Take a Chance on Me

James has had enough. Being in love with his best friend is not
even  remotely  pleasant,  and  he  cannot  take  listening  to  one
more  play  by  play  of  Evan’s  adventures  in  bad  boyfriends.  So
what’s a guy to do? Give a best friend a clue and hope he gets
it—and  returns  the  feelings  that  James  has  never  been  able  to
confess.

Kiss  Me  Quick  is  a  collection  of  short  and  sweet  stories  from
authors familiar and new, celebrating the season of love. Come
and  enjoy  these  tales  of  misunderstandings,  lonely  singles,
pining  lovers,  and  so  much  more!  Because  if  there  is  one  thing
that is never in doubt, it’s that LT3 knows the way to your heart,
and these stories are a straight shot.

Take a Chance on Me
By Liz Lambdin

Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

All  rights  reserved.    No  part  of  this  book  may  be  used  or
reproduced  in  any  manner  without  written  permission  of  the
publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Samantha M. Derr
Cover designed by Megan Derr

This  book  is  a  work  of  fiction  and  as  such  all  characters  and
situations  are  fictitious.  Any  resemblance  to  actual  people,
places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition February 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Liz Lambdin
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 9781620041260

6 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

I'm not entirely sure when I fell in love with my best friend,

but it sucked.

A lot.
It wasn't so much the fact that Evan was completely

oblivious  to  my  affections,  though  that  definitely  sucked.  It
wasn't even the fact that Evan was determined to work his way
through  every  bad  or  hopeless  relationship  conceivable.  No,  it
was  the  fact  that  Evan  found  it  necessary  to  regale  me  with
extensive play-by-plays of all his failures.

Every. Last. Detail.
Every first kiss. Every second date. Every third fuck. And,

inevitably, every messy, disappointing, tear-filled breakup.

Maybe "sucked" wasn't a strong enough adjective.
At Halloween it was the cute little emo kid with the

chipped, black nail polish and the delicious eyebrow ring.
Personally, I thought his taste in music was superb, but Evan
assured me he came with way too much personal baggage. I got
the feeling it was more an issue of Evan not being the center of
attention often enough.

At Thanksgiving, it was the chef who made far too many

"stuffing" jokes. Yeah, we got it the first time, dude. He basted a
killer turkey, but Evan was convinced he always smelled like
fish.

By Christmas, it was the snowboarder with the killer legs.

He  stuck  around  for  a  good  month,  mostly  because  he  was  an
excellent  lay.  Eventually,  though,  Evan  realized  he  hated
everything  to  do  with  cold  and  snow,  including  snowboarders
who woke up at 5am on Saturdays to hit the slopes.

There was a new guy by MLK, though. He only lasted a

week,  and  I  never  met  him,  but  my  phone  chronicled  their
seven  epic  days  together  with  a  string  of  increasingly  bipolar
texts.

7 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

It was getting to the point that I hated holidays. It was

driving me slowly mad.

At any given time I couldn't have told you if I was angry,

hurt,  frustrated,  or  disappointed.  There was  an  endless  stream
of  possibilities  to  explain  the  strange,  restless  insanity  that
slowly  filled  me.  I  could  feel  it  building,  strengthening  every
time the idiot mentioned some new failed attempt at romance.
It rose from my chest and tried to claw its way out of my throat,
but  somehow  I  managed  to  smother  it  down  over  and  over
again.

And then, finally, I just couldn't anymore. I couldn't stand

listening to him lament the eminent failure of his most recent
attempt at love. I couldn't stand listening to him complain how
there was no one out there who really understood him, desired
him, loved him.

I stared down at Evan, sprawled in full-out mope across his

couch.  His  dark  hair  was  mussed  from  running  his  hands
through  it  in  frustration,  and  I  itched  to  reach  out  and  smooth
the  errant  strands  down,  to  take  Evan's  face  in  my  hands  and
kiss  away  the  frown  lines  that  rested  between  his  green  eyes.
Instead,  I  placed  my  hands  on  my  hips  to  keep  myself  from
ripping  my  own  blond  hair  out  in  chunks  and  tried  to  keep my
breath from rattling in my chest.

"Do I fucking have to sing some ABBA for you?" I was a little

surprised at the raw frustration in my voice.

"What?" Evan was clueless as ever. "What does ABBA have

to do with anything?"

