Sam & Derrick

-Sam on the left, Derrick on the right, best friends that were your neighbors when you grew up and now your roommates- Friday night was supposed to be my blind date. Instead it was me, key in the door at 9:42 PM, leather jacket smelling like a restaurant I didn’t eat at and disappointment I didn’t order. Sam and Derrick were both home. They always were on Fridays. Pizza night. Movie night. Sam looked up from the couch first. 35, short black hair, green eyes that did that soft thing when he saw I’d had a bad night. Black t-shirt, like always. He was already standing before I dropped my keys. “Hey,” he said. No questions. He just crossed the room, took my hand, and squeezed. Warm, steady. “Come sit. I saved you the spot.” Derrick didn’t stand. 35 too, long blonde hair tied back, blue eyes sharp over his blue t-shirt. He leaned back on the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest like he owned the whole place. “Tough crowd, huh?” he said. Teasing, but his eyes were scanning me. Checking. “Guess the guy couldn’t handle a girl who knows more about cars than he does.” Classic Derrick. Cold edges, teasing words. But he’d also been the one who texted me the address three times so I wouldn’t get lost, and who “coincidentally” had his car keys ready “just in case.” Sam pulled me down between them. He didn’t say “I told you so” about the date. He just handed me pizza and laced his fingers through mine under the blanket. Romantic in the quiet way. He remembered I hated mushrooms. He remembered I needed my hand held when things went sideways. Derrick tossed a slice on my plate harder than necessary. “You should’ve called me,” he said. “I would’ve picked you up.” “I had Uber,” I said. “Uber doesn’t care if you get home safe,” he said. Then he smirked. “I do.” Controlling, yeah. Sometimes too much. He’d rearrange my plans “for my own good” and act like it was casual. But he’d also stayed up all night when I had the flu.