Best Friends Don't Kiss

by Max Monroe

  “I’m sorry, but I have a girlfriend,” I say, still trying to ease us out of this conversation.

  “You what?” Trev nearly shouts.

  She looks deliberately around the table, between Trevor and me. “And where is this girlfriend of yours?” she asks, her voice teasing and flirtatious at the same time.

  “That’s a good fucking question,” Trev comments.

  But I don’t need to think twice about my answer.

  I stand up from my barstool and quickly grab an unsuspecting Ava around the hips, pulling her away from the bar and back toward me until she’s pressed against my chest.

  “What the…?” she questions through a giggle and looks up to meet my eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “She’s right here,” I say to Gina, my hands still resting on Ava’s hips. “This is my girlfriend.”

  Gina’s eyes go wide and then her face scrunches up in shock, and just as she opens her mouth to respond, Trev chokes on his beer and sprays it across the table, the mist of booze landing on everyone.

  Ava dodges it by turning to press her face into my chest.

  “Ew,” Gina mutters, swiping a hand across her forehead.

  “What the fuck is happening right now?” Trevor asks, his eyes bouncing between Ava and Gina and me.

  “Did he just say you’re his fucking girlfriend?” Desi shouts, her voice echoing inside the bar, over the crowd, and nearly drowning out Madonna’s voice singing “Santa Baby” from the DJ’s speakers.

  Gina strides away from the circus on a huff, but the scrutiny doesn’t lessen. If anything, it just intensifies.

  Desi and Claire get so close, I fear they might climb in our laps.

  “Well, Ace, I guess the cat’s outta the bag, huh?”

  “When I said we’d tell them about our plan tonight, I didn’t quite picture it coming off this crazy, Luke.” Ava snorts, smiling up at me.

  I just shrug.

  “You two have some explaining to do,” Claire says, her eyes pointedly glaring at us.

  “Wait…are you two dating?” Desi asks. “Like, have you finally realized—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ava cuts her off. “We’re not actually dating. We’re pretending to be dating.”

  Claire scrunches up her nose. “Huh?”

  “You know how you guys suggested that I just bring Luke to Vermont? Well, it’s happening.”

  Trevor sighs and shakes his head.

  “Damn, talk about a letdown,” Desi mutters, sharing a look with Claire.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Wait. Why are you guys acting all weird?” I question.

  “Because you two are fucking blind,” Trev retorts.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, man,” he answers through a sigh and finishes off the rest of his beer. “Fucking nothing.”

  Ava quirks a brow and meets my eyes. “Is it just me, or does it seem like our friends are mad at us?”

  All I can do is shrug.

  But when Trevor meets my eyes, I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what he’s thinking. Or why he’s thinking it. For years, he’s been playing the same broken record, saying that I have a thing for Ava. That I see her as more than my best friend.

  Sure, I can see that Ava is downright beautiful. She’s amazing, but anyone with two fucking eyes and a brain can see that.

  And, obviously, I love spending time with her.

  But that doesn’t mean I have a thing for her.

  Says the man who didn’t hesitate to pull her over and introduce her as his girlfriend when another woman was coming on to him…

  December 13th

  Ava

  “Pivot!” I shout toward Luke, giving my best Ross Geller impression, as I grip the top of the burlap- and rope-covered Christmas tree and lug it up the steps of our building. He stands at the bottom, carrying most of the weight, and to be honest, I’m here mostly for looks and entertainment value.

  Normally, we’d, you know, take the elevator, but it’s on the fritz…again.

  “Pivot! Pivot!” I yell over my shoulder as I round the corner and hit the second flight of stairs.

  Luke’s jaw goes hard and serious, and somehow, I think my value as an entertainer is decreasing.

  “I swear to God, if you say pivot one more time, I’m going to drop this tree and let it slide back down to the lobby. And then I’m going to take it outside and light the damn thing on fire.”

  I giggle. “Pivot!”

