn't answer my question."

"About Larine?"

"Yes," I said, crossing my arms and taking a deep breath.

His lips twitched. "No, I wouldn't."

"But you would to me?"

He didn't answer, keeping his gaze on me.

"Just me?"

He still didn't answer.

"Only me?"

No response.

"Aven?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Speak." I enunciated.

The grin on his lips spread wide as he pushed off the counter. "Good job confronting and conquering."

"That's not what this was about."

"Oh? It wasn't?" He turned away, walking out the kitchen but not towards Iman and Larine. I followed him up the stairs to where my room was located. My heart was pounding in my chest at this point. My room. My bedroom. A bed. Clothes. Naked.

I was fighting this Fall temptation. Meanwhile, Aven did not seem to care.

Every movement he made into my bedroom felt like a pull between him, me, us, and the door. And if anything was going to happen it was going to be of my will and not at the need to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do to my body.

"Um," Aven glanced at me over his shoulder. "What do you want from my room?"

Aven turned back around, standing at the threshold. He looked around my messy messy chamber. He didn't comment on the clothes strewn on the ground or the books messed around on my desk. Instead, he zeroed in on my posters.

My big Frank Ocean poster.

"No!" I reached for his arm, attempting to tug him out of my room but it was no use. Aven managed to make his way inside, determination all over his face. "No, no," I reached for his waist, digging my heels into the ground and somehow stopping him from moving even though I knew he was capable of pulling me.

"Jay." He laughed deeply, the sound shooting from my ears down to my toes. He pulled my arms off of him, holding them in his grasp. "You're not serious."

"Yes, I am," I exclaimed. "That poster is mine."

"Not for long."

"Yes, it is."

"Why are you always fighting me?" The smile stayed, but the question was asked differently.

Why are you fighting us? 

I frowned. "I'm not."

"You are."

"I am not," I shook my head. We weren't talking about it before but the look on his face let me know that he wanted to tackle this conversation. But I couldn't not yet. I was too overwhelmed. By his hand on my arms and the way, he gripped me. By the easy way, he could make something so simple feel like everything. "This is nothing."

"What's nothing?"

"We're..." We're not nothing. That was the worst and the most inaccurate statement I would use to describe our relationship. From the moment we met, it was never nothing. From the music to the volleyball games to the library rants about my day, this wasn't nothing. We're not nothing.

"We're friends."

Even as I said that, with the faint sound of our friend's laughter in my ears, my eyes dropped to his hands on my arms. At the hands that touched the piano less than an hour ago, the ones that lifted me up in the middle of downtown Toronto and held me to him in a moment of protection at the club, the same ones that linked with my own just last night.

Those hands gripped me tighter but I knew he wasn't going to push further.

He let me go. Aven took a step back, directing himself to the staircase. "Iman!" He shouted.

Five seconds later Iman made his way up the stairs, his sight ping-ponging between the two of us. "Um, what are you guys doing?"

Like always, Aven acted as if nothing had just happened between the two of us. "I'm trying to get the Frank Ocean poster from her room."

"Like she would give that up." Iman snorted. The two of them then shared a look and suddenly, two athletes burst into my room.

"No!" I yelled, grabbing onto Iman's waist and sticking my foot out for Aven to trip over. He leaped over my foot, while Iman untangled himself from my hands, attempting to block me as if we were playing basketball.

"I hate the two of you," I said just as Aven reached my poster. His fingers grasped the corner and I glared at him as he started to lift the poster from the sticky tack. But he chuckled when he saw my face, removing his hand.

"No, you don't." Iman laughed. "Haven't you heard you should give your friends gifts? Or that sharing is caring?"

"No," I said. "Not when it comes to my posters, I'm not sharing shit with any of you. Especially of him."

Iman shook his head, reaching one hand up to hit the space on the wall above my door frame before heading out of the room. Aven had started to follow our friend out of my bedroom but as he passed me, he ducked his head to whisper, "Sharing is caring. I mean, that's what friends do, isn't it?"