Unlovely Things: Love By Design, #2

1

Kristen

Damien does crossword puzzles - hunter gave them to him when he wouldn’t shut up on job site. So he’s good at grown up bar spelling bee. Kristen has to do something nice or redeeming because people don’t like her.

If Demon Hart got married, his vows would go something like… I bent my fingers into air quotes, making a funny deep voice just like him. Do you take me to be your lawfully mindless sex robot, to fuck in all positions possible until death by orgasms parts us? Rolling my eyes, I downed the double shot of tequila, slamming it down like it was the last golden drop left on earth, filled with all my hopes and dreams.

I swayed on my stool at the local watering hole. My lacquered nails clicking on the polished wood surface. I had been coming to Easton’s Pub before I was legal knowing the dual owners since high school. Andy and David Easton were good guys, and this was our group’s version of Cheers. Although, I had many moments, some of them recent where I wished people didn’t know my name.

My favorite red-headed waitress, Remi Kennedy, leaned over the bar speaking in her slight Southern twang with a cheeky wink. "Puh-lease girl, tell me how you really feel."

Grinning back, I nearly slipped from my perch. The alcohol burned a slow path down my throat, warming my shriveled-up heart. I swirled on the bar stool, taking in the happy couples and people filling the bar with their carefree, sticky-sweet energy.

People close to me thought I was edging closer to being an alcoholic, but the sad truth was I only drank like this when Demon got the best of me—which, okay fine, was lately and seemed more often than I liked. I had zero control over myself when it came to that man-child. We had years of this love/hate shit to make our world go round waiting for it to end in a fiery crash and burn of unrequited emotions.

My best friend, Taylor Jane Bryant, a veritable Julia Sugarbaker, placed a hand over mine pausing me for a moment as I brought the margarita to my lips. Wow, I didn’t realize your dislike of Damien went so deep after all these years.

I gave her the side-eye that spanned over twenty years of friendship and watched her face crinkle in a smile.

Moving on from the pure shots of tequila, I attempted pacing myself. My BFF should have known I wasn’t going to let some guy get the best of me—not even Damien aka Demon Hart. Over the rim of my glass, Taylor gave me the mom-eyes I disliked.

Squeezing her pale pink gel manicured fingers in front of her face she said, Honey, I thought we had grown just a teeny bit since we attended that yoga retreat at Rhinebeck.

I responded with a dramatic roll of my eyes and a second spin on the bar stool.

Yoga my ass.

My attention span that weekend centered on our male instructor’s fine ass between demonstrations of downward dog. Her point made as Taylor sipped her margarita slowly, licking the salt off the rim while intently focused on me. Yeah, I knew plenty of teeny things, but Demon’s dick wasn’t one of them. Demon’s dick haunted me since prom like the ghost of good sex taunting me.

It didn’t help that she didn’t have any reason to be sour. After all, she was the lucky girl marrying her best guy friend. Fairy-fucking-tale-come-true. Our hot best friend, Hunter Hart, local construction god who’d flipped her house into something fit for a princess living a Barbie dream life. You might have heard of him; he’s kind of a town celebrity around here. The mere thought of him had me sighing, but not because I was a secret pervert or a bitch-best-friend out to steal her man… I just wanted a fairy tale of my own.

And the boy next door.

That damn man-child who went out of his way to provoke the worst in me for the last ten-plus years rattling my chain every chance he got.

Instead, I got a lifelong crush on a cocksucker who couldn’t keep his hands off the… well, never mind that story right now. Taylor put her hand on my back, steadying my drunken ass like a good best friend. I figured if I overindulged she could woman up and take care of me tonight because before long she wouldn’t be my best girl anymore—she would be wholly and irrevocably Hunter’s wife.

His best girl.

Was I jealous much?

Definitely.

Looking down to my phone, I swiped my finger over the screen. Cute. My BFF must have changed the background on my phone to remind me why drunk texting was a bad idea. Actually, me texting in general was a bad idea. I knew numbers; numbers made sense—hence the accounting track in college. Words so much weren’t my thing. The screen showed a serene picture of our favorite group camping spot, about a half hour away from here, with a selfie photo of the two of us, followed by the bold words in flowery script: Hoe, put the phone down!

I loved my best friend; she was the sister I never had. I couldn’t even talk to my brother Chase about this. Lately my brother had turned into a mega-prick. I wasn’t sure if that was an older brother thing or something else he refused to talk about. I was lying to myself, unable to acknowledge openly that I wasn’t worried her newly engaged and soon-to-be-married status was going to change our relationship. From what I saw, married chicks always got dull. I didn’t want that for my bestie—for us.

I mean seriously, because who would hang out with me on taco Tuesdays at the Burrito Barn or wine Wednesdays? Or Friday wing night at Easton’s? Who was going to slip into my bed and hold me when the next guy broke my heart and the grocery story ran out of my favorite breakup ice cream during the red week of hell? What if our favorite show finally ended or my BOB ran out of batteries? Taylor Jane Bryant wouldn’t be there to lend me her last triple A battery because she had a hunk of a man taking care of her needs and I would be left all alone.

