Best Friends Don't Kiss Page 5

  She groans, and I gently squeeze her petite shoulder.

  “C’mon, Ava, it’ll be fun. I mean, you didn’t get all dressed up for nothing, right? And who knows, maybe you’ll meet a hot Frankenstein and fall in love, and your whole find a boyfriend in less than sixty days debacle will be solved.”

  “You’re the worst best friend ever.” She snorts, and I grin down at her.

  “Let’s go, yellow Fantina. It’s time to go have some fun and get you some kind of fruity drink you can actually enjoy.”

  “Fantana.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. You’re such a guy.”

  I smirk down at her. “If you don’t pull yourself out of this sassy mood right quick, I will have to resort to musical violence.”

  She full on pouts. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh, but I would. Don’t try me, Ava. I’ll have Lykki Li blaring from my speakers in no time. And I won’t hesitate to pull out my best robot dance moves.”

  “I Follow Rivers” by Lykki Li is, hands down, Ava’s favorite song in the world.

  It’s her happy song, and she can’t not dance when it’s playing.

  When she makes no move to take the pouty expression off her face, I pretend to head into my bedroom to change out of my pilot’s uniform.

  Which I do.

  But once I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I grab my phone and press play on a song—the song—in my “Cheer Up Ava” Spotify playlist. Instantly, the bouncing beat begins to filter into my apartment, and just like that, I’m right back in our dorm, fifteen years ago, right after she told me her boyfriend Blake had broken up with her before the very same bar’s Halloween party.

  Halloween, fifteen years ago…

  Luke

  I make my way through the bar crowd with a tray of fresh drinks for everyone at our table, skirt around the crowd of dancing aliens at the booth next to us, and hand them off one by one. Beer for Trevor and me, wine for Claire and Desi, and a strawberry daiquiri for Ava.

  Since I’m the only one with a truly passable fake ID, I’m always assigned to get the drinks.

  Somehow, though, in the five minutes it took me to procure them, Ava has managed to disappear.

  “Where’s Ava?” I ask, holding her daiquiri in my hand as I take the available spot she likely vacated.

  “Not sure.” Trevor, a guy I’ve been friends with since high school and a fellow aeronautical engineering student, is the first to answer. “Bathroom, maybe?” He runs a hand through his short blond hair and shrugs one lazy shoulder.

  Ava’s best gal pals, as she calls them—the two craziest girls in our dorm, as I know them— immediately take notice.

  “Uh oh…looks like we’re heading into karaoke round number three,” Claire mutters over her fresh glass of wine. Her shoulder-length, bright-red hair sways back and forth over her shoulders as she glances pointedly between the stage and our table.

  Instantly, Desi’s hazel eyes turn big and amused when she looks toward the stage.

  “I think this might be round number four, to be honest.”

  When the opening beats of the all-too-familiar song “Eye of the Tiger” start to pound through the DJ’s speakers, I groan, run a hand over my face, and eventually, find the strength to look toward the stage where Ava stands with a microphone in her hand.

  You know that saying, three sheets to the wind?

  Well, when it comes to Ava, there are no sheets. They’ve blown the fuck away. No doubt, her need to drink away the thoughts of her stupid ex-boyfriend and his plans to make time to take his video game career seriously is at the heart of her efforts.

  With hips shaking, she swings her tiger tail and belts the words by Survivor at the top of her lungs. We’ve been at Harry’s Bar for two hours, tops, and I swear to God, I’ve heard this damn song so many times, I’m going to be singing it on my deathbed.

  “At least she looks hot,” Claire comments, and Desi nods.

  “Incredibly drunk, but hot.”

  “Ava always looks hot,” Trevor chimes in, and I’m about to smack him upside the head, but a finger taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find an attractive brown-eyed brunette standing beside me.

  “Hi,” she greets, a smile on her red lips.

  “Hello.”

  “So, I was wondering if you’d like to buy me a drink?”