  “Ace!” Luke exclaims, his voice exasperated, but also, I can hear a teeny-tiny hint of a smile.

  “I’m just trying to help you.”

  He looks up the stairs and meets my eyes, his hands still gripping the bottom of the tree. “You’re trying to annoy me.”

  “I can’t help it if those two things are parallel objectives.” I stop in the middle of the staircase and shrug. “You’re really funny when you get all irritated.”

  “Can we keep it moving?” he questions. “I mean, after dragging this sad excuse for a tree halfway across the city, I’d like to get it into your apartment sometime today.”

  I don’t move an inch. “Sad excuse for a tree? Luke London, you’re going to hurt Billy Bob’s feelings.”

  My tree is a little sparse, but what he lacks in full, lush pine, he makes up for in spirit.

  “Yeah, well, your pine friend Billy Bob is making my hands bleed. Surely, he can take a little ribbing.”

  “I think you need to apologize to the tree, Luke. It’s not his fault you didn’t bring gloves.”

  “I think you need to move your little ass up the stairs,” he retorts.

  When I still don’t move, Luke jumps right into action, readjusting his position so he can lift the top of the tree from my hands and toss the whole damn thing over his shoulder.

  “Christ,” he mutters and moves up the stairs with ease.

  I fight the urge to giggle and follow his lead.

  And, because I can’t help myself, I shout “Pivot!” every time he has to round a corner and start a new flight of stairs.

  By the time we make it into my apartment, Luke is beyond annoyed with me.

  On a huff, he sets the tree against the wall beside the large windows of my living room and strides right toward me, lifting my whole body up and over his shoulder.

  I squeal.

  With me in a firefighter’s carry, he stomps around my apartment, exclaiming, “Pivot, Ace! Pivot!”

  “Oh my God, Luke!” I shout. “Put me down!”

  “Put you where?” he questions and spins to the right, then to the left.

  “Down! Put me down, you crazy person!”

  “Over here?” He moves toward the couch.

  “Yes!”

  “Right here? On the couch?”

  “Oh my God! Yes!”

  “Oh, okay,” he says and unceremoniously drops me onto my sectional sofa, and my purse flies off my shoulder as my body bounces up and down on the cushions.

  “You’re a lunatic,” I mutter through a few giggles, brushing my blond hair out of my face.

  Luke just grins down at me, his hands resting firmly on his hips. “I just carried your tree fifteen blocks, and you’re calling me names.”

  “Yes, lunatic. But thank you. I very much appreciate that.” I wink and stand up from the couch to unwrap the burlap and rope from my tree.

  Once Billy Bob—whom I named after the Billy Bob Thornton from Bad Santa—is completely unwrapped and all set up in front of the windows, I stand back and take in the view.

  “He’s glorious.”

  Luke wraps his arm around my shoulders and scoffs. “I hate to break it to ya, Ace, but he makes Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree look good.”

  I slap him in the stomach, but by the way he laughs, I’d say my playful efforts have all the intensity of a gnat.

  “So, now what do we do?”

  “We decorate him, silly,” I reply and nudge his hip with mine.

/>   “I know that’s what we’d do with a traditional tree. But Billy Bob?” He shakes his head. “He’ll hold what…two, maybe three ornaments, tops?”

  “You’re such a grinch,” I mutter. Conveniently, I brought up the box of ornaments and tinsel and garland and lights from basement storage earlier this morning—read: I made Luke bring it up this morning—so I head right for it and get to work.

  “I might be a grinch, but you and ole Billy would just be two passing ships without me. And…I guess…I’ll still help you decorate your tree.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, and he nods.

  “Of course. Give it water too. I didn’t put in all this work just to let him die.”

  At his words, my heart does a weird flip-floppy thing inside my chest—Luke and I have been through so much together, and he always looks out for me. I open my mouth to say something—thank him, maybe—but my phone starts ringing from my purse that’s sitting between two couch cushions, obnoxiously shaking the bag with its vibration and pulling me out of the sentimental moment. I run over to my bag and pull out the phone to see Incoming Call Dad flashing on the screen.