For the first time since I was five years old and she’d moved in next door, I would be wing-woman-less. I knew it was selfish and childish, but I didn’t know how to accept that things were changing between us. I felt left behind and oddly betrayed. I didn’t need a therapist to tell me this was an issue, and that I was acting out. I was well aware of the fact. Oh God, did this mean I was being forced into actualizing adulthood?

Slinging my drink back, I figured I’d worry when I made a hardcore effort to do something other than whine and complain. Maybe I needed a new hobby? Once the excuses came for no more Saturday morning hungover yoga because Hunter was calling dibs on morning sex, I knew uninterrupted girl time was over.

The pooch would be officially screwed, or in my case, not screwed.

Speaking of pooches and new hobbies, my grumpy brother was hounding me to volunteer at his animal rescue. I could do that; I already had an idea and a hundred bucks from Hunter with the promise he’d wear a tux. Organizing, fundraising, and filling my time with something worthy sounded like a solid plan to keep me mostly out of trouble. In other words, I needed to stop being a selfish brat.

Fear would have me turning into the always a bridesmaid, never a bride cliché. Feeling sorry for myself and being catty wouldn’t help the situation. I knew I was pouting over it, but damn it, Taylor didn’t have to pair me up with my mortal enemy in her wedding party. I was positive Hunter could have found someone hotter and more compelling than his damn cousin. Why did Damien have to be his best man?

Did I just call him hot?

Fuck a duck.

I looked down into my partially melted frozen margarita.

I blame Jose Cuervo for this mess.

My ADD brain echoed that I needed more distractions of a healthier nature. You know what we need? Ignoring Taylor’s groan, I nodded to Remi to come over with fresh drinks. My margarita supplier never let me down.

Taylor grimaced, pushing her own drink back. If you say alcohol, I’m leaving. I’ve barely eaten today, trying to pick out flowers and songs. I need to get home sober. Her arms crossed and a censoring look stormed across her face.

Boo hoo, I deadpanned.

Mostly sober, Kristen. I don’t want to bother Hunter to come pick me up. He has an early day tomorrow doing job quotes in Newburgh, she stressed.

Yeah, yeah, I heard her the first time. Hunter wasn’t against alcohol, but he was pretty firm about not driving under the influence—which was smart anyway.

"What? It’s not like you’re trying to get knocked up right now." We were in the best friend stare down. Maybe they are trying to get pregnant? Damn, we sprinted past kissing under trees right to the baby carriage.

Seriously? I asked to clarify my timeline on becoming an aunt and semi-adult. I would love to be one someday, but not for a while if these two could help it.

Taylor scowled. No. We’re waiting on kids.

Um, okay, not alcohol. Drats! She knew me pretty well. I was going to say a bachelorette party—you know, since you’re leaving me high, dry, and single.

Taylor groaned again, letting her head rest against the shiny varnished top of the bar. She was adorable for a twenty-five-year-old fun-killer going on fifty. If she was going to be Dorothy, then I was going to be her Blanche. I’d be damned if I let my best Golden Girl ditch me without one last bang.

Dry? What, are you finally giving up alcohol for lent again?

Flinging my hand in the air, I said, Please sister, I had one of those I-need-a-man Jesus-moments last Easter, until I got the vodka open. Besides, I’m only helpless when my nails are drying.

Kristen, you get gel manicures same as I do. You’re never helpless.

Non-wet nails aside, whining was the only tone I knew these days, when my bestie was leaving me behind for greener pastures and bigger dicks. Pfft, I am when my best friend decides to take a life-altering jump down the aisle without me.

You make it sound like I’m jumping from a plane without a parachute. What, she thought marriage wasn’t the same? A risk was still a risk. Heck, dating these days was like going to a garage sale and picking up shit nobody wanted anyway.

I went with childish taunting instead. Come on, fun-killer!

Hunter is going to flip. Yeah, and God forbid we let Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes dictate how we spend our weekends without him. If Taylor wasn’t on board, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I took my maid of honor duties seriously, even if she was trying to downplay the importance of her own wedding. Backyard picnic shit? Not for this girl if I had anything to say about it. I had a secret Pinterest board stowed away with her name on it, even if I didn’t like the idea of marriage in general.

That’s why this is going to be epic. Come on, pretty please?

Ugh, fine, but we’re not going to Vegas, or anything crazy. Hunter and I have house-flipping business to conduct.

Vegas, huh?

An idea sprang to mind, but I needed to get organized and figure out if we could pull it off before I sprung the idea on her.

Nudging her, I laughed. Always so serious, you two.

Batting my eyes, I grinned.

That’s creepy. You sounded like the Joker saying that. Stop it.

I gave her my classic Kristen-gives-no-fucks eye roll. I think we were up to three for the evening so far.