  Her confident approach makes me grin. “Oh really, and how long have you been wondering that?”

  “For a while, actually,” she answers through a little smirk, and I don’t miss the fact that she’s joined the rest of the Halloween partygoers by dressing up in a sexy version of a Girl Scout uniform. “I’m Brooke. Brooke Evans.” She holds out her hand, and I shake it.

  “Luke London.”

  “So, Luke…about that drink?”

  She’s forward, I’ll give her that, and I’m about two seconds away from taking her up on her offer, but when I glance toward the stage and find that Ava now has some dude dressed in a black leather jacket and aviator sunglasses up onstage with her, my focus gets sidetracked.

  The jerk-off puts his hands on Ava’s hips and pulls her close to him while she continues to sing that fucking song.

  I glance to everyone else to see if they see what I’m seeing, but I figure out pretty quickly I’m the only one paying attention to our little performer.

  Trevor is busy flirting with a girl in a red wig and a Jessica Rabbit-style scarlet dress, and both Desi and Claire have disappeared to God knows where.

  Fucking hell.

  “So…how about that drink?” Brooke asks again, and I feel like a real bastard for the next words that come out of my mouth. After breaking up with Sarah last month, I should be jumping at the chance to dip my toes deeper into the college pool, but I can’t just leave Ava to fend for herself like that. When the guy onstage with her moves his hand down her thigh, the urgency of the situation brings me to my feet.

  I give Brooke a quick look of apology. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to take a rain check. I just realized I need to get my friend home.”

  “Is that your friend?” she asks after following my concerned line of sight.

  “Yeah,” I answer, moving to climb around Trevor.

  “Wait…is she your friend or your girlfriend?” Brooke questions skeptically.

  “Could be his girlfriend, but no, they just have an incredibly weird friendship,” Trevor chimes in for me. Not exactly how I would have put it, but at least he’s saving me the effort of trying to explain it. “Probably two of the most good-looking people I know, get along better than anyone I know, yet they’re literally just friends. It boggles the mind.”

  I sigh.

  Brooke flashes an amused smile and pulls a pen out of her purse, jots down her number on a bar napkin, and tucks it into the pocket of my shirt as I finally make it out of the matrix of our table to head for the stage.

  “Call me,” she orders with a bite of her lip. “For the rain check.”

  I smile at her. “Okay.” She saunters off, and I turn back to my mission.

  Trevor grabs me by the arm as I go to step away. “What the fuck, dude? Why didn’t you buy her a drink now?”

  I glance toward the stage again, where Ava and the aviator-sunglasses-wearing douchebag have now started on a Bon Jovi duet. “Because of that.”

  “What?” he questions. “She’s just having some fun.”

  “She’s shit-faced,” I retort. “I’m not letting her go home with some idiot who is wearing sunglasses inside a damn bar, only to have her regret it in the morning.”

  “Relax, man. I think he’s supposed to be James Dean.”

  “Like I give a shit who he’s trying to be,” I grumble. “Did you make any headway with Jessica Rabbit?”

  “Fucking nope. Apparently, she wasn’t digging my Fireball Mario costume.”

  Personally, between the white overalls, red shirt, and fake moustache, I can understand Jessica Ra
bbit’s disdain.

  “That’s great news,” I respond without hesitation. “Because you’re helping me get Ava home.”

  “What?” he questions and adjusts his overalls.

  “Get off your ass and help me get the dancing queen off the stage,” I say and stand to my feet.

  “Dude, this night sucks balls,” he mutters but follows my lead.

  Once I’m standing directly below Ava and her new karaoke friend, she glances down at me with glazed-over eyes and grins a slow, lazy smile. “Luke!”

  “Hey, friend. Looks like you’re having some fun, huh?”

  “Oh yeah!” she exclaims, but then two seconds later, hands the microphone off to Sunglasses and plops down into a sitting position with her legs hanging off the edge of the stage.

