Best Friends Don't Kiss(42)

I groan. “We are. Best of.”

“Uh-huh.” That grin turns devilish. “You know…” He pauses and taps his chin dramatically. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this tale before. At least seven times. And every single one of them ended with me watching my buddy stand at the altar and say, “I do.”

“Whoa. Slow your roll, Thatch.” I cough on my own saliva. “While I know you have a serious soft spot for rom-coms and romance novels, my life isn’t a Lifetime movie.”

“Hallmark.”

I blink and tilt my head to the side. “What?”

“Pretty sure you mean Hallmark,” he explains. “Those are the ones with swoony happy endings. Personally, they’re my favorite.” He winks. “Lifetime movies usually involve someone getting murdered. Or someone trying to get someone else murdered. Or an evil twin sister faking her good twin sister’s death so she can make her sister’s boyfriend fall in love with her while she keeps her sister locked up in the basement.”

“Was I supposed to understand anything you just said?”

“You don’t watch Lifetime?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Fluffing hell, you’re missing out. That shit is like crack. My wife Cass loves it. Sometimes, we even role-play the angry sex scenes. It gets crazy hot, dude. Crazy hot.”

“I think my brain might be bleeding.”

It’s so not normal to have a boss like Thatcher Kelly. I literally never know what’s going to come out of his mouth.

“That’s such a fluffing Wes thing to say.” He chuckles. “Anyhoo, back to Ava, right?” he asks with a knowing smirk. “Pretty sure you have more tea to spill.”

“There is zero tea, Thatch.”

“Oh, there’s tea, Luke. So much tea to spill, you’d make the Sons of Liberty proud.”

I snort. “Did you seriously just reference the Boston Tea Party?”

“I did.” He smirks. “And I’m pretty sure you just tried to deflect my tea-spilling request by mentioning the Boston Tea Party, so I’d say we’re even.”

“Sometimes, you make no sense.”

“Oh, but I do, Daniel-san. Thatcher Kelly always makes sense,” he says proudly, mimicking Mr. Miyagi’s voice. “Which is why you’re going to love my next request.”

“And what’s that?”

“Come to Cass’s and my Manhattan apartment next Friday and enjoy a delicious meal with us.”

“That’s the day after Thanksgiving, dude.”

“I know. And on the day after Thanksgiving, the whole gang gets together for Friendsgiving. It’s become a bit of a tradition. We get babysitters for the kids, Kline’s wife Georgie cooks one hell of an awesome meal, Wes’s wife Winnie brings desserts, and my wife Cass spends most of the evening busting my balls. It’s fluffing great.”

Technically, I don’t have any plans the day after Thanksgiving. Or even on Thanksgiving, to be honest. Last year, with my uncle Gary in the Bahamas and Ava’s family in Vermont and all our other friends having dinner with their respective families, we ended up ordering Chinese food and sneaking into the Met after hours so Ava could gush over her favorite paintings. The next day, we got up early and tried our hand at Black Friday shopping. Our first and last Black Friday shopping attempt. It only takes witnessing one fistfight over a plasma TV in the middle of Aisle 3 at a New Jersey Walmart to make you realize you’re more of an online shopper than anything else.

“While I really appreciate the offer, I don’t want to impose on you guys’ dinner.”

“You’re not imposing,” he insists without hesitation. “You’re coming, and you’re going to bring Miss Ava.” He winks. “Consider it practice for the main event.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, dude. You and Ava are joining us for Friendsgiving dinner, end of story,” he cuts me off. “I’ll text you the address. See you Friday.”

And then, he’s off, with his headphones in his ears and his big, tall body striding over to the treadmills.

Well, shit. I guess Ava and I are having dinner with a bunch of billionaires next week…?



Me: Fine. We’ll do our first practice run next Friday.



Her response is immediate.



Ava: You’re agreeing to this? I really expected an argument. And next Friday is the day after Thanksgiving.



Me: Hey, I can be unpredictable sometimes.



Ava: No, you can’t. So, where did The Great Black Friday Trial Run come from?



I laugh. She really does know me better than anyone.



Me: You ever remember me talking about Thatcher Kelly?



Ava: Wait, is that the billionaire guy you fly around all the time? The one who’s always texting you when he’s running late?



Bingo. I smirk.



Me: That’s him. And next Friday, we’re going to have dinner with him and a bunch of his friends for something they call Friendsgiving.



Ava: Sounds just weird enough to be fun. But it’ll have to be, at the very least, trial run number two.