Oh come on, how can you be the least spontaneous person I know? Coming from the girl who came home and bought a Victorian house to flip practically sight unseen? I reminded her. Taylor waved me off, but after being recruited to paint walls and hang curtains she owed me a last hurrah including a dance battle or two in the city of sin.

Well Hunter isn’t going to help you plan it, so good luck with that. She sipped her drink, thinking she was ahead of me on this.

Oh ye of little faith.

Nah, maybe I’ll enlist Demon’s help for this one.

She looked equal parts horrified and shocked, which lifted my mood somewhat.

She shook her finger at me.

We talked about you using those powers for good and not evil, remember? Bestie pinkie promise in eighth grade. Taylor wasn’t fucking around either; you break a promise and someone gets an ass-whooping. My blonde bestie may have been tiny, but she packed a powerful punch when riled.

"Pffft, powers shmowers. We need to loosen you up, my uptight virginal bride."

Taylor blushed; she hadn’t been a virgin since Hunter nailed that cherry. Smiling, I took the new set of drinks Remi brought us and downed them quickly with renewed energy. Taylor would forgive me for one wild night. Vegas would be epic even if it turned out to be a group trip with all of us going. Besides, it was in the bestie code book under the chapter Plan Now and Ask for Forgiveness Later.

I’d get my bestie back, a night to remember, and maybe Demon would get so drunk he’d lose the rings and the wedding would be off—for at least a little while… a friend could hope, right?

Oh! I know… I paused, tapping my slightly numb lips. We can upgrade your bunny ears next!

I hate you.

How long have you owned that vibrator? I nudged, and she ignored me. I think I have a forty-dollar credit at the Love Barn you can use.

Who keeps a credit at the porn shop?

You’d be surprised how crappy some of those overseas toys can be. A vibe-burned vajayjay is no fun.

Her mouth silently moved, saying fuck off, but the smile took the sting out of it.

I know, but you’re still here. I winked leaning my head on her shoulder.

Hey, our boys showed up. Taylor bounced out of her seat bumping my head off her shoulder. She hugged Hunter like a chimp baby so tight, I was sure a quarter couldn’t slip between them. Yeah, so much for the bestie code.

Our mutual friend Whittaker Jones followed Hunter while my nightmare brought up the caboose, a smirk on his face. My hand twitched to smack it off and pull the rakish hair on his head. Damien Hart was the only boy who could drive me to violence. It all started the day I caught him… yeah, let’s push that memory down. No sense in letting the past get to me. I tapped the app on my phone, calling myself a cab to get the heck out of dodge before things got deep.

Without addressing the guys, I got up to leave. Taylor grabbed my hand, pulling me back down. Before you go, promise you’ll join me at the bakery next week with Carmen to taste some cakes?

Carmen used to be Taylor’s roommate in college—nice girl, but I never had the opportunity to meet her during the times I visited. Recently, I’d met her at the salon getting a bad dye job fixed, and we bonded over highlights and boys being stupid.

I smirked. I loved Taylor. I loved cake, but I figured Hunter loved her cake even more.

Please? Hunter has to work and can’t make it that morning, she tugged on my arm with her big blue puppy dog eyes that looked a little too watery to be suspicious. He suggested I bring you. Great, now I was getting reluctant recommendations from the fiancé who was being a good boyfriend during my needy freak-out stage.

I sighed, giving in. Of course I’ll taste your cake.

This time Taylor rolled her eyes.

2

Damien

The flashing red and blue lights followed by the siren blaring had me pulling over my pickup truck, cursing with a slap to my steering wheel. This night was about to go to hell.

I was heading home from the bar, where I’d left Hunter, Whittaker, and the girls watching the hockey game. I slaked my thirst for microbrews and quality time with friends not even staying for the end of the game. My mouth dried up as I wondered how this would turn out. It was no surprise to find douche-canoe drive out from his hidden spot to flip his lights on, deciding to pull me over. I should have waited at the bar for his fucking shift to change. I knew better, and yet the urge to taunt him never passed me by.

In the side mirror I read the etched words, objects may appear closer than they are as the asshole swaggered over to my side of the vehicle. He practically thrust his fucking dick out into traffic and I glared, hoping it wasn’t that close to me.

You can’t tell me no one has ever in their life sped or parked somewhere they shouldn’t have or driven home a tad buzzed every now again, trying to get home. The latter part wasn’t a good idea, and generally I was a law-abiding citizen. I didn’t mind cops and liked most of them who did their job, but this guy… ugh… this motherfucker preacher’s son made it his mission to pull me over every damn time he was on duty. I’d call it harassment, but then I’d have to explain to the municipal judge, who happened to be Kristen’s mother, that our dislike stemmed from the fact I didn’t like how he treated Kristen. My past experiences with Judge Calloway were not exactly ones that had garnered positive reflection. Even if Kristen instigated it, it didn’t bode well for me.

It never did.

I should just fucking move