Best Friends Don't Kiss(31)
“So…back to the art, I guess…” he mutters, more to himself than me.
But I can’t unhear it, and before we get back to looking at Seraphina’s paintings, I turn to face him. “Do you want to leave?”
“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” A giant, relieved sigh escapes his lungs, and in an instant, semi-polite Mark goes poof into thin air. “Is it just me, or is time moving like a damn snail while looking at all of this shit? Shit that I’m pretty sure any-fucking-one could do, by the way.” He snorts. “Like, I think my mom has better finger paintings from when I was in kindergarten.”
He chuckles. Downs the rest of his wine. And then, holds out his hand.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, amiright?”
I look at his hand and then back at him. And then back at his hand.
Out of irrational friendliness, I’m so close to just agreeing with him and leaving the gallery, but Luke’s voice chastises me in my head.
Stand up for yourself, Ava. It doesn’t matter what the fuck this stranger thinks. Just do it.
I want to stay at the gallery and finish walking through the exhibition. And, frankly, I kind of want to do that alone.
Time to shit or get off the pot.
“You know what?” I respond and hand my glass of wine back to Mark. “I don’t really like wine. Actually, I hate wine, but I was just agreeing to be nice and because you seemed like you were insanely bored. Which, honestly, is fine. I get it. Art isn’t everyone’s thing.”
Mark just stares at me, disbelief making the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle, but I keep going.
“And I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. But I think you should leave.”
“You want me to leave?” he questions with narrowed eyes. “Without you?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I don’t think we’re really vibing, you know? So, let’s just cut our losses now.”
“That’s it?” he challenges bluntly, an edge to his voice that makes me feel even more thankful I decided to use my backbone now.
I nod again. “Mark, thank you for giving an art gallery a try, even though it isn’t really your thing. I really appreciated it. Have a good night, okay?”
“Have a good night?” he retorts on a barking laugh and downs the rest of my wine before tossing both of the cups onto a small table below an installation. “Ha. That’s hilarious.” He shrugs on his trench coat. “FYI, sugar, I didn’t go to an art gallery to make you feel all special and shit. I came here because I figured it’d at least get me fucking laid, and if you were lucky, I’d eat your pussy. And, by the way, every woman who gets to experience my mouth on their pussy has the time of their fucking lives.” He shakes his head at me on a sigh. Like I’m the one who’s missing out or something. “And what are you doing on TapNext anyway? It’s not some place to find your fucking Prince Charming, it’s a goddamn hookup site.”
And just like that, he’s gone. Without a goodbye, striding right out of the gallery.
It’s one of the most embarrassing scenes I’ve ever been a part of.
And yet, I feel the best I’ve felt in a while.
Maybe my ride-or-die has been right all along.
Spring break, fourteen years ago…
Luke
I grab the steaming bowl of popcorn from the microwave and walk quickly toward my futon to set it down on the table. The DVD player is fired up, the menu screen for Wedding Crashers dancing with its readiness to be played.
The dorm is pretty quiet otherwise, with most of my fellow co-eds either at home recharging their batteries for spring break or away on nonstop booze-pounding vacations—the latter of which includes my girlfriend, Nicole. We’ve only been together for a couple weeks, and I probably should have taken her up on her offer to join her and seven of her friends in Cancun, but even with last-minute plane ticket and hotel costs aside, it didn’t really sound like that good of a time.
Don’t get me wrong, Cancun for spring break could be fucking fantastic and my uncle Gary probably would’ve spotted me the cash, but I’ve seen Nicole’s friends in action and it almost always ends up in a goddamn drunken disaster. One that I would’ve had to help clean up…every single night.
Instead of a fun-filled vacation, it sounded like the kind of fucking headache Advil can’t cure.
Ready to dive into the movie, I plop down on my futon and pick up the remote. My finger hovers over the play button when, like a whip of thunder in a silent sky, my door flies open and bangs into the adjacent wall with a crack. I jump at the unexpectedly violent entry, and my eyebrows knit tightly together as Ava comes whirling inside my dorm, all limbs and blustery blond hair.
“Code Blue! Code Blue!” she yells frantically, the only other explanation being a series of panting, winded breaths.
I jump to my feet and look behind her, half expecting a fire or, I don’t know, a nuclear explosion, when she grabs me by the shirt and repeats her cryptic plea. “Code Blue, Luke!”
“I don’t know what that means, Ava.” I try to reason calmly, but that only angers her more, and the familiar little line between her eyebrows that forms in moments of extreme emotion digs deep into her otherwise perfect complexion.
“Didn’t you pay any attention to Grey’s Anatomy last week?” she screeches.