I’ve been intrigued. Welcome to the party, Velvet.
Yep. That’s enough of that.
Without sending anything further, I close out of the messages and shut the laptop.
“Alright. What do you want to do now? You can’t pretend this didn’t happen, Aubrey. Not if it’s got you so worked up,” I say, trying to wrap my head around what I’ve just heard.
IfI’mstubborn, then I don’t even have a proper word to give my best friend. Nobody’s invented anything accurate enough to describe her yet.
She takes long, heavy sips of her martini across the table from me, so clearly flustered I can’t help but be worried. For a woman who’s used to being so confident and, at times, even a bit ruthless in her attempts to prove herself to everyone she meets, she’s starting to freak me out here. I don’t remember the last time she’s let me see her so anxious, and there’s one very clear cause.
Finn Avery, a.k.a. my brother’s teammate and Aubrey’s best friend. Aside from me, of course.
He’s not only the reason my workaholic bestie took a half day from work—another first—but also why she’s been rambling since we got our drinks. Apparently, all of this dating coaching they’ve been doing has really screwed with their friendship to the point that last night, Aubrey went to his house and kissed him.
Cue the meltdown in the middle of Pretty Little Pour, my latest venue obsession.
The recently opened cocktail bar is what my dreams are made of. Pink lights, velvet furniture, and drinks with sparkles swirling inside. There’s a beautiful lack of sports playing on the various TVs, and instead of club music, they opt for soft jazz that doesn’t force you to yell while having a conversation at your table.
This is where I insisted we go when I texted her earlier, needing a distraction from the video I still haven’t recorded for userQuiethours.
“I don’t want to ruin anything,” she whispers, fear clinging to her every word.
Without blinking, I reach over and squeeze her hand. My stacked silver rings press against her fingers, and I catch her glancing briefly at them.
“Who says you will? He kissed you back, didn’t he?” I ask.
“He’s too nice to have shoved me off, even if he didn’t want to kiss me.”
“Come on. Don’t be purposefully naïve.”
“I’m not trying to be. But you can’t deny that he would do anything to spare my feelings.”
“You’re right. I still don’t think he’d have gone on with it unless all you did was give him a peck, which it doesn’t seem like is the case.”
Her cheeks flame beneath the pink-tinted lights. “It wasn’t a peck.”
“Exactly! Honestly, Aubrey, you need to just yank the Band-Aid off. The sooner you get it over with, the better it’ll be.”
“And how do I do that?”
I release her hand with a soft pat and grab the disco ball cup that houses my peach bellini. “You tell him you liked kissing him. That way, he can either tell you he feels the same, or youcan move on. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You two kiss again to see if it was a fluke and then both decide you never want to do it again?”
“That sounds more like the best-case scenario.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of the fruity cocktail. “You say that now, but we both know you want him to tell you how muchheloved kissingyou.”
Honestly, this has been a long time coming. I may not have a lot of experience when it comes to growing up with a guy best friend, but come on. Aubrey’s the smartest person I know, only when it comes to Finn, she’s naïve to her own feelings.
This has been building over the last seven years that I’ve known her, maybe even before then.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a know-it-all?” she asks, half grumbling.
“A handful of times, actually.”
She laughs and straightens a bit. Some of the weight has lifted from her shoulders, but not as much as I’d like. Still, she pushes forward like nothing’s wrong. Like a few lame words of advice from someone who hasn’t had a good, solid relationship in years was enough to soothe her worries.
“Let’s change the subject. Remember when you mentioned wanting to get boudoir photos done?”
