“Your sudden lapse of ADD has nothing to do with being human and everything to do with you being a man. So put the testosterone on ice and answer the damn question.”
“Fine, fine.” I tilt my head from side to side, contemplating my answer. “I’d have to go with burger girl.”
“Burger girl? Even though she smells like deep-fried animal carcass and has a case of the meat sweats?”
“No, no,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Because she isn’t afraid to be what she is.”
Both brows rise in confusion. “What she is? You mean bloated?”
“No, Ally,” I smile. “Real. She’s not afraid to show me who she truly is.”
“Interesting,” she remarks, tapping her spoon against her lips. “Especially considering that getting you to show me who you are is like pulling teeth.”
I look around as if she couldn’t possibly be talking to me. “Um, I’m pretty sure you’re in my house right now. And we’ve even quasi-swapped spit by sharing ice cream. You even wore my clothes!”
“But you’re so vague! You’re like a steel vault that I’m trying to tap into with a meat mallet.”
“You have a weird obsession with meat today,” I jibe, trying to resist my grin.
“Oh, you wish, buddy,” she retorts, not even realizing just how true that statement is. Or maybe she does?
Ally props her elbow on the countertop, resting her chin in her palm with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Because you’re full of shit.”
“Ouch,” I cringe.
“You’d totally pick salad girl. You’d pick her, bring her back to your place then play her ribs like an xylophone.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh hysterically. “Oh hell no! Definitely not.”
“All guys pick salad girl. It’s a proven fact,” she nods confidently. “Burger chicks get no love.”
What is it about this girl? She’s so cool and cute and funny, and just… real. She’s my burger girl. Everyone else is just salad—cold and unfulfilling.
We finish off the last of the ice cream before moving to the living room to channel surf. Ally snatches the remote and instantly turns it to an old episode of Friendson Nick-At-Night. It’s the episode where Monica and Chandler get married.
“I love these guys,” she remarks, settling in at my side. I stretch my arm across the back of the loveseat (don’t even get me started on that name) and she curls into me even more. Holy fuck. Please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard…
“Yeah? Why?” I ask, trying to distract my mind.
“Well…they’re the ultimate BFFs. Six friends, living in the city, experiencing life together. From mishaps and misadventures to love, romance, friendship. I just love everything about them.”
Ross threatens to kick Chandler’s ass, and Ally giggles. I smile down at her as she watches intently, her face glowing with tenderness. It’s like observing an extraterrestrial being, something so foreign and exotic and exciting that you just can’t stop staring. You don’t want to move, you don’t even want to blink, in fear that they’ll fade away into oblivion.
“I miss those days,” she sighs, as we watch Monica walk down the aisle. I know what she means, and something in my chest sinks. I want to pull away and let her live her memory alone when she continues. “Not the wedding. Just that feeling of togetherness. Having friends to experience the highs and lows of life with you. I miss it.”
I shrug. Ally feels the rise and fall of my chest and looks up with a frown. “You don’t miss it?”
“I never had it.”
“Oh, come on. No old friends from Denton Academy that you raised hell with? If memory serves me well, I remember Denton guys having quite the reputation.”
I shake my head with a smile. Oh, I raised hell. Shit, I was legendary. But she’d never know that.
“I never had friends like that. I don’t even have friends like that now,” I tell her.
Ally lets her hand drift until it finds mine. She squeezes, her eyes smiling like they’ve just found a shiny, new penny. “Well…you have me. I’m your friend, right?”
Friend. Friend.
Is that what I am to her? Is there any other option?
I came into this with intentions of being something different. Her teacher. Her advisor. Her guide.
But then…then I wanted to be something else. Her friend, yes, but unconsciously, I thought that I would mean more. Something deeper.
Her lover.
I wanted to be this woman’s lover. This married woman’s lover.
As jaded and selfish and all–around fucked up as it makes me, it’s what I want. And even knowing that this could never be, I still want that illusion. I want to dig my heart out with a teaspoon and set it aflame, when I can clearly see how it will destroy me. That this woman—this delicate little dove—will destroy me.
“We are.” It’s all I can say without giving way to my true feelings. Without analyzing all the coulda-shoulda-wouldas that currently run through my head.
I squeeze the side of her arm and look back at the TV. Joey is officiating, and he tells Monica and Chandler to kiss once more. I laugh. Because that’s what a friend would do.
SEX, LIES, VIDEO TAPE AND PREGNANCY RUMORS?
Upper East Side socialite, Evan Carr, was caught with another woman while leaving a secluded clinic in Hoboken yesterday, dressed in plain clothing, a baseball cap and dark shades. The woman, also dressed similarly, appears to be the same woman from the sex tape that surfaced a week ago.
Rumors of infidelity are nothing new for the 29-year-old Manhattan playboy, and sources say that the woman in the tape and photographs is actually wife Allison Elliot-Carr’s best friend, Kelsie van Weiss. Kelsie and Allison both attended St. Mary’s Prep and even studied at Columbia together. According to sources close to the couple, Allison has indeed left their penthouse home in the city and has checked into a treatment facility for an addiction to painkillers, sparked by the cheating fallout. No word on which center at this time, but stay tuned for the latest breaking news…
I read the story again. Then again, hoping that I’ve misread. I mean, it’s the internet. Shit gets twisted, turned around and lost in translation. This can’t be correct. So what if I’m still basking in the rose-colored haze left behind by Ally’s presence last night. Something this awful, this disgusting, this hurtful can’t happen to her. Not even a prick like Evan could stoop thatlow.
I close the Google alert on my phone and scroll to my contacts. Heidi picks up on the first ring.
“I’m on it, Drake,” she snaps over the blaring sounds of car horns and shouting food vendors.
“Tell me this shit isn’t true.”
“What? You read Page Six, right? It’s all over E! and TMZ.”
“I know.” I silently scold myself for giving Evan too much credit. Of course, he would be that vile. It’s his true nature. That’s what happens when two ain’t-shit people procreate. They birth ain’t-shit kids that grow up to be ain’t-shit husbands.
“Like I said, I’m on it. We’ve already leaked check-in information for Mrs. Carr. Even some photos of her enjoying a massage and a facial that we pulled from your security. Everything will check out on her end. As for Evan…nothing we can do there.”
“And you ensured the header is displayed on the documents?” For tax purposes, Oasis is technically an ultra-exclusive spa. Few people know it exists, and even fewer actually know its location. The pap wouldn’t even know where to look.
“Yes, of course, Justice. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”