I bite my lip and twirl a loose strand of hair around my finger. It doesn’t seem to matter how much practice I get talking about my feelings with guys; it never gets any easier. I know that if I say what’s really on my mind out loud, I could ruin our friendship for good—and right now, I can’t afford to lose anyone else. But despite what’s at stake, I need to know how he really feels.

“You haven’t always wanted to be just friends, right?” I ask.

He freezes. “I won’t lie, I liked you,” he admits. “But you weren’t single. And if we weren’t going to, you know, date . . . hanging out with you is awesome. I’d be an idiot to give that up.”

I take a deep breath and steel myself to get real with him. “So here’s the thing. When I invited you up last night, I wasn’t expecting anything beyond friendship. At all. But having you sleep over . . . I don’t know, it’s made me see things differently.”

“Differently?” He cocks his head.

God, vulnerability is terrifying.

“I want to kiss you again, if that’s okay,” I say.

I hope I sound confident and sexy, like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. But Raj doesn’t lean in to kiss me. Not at all. Instead, he hesitates and pushes himself backward on the couch.

“Eliza,” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m here if you want me,” he says. “But you have to choose me. For real. I’m not just your fallback guy for when you’re sad. You can’t kiss me because you feel lonely after your breakup. It’s not fair for you to only hang out with me at the bar when there’s nothing better for you to do.”

I feel my cheeks burn in shame. I can’t look at him. My first thought is to sputter, I don’t do that, but I know that’s not true. I feel like I’ve been caught naked and exposed. I want to tell him that he deserves better than to be my second choice, but suddenly, there’s a lump forming in my throat. I was the one who overstepped a boundary—I don’t get to cry in front of him. He’s too much of a stand-up guy; he’d probably wind up comforting me. Again.

“I get it,” I say, keeping my eyes cast downward. “I do. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, standing up and stretching. He ruffles his hair. “All I’m saying is that if you like me, treat me like you do.”