Page 38 of Third Time Lucky

ASHER

Well, I’m fucked – in the best fucking way ever.

My feelings may be steering me down the path of the big L word, and I’m not scared for once.

I was a bit fearful Lucy would think I was using her for free labor at the restaurant with the mural painting (which was definitely not my intention), but she seemed to love it.

It turned out even better than I had hoped, thanks to the brilliant name she came up with.

I always knew I wanted a local artist to design a wall, but I never could have imagined it would perfectly capture the elusive idea that’s been floating around in my mind for so long.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and even though it’s after eleven, I know exactly who it is because I’ve ignored three of his calls in the last hour.

‘You can’t let me have even a second to consider how this went without your input, can you?’ I say when I answer, as opposed to hello.

‘Nope,’ he states firmly. I can almost see the playful smirk on his lips as he continues, ‘Spill it – did you wear those tight pants?’

‘I don’t even own pants that tight.’

‘Liar. You’ve got skinny jeans. I’ve seen you wear them,’ he argues.

‘Skinny is different than ball hugging.’

‘You got tiny balls, do ya?’ he teases. ‘It’s not a problem; just stuff a sock down there. Every eighties star did it.’

The image of famous stars from decades past with socks stuffed in their pants to impress women, and probably other dudes, is slightly disturbing.

‘Well, four decades later, in the present day, men don’t do that,’ I state matter-of-factly.

‘Pfffftttt… I bet they do; our socks are just smaller now.’

A snort of disbelief escapes my lips. Why are our conversations always unhinged? I never know where they will lead, but that’s part of the fun.

‘Talk,’ he commands. ‘Did she love the S’mores cheesecake thing? Did she love my rooftop love nest?’

My mind flashes back to Lucy, when she walked onto the roof, her eyes closing with a slight hum of ecstasy as she took a bite of the cheesecake, the way her lips felt on mine. I have to force myself to focus, or I’d have been imagining something very X-rated – Aaron style.

‘You nailed it with the rooftop love nest – though please stop calling it that.’

‘Yes!’ He exclaims. ‘I knew I was romantic.’

Also, despite how it sounds, Aaron was not the genius behind the cheesecake creation.

I was rambling on the phone with him while flipping through my gazillion cookbooks and stumbled upon two recipes that seemed meant for each other – cheesecake and homemade marshmallows.

Voila! The cake that nearly sent her into an orgasmic state was born.

‘She definitely loved all of it. She practically melted in her seat when she took a bite.’

‘Hot!’ he utters. ‘But wait, it’s midnight, you’re home talking to me, and I hear no heavy breathing or moaning. Couldn’t seal the deal?’

‘You think I’d answer your call if I was in the middle of that?’

‘I dunno why you wouldn’t. I do,’ he reminds me.

‘I know…’ I groan. ‘But no, I didn’t try to defile this woman as soon as she allowed it – I respect her. I’m thinking I want to try to make this into something long term.’

‘Ew,’ he groans. ‘You and your lovey-dovey nonsense.’

‘Someone’s got to balance out your eternal bachelor vibes.’

We fall into our usual rhythm of banter and shared jokes, the easy comfort of our relationship wrapping around me like a familiar blanket.

As much as I enjoy our conversation, my mind keeps drifting back to Lucy, how she smiled when she saw the mural, and how her eyes lit up when she tasted the cheesecake.

I can still feel her hand in mine, our fingers interlaced as a spark of electricity passed between us.

Her lips on mine were soft and inviting and tasted like the sweetness of the S’mores cheesecake we had shared earlier.

The world around us seemed to disappear as we kissed, and I wanted to stay in that moment forever.

‘I gotta admit,’ I confess to my friend, ‘I think I like her more than you.’

‘Pardon me?’ he says with exaggerated shock.

‘Sorry bud, but Lucy might be stealing your spot as my number one.’

Aaron’s gasp is so dramatic that I can’t help but laugh.

‘You’re kidding, right? You’re choosing some girl over me? We share blood, bro.’

‘She’s not just some girl,’ I defend. ‘She’s like… like a piece of me I didn’t even realize was missing until now.’

‘What the hell am I, then? Chop liver?’

‘Chop liver? You are so outdated,’ I tease. ‘We’re bros, man. I am never choosing to marry and spend my life with you in a million years, but I can see it with Lucy.’

There’s a moment of silence before Aaron lets out a heavy sigh.

‘Shit. Does this mean I have to find a new wingman?’

‘I’ll always be your wingman. But what about Madi? You didn’t seriously pull the plug, did you?’

‘Not yet, Madi’s cool and all, and the sex is amazing – but I’m not looking for anything serious, and suddenly I suspect she is. We spend every weekend together. She took me to the farmer’s market. We bought apples. Married couples do that shit!’

‘Are you saying you hated every second of it?’

‘No. I liked it. I ate those apples and made the woman a pie! That’s the thing. I’m feeling shit in my chest. I’m practicing baking for her. That’s the tell.’

‘What’s it telling you?’

‘That it’s time to move on because if something fucks it up, it’s gonna hurt.’

‘It’s unbelievable that you can be this much of a moron. Those are the actual feelings of falling for a woman. Not a red flag telling you to flee.’

Aaron sighs, his exasperation evident even through the phone line.

‘Yeah, Mr Romance, whatever. I’m not the one over here contemplating my feelings like a teenage girl.’

I chuckle, knowing he’s just putting on a tough act to cover up any vulnerability.

‘No, you’re the one who won’t admit you’re doing exactly that.’

‘Shut up,’ he moans. ‘If you fall in love you’ll ruin my life.’

‘Well, don’t worry. Like you said, we share blood so I can’t shake ya that easily. I won’t let Lucy steal me away completely. You’ll always have a special place in my heart – right next to grandma’s lasagna.’

He groans dramatically. ‘Fantastic. I’m on par with lasagna now.’

After exchanging goodbyes, I reach into the fridge and grab a cold beer.

My eyes are drawn to one of the items stuck amongst the magnetic clutter on the front – reminders, recipes, coupons, and a collection of magnets from my sister’s travels.

It’s a photo of Kris and me on the day we graduated high school.

We’re wearing black caps and gowns, our arms wrapped around each other as we proudly display the diplomas we secretly wondered if we’d actually earn with as much school as we skipped.

‘It’s possible that I might actually love her,’ I say out loud, but his expression remains unchanged.

It’s hard for me to picture him as an adult, because, in my mind, he will always be eighteen years old.

‘Teenage love rarely lasts,’ I try to explain.

‘I doubt you two would even still be together all these years later and she agrees. Not to gang up on you or anything. You’d want her to be happy, right?

’Cause I really want to do that for her. ’

No answer – but I really like to think he would. And I believe he’d want that for me, too.