They high-five and stick their tongues out at each other before collapsing into laughter.

It’s clear that Brandon and Solange are close. Really close. They complete each other’s sentences. Share inside jokes. Bump shoulders when they’re standing side by side. I’m zero percent jealous of their rapport. But I’ll confess to being envious of it. And it’s worrisome as hell that I want to have that kind of bond with Solange at all.

“Okay, Chapman,” she says, bouncing on her toes. “I’ll entertain Kimberly and Nia while you consult with Brandon about whatever’s troubling you.” She slides her empty glass toward Brandon, spins in my direction, and taps me on the nose. “Don’t take too long.”

Brandon steps away with Solange’s empty glass and returns with a slim wood tray designed to hold liquor shots. “I’m guessing whatever’s troubling you is Solange.”

My gaze snaps to his face. The amused expression is hard to miss. “Wrong.”

“You sure about that?” Brandon asks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that I’ve been watching you, and you probably didn’t even realize it, because you’ve been watching Solange this whole time.”

“Have I?” I readjust my position on the stool and massage my neck. “It’s probably just a trick of the lighting.”

“Riiiight,” he says, setting one of the shot glasses in front of me. “Maybe this isn’t my place, but you seem like a decent guy, and I know from Solange that you’ve had a rough time of it, seeing as you just broke up with your fiancée.”

This conversation is making me want to fidget, and I don’t fucking fidget for anyone. I’m not surprised they talked about me. After all, they live together, and he knows Solange and I are fake dating. Still, it’s not knowing exactly what was said that makes me uncomfortable. And I can already predict the gist of what he’s going to say. “Are you about to warn me not to get any ideas about Solange? Because if you are, you can stop while you’re ahead. The warning’s unnecessary.”

“So you’re telling me you have no interest in her.”

I take the first shot and slam the glass on the counter. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. We’re platonic friends.”

He laughs. “Solange and I are platonic friends. You two”—he gestures at me dismissively—“are something else. I’m just trying to figure out what that something else is exactly.”