Best Friends Don't Kiss

by Max Monroe

I need some air.

  “Be right back,” I say to Luke and hop out of my chair. “Just running to the bathroom real quick.”

  I don’t miss the way his eyes attempt to search mine, but I quickly look away from him and rush toward the bathroom in the entry hallway.

  The instant I’m inside, I shut and lock the door and just stand there, hands resting on the sink and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My heart continues to pound like a kickdrum inside my chest as I try to slow my near-hyperventilating breaths.

  What in the hell is happening? Am I actually having a panic attack right now?

  Uh no, honey. More like, you just opened Pandora’s box of emotions, and it is freaking you the fuck out.

  Holy hell.

  I sigh and splash a little cool water on my overheated cheeks.

  “Just calm down and get it together,” I whisper to myself. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Several slow inhales and exhales later, I feel relaxed enough to step back out into the kitchen. But when I get there, I notice Luke is no longer sitting at the table.

  “Where’s Luke?”

  “He took your suitcases and cocoa mugs upstairs to your room,” my mom answers, and a tickled grin kisses her mouth. “After your dad handed him the itinerary, Luke said you guys might need a nap before diving into the first night of Christmas festivities.”

  The normalcy of that statement catches me off guard, but also, it makes me feel oddly at peace.

  “Oh boy.” I laugh. “I kind of, sort of, purposely didn’t show him the itinerary before we left New York.”

  “That was probably smart.” My mom’s grin grows. “Oh, and before I forget. There are fresh towels and washcloths in your bathroom, but let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Out of the kitchen and up the stairs, I make my way toward my old bedroom at the end of the second-floor hallway, and when I open the door, I find Luke lying on my bed with the itinerary clutched in his hands.

  “How’s it going?” I ask and gently shut the door behind myself.

  “Did you see what your dad has planned?” he asks, eyes wide. “Ice-skating, caroling, cookie-baking contest…? Every day is jam-fucking-packed, Ava.”

  “Well, the big Guy really loves Christmas.” I giggle and slip off my boots, setting them beside Luke’s sneakers and our suitcases.

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I honestly didn’t know there were this many Christmas-themed activities to do.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I answer, lying down on the bed beside him. “If there were more days, Guy Lucie would’ve found more activities. Truthfully, that final schedule probably had to be narrowed down.”

  “Holy shit.” Luke bursts into laughter and sets the laminated itinerary onto my old nightstand and adjusts his arm so it’s underneath my shoulders, tucking me close to his side. “This is going to be some week, huh?”

  I grin up at him. “Yeah, well, between Guy’s holiday extravaganza, my sister’s wedding, my stupid reunion, and the whole—” I drop my voice to a whisper “—you pretending to be my boyfriend, I’m pretty sure this week will be one for the books.”

  “You want to know my favorite part of the trip so far?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Seeing your childhood bedroom.”

  I lean back to meet his eyes. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah,” he responds and glances around the room. “It’s everything I hoped it’d be and more.”

  “You’ve spent that much time thinking about my childhood bedroom?”

  “I’ve always wondered what young Ava was like when she was up here painting.” His smile is soft and sugary sweet. “And now I know.”

  I look around my room and see that most of it hasn’t changed. Not the canvases hanging above my desk or the easel that still sits by the window. It’s a true blast from the past.

  “I think ten-year-old Luke would’ve been fascinated by ten-year-old Ava.”

  “You don’t know that.” I roll my eyes. “I was a weird kid.”

  “All kids are weird. And your weird is the good kind,” he responds and flashes a lazy, sleepy smile toward me. “That’s what makes you special, Ace. You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum.” A yawn escapes his throat, and it’s not long before his eyes drift closed.

  After a lengthy day of traveling, I should be just as tired as he is, but I’m not.

  If anything, I feel wired. Like I just drank three freaking espressos.

  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.

  “My dad makes his biggest meals on both of those days.”

  His biggest meals? Pretty sure the only way those meals of his could get any bigger is if he buys a fucking crane and has food dropped in through the roof.

  “Good God,” I mutter as I chuckle and take a sip of water. “I might have to buy an extra ticket for the plane ride home.”

  “Whatever, Mr. Six-Pack Abs.” Ava rolls her pretty blue eyes. “Your metabolism can handle a little indulgence.”

  I wink. “Speaking of my glorious abs, you want to help me?”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Finish my workout.”

  Confused, she just stands there.

  “C’mon, Ace,” I cajole and gesture for her to follow me into the living room. “Since I have to skip my weight workouts, I need a little extra resistance.”

  Even though she still has no idea what I’m talking about, she sets down her cup of cocoa and follows me into the living room, the half-eaten cookie still held in her hand.

  I get into a push-up position and flick my head toward my back. “Hop on.”

  “Hop on?” She scrunches up her nose, staring down at me. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am,” I retort. “While I do push-ups, I want you to sit on my back. Normally, I do this with weights, but as you can see, I have no weights.”

  Surprisingly, without any further argument, she climbs onto my back.

  “Am I too heavy?” she asks, comically munching on that fucking cookie while I hold my body in a plank position.

  “Nope,” I respond and begin my first circuit of push-ups.

  “Ohh, Mr. Six-Pack Abs is just so strong!” she exclaims dramatically, and I laugh at her teasing.

  Truthfully, I’m not acting like some tough guy. Ava is petite in stature. She always has been. Even the childhood pictures hanging throughout her parents’ home make it obvious that she’s always been a tiny person.

  “Just eat your cookie, smartass, and enjoy the ride.”