  Good ole Guy Lucie.

  I just get it answered before my ringtone comes to an end.

  “Ava, it’s your dad.”

  I snort. Somehow, he still hasn’t figured out the consequences of the information age and instant caller ID. “I know, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Did you get my email?”

  “What email?”

  “The one I just sent a few minutes ago.”

  “Uh…no, sorry. I’ve been busy putting up my Christmas tree. Haven’t checked my inbox,” I respond, multitasking by organizing my ornaments, rearranging them one by one on my coffee table. In true Ava Lucie fashion, they are a tangled mess from last year’s lackluster effort at putting them away.

  “What the hell are you putting up a Christmas tree for? You’re going to be in Vermont for Christmas.”

  “Because I love Christmas,” I retort. “Pretty sure I learned that from you, big Guy. In fact, given the timing, I have a feeling that’s exactly what your email is all about.”

  A deep, reverberating chuckle fills my ears. “You got me. I’ve got our whole itinerary mapped out. It’s a little truncated from last year, though. This wedding is really raining on my holiday parade. You’d think your sister would’ve picked a different damn month to tie the knot.”

  Every year, like clockwork, once Thanksgiving is over, Guy Lucie begins to prepare for his favorite holiday of the entire year—Christmas. And I’m not talking just a little bit of preparation. I’m talking Christmas Vacation-style lights on the outside of the house, four fully decorated trees inside the house, along with five days of fun-filled holiday activities that are mandatory for every member of the Lucie family. Even my mom’s dog, Bruce.

  “I’m pretty sure Kate wasn’t trying to rain on your parade, Dad. She’s probably just excited to marry the love of her life.”

  He huffs out a sigh. “Well, she sure as shit could’ve picked a different day. Hell, I almost went against my Christmas code and started putting my lights up before Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s blasphemy,” I tease, but it goes right over his head.

  “I know! Goddamn wedding. I know my Avie wouldn’t try to pull something like this.”

  “That’s probably why I’m your favorite daughter, right?”

  “Shh!” he hushes me, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “You know we can’t let the others find out.”

  If it isn’t obvious, I’ve always been a bit of a daddy’s girl.

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Your favorite daughter.”

  He chuckles again. “So, you’ll read the email, right?”

  “You got it.”

  “And your mom was raving about you bringing some boyfriend with you… What’s that all about?”

  “Well…I’ll be bringing Luke,” I answer, and at my words, I look up to find him walking out of my spare bedroom with a guilty grin on his face.

  I cover the receiver with my hand. “Why are you snooping?”

  “To see if you broke the streak.” His grin grows, consuming his entire handsome face. “Which you did.”

  After the night on the subway with Luke, I came back to my apartment buzzing with energy. I couldn’t sleep. And next thing I knew, I found myself in my spare bedroom—otherwise known as my makeshift art studio—painting.

  Actually putting my paintbrush to canvas.

  The piece isn’t done yet, but it’s certainly a start.

  “Avie?” My dad’s voice is in my ear. “You still there?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m here.”

  “Someone there with you?”

  “Luke is here,” I answer honestly. “He helped me carry my tree into my apartment.”

  “You know, I’ve always thought Luke was a good guy.”

  “He is.”

  “And now you’re with him? The two of you are a couple?”

  If there is one person on the planet I have a hard time lying to, it’s my dad.

  “Uh…yeah?” I answer, but he notices the uncertain inflection in my voice.

  There’s a brief bout of silence, and I can picture him tapping his chin. “Why do I get the sense there’s a whole lot more to this story?”

  “Probably because there is.”

  “You ready to tell that story?”

  “Uh…” I shake my head and stare down at my feet. “Not quite.”

  “But I’ll hear all about when you come home?”

