I can get drunk and wallow in my feelings after.
“And then we went off to college. Brooks came home that first Thanksgiving and couldn’t stop talking about the girl he met. About how much he loved her and wanted to marry her.”
They’re both smiling at each other now. That dopey, cheesy face of two people who just got married.
The pang in my gut grows deeper. I wish it would swallow me whole.
“Everything was all about Delia. I think I could have told anyone in town Delia’s life story after that break.” I laugh. “I saw the way his face lit up talking about this person. From that moment, I knew she would be a specialperson in his life. Brooks had never talked about anyone like that.”
Like me. I clear my throat, taking a sip of wine from a new glass that was just dropped off by a passing waiter before continuing.
“If you’ve been around Brooks and Delia at all, you know this is true love. They’ve had some hard times together, but it’s made them stronger. Cemented the bond the two of them have. Their love is the kind of love we all hope to find.”
Grabbing what’s left of my wine, I hold up my glass.
“Please join me in toasting Brooks and Delia. To a love that they deserve and we all hope to have one day.”
“To Brooks and Delia!” the crowd echoes around me as the two of them kiss.
I’m done. All my best man duties arefinallydone. I can drown my sorrows in the good stuff at the bar and then start the hard work tomorrow. The hard work of trying not to be in love with my best friend.
Brooks stands, pulling me into his strong arms. “I love you, Charlie. Thank you for standing by my side today. You’re my best friend.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d be. I love you, Brooks.”
I hate the way my entire body tenses along with the goose bumps that break out on my skin despite the heat. If only he loved me the way I love him.
Being in love with your best friend is the worst.
Chapter One
BROOKS - FIVE YEARS LATER
A DECEMBER TO FORGET
“Who divorces someone in December?” I bemoan into my almost empty drink.
“Technically it was finalized in December,” Charlie oh-so-helpfully points out.
I cut my best friend a scathing glare.
“What? I said technically,” Charlie says.
“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m divorced and it’s December. Who does that before the holidays?” I point a finger at him. “And don’t hit me with your technicalities.”
Charlie throws his hands up. “I wasn’t going to.”
“I need another drink.”
“Got it.”
Charlie pops up from his spot across from me at the table to dash behind the bar. I guess this is one of the perks of being best friends with someone who owns a bar.
The Tinsel Tavern is quiet given it is an early weekday afternoon. Canned lights and twinkling string lights brightenthe large room. A few patrons are sitting at tables drinking mixed cocktails. The usually crowded dance floor is empty. Old Pride posters hang on the wall, next to photos of the various drinks served and old pictures of what the Tinsel Tavern used to look like.
This place has become like a second home. With Charlie owning it, he spends most of his time here. If I want to hang out with him, this is where I come.
“Two shots of tequila.”
