Apple [ complete ]

[ Basket is to ball just as women is to complicated ]

"Mom," I hissed, running a hand through my hair. She and Gwen (Mrs. Winston)—just like many other women out there—were in love with the whole 'Falling in Love with Your Best Friend and marrying them and Living Happily Ever After' bullshit. I swear, they needed to lay off the chick flicks.

"Logan and I—we—aren't like that," Apple explained for the nth time to Mom, "We're just friends, Mrs. Fletcher."

Mom, on the other hand, was persistent and annoying when it came to these topics. She was, after all, a mother, so it wasn't as though I didn't expect it. In fact, if she somehow found a way to convince Apple that she was in love with me, I'd love my mom a millions times more than how much I already loved her.

"Nonsense!" she retorted, chuckling slightly, "You and my boy are perfect for each other!"

"Mom, we have to go—the reception, remember?" I interrupted. I didn't need help from anyone about my inexistent love life with Apple. Especially from my Mom in my sister's wedding. This was Zoey's big day, not mine.

With that, she gasped and had everyone hurry to the hall Blake and Zoey rented for their post-wedding party. It was a great relief that Mom was easily distracted. She was into the reception so much that she forgot about the topic about Apple and me and getting married.

The reception was the same as how I pictured it to be—music, dancing and a lot of alcohol. I wouldn't be surprised if Zoey and Blake left early due to my sister's inability to consume alcohol and be fine with it. I wasn't going to lie—Zoey was the only person in this world (that I knew) who could get drunk after three shots of anything. Blake, on the other hand, seemed like liquor had no effect on him.

Trust me.

We took shots before and fuck the man won with me ending up with a headache the next morning, but Blake was completely fine. Sometimes, I wondered if he wasn't human at all. But that would have been crazy. Blake was like a brother—and now, he literally was—and if he was an alien, then I'd be screwed.

I found myself out the balcony, away from the party. The summer night's crisp air was refreshing compared to the musty feeling in there. But, as I stood there alone with other couples holding hands, giggling, stealing kisses, I realized that I wanted that, too. More than ever.

I mean, Zoey was three years older than me and she and Blake met eight years ago—I should be with the girl I was going to marry. Or at least met her by now.

But I hadn't.

I was still whipped for Apple. After twenty fucking years, I was still whipped.

Sure, I had a couple of hook ups and petty relationships every now and then. But it still didn't satisfy me. I wanted Apple, but she was just out of bounds. We were friends for crying out loud—she even told Mom that. A lot.

And inside, I sometimes wished that she fucking lying. Because she and I were perfect together. As corny and clichéd as it sounded—we were. I knew deep inside that Apple and I had to be together. I wanted to spend my whole life with her and I was pretty damn sure that I wouldn't regret any of it—twenty years later and she was still full of fucking surprises.

Jesus, that was really pathetic and melodramatic, and worth all the speeches in the chick flicks Apple had made me watch.

"Bro," a voice called from behind. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Nick stood beside me, handing me a glass of what he was drinking. "I knew I'd find you here. I need to speak with you about something."

Nick and I hardly spoke about important things. We didn't need to tell each other every little detail, and I never quite got why girls wanted to know everything for everything. It was too irrelevant most of the times to matter. But, serious talks—such as these—did happen. Rarely, but it did.