Almost Perfect: A Frenemies to Lovers Romance

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Wait, which one is Jason?” I always confuse her two older brothers.

  “Second oldest. The goofy one who pretends to be an asshole. He’s a shorter, less buffed version of Alex.”

  “So Jason is hotter than Alex?” I ask out loud.

  He’s married, Alex mouths.

  “When is competition season over?”

  Alex perks up, and his eyes darken. In the meantime, June gives me a rundown of events. His favorite—after the Olympics, of course—is the X-Games. The Games happened last weekend. June continues to list all the competitions happening all around the northern hemisphere.

  “What’s happening after Switzerland?” They need to fill too many dates, and knowing June, she has a plan.

  “Next month, we’ll be in France. He’s Sterling’s best man. We just haven’t told him yet.”

  “Wait, you’re getting married?”

  When? Alex mouths, frowning.

  “He didn’t give you the invitation?”

  I take every item out of the basket and find a cream color envelope at the bottom. The invitation is classy, simple, and beautiful. The back of it is perfect. Alex stands up and looks at it, shaking his head.

  “What happened to we’re going to wait until the babies are born?” I ask, as I look at the back in detail. It has a beautiful wintery landscape of the mountains.

  “France,” she answers with a swoony voice. “Sterling has to be there for an exhibition, and we decided to spend the month. Then, we found this charming château. It’s beautiful and perfect for a weekend wedding. We’re going to spend most of the month in Paris…”

  “I’m judging you hard,” I say.

  God, I want to gag, she’s sickly in love.

  “It’s Paris in February,” she repeats.

  “Cold and really, Valentine’s Day weekend?”

  So cliché.

  Alex rolls his eyes and pretends to gag.

  “Well, I was hoping that since the Monday after is a holiday, my best friend might be able to join us.”

  “Don’t use me as your excuse to be corny and romantic,” I say, knowing she’s doing it because the woman lives in a fairy tale. “Though, I do appreciate the sentiment...Kind of.”

  Alex makes more gagging noises; I can’t help but chuckle.

  “Come, please,” she begs me. “I want you to be my maid of honor.”

  “What happened to your sister?” Her twin sister should be the maid of honor.

  If I was getting married, which I never will, I’d ask my sister, Tess, to be my matron of honor.

  “She gets to be a bridesmaid, just like my sisters-in-law.”

  “Are you still mad at Jeannette?”

  “No, I just really want you as my MOH. You’re the one who pushed me to take a leap and make things happen for me. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have met Sterling.”

  My eyes go to Alex because this trip implies spending time with him—in Paris. “Look, the semester just started.”

  “You can ask for a couple of days, please. It’s my wedding, Hannah. We thought this was never going to happen.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Sterling promises to fly you on a private jet.”

  I laugh. “It’s not about transportation.”

  “Please, I’ll do anything for you when it’s your turn.”

  “June…”

  “It’ll happen.”

  “See, the thing is, I don’t want it to happen. I’m okay being the crazy aunt and cat lady.”

  “I wish—”

  “Let me stop you right there. Your happiness is important to me. Leave mine alone, okay?”

  “At least come to be with me on the most important day of my life.”

  I don’t burst her bubble because a wedding is important, but never the most important day of a person’s life. When her kids are born, that’ll trump everything else. I bet that meeting Sterling was, indeed, the most important because that led her down the path of happiness. She’s right, though, I should be there for her.

  “Fine, I’ll try to find someone to cover for me.”

  “Thank you,” she says, all giddy. I swear someone switched my best friend for this ball of happiness and sweetness.

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “You will eventually,” she says and yawns. “These children are leeching all my energy.”

  “Go take a nap,” I suggest.

  “How was today?” she asks.

  “Same as usual,” I answer and proceed to tell my best friend about the entire day…except I stop my story at the point when I saw her brother at the liquor store.

  The biggest problem with Alex is I can never share anything about him with my best friend.

  “You should go out, meet someone,” she offers.

  “Remember my embargo?”

  “Oh, right, one year, no men,” she says, laughing. “Are you writing more articles about it?”

  “I will. Right after I write your love story.”

  I hear her speaking to someone in the background.

  “Sterling agrees, as long as you don’t disclose his name. Also, he wants you to describe him as hotter than Brad Pitt and Chris Pine,” she says, laughing.

  “Goodbye, June. Thank you for always being there for me,” I say.

  “That’s what best friends are for,” she reminds me.

  When I hang up, Alex asks with an annoyed voice, “Did she send me to distract me and not you?”

  His jaw sets.

  “There’s a wedding coming up,” I answer, diverting the conversation.

  “I’m not a kid, you know. When are you going to understand that I’m fine? There’re competitions all year long!” he yells.

  His fists clench at his sides. The vein over his eyebrow throbs. And the asshole is making his appearance.

  “You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “I told you to stay away,” I say, matching the tone of his voice.

  He saunters toward the chair where he hung his jacket. “I just don’t fucking learn.”

  “If you’re upset with your family, take that up with them. Don’t take it out on me.”

