Page 62 of You Cake My Breath Away

Chapter thirty-two

Archer

Five Years Ago

Picking an outfit for karaoke should not be an hours-long adventure, but Jessie and I can’t stop cracking jokes, pretending like we’re women putting on a fashion show for each other. He’s dressed in a brown sweater and khakis paired with a lighter colored suede jacket and brown Oxfords, looking like he comes from wealth but isn’t an asshole who flaunts his money.

“Your shirt looks fine, man,” he says, nodding to the mirror.

I stare at the green button-up and feel underdressed beside my best friend. Taking the poker chip out of my pocket, I flip it to help me decide if I should keep this outfit on or change.

“If it lands on tails, I’ll stay in this.”

He laughs. “You know Sebastian isn’t making these choices for you.”

I quiet him with a push onto the bed and flip the chip in the air. In my head, I know flipping Sebastian’s chip isn’t a connection to him, but in my heart, I feel like he helps me make decisions when they feel too heavy for me. We can’t chat and work through things like we used to, so this is the closest I get.

“See.” Jessie smiles as the chip lands on tails. “Even Sebastian thinks you look nice in that outfit. Let’s go before we’re late.”

Tilly hates when we’re late.

The three amigos have a standing date every Friday night at the Mexican bar where we do karaoke. It’s our little ritual for making it through another week of Chemistry.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Jessie yells from downstairs.

I spritz myself with some cologne and take a comb through my hair. My chest is tighter than my back muscles with how nervous I am every time we hang out with Tilly. Me, her, and Jessie have been Chemistry partners for the entire semester, and with the class ending soon, I either need to make a move or lose my chance with her.

Sliding into the passenger seat of Jessie’s SUV, I borrow the lint roller he keeps in his console while he checks his hair for the umpteenth time. We haven’t talked about our mutual attraction to the space-bunned princess who has us wrapped around her finger, how we’ll deal with it, if we will at all.

“You guys look nice,” Tilly says when we arrive at our usual booth.

She’s dressed in her normal attire: a pair of colorful leggings with an oversized sweater in a mismatched color scheme, her hair thrown up into messy buns with chopsticks.

I love her don’t care attitude about her clothing. It makes her stand out in the best way possible. People look at her and just know she’s a good time, that you could never be sad around her because even her clothing can bring up your spirits.

Jessie and I always sit on the same side of the booth, an unspoken truce so Tilly doesn’t feel uncomfortable sitting beside one of us. My long legs brush against hers as we get comfortable, and my cheeks heat like a teenage boy when she playfully bumps my leg.

“The usual?” the server asks when she arrives at our table.

“Can I have a twisted margarita?” Tilly asks.

She usually doesn’t drink, but I guess it’s a celebration.

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke,” I reply.

“Same,” Jessie adds. “And chips and queso, please?”

The bartender drops off our drinks and appetizer, making a point to flirt in front of Tilly. Neither Jessie or I give her our attention because it’s solely fixed on the woman dancing happily across the table from us.

“How do you guys feel about that test?” Tilly asks, munching on a tortilla chip.

“It was harder than I thought,” I say.

“I felt prepared for it.” Jessie shrugs. “Probably because of your help.”

I clench my teeth against the urge to kick him in the shin or stomp on his toe.

“Aww.” Tilly smiles. “You guys would’ve done just fine without my help.”

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