Page 43 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

As she watched Amira place her order, Allison couldn’t help but notice how they were practically dressed in twin outfits—both in baby pink sweaters and tan dress pants. The only difference in their styles was the edginess, as per usual.

Allison had always preferred the sweet vibes. She liked to think of her style as cotton candy—sweet, soft, fluffy, and pastel. Amira, on the other hand, had always gravitated toward sexier clothes: low-cut tops, cropped styles, form-fitting pants, and heeled boots. She piled on the jewelry, often sporting multiple statement pieces, and her bags were just as eye-catching. Her long black bob framed her face perfectly, enhancing her striking look.

Amira was half Indian and half British, which meant she had the most gorgeous skin and the most delicious accent Allison had ever heard—second only to Angelo’s.

Her friend has been raised in London half her life before moving to the US, so she wasn’t very much in touch with her Indian heritage. Her mother, however, had taught her a few Hindi words, and ever since they met, Amira had taken to calling her “Soniye.” It meant beautiful.

A couple of minutes later, Amira returned with her usual order—a bone dry cappuccino and a flaky croissant. She sat across from Allison and just stared, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and warmth.

That was it. For a few minutes, they both just stared at each other, the silence stretching between them, unsure how to continue. The familiarity they’d shared when Amira first walked in had vanished.

And I thought the whole thing with Angelo this morning was awkward.

They both inhaled at the same time, freezing mid-breath, staring at each other as if they were waiting for the other to break the tension.

“I’m sorry,” Amira started, startling Allison.

What in the name of all that is cute and pink is she apologizing for?

“I let you down. You have been busting your ass at work, and instead of being understanding, I just demanded more from you when I knew exactly how much of an ass your father is.” Amira held her coffee cup with two ring-adorned hands, her gaze fixed on the table.

It was probably better this way, because if she glanced up, she would have seen Allison’s mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, utterly bewildered by this unexpected apology.

“Ami… you don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m the bad friend here. I was too busy to even look at my phone and text you, never mind talking. I’m sorry for everything.” Allison felt the tears gathering in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“It’s okay, Ali. I forgave you a long time ago,” Amira said with a small smile on her dark-painted lips. But then her expression shifted as she asked, “Do you forgive me?”

Allison watched as Amira’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of vulnerability.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re my best friend,” Allison reassured her.

Amira’s hand reached across the table, offering a comforting gesture with an encouraging smile. Allison hesitated, unable to believe her best friend had simply forgiven her that easily. Just as doubt threatened to swallow her, Amira grabbed her hand, grounding her in the moment and reminding her of the bond they shared.

Amira wiped tiny tears off her face, her darker skin glowing once more.

She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful girls Allison had ever seen.

During their college days, when they’d lived together, she had seen Amira in her underwear so many times she’d lost count. And she’d been amazed each and every time. Who wouldn’t? Dark, blemish free skin—smoother than butter, supple breasts and a perky ass with thick legs and the walk of a model.

Of course, all these years later, Allison had grown out of her silly little crush, but she still looked back on those days fondly. Because that was when she discovered that she actually didn’t care about gender. She cared about beauty and kindness and cleverness and Amira had all those traits and many more.

And so does Angelo, damn him.

He can go fuck himself freely with his sexy arms and his carved body and—

Ah, great. Now I’m imagining Angelo jerking off.

“So, time for some catching up, girl. What’s new with you?” Amira asked. Allison was grateful for her best friend’s ability to change topics faster than she could say ‘Prada’.

Allison cleared her throat, glancing down at her hot chocolate, before deciding to just rip off the band-aid. “I’m pregnant.”

Complete silence followed her statement, and for a moment, Allison thought she heard crickets chirping somewhere in the distance. When it became clear that her friend was in shock, she pressed on.

“I was very drunk, we didn’t check for condoms, and now… well, I had my first ultrasound this morning, and I’m ten weeks pregnant.”

Amira looked positively constipated, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

“Surprise?”

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