Best Friends Don't Kiss(27)
“He must think I’m such a bitch now!”
“Yeah,” I say with a wave of my arm. “And who cares? Why the fuck do you care what Boat-Lover Brian thinks of you? He’s a stranger, Ava. Who gives a fuck?”
“I do!” she snaps, and I shake my head, head back to the couch, and take a seat.
“You don’t. Or you shouldn’t anyway. Just relax and be thankful the date with loafer boy is over.”
“It was my date,” she says, as if she was in control of it at all.
“If you don’t want me involved next time, don’t involve me,” I say simply before turning the volume on the TV back up to an audible level.
She stays by the door, stewing for a while—I can see her out of the corner of my eye—but eventually, she gives in, kicks off her shiny black heels, and walks toward my kitchen.
“You got any ice cream?” she asks and pads her bare feet into my kitchen. “I didn’t have dessert.”
“Ava.” A laugh jumps from my chest. “You are…”
“Enchanting?” she asks with a teasing lilt as she opens my freezer.
“You’re something, all right,” I mutter to myself.
“What was that?” she asks, walking from the kitchen to the living room and joining me on the sofa.
“I said, I guess I was right about Brian.”
She rolls her pretty sapphire eyes. “The date was horrible. He is a wine snob who kept ordering all my food and wouldn’t shut up about his goddamn boat, and I had to get out of there before I had to sit through a forty-minute dessert with him. A woman can only hear about a man’s dinghy so many times before she snaps.”
“Is dinghy a metaphor or…”
She smacks my arm, and I laugh. When she doesn’t say anything else, I venture into the dark place of our friendship where I have to slap reality across her face.
“You should’ve just told him you wanted to call it an early night, Ava. Or you needed to get home. Or, I don’t know, thanked him for dinner and just been honest that you weren’t really feeling it with him.”
“I just… I didn’t want to offend him.”
“It’s always better to be honest. Especially with guys. We’re very simple creatures, babe.”
She shoves another bite of ice cream into her mouth and mulls over my words.
“I don’t want to be the one to say I told you so, but I told you online dating wasn’t worth it.”
“Yet, here you are, saying it,” she sasses with narrowed eyes.
I shrug.
“Dating Boat-Lover Brian wasn’t worth it. I don’t know yet about online dating.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re going on more TapNext dates?”
“I’m no quitter, London. I wouldn’t feel right calling myself a Columbia graduate if I didn’t give this the old college try.”
My brows snap together in confusion, and if I’m honest, a little bit of unexplained, seemingly irrational anger. “You can’t be serious, Ace.”
“Oh, but I am,” she responds without hesitation. “I already have another date planned. With Abe.”
All I can do is shake my head and snag the spoon from her hands, popping a bite of ice cream into my mouth.
Christ. What kind of role am I going to be expected to play next time?
November 14th
Ava
The subway at rush hour should be avoided like the plague. Any New Yorker who’s worth their weight in salt knows this to be true. Unfortunately, always avoiding the subway during its busiest hours is entirely unavoidable.
Everything happens during rush hour.
Getting to work.
Leaving work.
Dinner with friends.
Cocktail hour.
My fourth TapNext date at an art gallery opening in Chelsea.
I wish I could say I’m excited about this date, but I’m not. Between smug Brian rambling about his boat, Abe trying to buy Whiskers—his cat that he brought on our date—a movie ticket and getting in a fight with the poor ticket-booth lady when she wouldn’t sell him the ticket, and Frank showing up in a fishnet muscle shirt to Starbucks, the expectation bar is at an all-time low.
Truthfully, I’m not sure it could get any lower. Plus, Luke has officially renounced himself as my way out of any more dates I may choose to go on.
I’ve put him through a lot, I’ll give him that—a fake injury with Brian, asking him to impersonate my doctor and tell Abe I only had one week to live, and pretending to be a jealous boyfriend who dragged me out of Starbucks in front of an agape Frank—but I wish he could just understand how hard it is for me to disappoint other people or how unwilling I am to go home for Christmas-wedding-reunion hell alone.
Though, I never seem to have that issue with him.
Why wouldn’t he just agree to go with me and play my fake boyfriend? Gah.
The A train’s brakes screech and squeak as it comes to a stop in front of me, and when I step through the doors, jockeying around the people exiting, I’m blessed with the familiar rush-hour vision—my fellow subway goers packed in like sardines.
Cheers to too many people crammed into a small metal tube, underneath the ground, which will be sent rocketing through New York’s underground subway tunnels!