Best Friends Don't Kiss

And my gaze wants to move to his lips.

Just to see what they look like right now…

“Ava?” Luke whispers my name again.

I don’t know what I want to say or what I want to do or what is even happening, but I look. At his lips. And then back at his eyes. And then back at his lips.

Uh…what are you doing…?

Yeah, what am I doing?

Shit. I blink my eyes once, twice, three times and gently disentangle myself from our embrace and put a few steps of distance between us.

Was I seriously just going to try to kiss my best friend?

No way. There’s no freaking way…right?

“You all right?” he asks again.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter, but I feel all out of sorts. Just…all over the damn place.

But when his eyes fill with concern, I force a little grin to my lips.

“I’m fine. Just tired is all.” I try to reassure him. And fuck, probably myself too. “It’s safe to say I’m ready to take a hot shower, go to bed, and pray that, tomorrow, Mr. Perfect will find me on TapNext,” I attempt to add levity to the conversation, but the words feel all wrong coming off my tongue.

His brow furrows. “Still giving online dating the old college try, huh?”

“I don’t know… I guess so?” I shrug, and just saying that out loud makes me feel desperate. Pathetic. Miserable. You name it, if it’s a bad emotion, I’m feeling it right now.

Pretty sure all that desperation almost made you kiss your best friend…

Lord Almighty, this whole “Find a Boyfriend” circus is starting to wear on me.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Promise,” I lie again, but it’s more for his benefit than mine.

Because I hate to see the worry in his eyes.

Because the last thing I want to do is push my crap onto him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask and step toward my apartment to unlock the door.

“Actually, this weekend, I’m back and forth to London. But Tuesday, I’ll be around in the evening. I only have short flights to Miami.”

“Okay, well, be safe out there.” I offer him one last, small smile. “Night, Luke.”

“Night, Ava.”November 16th

AvaI should be working.

I should be using my Monday morning time wisely to, you know, go through work emails and walk around the museum and check out the latest art installations—that I’ve been waiting to see all set up for the past three months, mind you—in the South Wing.

But instead, I’ve made two phone calls to bakeries in Lakewood for my stupid high school reunion, and now, I’m busy hiding out in my office, browsing online dating profiles, and trying to avoid my mother’s persistent text messages and phone calls about my nonexistent boyfriend.

Her last message? Ava, you need to tell me his name! P.S. Does he prefer apple or cherry pie? Or maybe he doesn’t like pie at all and would like something completely different for Christmas desserts??

My response? Apple pie is fine, Mom.

But that’s mostly because Rose Lucie makes an insanely good apple pie. Like “move over Betty Crocker, there’s a new dessert sheriff in town” kind of good. It’s also the only kind of pie Luke and I ever eat anymore because he’s convinced himself it doesn’t break his NASA preparation diet as much as chocolate or pecan or even cherry since there are apples in it.

It’s dumb. But he puts up with me, and I put up with him. It’s how we work.

Of course, my mom responds with another three texts about a guy who doesn’t exist and whose name I don’t know because he doesn’t exist, but I act like a child and ignore them.

Sheesh, Ava. This is starting to get really sad.

I wholeheartedly agree with my inner subconscious, but that doesn’t stop my TapNext progress. With one quick tap of my index finger, I pull up the app and go to my ever-changing list of potential matches. The first man on the list is a thirty-two-year-old guy named Henry. He’s not drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s not bad-looking either. I scroll down to his bio and read.I’m looking for a beautiful woman who is sweet and kind and healthy.

Must-haves: honesty, kindness, both kidneys, be a nonsmoker and a nondrinker, have never used drugs, and loves working out and taking care of herself. Type O negative, preferred.Holy moly. Is it just me, or is Henry planning on stealing someone’s organs?

Without hesitation, I decline his match and head to the next guy on the list.Andrew, 39

I’m a nice guy and an entrepreneur who has absolutely no interest in committing murder. I’m looking for a special someone to spend my life with, but obviously, we’ll start with a lovely evening that will one-hundred-percent end with you back at your house safely! Because, again, I have no intention of committing murder.

Also, jail isn’t all that bad. And I’d like the record to show that I wasn’t guilty that one time I was arrested and had to do five years.