Starting With You

12. When did my best friend get hot?

Jensen, 19 years old

THE COLD AIR SLAPPED ME IN THE face the minute I opened the door to exit The 365 Diner, the frigid Minnesota winter in full effect. After situating the paper bag filled with greasy food under my arm, I flipped up the collar of my jacket, wishing I would have remembered my hat.

I was home from my first year of college, visiting my family during the holiday break. I was designated to pick up the to-go order for supper, and I was happy to get out of the house. I forgot how loud and chaotic it was with my large, dysfunctional family.

Living in the cramped quarters of my dorm room wasn't much better, but at least there I was just Jensen. Not someone's son or brother, or the boy in the town that watched you grow up. There was something refreshing and liberating about starting completely over in a new place. I figured by the time I returned home in four years, I'd be a slightly different version of myself.

I walked the short distance to my truck parked at the curb, my steps faltering when I noticed a young woman in the distance walking toward me on the sidewalk. Her form was hidden under a puffy black jacket, but the tight jeans hugged all her delicious curves. My eyes were glued there as the legs in question ate up the space between us.

When she was a few feet away, the familiar voice called my name, causing me to finally look up. The hood of the jacket was pulled up over the woman's head, light brown strands escaping and flying into her face, caught in the wind, so it took me awhile to realize the mystery girl I had been checking out was my best friend.

Before I had a chance to be horrified at my not-so-innocent thoughts directed at my friend, Teddy launched herself into my arms, dislodging the bag of food. It fell to the ground with a soft plop.

It'd been months since we'd seen each other. Probably since the night before we left for college. We'd both been home to visit a few times but never at the same time. This had been the longest time we'd been apart since becoming best friends when we were 8.

I hadn't realized just how acutely I felt the pain of her absence until she was in my arms.

It wasn't that I hadn't been thinking about her while at college. In fact, the opposite was true. I thought about her often.

She had always been the one I shared my day with, in some form or another. While shooting hoops or swinging on the porch swing at my parents' house or via short texts or snagged conversations in the school halls, we'd always fill each other in on our lives. She was my person.

It was hard for Teddy to still be that person with the distance between us. I'd always been more of an in-person guy. Interactions via technology were too awkward and impersonal.

Running into her out of the blue, though, was a punch to the gut. A reminder of what she was to me and how big of a hole there was without her daily presence in my life.

A surge of joy compelled me to hoist her up so her legs wrapped around my waist and I spun her around. Her whoops of laughter felt so familiar, the soundtrack of my childhood. Hearing her, seeing her, feeling her like this felt like home.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized I'd been homesick, but not for my dysfunctional family or even the comfort of my small town. I'd been missing my best friend; I'd been missing Teddy.

Once we were standing stationary on the sidewalk again, I took the opportunity to really look at her. Her smile brightened her face, which seemed somehow different and yet exactly the same.

"Hi, Teddy." She tightened her legs around my waist, and I resisted the urge to move my hands from her thighs to grab her ass. The thoughts from earlier when she was walking toward me smacked me in the head.