  “Karaoke makes me tired,” she says and holds both hands out to place on my shoulders.

  “You think it’s time to go home?” I whisper softly into her ear.

  “Uh-huh.” Ava nods and lets her head rest on my shoulder.

  “Aw. C’mon, sweetheart, we were just getting started,” Sunglasses says and sits down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The movement jostles her back to an unsupported sitting position and forces her hands to release from my shoulders. “How about you do another song with me, and then I’ll make sure you get home?”

  “Nope,” I chime in before Ava can respond. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll make sure she gets home.”

  Immediately, the guy jumps off the stage and gets in my face. “What are you, her fucking dad?” he spits, and I laugh.

  Wow. This guy. He’s got some balls.

  “Listen up because I’m only going to make myself clear once,” I say while Trevor helps a now-lying-down Ava off the stage and to a standing position. “She’s going home with us. End of fucking story.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.” I barely get the words out, and the drunk caveman swings one closed fist toward my face. I dodge it with ease. Either he has the reflexes of a tortoise, or he’s had way more to drink than me.

  Red flashes behind my eyes, and I try, I really fucking try, to rein in my anger and walk away, but he attempts another punch.

  Again, I dodge it, but when I hear Desi shout, “Kick his fucking ass, Luke!” from somewhere behind us, I can’t hold myself back.

  One uppercut to the jaw and a hard shove to his chest, and I knock the bastard flat on his ass. He sits there stunned, and when I realize a crowd has started to form around us and no doubt the bar owner is in the process of calling the cops, I take a half-passed-out Ava from Trevor’s hold and swing her over my shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  “You know, buddy, I think all those hours you’re spending in the gym are paying off. You can scrap with the best of ’em,” he says through a laugh. “Not sure you’re going to need all those ninja moves when you’re floating around in fucking space, but good for you, man. Good for you.”

  “Hey, Trevor, I appreciate the support, but—” I glance emphatically toward the door “—I’d like to get out of here before the cops arrive and I get kicked out of Columbia. Sound like a plan?”

  He grins. “By all means, lead the way.”

  Fucking hell, the things I do for my best friend.

  November 1st

  Ava

  I take one glance in my bathroom mirror and groan.

  My blond hair has wound itself into a crown of knots and tangles on top of my head. My eyes are bloodshot. My mascara has created some sort of smoky, raccoon-eye effect. And my lipstick is smeared halfway down my chin.

  For shame, you really got after it last night.

  This is exactly why I try to avoid alcohol. The bitch has never treated me right.

  I’m not sure how much alcohol I consumed last night, but I know after the beer I had at Luke’s apartment, I drank at least three strawberry daiquiris at the bar.

  Ew. Strawberry. The mere thought of it makes my stomach curdle like days’ old milk. Honestly, the daiquiris are almost always a terrible choice, but they’re a Harry’s Halloween tradition.

  I swallow past the nausea threatening to creep up my throat, brush the awful taste out of my mouth with my toothbrush and a whole lot of toothpaste, and take a quick shower to wash the remnants of booze off my body and face.

  Once I’m dressed in yoga pants and my coziest cream sweater, I head into the kitchen to make some coffee and find sustenance I can eat without wanting to puke.

  But I only get halfway into my food search when my phone chimes with several texts in my group chat with Claire and Desi.

  Claire: How ya feeling, honey? You had quite the night.

  Desi: Oh yeah. Pretty sure you ran through a full Fantana set.

  Huh?

  Me: What are you talking about?

  Desi: You were the karaoke queen last night. You gave your college performance days a run for their money.

  Claire: Personally, I think she’s even better now. All that life experience gives your performance depth.

  Me: Guys, what are you talking about?

  Desi: I can’t believe you don’t remember doing karaoke.

  Claire: At least Luke didn’t have to punch someone out last night LOL.

  Desi: That’s because Luke is looking HOT AF these days, and that guy knew not to mess with him.

  Me: What guy? There was a guy?