I was filled with a terrible image of myself breaking into

song, like in some trite musical, leaping through the room as I
spelled out in lyrical detail what I was trying to get at. With
fucking jazz hands. I gritted my teeth instead.

"Figure it out. When you do, come see me and we'll talk." I

turned on my heel and walked out without a backward glance,
slamming the door behind me. It was childish, I know, but I
couldn't help it. I just couldn't stand one more minute.

I flipped my phone off so I could convince myself I wasn't

looking at the screen every five minutes waiting for a voice mail

8 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

or text. When I got back to my apartment, I pretended that I
was checking my email because work might be trying to contact
me. At 8 o'clock on a Wednesday. Right.

I made it through most of the next day before I couldn't

hold out any longer, and I gave into the crushing weight of a
feeling too wild to be called curiosity. I admitted to myself that I
needed to know if Evan had tried to call. Or text. Or email. Or
Facebook post. Or something, anything.

There was nothing in any inbox. Alright. That was ok, then.

Perhaps Evan was trying to work through my outburst. Or, more
likely,  he  was  busy  planning  some  fantastically  wild  Valentine's
Day  Extravaganza.  Regardless  of  his  less-than-stellar  holiday
history, he always retained an immutable hope that THIS would
be the perfect holiday. He just couldn't give up the dream that
this  would  be  the  Christmas,  Easter,  Fourth  of  July,  Valentine's
Day when all the elaborate fantasies he built in his head would
be made reality.

I would have given anything to be the guy to make that

happen, and he had no clue. It completely sucked being in love
with my best friend.

By Sunday, I began to quietly have what could only be an

extended  heart  attack.  What  else  could  feel  so  terrible,  as
though  I  was  suffocating  and  choking  at  once?  Evan  had  not
attempted  any  sort  of  communication.  We'd  never  gone  this
long without talking to each other.

On Saturday, I had expected him to call and describe his

Friday  night  exploits.  On  Sunday  I  was  positive  he'd  stop  by  to
give  me  way  too  many  details  about  his  Saturday  night  sex-
capades.  All  weekend  I  obsessively  refreshed  my  email  inbox,
waiting  for  his  dreamy  fantasies  of  what  this  Valentine's  Day
might hold.

Minutes ticked into hours, and there was only silence.

Eventually, I realized that could only mean one of three things.

Option one: Evan was a dumbass and still hadn't figured

out what I had been talking about. It was a valid theory, but
somehow I thought even Evan wasn't quite that dense. I mean, I
felt like I was pretty explicit in my offer. Sure, ABBA might not

9 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

be the band I'd have chosen to start a wild romance, but the
message was pretty clear.

Option two: Evan didn't care that I had yelled insanely at

him. This wasn't a good option. It indicated that Evan didn't care
as  much  about  our  friendship,  or  me  in  general,  as  I  had
originally  assumed.  Even  if  we  weren't  meant  to  be  lovers,  we
were still best friends. We hadn't gone this long without talking
since our sophomore year of college.

Option three: Evan had figured out what I was offering, and

he wasn't interested. That particular option seemed to be the
most inevitable, and it broke my heart.

Ah. That was what that feeling was. Not a heart attack,

then, but a broken heart.

By Tuesday, I was more or less insane. I had been stupid. I

should  have  just  quietly  listened  to  Evan  mope  and  patiently
picked  up  the  pieces  that  were  left  after  all  his  failed
relationships. At least then we would still be talking. As it was, I
couldn't  even  call  the  bastard  because  I'd  left  the  ball  in  his
court.

After work, I walked to the corner liquor store, scowling at

the garish paper hearts that littered the window, and bought a
bottle of red wine. I had every intention of drinking the whole
thing in one go, and then possibly moving on to that bottle of
Jack I knew was tucked away in my liquor cabinet. I'd just call in
sick on Wednesday. I wondered if a broken heart was covered in
our company sick leave policy.

When I reached my apartment, though, I was surprised to

find Evan collapsed in my doorway. I almost dropped my bottle
in surprise, ignoring the magnificent leap my heart gave.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly, reaching for my

keys and unlocking my door. Evan scrambled to his feet and
followed me into the apartment. He moved unerringly to the
living room and fell in a heap across the couch.

"I've been thinking about what you said," Evan explained,

and I was suddenly sick. His expression didn't seem passion-
filled. It seemed exhausted and resigned.