  His gaze turns toward me, calculating, as his eyes flare. “Why the embargo?”

  “None of your fucking business,” I reply, anger beginning to brew in my gut.

  “You know how that whole stupid article sounded to me?” He leans forward, our noses almost touching. I can practically hear his teeth grinding. “I’m done with losers like you, Alex.”

  I take a deep breath and step back.

  “Why would I want to be with an asshole like you?” I retort.

  It’s not like we’re together, but I shouldn’t be around him. I just can’t keep myself away from him. I don’t get why, though. He comes around looking for his sister and ends up spending half of the night with me. Only half, because I’m just like all the other women he sleeps with—a hookup.

  “You agree, then. It was about me.” He looks triumphant and angry.

  I snort. “Aren’t we a little too full of ourselves? Like I would spend the time or the energy to write something about you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” He shoots me a furious glance. “We aren’t exclusive. I’m sure the other guys aren’t hate fucks, are they?”

  I ignore the painful stab in my chest. It’s not the words ‘hate fuck.’ It’s him reminding me that there are no other guys. While he has a line of women waiting for him. We know who we are—he doesn’t commit to anyone.

  Not that I need him to commit to me. A shimmering wave of pulsing fury clouds everything.

  “Out,” I snap at him, picking up Draco and heading to the door. “If I don’t see you ever again, it’d be too soon.”

  He stomps toward the door, yet stops right in front of me. His gaze holds mine for a moment. I hold my breath.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  I take a step back, shaking my head. We’re done. I have to stop the cycle.

>   “See you at the wedding,” he says, with a frigid voice—one that leaves me shivering.

  His words sound like a warning. I shut the door behind me. There’s no way I’m going to that wedding.

  We’re over.

  Seven

  Hannah

  While driving myself into a sugar coma, I work on my next article. Stupid Alexander Spearman and his ego be damn. He’s not going to divert me from my goals. His perfect, sculpted body is the last thing I need in my life. Did I want him to kiss me tonight?

  Maybe.

  There’s something about his intoxicating kisses that makes everything around me disappear.

  The touch of his lips changes my entire world.

  He transports us to a place where nothing and no one else exists.

  A place that’s close to hell but feels like paradise.

  A place where I’ll never be again because it’s over. Although…I will always remember two things about him: our first kiss and the way he holds me after we fuck. And that’s precisely why it’s over.

  He’s perfect in so many ways, and I hate that he makes me feel special when he’s around. Because when he leaves, we’re spiteful to each other.

  It’s over, I repeat to myself. Just sit down, bleed words, and forget him.

  Maybe I should write about him leaving. About me never wanting him.

  Owning a magazine is liberating; I can publish anything I want, and no one shuts me down. Except for my partner-in-crime, Ethan. As I sit on my desk, my sister, Tess, texts me.

  Tess: How was your first day?

  Instead of spending the next two hours texting back and forth, I call her.

  “Hey, you,” she answers. “How’s life as a freshman?”

  “Ugh, Dad told you?” I close my eyes, because I’m sure everyone at home is laughing at me.

  I tell her about my version of today. Knowing Dad, he expanded upon my tale with some funny material. As if everyone needed to laugh even harder. This time, I include my encounter with Alex. She’s one of the few who I confide in about him.

  Tess listens to every detail without interruption. From the liquor store to kicking him out because what’s the point of…?

  “It’s over then,” she says.

  “There’s never been anything between us,” I remind her.

  She laughs. “Oh, there’s plenty. You’re just in denial,” she corrects me, and I’m not a fan of her statement. Deep down, I know she’s, somehow, right.

  You’re still in denial, Hannah.

  “Maybe you should start working on your issues,” she states.

  I grunt. Seriously, she has to bring up my problems in a time like this? “How’re your little issues doing?”

  “Don’t call your niece and nephews issues,” she protests. “They’re doing well. Gage’s going on tour, we’re going with him. You should join us for a few legs of the tour. It would be good to spend some time with you.”

  I smile when I listen to her swoony voice. She even makes me want to have what she has with Gage. But my life is complete. Well…almost. I look at my corkboard, which holds my story in images. Pictures of my family and my second family, The Sinners of Seattle. Those guys and I took care of each other. We still do. There’re a few from the days when I was dark, sad, and twisty.

  “Hannah, it’s been ten years,” Tess says, after a long pause.

  “Almost nine,” I correct her. “Hey, everyone heals at their own pace.”

  “Are you even trying? It’s time to come home.”

  Well, they’re pressing hard. Even Tess is pushing buttons she didn’t used to push. “Chris Decker offered to use his connections to get me a job at his alma mater.”

  “I also heard that you shut Dad down.”

  “This is my home. Maybe it’s time for you guys to accept it. To accept me.”

  I change the subject. She loves talking about her turtle sanctuary and her kids, so I distract her with those, shifting her focus away from my problems.

  Will they ever understand me?

  To: Ethan

  From: Hannah

  Subject: Next editorial’s draft.

  Eth:

  What do you think about this idea?

  Live Your Own Life

  Is it time to move on?

