Page 45 of Best Friends, Tennessee

Don’t say anything bad, I told myself.Finn doesn’t know.

He is never going to know.

But a lot had changed since high school. My filter was practically nonexistent these days, and I didn’t take shit from anybody. I wouldn’t hesitate to take Aaron down a peg or ten.

“Never thought I’d fucking see the day,” Aaron said, coming over and staring at me like I was a science experiment.

His hair was blond as ever. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was red, and I realized he might be more than just a few beers deep. “Little Oreo himself. When the fuck did you get back toBestens, man? Shit.”

He leaned in and squeezed his arms around me in a strange hug, as if we were old friends rather than… whatever we were.

“Evening, Aaron,” I said. “Been back for a bit.”

“I’m only back for a couple of days, myself,” Aaron said, swaying a little. “Sister’s birthday.”

Thank the fucking lord above.

“Cool,” I said.

“Thought you were like, making movies in California or something now,” he said.

“I worked in an art gallery.”

“Right, right,” he said, nodding slowly.

Finn suddenly appeared beside him, gently pushing his way through the crowd.

Next to Aaron, Finn looked even bigger than usual. He was a couple of inches taller than him.

He frowned at Aaron. “Hey. Let’s go grab a drink inside, man,” Finn said, grabbing Aaron’s arm.

“I want another vodka,” he said.

“I’m thinking water might be better,” Finn said. “Let’s leave Ori alone.”

“He always was like your pet,” Aaron told Finn, laughing in a high-pitched tone. “Literally, Finn, man—like you wanted to walk him around on a leash or something. Oreo! Oreo! Come here, Ori-o!”

Fire ripped through me. “Shut up, Aaron,” I said, before I’d even had time to think. “Finn didn’t treat me like trash, but that doesn’t mean I was his pet.”

“Ooh! Feisty feisty little Oreo!” Aaron said, a dopey, drunk grin on his face.

Finn never really liked Aaron either, but Aaron’s dad had been the football coach at Bestens High, so Finn had always been at least cordial to him. When Aaron used to laugh at me in high school in the halls, though, Finn always told him off. He’d tell Aaron to cut it out, to shut up, to fuck off, but Aaron had never listened.

“He’s right,” Finn told him in a warning tone. “You need to shut up and come get some water.”

“Oh, fuck off with the water,” Aaron said, waving a hand.

“Water will make him less drunk, but it won’t fix what’s wrong in his brain,” I said under my breath. “Get hit with one too many footballs, Aaron?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas coming out the side door with my margarita.

But right as I turned to walk over to Thomas, I saw Aaron’s hand come out to give me a shove.

I stumbled, my calf awkwardly pushing back against the bench seat of one of the tables behind me. It wasn’t anything like the playful shoves Finn and I gave to each other. Aaron was a drunk oaf, and the shove had been much harder than it needed to be.

Heads all around the patio turned to look at what was going on, now.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I told him as I found my balance. “Touch me again and—”

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