10 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

"I see," I murmured emotionlessly. I took the bottle of wine

from its paper bag and reached for the cork screw. "And what
do you have to say about it?" I was rather proud of the calm
tone of voice I was managing even as I grabbed a wine glass and
began pouring.

"That's just the thing," Evan almost yelled. "I don't have a

clue what you were saying. I've bought every ABBA album I
could find. I've listened to every track. Over and over and over
again. And all I know is that I really don't like ABBA." He almost
wailed that last part.

I stood staring at him, wine forgotten. "Wait. What? You

don't know what I was saying?"

"No! I've Googled lyrics. I've learned more about the band

than I ever wanted to. I spent all weekend wracking my brain,
locked up in my apartment. Maybe I'm stupid, but I don't
understand your riddle."

I was finding it hard to breathe, overcome with some new

sensation. It didn't suck like when I listened to Evan discuss his
latest interest ad nauseum.

"All weekend?" I asked tentatively. "Didn't you have a date

with Frank?"

Evan gave me an incredulous look. "Francis, you mean? I

canceled that. This was more important."

"But you were looking forward to that date," I reminded

him as I walked into living room. The strange sensation that was
building in my chest didn't feel like a heart attack or broken
heart. It was something new.

Evan sat up a little straighter. His green eyes were

reproachful and probably the most beautiful thing I had ever
seen. "I told you. This was more important. Can you at least give
me a hint? Which song, James? Which album? Anything!"

I dropped to the floor in front of the couch, my knees

incapable  of  holding  me  anymore.  "Take  a  Chance  On  Me.  It's
one  of  their  more  popular  ones.  I  didn't  think  you'd  have  this
hard  a  time  figuring  it out."  I  realized my voice was  faint,  but  I
couldn't seem to do anything about it.

11 | Liz Lambdin –

Take a Chance on Me

Evan's face scrunched in concentration. I watched,

bemused,  as  he mouthed the  lyrics to  himself.  I could  pinpoint
the  exact  moment  when  understanding  hit.  Evan's  face
transformed,  mouth  forming  a  small  O  of  wonder.  He  lowered
his eyes and focused on me.

My heart gave an odd little twitch, and it finally occurred to

me what this new feeling was. Hope. I watched silently as Evan
slid off the couch to sit beside me.

"I might be a dumbass, huh?" Evan asked, and I couldn't

figure out if the look of sheepishness was devastatingly
adorable or just really annoying.

"Maybe," I cautiously replied. I was filled with hope, but I

still wasn't positive of the outcome.

Evan's smile widened, and he leaned forward. "So I figured

it out. Sort of. Can we talk now? I've missed you."

I tried very hard not to stare at my best friend's lips,

focusing instead on Evan's eyes. I managed to nod faintly,
remembering that Evan had just asked me a question.

"I'm not really sure what you want to talk about, though,"

Evan murmured from less than an inch away. When had he
gotten so very close?

"You're not?" I managed to strangle out.
Evan slowly shook his head "Nope," he breathed, and I

could feel the hair brush across my lips. I shivered and closed
my eyes. "I'm not sure there's really anything to discuss. I think
I'll just accept your offer."

I felt my body tense and relax all in the same instant that

Evan's lips met mine. It was a shock that rattled through me and
loosened up all the tight places in my body that I had been
ignoring for the past week. I fell forward against Evan, fisting
one hand in his shirt and the other in his hair. I could feel Evan
laughing into our lips and pulled away a little.

"What's so funny?" I asked irritably.
Evan reached out and grabbed my face, preventing me from

moving any more. "Best. Valentine's. Day. Ever." He enunciated
the words carefully, and I could feel his lips brush against mine
with each syllable.

About the Author

Liz  Lambdin  has  three  obsessions  in  her  life:  discovering  new
music,  writing  new  stories,  and  developing  new  spreadsheets.
At any given time she can be found doing at least one of these
things.  Occasionally,  she  attempts  all  three  at  once.  Prior  to
moving  to  Denver,  Colorado  she  taught  high  school  Latin,  and
she credits many of her story ideas to her Classical background.
Her  recent  career  in  accounting  has  resulted  in  recurring
dreams  involving  Excel  and  a  need  to  explore  her  creative  side
through  writing.  She  has  an  unfortunate  penchant  for  “your
mom” jokes and has never really liked kale.

You can find more of Liz’s writing at her

livejournal