  I want to write about the day he left. The day I pushed him away. The day I finally let go. I want to tell you all about the shit I shouldn’t feel.

  The pain he left behind. What I did was supposed to be an act of courage. I claimed my freedom from the prison of emotions he evoked. But in truth, you can’t let go of something you never had.

  Are you sticking to your New Year’s resolutions?

  By Hannah Bell

  The first chapter of the year is almost over. Did you take the challenge and make a list of resolutions?

  As you know, I only have one resolution. In my opinion, it’s easier to change your habits if you take it one step at a time. Consistency is key.

  So far, I’m still keeping it and adding a new one. It takes twenty-one days to acquire a new habit. I think it’s safe to say I’m keeping this one. And, as I said in my New Year’s editorial, if I follow through, I’ll add one next month.

  In modern days, February is all about love. In ancient Rome, it was called Februarius. They considered it the Month of Purification. It’s a transitional month. Maybe this is a good month to transition (not sure what I’d transition). It could be the month when I start falling in love with myself all over again.

  You know what they say—your first love should always be yourself.

  Please send your suggestions for a great February resolution. Who knows? Maybe I’ll pick yours.

  Until Next Time,

  H

  It’s just the beginning, we can tweak it. I can also switch it for something more zen and balanced without a call of action.

  To: Hannah

  From: Ethan

  Subject (Re): Next editorial’s draft

  Who are we leaving? Are you finally moving on, or are we just writing someone else’s love life?

  Are you still keeping up with your New Year’s resolution?

  I’m assuming Golden Boy hasn’t knocked on your door lately.

  Live Your Own life sounds like a good article. Is something implied between the lines?

  The editorial is weak. I need something stronger. It’s not the call of action, but the substance. We’re missing something, your spark. Wait, did you break up with Golden Boy? I told you that was a relationship.

  What’s happening, Nana? I’m here for you.

  Love,

  Ethan

  P.S. Hope the first day was good.

  To: Ethan

  From: Hannah

  Subject: First day...

  It was a long day.

  If I work on the spark, do you think it’ll be a good article? Dad found a way to move me back to Seattle. Tess asked me to move on. It’s like they can’t understand this is my life.

  Stop calling Alex, Golden Boy, and no, we didn’t break up. To break up, you need to be in a relationship!

  Love,

  Hannah

  P.S. Have you moved on?

  To: Hannah

  From: Ethan

  Subject: Whoa…what happened to the pact?

  Those days happened, we know it, we don’t talk about any of it.

  A wise woman once told me, live your own life, think of how you want it to be, and set your goals. In case you’re wondering, that’s you. It’s not about moving on but moving forward. Call me if you need to.

  E

  To: Ethan

  From: Hannah

  Subject: Call you…

  Your fiancée hates me. I hope she knows I sign half of her paycheck. Well, you know what I mean. I’m her boss, too. The guys don’t like her much, I trust you, but…I won’t say anything because it’s your life. Just remember, nothing and no one gets between the Sinners of Seattle.

  Love,

  H

&n
bsp; Eight

  Alex

  What I need tonight is a woman on my arm; someone I can talk to while enduring dinner with a bunch of stuck up suits I’ve just met. I can’t believe June threw me into, not just one, but two charity dinners within the same week. Five in two weeks. Fuck, she’s pushing me too hard.

  I’ve been nice to her. I agreed to be Sterling’s best man, which makes no sense because he has Weston, his brother.

  She’s just torturing me. Is it the pregnancy hormones?

  Seriously, I wouldn’t have minded writing a check for the charity. Any other night, I’d own the room. There’re plenty of gorgeous women everywhere.

  Why not? I ask myself. The night can be mine.

  It’s time to shake off the rust and get back on the horse. This month I have been focusing too much on my family and my business.

  Normally, I’d go to the bar and order myself a single malt. Right now, I need to work fast. Find someone to keep my mind busy before I leave and drive to Hannah’s place. Fuck, I’m still fucking mad at her. Bile bubbles from my stomach. The way we left things wasn’t what I had planned for that evening.

  I never have a plan, but I’m always hopeful to spend the evening with her.

  Does it matter? She’s moving on.

  When a waiter passes by holding a tray with flutes, I grab a couple. Champagne is sexy. Women think it’s sophisticated and classy. Not all of them, but most of them. Hannah would be ordering a shot of tequila or a glass of their best cabernet.

  Stop thinking about Hannah.

  Walking around the ballroom, I try to assess the guests, separate those who seem to be available from those who are married or on a date.

  This is going to be easy, I think.

  Except, I suddenly don’t feel like staying here. Not when I spot her, Samantha.

  She smiles at me, sending me that sexy glance from across the room that used to mean something. It’s been years since we spoke. It was the day she yelled in my lawyer’s office. At least I deserve some restitution for being with you for so long, she’d said.

  Turning around, I walk in the opposite direction and drink both glasses of champagne. It’s not like I’m upset with her, but why cross paths with someone you don’t want to see ever again? Once a person is out of my life, it’s forever. There’s no room for second chances.