Best Friends Don't Kiss(18)

“Like I said, it’s no big deal.” He reaches out to pat his hand on my thigh. “Water under the bridge. Or should I say, Fanta under the bridge?”

“Smartass.” I snort and nudge him gently with my shoulder. “Even though you probably shouldn’t have, thanks for coming to my rescue. Lord knows, I would’ve felt like dying if I’d woken up in some random dude’s apartment.”

“Yeah, I figured you didn’t want that.” He smirks, and his eyes make their way to the screen of my phone. “TapNext?” he questions, his mind switching focus. “Why are you on a hookup site?”

“Dating site,” I correct him, but he doesn’t hesitate to disagree.

“That most people use as a hookup site.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of options,” I sass back. “I need to find a date to bring to my stupid high school reunion, and I’m running out of time.”

“You’re seriously going to go through with the planning circus?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yes.”

“Christ,” he mutters. “And you think you’re going to find a boyfriend to bring home for the holidays on TapNext?”

“What? You think I should choose Match.com?” I retort. “Courtney has been trying to find someone for, like, three freaking years now, Luke. You know I don’t have that kind of time.”

“I don’t think you should choose any of them, Ace,” he responds and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just came clean with everybody?” he asks and meets my eyes. “I mean…TapNext? You really want to go that route?”

I think of what a messy shitstorm it would be if I decided to back out of everything and told everyone how terrible this all makes me feel, and a cold sense of doom envelops me. Honestly, this is awful, but getting all the dirty laundry out in the air sounds much, much worse.

“I do.” I nod. “So, you can either be a judgy jerk, or you can help me figure out what picture to use for my profile.”

He sighs, stares at me for a long moment, then sighs again. “Fine. Hit me with the options.”

“Aw, you’re the best best friend in the whole wide world!” I grin and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “And once we choose the best picture, you can help me with my bio.”

“Lucky me,” he says through a groan, and I giggle.

“C’mon, Luke. Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. Help your bestie find a boyfriend.”

He snorts at that, and once he chooses his favorite profile picture option—a photo he actually took of me when we went to the Hamptons last summer, I upload it and proceed to type out my bio.



Ava, 33

Fun-loving art history lover who thinks online dating is kind of weird but is trying to give it an honest shot.



“You do realize that most of the messages you’re going to receive will be idiots asking for nudes, right?” Luke questions, and instantly, I get an idea.

Finger to the keys, I add a little more to my bio.



IMPORTANT! READ THIS BEFORE ASKING ME FOR A NAKED PIC:

In the early 1900s, a girl let a handsome, Leonardo DiCaprio-looking boy sketch her portrait—a very risqué, very nude portrait. That very sketch got locked away in a safe somewhere, on a boat that sank to the bottom of the ocean. And still, nearly a century later, that top-secret, nude portrait found its way onto television.

So, no, I DO NOT SEND NUDES.



“There,” I say with a big smile on my face and hit save. “That should do it.”

A soft laugh leaves Luke’s full lips. “Just so you know, I still think this is a horrible idea.”

“Do you know how many times you’ve said that to me during the lifetime of our friendship?”

He snorts. “Too many.”

“Plenty,” I correct. “And it always works out okay.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah. But one day, you’re going to learn that if you listened to me, it might turn out even better.”





November 2nd

Luke



The lobby of Soar Aviation at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey is a tasteful oasis of beige hues, ambient lighting, high glass ceilings, well-spaced armchairs and sofas, and a baby grand piano.

No one ever plays that damn piano, but that’s beside the point.

This posh waiting room is for travelers catching private planes out of Soar, one of the five companies that flies and charters flights at one of the busiest strictly private airports in the world.

And since I’m one of Soar’s contracted pilots, I walk through this lobby about three times a week. No doubt, it’s a striking contrast to what I used to see more than two years ago when I was still flying as a commercial pilot out of Newark International Airport.

Basically, I get paid to fly around in the clouds.

You’d think after being a pilot for eight years, the novelty of flying would wane, but it doesn’t. Every time I sit in the cockpit and prepare to take off, I’m just as excited as I was my first day in flight school.

Lobby left behind, the tarmac feels like home under my feet. The moisture of dew is still ripe in the air, but after years of flying out of this airport in the mornings, I know it’ll be burned off within the next thirty minutes, as soon as the sun gets high enough in the sky to put some heat into the air. I do my checks and cross-checks, circling the plane and working my way through my preflight checklist, and then head for the stairs that lead to the inside. My phone buzzes in my pocket before I get to the top, so I pull it out quickly and check the screen to find a new text.