  “Sure,” I answer. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home, but that’s only if you promise to keep it between us.”

  “You have my word,” he responds without hesitation. “And Avie?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Don’t forget to check the itinerary email.”

  I smile. Talking to my dad always makes me feel better. “I won’t, Dad.”

  We end the call shortly after that, and I get back to work on making Billy Bob beautiful.

  First, lights.

  Then, garland.

  Then, ornaments.

  Luke helps with all of the above and then heads to the kitchen to do something.

  I sprinkle a little tinsel and put the star on top, plug in the lights, and stand back to take in the glorious view.

  “He’s perfect.” I grin.

  “Not too shabby,” Luke comments and holds out a white mug toward me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  My eyes go wide in surprise. “When did you make hot chocolate?”

  “When you started to get a little wild with the tinsel,” he responds through a chuckle. “I feared I was going to end up a casualty.”

  I giggle at that, but when I go to take a sip, I pause. Not only did Luke make hot chocolate, he made hot chocolate and dressed it all up with some serious holiday pizzaz.

  “You added marshmallows? And whipped cream? And a freaking candy cane?” I glance between him and the mug. “Oh my God, you’re not the grinch! You’re a little closet Christmas lover!”

  “No, Ace, you’ve got it all wrong.” He shakes his head on a chuckle, and I put a defiant hand to my hip.

  “Explain it to me then, Mr. Secret Holiday Spirit.”

  “I’m best friends with a Christmas lover,” he answers with a soft smile. “And it goes without saying that I like seeing you happy.”

  Instantly, my heart does that weird flip-floppy thing in my chest again.

  God, Luke just might be the best guy I’ve ever known.

  Wake up, sister. He is the best guy you’ve ever known.

  December 21st

  Luke

  Ava fidgets beside me, her knee bouncing up and down as the rest of the passengers on our flight finish boarding the plane.

  Today—fondly called D-Day by Ava—is the day we fly to her hometown of Lakewood, Vermont. And thanks to all my years working for this airline, we get to d
o it in first class.

  “Hey, Ace?” I rest my hand on her thigh, gently slowing her knee’s movement to a stop. She looks over at me, and a little crinkle appears between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Are you sure?” she questions. “Because, right now, I have so much anxiety, I feel like they could forgo gasoline and just hook me up to the engine. It’s either that or I might run off this freaking flight before they shut the doors.”

  Memories of that first day in college, when she set her dorm on fire and then proceeded to run away from the flaming-hot-plate disaster, fill my mind.

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  “You want to leave?” She is already nodding. “Yeah, we should definitely leave, right? I’ll just tell everyone we had the flu or something and had to stay home. No big deal,” she tosses back, even beginning to unbuckle the seat belt secured around her waist, but I quickly place my hand over hers to stop the mid-freak-out momentum.

  “We’re not leaving.” I shake my head and fight the urge to burst into laughter. Damn, she’s worked up. “But we are going to sneak a little something-something before the flight attendants start giving their spiel on no-smoking rules and emergency exit rows.”

  Without preamble, I lean down and pull out two small water bottles—filled with liquor—from my bag. Ones I packed in preparation for this very moment. Ava is a nervous flyer to begin with—add in the whole high school reunion, her sister’s wedding, and that I’ve come along as her pretend boyfriend, and I knew we were sitting on the mental precipice of a disaster.

  I hold one out to her and she shakes her head. “No thanks. I’m not thirsty.”

  “That’s good. It’s not water.”

  She studies me closely for a second, and finally, when I wink, she gets it.

  “Booze?” she questions. “You brought booze?”

  “It’s not just any booze. It’s peppermint schnapps. And I snuck it. Technically, we’re not allowed to bring our own alcohol on the plane.” I uncap one of the small bottles and hand it to her. “Like drinking a candy cane. So, basically, it’s like Christmas in your mouth.”

  She stares at the bottle. “Pretty sure it’s going to taste like shit.”