My Best Friend's Boyfriend

But now, sitting on the other side of the situation, I wondered if those people ever deserved her anger.

After paying my tab, I abandoned my drink. I just needed to get out of there and breathe, to think about what had just happened. As far as I was concerned, I wouldn’t ever be speaking with her again. The venom that had poured from her lips made me sick, and I didn’t want to be associated with anyone like that. I walked out of the club with my purse clutched close to my side, hurrying to my car. I slammed myself in before the tears began to fall.

My best friend.

My confidant.

My murderer.

Her words had killed a part of me I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back. But as I started my car and made my way home, the only person I could think about was Logan. He was the real casualty in all this, and I wondered what he was up to.

I wondered if he was really okay.

Logan

After sporadically calling Ava’s phone throughout the entire week, I finally got her to pick up. Finally, after talking with her for nearly thirty minutes, I got her to agree to go on a date with me. A real date. Not at my apartment, just the two of us in a public setting where we got to know one another better. I promised her that it was just to talk and nothing else, that I wasn’t faking any of this to get more intimacy from her and that this wasn’t somehow attached to Save the Date.

I just wanted to sit down and be with her, and I finally convinced her to agree.

As I sat in the booth of a small restaurant across town, I twirled my glass in my hand. I had no idea if Ava would show up. I hadn’t heard from her all day, and I knew there was a good chance she wouldn’t show. I hoped she did. I really just wanted to talk with her, spend time with the amazing woman I found her to be.

My heart raced in my chest as I waited. I wondered how her week had gone, how things had been in her life since that crazy weekend. I wondered if she had talked with Camilla and if things at work were going well despite the fraud case. Or had her world gotten as dim as mine had been lately?

“Hey there, Logan.”

Hearing her voice sparked colors around me. I stood up and smiled at her, then greeted her with a warm hug. I wrapped my arms around her and bit back a groan when she did the same. We stood there for a little too long, reveling in the physical presence of one another before I finally released her.

“I’m really glad you came,” I said.

“I told you I would. I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late. There was an accident on 72nd, so I had to have the GPS reroute me.”

“It’s not a problem. I promise. Are you hungry? They have a wonderful selection of finger foods here.”

“Sure. I could use a bite to eat. I worked through lunch today.”

“Then order whatever you want,” I said.

She ordered a glass of wine along with the fruit plate, the meat and cheese plate, and hamburger sliders—a meal fit for the queen she was. I swirled my whiskey around in my glass as I sat back, admiring how beautiful she looked in the dim lighting of the bar. It was a small place, sweet and intimate and tucked away. It separated us from the riff-raff of Manhattan, wrapping us in our own little bubble to escape the world.

“You look beautiful, Ava.”

Her cheeks flushed as she picked up her glass of wine.

“You always look good, especially in those suits of yours,” she said.

“You a suit kind of girl?” I asked.

“A tailored suit kind of girl. There’s a big difference.”

“Don’t I know it! The first suit I bought practically hung off me. I looked like a rag doll.”

“It’s okay. Women struggle with their first dresses as well. Took me five tries before I found the style that worked best with my body.”

“I can’t imagine that anything could look terrible on you.”

“Then you didn’t see me in the polka-dotted, lace-ruffled, strapless dress I found.”

“Well, yikes.”

We shared a laugh before I watched her lips touch the rim of her glass.

“How was work for you this week?” I asked.

“You mean besides the fact that we’re being sued?”

“Yeah, besides that little tidbit,” I said, grinning.

“It’s been hectic. I’ve taken work home every night this week. Tonight’s no different. Had to drop off a stack of folders before I got ready to come meet you.”

“Sounds like we’re in for the same type of weekend then.”

“Do you take work home often?”

“More often than I wished. It’s not necessarily required, you know, since I own the place. But I have to set the standard for the work ethic in the office. If I’m not the hardest-working man, I don’t deserve to be the boss man.”