Friends

Chapter 37

A/N: Chapters 38-68 are on Patreon along with other exclusive content if you want to check those out!

Jasmine's POV:

Well, that was embarrassing. I kissed him, but he didn't kiss me back. I've never been more confused in my entire life. One minute, everything felt so right—so easy—and then, with one simple hesitation, everything shifted.

I've never felt so safe, yet so rejected. It's like emotionally I know he's close, but physically, I'm a million miles away from him. Sometimes I feel as though he doesn't even find me attractive. His lack of response is like a quiet slap to my face. It stings, but it's not loud enough to shout about. It's a quiet kind of hurt, the kind that eats at you without making any noise, the kind that leaves you questioning everything you thought you knew.

I get it—boundaries are important, and I'm not stupid enough to ignore that. But here's the thing: he's telling me one thing with his words, but his actions are saying something else entirely.

The more I think about it, the more it all feels so backwards. If you care about someone, you don't pull away. If you want to be with them, you don't leave them guessing. His hesitation doesn't make sense, not when I'm already in this deep. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, wanting to jump, but being held back by something I can't quite name.

My heart is in knots, twisting itself into shapes I can't untangle. I want to say something, to ask him why he's pulling away, but I'm afraid of what the answer might be. I wish I could make sense of it, but all I have are these emotions swirling inside me, making it harder to breathe. It's like I'm drowning in this silence, and it's terrifying.

"Our monthly special: Cajun chicken alfredo," Matthew announces, setting a plate in front of me. "And for you, the country-fried chicken." He places the dish in front of Marc with a smile. "I'll bring your carrot cake once you're done."

I'm not sure why, but something about the dish catches my eye, drawing me in, making me more aware of everything around me.

"Before we eat, let's take a few sips of our drinks. I want to know what you think," Marc says, his eyes locked on mine.

"Okay," I reply, already reaching for my glass. I take a sip, and—whoa—I barely taste the alcohol.

"It tastes exactly like juice," I say, surprised.

"I know, right? That's why it's my favorite. I don't get people who want to burn their throats with alcohol. You can get drunk and actually enjoy it." He grins, clearly amused.

I smile faintly. "How did you know I'd like the special?"

"I know you like chicken. I know you like pasta" He shrugs, grinning. "Just an educated guess. If you don't like it, I'll just order something else for you."

Marc is incredibly generous, and it's something I'm starting to notice more and more lately. At first, I thought it was just part of his personality—something he did out of habit. But now, as I look back, I realize that there's a deeper layer to it. It's more than just treating people well; it's an openness, a willingness to give that goes beyond the usual, beyond what most people expect or even recognize.

I hadn't really given it much thought until recently, when my therapist and I had a conversation about what I want in a man. At first, I thought I knew the answer—someone with money, someone who could give me everything I'd ever wanted. But during one of our sessions, we explored that idea. She said a lot of women, including me, often mistake wanting a rich man for wanting a generous one. I remember feeling defensive at first. Generosity, after all, isn't something that gets you ahead in life, right? It's nice, but you can't pay your bills with kindness.