  She giggles at that and repositions herself, sitting cross-legged on my back, and I continue to move us up and down, counting each push-up silently in my head.

  Once I hit one hundred, I stop and lie flat on the ground with Ava still perched on my back.

  “You done?”

  “Not yet,” I answer after a deep breath. “Two more sets.”

  “Good Lord, are you training to be an astronaut or a freaking navy SEAL?”

  I want to laugh at that, and I almost do, but my amusement is stifled when the realization that I still haven’t told her I’ve been accepted into the program hits me.

  Fuck, you need to tell her. It’s starting to feel like I’m outright lying to her the longer I keep the news a secret. And lying to Ava just feels…wrong. Horrible. It’s the last thing I want to do.

  I start into my second set of push-ups, Ava kindly counting for me this round, but the entire time, my mind urges me, Just tell her, dude. Just fucking open your mouth and tell her. Right now.

  But when I open my mouth to do it, I promptly shut it.

  And I do that two more times before we’re officially interrupted by the sounds of people walking down the entry hallway.

  Did we Freaky Friday switch or some shit? Why can’t I seem to follow the advice I’m always giving her and just get it all out in the open?

  “Ava Marie! Are you making that man do push-ups with you on his back?”

  “Hi, Aunt Lily,” Ava responds, and I don’t miss the amusement in her voice. “And no, I didn’t make him. He made me.”

  “My oh my, if that isn’t a sight,” another female voice responds. “The things I’d do to have a man carry me on his back like that.”

  “Poppy!”

  “What, Lil? You know it’s true. Hell’s bells, you’re probably thinking the same thing. I mean, we all know how much you love Big Don’s wiener, but there’s no way in hell he can carry you on his back like that. He has the osteoporosis, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Oh my God, you’re embarrassing.”

  The two women, whom I can’t currently see, continue to bicker, and Ava just giggles.

  Eventually, once I finish my second set, I do the polite thing and stop.

  But instead of shoving Ava off my back entirely, I reach back with two strong hands and grip her thighs, pulling her over my shoulders as I stand up.

  “Ahh!” She squeals. “Luke, what the hell!”

  And the whole time, her two great-aunts just stand there, grinning at us like it’s the best show they’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen them in person since we graduated college, but if right now is anything to go by, I’m pretty sure these two will still be just as entertaining as they were way back then.

  “Aunt Poppy. Aunt Lily,” I greet. “It’s nice to see you ladies again.”

  Poppy waggles her gray eyebrows. “I think I speak for both of us when I say, it is truly a pleasure to see you, Luke. A real delicious, delectable—”

  Lily slaps her arm. “Goodness, Poppy. Why are you always so inappropriate?”

  “Probably because I don’t have a giant stick up my prude ass like you.”

  Lily huffs. Poppy keeps smiling.

  “What are you guys doing here so early?” Ava asks, still on my shoulders.

  “Just dropping off some…pies…” Poppy pauses, looking at Lily with wide, animated eyes. It’s like they are trying to have a conversation telepathically.

  “Okay…so where are the pies?”

  The room goes silent.

  The aunts keep sharing looks with each other.

  “The what?” Poppy asks eventually, all of a sudden acting like she’s gone hard of hearing.

  “The. Pies,” Ava repeats, skepticism apparent in the sharp inflection of her voice.

  “Oh shoot, Pop,” Lily quickly chimes in with an answer. “I knew we forgot something.”

  “Well, son of a nutcracker.” Poppy tsks. “How on earth did we come all this way without the pies?”

  “Luke, mind putting me down so I can hug the nosy busybodies who are lying about pies?”

  Gently, I ease Ava off my shoulders, and she steps forward to give both of her great-aunts a hug.

  “Missed you, crazy old bats,” she teases, and they both lau
gh. “And you know, you don’t have to lie about pie to come and see me.”

  “But we didn’t actually come to see you.” Poppy flashes a wicked grin my way. “We came to see your stud muffin pilot boyfriend. And I have to say—” her eyes turn devilish as she gives me a wicked once-over “—our timing was impeccable.”

  Ava bursts into laughter. “Well, no need to sugarcoat it.”

  And all I can do is grin.

  “Oh honey, you know I’m too old to sugarcoat anything.”

  “More like too cranky,” Lily mutters, but Poppy ignores her completely.

  “So, Luke, you’re keeping my great-niece happy, right?”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  Poppy leans forward, her lips close to Ava’s ear. “How’s your little beaver feeling, honey?” she asks on a whisper, but my ears don’t miss it. “I bet she’s real happy these days, huh?”

  “Oh hell,” Ava mutters, choking on what I think is her own saliva and coughing into her hand.

  “Your little beaver?” I ask and turn to smirk at her. “What’s your aunt Poppy talking about, Ace?”

  Ava glares. “Oh, shut up. You know exactly what she’s talking about, which is exactly what we’re not going to talk about.”

  “Then, what are we going to chat about, Ava?” Poppy questions.

  “We’re not going to chat about anything with you, crazy lady.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because Luke and I have a very important ice-skating date.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “We do?”

  Ava smirks and nods. “Check the itinerary, buddy. This afternoon is ice-skating.”

  Guy Lucie’s goddamn Christmas itinerary.

  I swear, it might be the death of me.

  Whatever, dude. You’re loving every minute you get to spend with Ava.

  “I thought you were good at ice-skating, Ace!” I shout toward Ava as I round the corner of the rink and come to a stop in front of her.

  She grips the waist-high wall’s edge and glares at me. “I never said I was good at it. I just said it’s a tradition we do every year.”