  Why don’t I remember any of this?

  Again, this is exactly why I do not like drinking.

  Shit always ends badly.

  The fear of what could’ve been ruined for Luke had I forced him to stand up for me physically jolts me. His job as a pilot. The ongoing interview process with NASA. Holy hell, it could’ve ruined everything he’s worked so hard for!

  Instantly, guilt and anxiety form a thick knot in my throat.

  Desi: Don’t sweat it, Ava. It was nothing.

  Me: It’s not nothing! I can’t believe I put Luke in that position AGAIN. Almost getting him kicked out of Columbia was enough. If things had gotten out of hand, I could’ve made him ineligible to continue on through the candidate process with NASA!

  And he’s getting close. Crazy, like he’s already had two in-person interviews with NASA, close.

  Claire: Relax, friend. The guy was a total prick. Luke set him straight verbally, and that’s all that happened. No need to worry over it.

  Desi: Plus, it’s not like you asked Luke to kick the guy’s ass. LOL. Pretty sure you were far too blitzed to put in that request. His decision to intervene was all his. Now, Fantana song requests to the DJ? We can definitely blame you for those.

  Me: Is there anything else I missed while I was blackout drunk?

  Desi: Let’s see…you asked a guy dressed up as Batman if he wanted to be your holiday boyfriend. He said yes, but then you took back the offer when you realized you prefer Marvel over Justice League. You bitched A LOT about going to your high school reunion.

  Claire: And planning your high school reunion.

  Desi: Oh yeah, that too. LOL. You almost called that chick Callie Camden to tell her she’s a total bitch, which I kind of wanted to see happen. But Claire thought it was a bad idea, so we stopped you from doing it. Am I missing anything, Claire?

  Claire: And once you updated us on the whole “Find a Boyfriend” mission, we decided that online dating is the best route for your search.

  Oh my God. That’s not happening.

  Me: I’m not online dating.

  Claire: That’s exactly what you said last night, but then we helped you realize it was your best option.

  Desi: Yep. Otherwise, you’re going to end up in a relationship with someone like Tad.

  Tad is the copy/mail guy at Claire and Desi’s office—a small marketing firm in Manhattan.

  His attire consists of tie-dye, and his days off revolve around his bong.

  Bottom line, I cannot bring Tad home to Vermont. Rose Lucie would probably have a stroke. Although, Aunt Poppy would ge
t a pretty good laugh out of it…

  Me: Online dating? Seriously? You guys act like my situation is dire or something.

  Desi: Well, if you’re planning on going through with the whole “I’m not single” charade, you have less than two months to find yourself a boyfriend.

  Claire: That isn’t a lot of time.

  Me: Wow. You guys really know how to make a girl feel good.

  Claire: You should be thankful your friends are willing to be honest with you.

  Me: Blatantly honest. Bluntly honest. Cutthroat honesty. Oh yes, I’m forever grateful. Just thanking my lucky stars right now.

  Desi: Would you like the silver lining?

  Me: If it doesn’t involve Craigslist or banging Tad the copy guy, I’m all ears.

  Desi: Everyone online dates these days.

  Me: Do you?

  Desi: God no.

  Claire: LOL. You’re not helping, Des.

  Desi: Ava and I are different. I would eat online guys alive, okay?

  Claire: Okay, that IS true. It could be good for you, Ava.

  Oh yeah, I’m sure my soul mate is out there right now, sitting behind his laptop with Cheetos-stained fingers and a beer belly, just waiting for my profile picture to appear on his dating app.

  Son of a buttered bitch.

  Me: Okay, I’m done talking about this. I’ll talk to you guys later.

  Once I force down two pieces of toast and pour myself a fresh cup of coffee, I check on Teddy 12, my green fern that has surprisingly managed to live for two years straight. Considering there were eleven Teddys before him and I forget to water him a lot, it’s a miracle. I swear, he’s like the Incredible Hulk of plants or something.