“You have to say that because you’re my best friend.”
“No.” He looks up at me with a look I cannot decipher. “It’s because I’m your best friend that I shouldn’t say that.”
Something is off between us. It’s like there’s some invisible tension, and it’s weird and thick like honey. It makes it hard to think. So I default to feeling. Giving in to that big ball of ache that formed in my gut when Stuart gently explained that he’d fallen out of love. The tears multiply. Long gone are the cute movie-screen trickles, replaced with big black mascara-filled drops.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry.” The pad of Dax’s thumb catches a falling tear, wiping it away.
“I’m trying my best over here, but tequila makes me really, really sad. Can you, like, tell me a joke or something?”
Dax thinks for a moment. “What about a story? It’s about the night we first met.”
I am about to remind him that the night we met is the same night that I met Stuart. The very person I’m not supposed to be thinking about right now. But Dax nudges me with his hip until I move over enough so he can fit his full ass on my bed, and by the time I remember to tell him to stop—he’s already started.
“I was having a pretty shitty day. I was still living in my mom’s basement, and she was making it clear that she wanted to move up north and having her adult son still living at home was cramping her style. And I was still looking for someone to invest in my business so I could finally get it off the ground. And I got dragged out to a birthday party for a guy I didn’t even like. I was miserable. And about ready to head home when I saw this girl at the bar, and somehow I knew that if I talked to her, she’d change my life.
“So…” he continues. “I did. And turned out she was one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.”
“You are talking about me, right?”
He picks up my spare pillow and knocks me with it. “Yes. I’m talking about you. You made an impression.”
His comment is followed by a moment of silence that stretches into two, prompting me to end it.
“Then we became friends and you learned the error of your ways?”
He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then stops and instead brushes a sweaty strand from my forehead and tucks it behind my ear. “I can say that after four years hanging out with you, Gems, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the real deal. If there’s a flaw in you, I can’t find it.”
Dax doesn’t do empty compliments. If anything, his love language is affection in the form of well-meaning teasing. So this story, this moment, feels different. “Thank you for saying that.” I reach up and scratch his chin. “Who knew that under all these scruffles was a closet sweetheart.”
He takes my hand and squeezes. “Yeah, well, I’m banking on you not remembering half of this in the morning.”
His fingers linger, cupping my hand. Warm and strong. They fill my head with fleeting thoughts. Musings only allowed on lonely late nights or after too much tequila. I open my mouth, wondering what will spill out, and am half-surprised that what does come is laughter. Hysterical sob-laughs that make my stomach hurt until I clutch my knees to my chest and force myself to draw deep breaths.
“I think that’s my cue to leave.” Dax gets up, but before he can go, I grab his hand.
“Tuck me in?”
He pauses for a beat, but then peels back the corner of my covers and waits until I crawl under to pull them back over me.
“And a hug?” I open my arms. Again he hesitates before leaning forward and letting me wrap my arms around him.
I breathe him in. “You always smell good. Like soap but spicy.”
He tries to pull back, but my grip is strong for my intoxication level.
“Uh…thank you.”
“I love you, Dax,” I whisper into his ear.
“I think that’s Jose Cuervo talking.”
I let go so I can look at him. “No, it’s true. You are my best friend. And the best guy. And the best ever.”
“That’s a lot of bests.”
It is. And I mean every one. “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”
“You’d spend significantly more time wandering the streets of Hamilton without pants.”
“It’s good that we never screwed things up between us, right?” I ask him, once again thinking about what Kiersten said this afternoon.
His forehead crinkles. “What do you mean?”