"How long are you going for? A couple weeks?" I tried to joke when he shoved about ten shirts into his bag.

"I always need to be prepared," he said with a chuckle. He was leaving the next afternoon, Friday, and coming back sometime Sunday evening. Zoey usually flew to Los Angeles for an entire week each month for her scenes. I'd asked her before why she didn't just move there. All she did was roll her eyes and ask me, "Who do I have in L.A.? No one. No thanks." It also helped that the cost of living was cheaper here than there.

A couple piles of underwear, jeans, dress pants, socks, three containers of his temporary hair dye, little reusable bottles filled with shampoo, and a razor went into his duffel bag, but he didn't zip it.

He walked over to his dresser and opened the drawer, specifically the top one I became familiar with the night he got sick. I saw him reach in and I had to look away. Yoda was lying down next to me with his massive head resting on the bed, so I scooted down and laid down alongside him before throwing an arm over his muscular frame to bury my nose into the rolls of skin on his neck.

Tristan was grabbing condoms. Dozens of condoms for all I knew. Dozens of condoms to use on other girls.

What was wrong with me? I'd known since the beginning of this friendship that Robby Lingus was a part of who he was. Regardless of how often he brought up this side of his life, it was still there. What did I expect? The feeling in the pit of my stomach was getting worse, it spread from my stomach to my heart, and now made its way up my spine to the back of my head. Why did I feel like he was cheating on me? Why was I doing this to myself?

I squeezed my arm around Yoda, holding him tighter to me when I felt my eyes start to get watery. Fuck. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten so emotional. I heard him close the drawer, and then start moving around the bedroom while humming the main theme song for Star Wars. The zipping of his duffel bag and the soft thump of its weight hitting the floor played background music to his humming. I squeezed my eyes closed before starting to blink away whatever remaining tears were still traitorously squatting in the corners of my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of him. I didn't want to cry, or feel like this period.

After last Friday, I'd had hopes that he'd act differently around me but he hadn't. Wouldn't a normal guy put the moves on me, or something after I'd sat on his lap? The last time I sat on Ryan's lap I had his massive erection pressed against my ass for fifteen minutes, right before he tried to make out with me. Sure we were a little drunk but still. Ryan made me feel something.

"Are you asleep?" his milky voice asked at the same time the bed dipped right next to me.

"No," I mumbled against Yoga's brown coat. The big lug smelled like maple syrup.

"Want to go downstairs and play rummy?" he asked sweetly. It was my favorite game and he knew that. I brought it over one day and just left it; Zoey and Josh didn't get how to play, and Nicole was a good opponent, but only when she was in the mood to play— which was never.

"Okay," I responded, but didn't loosen my death grip on Yoda. I didn't trust myself to not be upset in front of Tristan. I didn't want him to be able to tell that the situation was bothering me, because I had no right to feel emotional and disappointed. We were just friends. That's all he'd ever promised me and continued to reassure me of on a regular basis. I sucked in deep breath to help steady my emotions. Once I felt like my breathing wasn't ragged, and that tears wouldn't spontaneously spill out of my eyes and down my cheeks, I rolled onto my back and sat up.

I made an effort to keep my eyes on Yoda's bulky form as he got up and jumped off the bed to follow us out of the room. I wanted to avoid looking at those intense green eyes as long as possible. "So, your mom is keeping him for the weekend?" I asked to keep him busy so that he didn't notice the change in my mood. He was too perceptive for his own good.