Best Friends Don't Kiss(25)

I search the room for excuses and come up with a break to the bathroom as my best option.

“That’s so great.” I force a fake smile to my lips. “But if you don’t mind,” I add and set my napkin on the table. “I’m going to excuse myself to the ladies’ room.”

Brian nods and swirls his bourbon around his glass for the one-millionth time. “When you get back, I’ll tell you about the time I took my boat out to Catalina. It was wild.”

“Fantastic.” I grit my teeth in the form of a fake smile and don’t waste any more time. Instantly, I hop out of my chair and haul ass into the privacy of the restaurant’s bathroom.

Good Lord, if I have to sit through coffee and dessert and listen to him ramble on about that fucking sailboat any longer, I’ll die. Face first, right into some tiramisu, I’ll kick the boredom bucket.

In the name of survival, I must end this date and do it soon.

With a quick, fortifying look in the mirror, I finish up in the bathroom and wash my hands. I hitch one hip against the counter, pull my cell phone out of my purse, and open up my ongoing text conversation with Luke.

My fingers hover over the screen, seconds away from typing out a Save me! message, but then I remember he’s probably the last person I want to text about this horrible date. This situation, right here, would only prove he was right about online dating.

In the name of not hearing “I told you so,” I open up my group chat with Desi and Claire instead.



Me: Mayday! Mayday! I’m on the date from hell, and I need one of you to call me with an emergency so I can leave before I die during dessert.



When no one responds, I send another one.



Me: Hello????? This is an emergency, you guys! I need timely responses!



And over the next five or so minutes, I keep demon texting them in the same fashion.



Me: Desi! Claire! Answer your damn phones!



Me: You guys are shitty friends. The worst. Literally.



Me: I mean, what good are friends if they can’t bail you out of a horrible first date with a pretend emergency?????



Me: P.S. I wouldn’t even be on this stupid date if it weren’t for you betches and your dumb ideas!!!



Time is not on my side, and unless I want my date to think the linguine has given me a sudden bout of diarrhea, I need to get back out there, into the sailboat-conversation trenches.

Son of a dinghy.

On a sigh, I slide my cell phone back into my purse, inhale a deep, cavernous breath, and slap a fake smile on my face as I step back out of my bathroom and head toward The Brianna’s biggest fan.

“Everything okay?” Brian asks as I slip into my chair. It’s not a strange question. I’ve been gone for at least fifteen minutes. He probably thinks I was in the throes of some very serious gastrointestinal distress in there.

“Mm-hm,” I answer with a nod, spreading my napkin out across my lap like I’m throwing a rose on my coffin.

This is it. This is my funeral.

“I guess it’s time to decide on dessert, huh?” He smiles at me as he grabs the dessert menu off the edge of the table and peruses it. “I know exactly what we’ll have,” he adds after a quiet minute and places the menu back down on the table.

We’ll.

Again. What is with this guy and ordering for me?

What if I have fucking food allergies and his dessert choice sends me into anaphylactic shock?

I mean, I don’t. I’m actually miraculously devoid of allergies of any kind, but Brian could be moments away from involuntary manslaughter if I were a different woman, for shit’s sake.

What am I still doing here?

Jesus, Ava. Just end the date if you don’t want to be here anymore. You can do it. It’s not that hard.

When Brian successfully tracks down our nice server Anthony with a whistle and a wave across the restaurant, I realize I need to woman up and tell him I don’t want dessert.

I open my mouth once, twice, three freaking times, but nothing comes out.

Just tell him already! It’s not that damn difficult!

When the words still don’t come out of my throat, I dive straight into panic mode. In a rush, I act like my phone is ringing and abruptly snatch it out of my purse and hold it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I fake answer far too loudly, and both Anthony and Brian look over at me. “Oh no! Are you okay?” I continue on with the charade. “Oh my gosh! Just stay calm, and I’ll come help you right now!”

I pretend to hit end on the call and shove it back into my purse.

“Is everything okay?” Brian asks.

“No,” I respond and force my face into a concerned frown. “I’m so sorry to cut our date short, but I need to leave.”

“What happened?”

Yeah, Ava, what happened?

Shit. I probably should’ve come up with that before I took the fake call.

“Uh…my best friend…he lives across the hall from me, and…he fell…off a step stool…and he can’t walk… It’s bad! Super bad! He needs me to take him to the hospital!”

That is probably the worst lie you’ve ever come up with in your life.

“Oh God,” Brian responds and hurriedly pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, shoving his credit card into Anthony’s hand. “Mind closing out our bill really quick? We need to leave right now.”