Read A Toast to the Good Times for Free Online

it’s just another inevitable aspect of her personality that always clashed with mine.
    Back when we were together, I was constantly working hard to loosen Toni up, make her more relaxed and less hyper-fucking-aware. I wanted to find that little piece of her that I could just sink into and forget the outside world with. It was the holy grail that held my attention through the entirety of our relationship.
    But it was Atlantis, a herd of unicorns, the tooth fairy; Toni was and always would be only exactly what she seemed on the surface. There were no hidden depths to the girl.
    And I got bored trying to find some secret she didn’t have.
    And she got bored trying to make me take life more seriously.
    It was the world’s most intensely boring, frustrating relationship.
    I haven’t talked to her in years. This is definitely a blast from the past I’d really rather not have when I’m stuck on public transportation for forty-five minutes with no escape hatch.
    No matter how cute she might be.
    And she sits down next to me. Of course. What else would she do on a drafty, eerily quiet train late on the eve before Christmas Eve?
    “So, you want me to call you Antonia instead of Toni? That’s a lot of syllables,” I gripe. “It sounds grown up.”
    “We are grown up, Landry.” She unbuttons her coat and loosens the scarf from around her neck. “And everyone still calls me Ann, just like they always did.”
    “Ann is boring.”
    I cross my arms because it’s cold as a meat-locker on this train, and I have to work not to scowl, but it’s hard. I don’t feel like smiling, mostly due to the combination of Toni and the bitter cold and my hangover all crashing into my guilt over Mila and mixed in with my dread at the thought of what waits for me at home.
    Home.
    It should be such a reassuring word, but it falls flat and sour in my brain.
    “It was always so important to you that I be more interesting.” Her voice is quiet and her focus is on her hands. She’s tugging off her leather gloves, one finger at a time. When she looks up, her eyes are on fire with this kind of sexy defiance. “I always was interesting. Just because I was an achiever didn’t make me some predictable good girl.”
    I look at her lips, twitching with frustration, and remember how damn careful and perfectly sweet her kisses were.
    I don’t remember that crazy mad look in her eyes, ever, when we dated, and wonder if it would transfer to her lips now.
    Would everything ignite if I leaned over and kissed her right now?
    I realize I need to get my head back on straight and stop thinking about kissing girls from my past.
    And from my present, come to think of it.
    “Funny how we haven’t seen each other in five years—”
    “Four,” she interrupts and pops all the knuckles on her left hand, then starts on her right. “It’s been four years, Landry.”
    “Alright, four,” I concede, and grab her hand in mine just to stop that irritating popping noise.
    It’s an old habit, to touch her like this. I don’t have the right, but in the cold quiet of this train and the strange perimeters of this totally bizarre chance meeting, it’s like we’re right back where we were the night we broke up.
    The connection only lasts for one sparking second before she yanks her hand out of my grasp and shakes it out.
    It takes her two seconds, maybe, before she shakes her head, clears her throat, and looks at me, perfectly composed like she always is. “You were saying? That it’s funny it’s been four years and…?”              
    She’s tucking her long, shiny hair behind her ears, which stick out a little. She definitely wants me to think she’s got it all under control, but I know I’ve got her flustered, and that fact makes me sit back and just enjoy.
    “Right. It’s funny how four years have gone by, but we jumped right back into our old habits. Still annoying the crap out of each other. Still pissing each other off.”
    She turns