Summary: I have a good life- perfect boyfriend, crazy but awesome best friend, a pretty much normal school life. But one thing I can live without is the guy I'm trying to set my best friend up with, who'd rather prefer going for the girl with a boyfriend, viz., me. The guy who seems to be oblivious to the fact that I want to remain faithful to my boyfriend, not matter what he says.. or does.

A/N: Okay, this is my first attempt at a romantic fiction, so please go easy on me. I totally accept constructive criticism. I would really appreciate it if you could tell me where I can improve my writing. And please review! Enjoy :)

"This is lame," Mike, my best friend, stated as we watched a rerun of 'Seinfeld'.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him. "What's lame – the fact that we sitting at home on a Friday night without dates, or the fact that we're sitting at home on a Friday night, watching a rerun of Seinfeld?"

"Both, actually. Remind me again why neither of us is on a date?"

"Technically, no one asked me on a date," I pointed out. "And you're not out with a girl because you're fed up of the bimbos and airheads of our school."

"Oh, right," he replied, running a hand through his jet black hair. Then he suddenly sat up and said, "You know what, though? You're hot, and I'm hot too. We both should be on a date."

My heart fluttered a little in my chest. Stupid, treacherous heart. He thought I was hot?

"We should, huh?" I managed to ask, in what I hoped was a sarcastic voice.

He was never into you, and he never will be. Accept the fact, Jen.

"Yeah we totally should," Mike agreed, with a slight twinkle in his green eyes that I didn't quite trust. "Thing is, I'm kind of broke. I can spare you 50 cents for a hot dog, though."

"Jackass," I muttered, rolling my eyes at his grin and throwing a pillow at him. "Way to boost a girl's ego."

He just grinned cheekily back at me, earning a glare.

Oh yeah, I had the whole acting-cool-on-the-outside thing down pat. So now every time Mike shamelessly flirted with me (which happened to be a lot), I was able to blow it off with some sarcastic remark. And he never got to know about my feelings for him – which were growing stronger day by day. It was quite pathetic, really. I was a walking cliché – the girl who had an immensely huge crush on her best friend, who happened to be oblivious to said girl's crush.

"This is lame," Mike repeated again, after a moment's pause.

I sighed, exasperated. "What do you want to do, then?"

"Hang out at Tanya's?" he asked, referring to our other best friend.

"She's out of town for the weekend, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. How about Coffee Central, then?"

"Nah, too many lip-locked couples all around."

"We could be one of those lip-locked couples as well, you know," he said, waggling his eyebrows like a maniac.

There went the heart fluttering again, leading my mind down the dirt road.

"Only if you stop acting like a fool," I growled playfully, dragging my mind back to the present.

"Jenny!" Mike squealed, imitating a shocked girlfriend. "How can you say that to me? I thought we were friends!"

I couldn't help it anymore – I started laughing, and I was soon joined by Mike. God, he could be such a kid at times. It reminded me of why I started liking him in the first place.

"So what do we do, instead of getting bored out of our minds?" he asked, after our laughter had subsided.

I thought for a while, before coming up with an idea. "Let's cook."

"Cook?" Mike wrinkled his nose. "You do know that I don't really like cooking?"

"Yeah, but you're an amazing cook," I stated.

He continued to keep his nose wrinkled. I huffed impatiently and got up, tugging at his wrist.

"Come on," I said. "Stop being a baby. It'll be fun."

He rolled his eyes at me. "Yeah, sure. Fun."

But he got up anyway and started following me to the kitchen, and I rewarded him with a grin.

"Huh?" Mike looked startled. "Oh, yeah. Oops." And he gave a sheepish grin.

"What's wrong with you? You're not usually this distracted while cooking," I asked, looking at him quizzically.

He shrugged, and put the cup of pesto sauce away. "It's nothing. Let's just get back to cooking this… thing."

Okay, something was definitely wrong with him. Mike never failed to throw out a sarcastic remark to a direct question. But I decided to leave the issue for now. Maybe it really was nothing – maybe he was just generally distracted.

"Are you seriously that forgetful?" I asked in a mock reproachful tone. "I told you the name of this 'thing' just five minutes back."

Mike seemed to come back from whatever reverie that he had been in, as he gave a playful little grin and said, "Hey, it's not my fault that you decide to cook something that has a name which is impossible to remember."

"Impossible to remember, huh? How hard is it to remember Chicken Pesto Paninis?"

He shrugged again. "Bleh, I don't care what the name is anyway – as long as it tastes good."

He reached behind me to take the cup of shredded cheese. As he brought his hand back, it lightly grazed against my bare arm. I tried to hide the shiver that ran through me, but I was too late.

"You cold?" he asked, standing close enough to clog my rational thinking.

"Um, n-no," I stammered. How could I be cold in California? "Can… can you pass me that bread?" Anything to get you a safe distance away from me?

He didn't reply, instead leaning back a little to grab the bread. He handed it to me, and stood as close as he had been standing. Our fingers brushed as I took the bread from him, quickening my pulse again. Damn it. Why wasn't he moving? I could literally feel his breath on my neck, and it wasn't helping at all to reduce my rapidly beating heart.

I all but froze when he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Why are you so silent? What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"N-nothing… let's get back to cooking," I said, and with all the energy that I could muster up, I moved away from him, looking in the other direction to hide my flaming cheeks. I started applying the pesto sauce on the bread, making sure that there was as much distance between us as possible.

There was silence for a moment, and then, "Oh. Yeah."

I looked up when I heard the flat tone in his voice. He had started slicing the red onion, and he looked – could I dare believe it? – disappointed.

"Um, Mike?" I asked tentatively.

"Hmm?" came his reply as he looked up and flashed a tight smile at me.

"Is everything okay?"

He stopped slicing the onion and turned to face me, his expression turning grim.

"It's just that… I mean, you're just so…," he didn't seem to be able to form correct sentences.

"I'm so what, Mike?" I prodded.

"Frustrating!" he said the word so quickly that it took me a second to figure it out.

"Frustrating?" I asked, astonished. "In what way?"

"Go figure," he replied, going back to slicing the onion. "Anyway, let's just cook. I need to get home soon."

I know that he didn't need to get home soon. That's the main reason why he had come over.

Something was definitely up with him. And I had to know what it was. Soon.