“Come on,” I say, standing to my feet and breaking our trance. I hold out my hand, offering the only thing I can provide her. The only thing I’m worthy of giving her: right now. “I want to watch Friends with my friend.”
“I THINK THIS may be my favorite episode,” Ally says with half a Twizzler dangling from between her lips. I pull off a piece and pop it in my mouth.
“That’s what you said about the last five episodes.”
“I know, but this one is the best. This is the one where they all go to Bermuda and Monica’s hair takes on a life of its own. And she’s walking around with that little white hat on top of this massive mountain of black frizz. I die every time I see it!”
I shake my head and smile. Of course. My facial muscles haven’t gotten this much of a workout since…since, well, ever. I look down at Ally curled up at my side like a cat, her bare feet tucked underneath her. I watch how she mouths her favorite parts and laughs, even though she knows the joke’s coming. She squeezes my thigh and looks up at me, giggling. Thank God I had sense enough to throw on a t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans.
“What?” she grins.
“Nothing. It’s just…cute how addicted you are to this stuff. You’ve probably seen every episode at least ten times, yet you still think it’s funny. It’s a little scary. But kinda adorable too.”
“I can’t help it,” she shrugs. “It’s my vice. Some people smoke. Some people like booze or drugs. I’m addicted to Friends reruns and ice cream.”
“You’re so bad ass.”
“And sometimes, when I’m feeling really naughty, I watch Friends while eating ice cream. Hashtag BOOM.”
“Ok, that’s really scary. And not in the way you think.”
We both break into an easy, unfiltered laugh that causes me to pull her closer, siphoning her warmth and goodness like a fiend. I know I should stop. I know that no matter how innocent I may try to make my actions appear, they are anything but. Yet I can’t stop. I can’t lose this now. I may never touch an angel ever again.
“So Justice, what’s your vice?” she asks, reaching for a handful of Sour Patch Kids. “And don’t you dare say something stupid and healthy like swimming or running, or I may have to reevaluate this friendship.”
“I don’t have one.”
She sits up and turns to face me, disbelief etched in her face. “I call bullshit! Everyone has a vice. Come on, what’s that one thing you gotta have? That one addiction that makes you psychotically happy? I promise I won’t judge. Unless it’s something weird like goat porn. Or Crocs.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, stifling a laugh.
“Oh my God, is it something weird? It’s goat porn, isn’t it? Or worse—Crocs! I bet you have a whole collection in different colors! Oh my-”
“I’m not into Crocs.”
“—and here I thought you were a normal-”
“Or any weird porn involving farm animals,” I say over her sugar-induced rambling.
“Then what? Spill it, Drake.”
I exhale and rub the back of my neck, trying to pacify her with an answer that doesn’t make me look like a total jackass.
Sex.
Money.
You.
Even thinking of her in the same conscious stream seems wrong, though it was both sex and money that brought her to me.
“Work,” I resolve.
“Work? You’re addicted to work?” She throws a Sour Patch Kid at me, pegging me in my shoulder. “What kind of vice is that? Lame, dude. Lame.”
“Hey, not my fault I haven’t been corrupted by junk food and bad TV. And I like my work. It’s important to me.”
Ally twists her lips to one side, and her eyes narrow to small slits. “Ummm... You know what you do, right? You’re not curing cancer or creating calorie-free cookies.”
I lift a single brow. “But it’s still important. It brought you here, didn’t it?”
Her gaze falls, and I instantly feel like a tactless bastard for throwing her presence at Oasis in her face. I’m like a fish out of water…caring about people’s feelings, thinking about what passes my lips before I just blurt it out. This isn’t me. This isn’t the Justice Drake that people know and loathe. Yet, I don’t want to be any other way with Ally. I like who I am when she’s around. For once, I can just…breathe. I can just be.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
“No, you’re right,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re right. I am here. And I’m glad I came.”
“Why?” The question is out before I can stop it. It’s been eating away at me since the day she set fire to my deserted paradise.