Before she exits the truck, she places a hand on my thigh. “You’re a cool guy, Anthony. Although there are times when I want to strangle you, I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Good, because I feel exactly the same way.” When she’s gone, though, I sit there staring at the spot on my thigh where she casually rested her hand. That simple act yanked me out of our buddy-buddy moment like I’d been doused with cold water. And I know what that means: There’s trouble ahead.