Best Friends Don't Kiss(59)

I should also be questioning the whole sleeping arrangement thing.

But when I look up at Luke and note the soft, even breaths moving his chest up and down in steady rhythm, I decide that we can just share my bed. It’s queen-sized, so we won’t be cramped for space, and it would be kind of cruel to drag him all the way to Vermont and make him sleep on the freaking floor.

Makes total sense…right?





December 22nd

Luke



My run around Ava’s small town clocked my slowest time I’ve had in over two years. But I’m pretty sure that has everything to do with the massive Italian-themed holiday dinner her dad cooked for us last night. Spaghetti, lasagna, Caesar salad, fresh bread, and enough dessert cannoli and cheesecake to feed everyone in Lakewood, it was a fucking feast.

The consequences of gorging myself on that many heavy carbs and desserts equated to an incredibly painful run this morning.

Thank fuck that’s over.

I undo the elastic strap that holds my phone against my arm and check the mileage and time. The mileage is good—six miles. But the time? Ha. Let’s not talk about it.

As I walk up the Lucies’ driveway, I scroll through a few notifications on my phone.

An email from my direct boss and one of the owners of Soar Aviation.



From: Billy Shay

Subject: Permanent Leave Paperwork



Luke,

Just confirmed with HR that everything has been filed.

I’m going to miss having you on our fleet, but I’m also incredibly excited for you. Let me know when it’s okay to make the big announcement to the rest of the team.

No doubt, you will be sorely missed.

Take Care,





Billy


It’s official. No longer a pilot for Soar Aviation, soon, I will be on NASA’s team.

The thought is so surreal, I’m not sure I’ve fully processed it yet.

Yeah. And you also haven’t fucking told anyone but Billy…

The inklings of guilt start to swirl around in my stomach, but I redirect my focus to a few text message notifications I missed yesterday.



Thatcher Kelly: Luke, my man, I’m running a little behind schedule. Mind working that ATC magic of yours?



Shit. I cringe when I realize I forget to tell him the dates for when I’d be heading to Vermont with Ava. Or that Barry would be flying in my place.

About thirty minutes after that initial text, he sent this.



Thatcher Kelly: What. The. Fluff? Who is this bastard Barry? He sucks, Luke. He fluffing sucks. Bitched at me for being late and shit.



And then, five minutes after that, he sent these two beauties.



Thatcher Kelly: Trevor tells me you’re not coming back until AFTER the 1st of the year???? And that I’m going to have to deal with this bum Barry for the next few weeks??? Say it isn’t fluffing so…



Thatcher Kelly: Just got confirmation that it IS so, and it’s because you’re in Vermont with Ava. I’ll be honest, Lucas, ole Thatcher ain’t happy about it, but he understands. ;)



I smile and shake my head. Goddamn. Sometimes, Thatcher Kelly really is a handful. Before I step into Ava’s parents’ house, I shoot him a text back, choosing to ignore the topic of Ava altogether.



Me: Sorry I missed your texts. And try to go easy on Barry, will you? He really isn’t that bad when you get to know him.



I’m surprised when I get two texts back in record time.



Thatcher Kelly: You might as well give up on that pipe dream, Lucas. There is no way me and Dingle-Barry are ever going to get along.



Thatcher Kelly: Yesterday, Wes and I were trying to watch the Mavericks game on the way home from LA, and Dingle-Barry made a fluffing announcement over the speakers to tell us to turn down the volume. Wes was so pissed, I thought he was going to murder him in the cockpit. No doubt about it, we’ll all be fluffing relieved when you’re back.

Apparently, Barry incites the same reaction in everyone—an instant dislike.

Truthfully, I think he’s a nice guy, maybe a little odd and stuffy and set in his ways, but a good guy, nonetheless.

Also, from here on out, a guy Thatch will probably be seeing a lot more of…

Obviously, there’s no need to break that news to him just yet. I’ll let him enjoy the holidays before I deliver that doozy.

When my post-run, heated skin starts to turn cool, I step out of the brisk morning air and back inside the Lucies’ house.

I’m pleased to find Ava standing in the kitchen alone, wearing a tank top and Santa Claus pajama pants. She clutches a fresh cup of hot cocoa in one hand and a buttercream-frosted snowman cookie in the other.

“Mornin’, Ace.”

She smiles around a mouthful of cookie. “How was the run?”

“Horrible,” I answer through a chuckle and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “I feel like I did a Michael Scott carbo-load.”

She snorts. “Yeah, that was a big meal last night.”

I eye her knowingly. “If that was last night’s dinner, what in the hell am I supposed to expect on Christmas?”

“Christmas and Christmas Eve.”

I tilt my head to the side.