"Cut that out," I snapped at Deen as soon as the waitress left.

"Cut what out?" she innocently replied, absentmindedly blinking as if she wasn't caressing my thigh with her foot.

I grabbed her foot and gave it a firm warning squeeze, a clear message that I meant business and was ready to break her bones, before pushing it away. I also released her other foot held between my ankles. "Why were you doing that? The waitress could've seen us and thought we were weird."

"Seen what?" Deen said, giving me a playful smile. She tried to poke me again with her toes.

I parried her legs with mine. "You know what I'm talking about," I snapped at her. "And you're doing it again." Looking at the table’s width made me realize just how long her legs were. They were so fucking long she could cross the La Esperanza River in one stride, probably two—okay, that was an exaggeration.

She straightened herself in her seat as she pulled back her feet. There was rustling beneath the table as she put her slippers back on. "What's wrong with a footsie?"

"What's wrong?" I exasperatedly repeated. "It's an inappropriate thing to do with your friend." Seriously, what was up with Deen? Was she getting weird ideas from our car ride? Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Our little 'match' there felt good, but I'd rather not have any misunderstanding of that sort with a person I was living with, much less with my supposed best friend.

"Inappropriate?" She raised her brow at me.

"Do you really need me to tell you?" I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on, Deen. You know why."

"We're girl space friends. Best girl space friends," she said with a grin. "I'm not flirting with you or anything. Did you think I was?"

I ignored her and said, "And that wasn't even footsie. As the name implies, it involves feet touching. But your foot had reached way beyond the threshold of footsie."

"Erind, I was just messing with you," she giggled. "This is quite normal for us friends, isn't it?"

"Uh, is it?" I could be the one confusing things here.

I recalled in high school that some girls in the cheerleading squad were pretty entangled when showing affection—four of them were extremely close friends. And in college, I was acquainted with a few girl cliques, although I wasn’t a member of any per my policy of being friends with everyone—those groups hated each other.

But the girls were quite close, physically, with the members of their own faction. I was weirded out when they'd casually kiss each other and stuff like that. A peck on the cheek was nothing, but a kiss on the lips was a bit much. And they'd also grab each other's boobs as a joke.

Or maybe I was the peculiar one for thinking those actions were unusual? I conceded I didn't know what affection was and how to show it—only approximations of it. I should be careful not to do anything that might go against my best friend face and violate Rule #7. Fucking hell that touchy-feeliness was a requirement for this face!

And this is why I shouldn't have close friends.

Deen tilted her head, wearing a puzzled expression. Then she lit up and snapped her fingers. "Oh! I think I get it. Because you’re not used to touchy-feeliness, you misinterpret what I’m doing."

"Maybe that's it," I said with a shrug. She came to sort of the same conclusion that I did.

"Sorry for being too pushy with it," she said.

"I'm glad we now understand each other on this," I said. She solemnly nodded but then broke into giggles. I frowned at her. "So, are you going to stop your invasions of my personal space?"

She said nothing but gave me a wide grin and winked at me.

"Deen...are you going to stop—"

She slowly answered, "Nooo..."

"Wha-! I thought you already understood my situation. You already apologized for being too pushy—"

"But if I continue doing it," she mischievously interjected, "you'll eventually get used to it, right? I told you about this before…I think when we were on our way to meet Myra at Cindy's?"

"Right, I recall that one. I even mentioned, um, Pavlov something, the experiment on conditioning dogs?"

“Uh-huh. Pavlovian Conditioning.”

I kicked her as I said, "Don't you dare train me like a pet." My foot barely reached her leg.

She tried to catch my foot as I pulled it back; I wiggled it away. She stuck out her tongue at me. "How else would I make you get used to me hugging you?"

"We're way past hugging," I grumbled, recalling what we did in the car.

"I'm a touchy-feely type of person," Deen continued, either not hearing or ignoring what I muttered. "We're best friends. Connect those two concepts, and I want to be touchy-feely with my best friend to show affection—with you. I hope you don't see it like I'm intentionally annoying you."

"I'm not," I said, mellowing out a bit. It wasn't Deen's fault I hated physical contact, so I didn't want to bitch out at her too much. And she was right—we were best friends. But it also reinforced my belief that I shouldn't have gotten a best friend. Too late to return her to the store at this point.

"But I do intentionally want to annoy you sometimes," she added.

"Hey!"

"Just kidding...or am I?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "That gives me an idea. Since we're talking about training, how about I buy a spray bottle?"

"Huh? You're going to spray me with water?"

"You got that right. If you're trying to condition me to get used to your touchy-feeliness, my counter is to discourage your behavior by spraying you like misbehaving dogs. I splashed you with water before, which made you back off.”

"What a cunning plan,” Deen said with a laugh. “Maybe I should start bringing an umbrella."

We continued with our banter until the food arrived. The quality of our meal was more than what I'd expected from a diner in the middle of nowhere. And it seemed that Deen was also enjoying our meal. It was fun seeing her get torn between the calories and unhealthiness of what we were eating and their deliciousness—why did unhealthy food taste so good?

“So, how’s your first diner experience?” I asked her before shoving several fries coated with cheese and gravy in my mouth.

“I like it,” Deen said as she gingerly bit into her half of the grilled cheese sandwich. She was holding it with table napkins to soak the grease. She looked around the place. “And the whole experience is pretty fun.”

“That’s awesome then.”

“Although not as fun as earlier.”

Earlier? I wanted to ask, but I knew what she meant. The tingling sensation when she massaged my thighs came back to me. It was kinda fun. But I wasn’t going to admit that to her.

I took a sip of the strawberry milkshake, pretending I didn’t hear what she said. It was so fucking sweet and creamy, with a hint of tartness from the strawberries. And super yummy, just the sugar fix I wanted. Just the perfect excessive amount of sugar, carbs, and calories to mess with Deen.

"Is it good?" Deen asked, noticing my expression.

"Yup! Try it." I pushed the glass of milkshake to her side.

"Oh, um, I’m fine. It’s all yours since you like it so much,”

“We agreed to share this, right?" I pointed the straw in her direction. She mumbled some bullshit excuse. I grabbed the glass and held it to her, poking her mouth with the straw.

"Erind,” she said through clenched teeth, “Don't insert—"

I held the straw so it wouldn’t bend and pushed it into her lips.

She rolled her eyes but reluctantly took a sip. The pink liquid climbed up the transparent straw.

“There,” I said. “

“Too sweet,” she said, gagging.

“That’s what milkshakes are supposed to be.” I took a sip as a demonstration. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“I’m not being dramatic.” She paused. There was a suspicious glint in her eyes. “Let me taste it again.”

“Go ahead,” I said. I sensed she was going to start another mini-contest between the two of us. What was it going to be?

She took a long sip of the strawberry milkshake and then made a face. “See? I can drink it, no problem.” Apparently, she just wanted to show she had no issues with eating diner food, removing any possible ammunition I could use against her.

Then she took another drink, or pretended to, before returning it to me. I didn’t see the pink liquid moving through the straw.

Jackpot, I thought as I took the glass from her. I sipped the straw, trying to control a smirk while thinking about how I should tease her. Then I tasted something weird. 

What the fuck…did she leave her saliva in the straw?