Best Friends Don't Kiss

Even though I should probably get back to focusing on my date, I can’t stop myself from asking him one question that’s been bugging me tonight.Me: Do you think I’m an art snob?Luke: What do you mean by that?Me: Like, do I act like I’m better than someone, or maybe internally think that I’m better than someone, because I’m knowledgeable about art?Luke: No. You’re the complete opposite, Ace. You go out of your way to make someone feel comfortable when they try new things.Me: Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because you’re my best friend?Luke: I know for a fact because I don’t know about art, and you never make me feel inferior because of it.Luke: You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re amazing, beautiful, funny, smart, kind. Any guy who can’t see that or thinks otherwise or makes you feel differently about yourself doesn’t deserve your time, okay? Stop feeling like you have to give these guys any of your fucking energy. He doesn’t make you feel good? Send his ass packing, Ace. On to the next.Instantly, my chest expands at his kind words.

Somehow, Luke never fails to make me feel good about myself or step up to the plate and support me when I need him the most. It’s like he has a sixth sense of what I’m feeling and what I need or don’t need. Even after I’ve put him through the best friend dating wringer.Me: Thanks, Luke.Luke: Anytime, Ace. Ride or die, babe.It’s amazing how vivid the memory of the first time he said that to me is, back when we were sophomores in college. I smile. I can’t help it, but when I spot Mark heading my way with two glasses of wine and a grin, I slip my phone back into my purse.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I spotted a client of mine.”

“Not a problem.” I smile at him and, out of politeness, take a sip of wine from the glass he hands off to me. “And thank you. For the wine.”

“So…back to the art, I guess…” he mutters, more to himself than me.

But I can’t unhear it, and before we get back to looking at Seraphina’s paintings, I turn to face him. “Do you want to leave?”

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” A giant, relieved sigh escapes his lungs, and in an instant, semi-polite Mark goes poof into thin air. “Is it just me, or is time moving like a damn snail while looking at all of this shit? Shit that I’m pretty sure any-fucking-one could do, by the way.” He snorts. “Like, I think my mom has better finger paintings from when I was in kindergarten.”

He chuckles. Downs the rest of his wine. And then, holds out his hand.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, amiright?”

I look at his hand and then back at him. And then back at his hand.

Out of irrational friendliness, I’m so close to just agreeing with him and leaving the gallery, but Luke’s voice chastises me in my head.

Stand up for yourself, Ava. It doesn’t matter what the fuck this stranger thinks. Just do it.

I want to stay at the gallery and finish walking through the exhibition. And, frankly, I kind of want to do that alone.

Time to shit or get off the pot.

“You know what?” I respond and hand my glass of wine back to Mark. “I don’t really like wine. Actually, I hate wine, but I was just agreeing to be nice and because you seemed like you were insanely bored. Which, honestly, is fine. I get it. Art isn’t everyone’s thing.”

Mark just stares at me, disbelief making the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle, but I keep going.

“And I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. But I think you should leave.”

“You want me to leave?” he questions with narrowed eyes. “Without you?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I don’t think we’re really vibing, you know? So, let’s just cut our losses now.”

“That’s it?” he challenges bluntly, an edge to his voice that makes me feel even more thankful I decided to use my backbone now.

I nod again. “Mark, thank you for giving an art gallery a try, even though it isn’t really your thing. I really appreciated it. Have a good night, okay?”

“Have a good night?” he retorts on a barking laugh and downs the rest of my wine before tossing both of the cups onto a small table below an installation. “Ha. That’s hilarious.” He shrugs on his trench coat. “FYI, sugar, I didn’t go to an art gallery to make you feel all special and shit. I came here because I figured it’d at least get me fucking laid, and if you were lucky, I’d eat your pussy. And, by the way, every woman who gets to experience my mouth on their pussy has the time of their fucking lives.” He shakes his head at me on a sigh. Like I’m the one who’s missing out or something. “And what are you doing on TapNext anyway? It’s not some place to find your fucking Prince Charming, it’s a goddamn hookup site.”