The WRONG Brother
Love You Forever-Book 1
Alexis Winter
Rock bottom has a basement—and I just found it.
I’ve been head over heels, write it in my diary over and over in love with my best friend Preston Young, pretty much my entire life.
* * *
You’d think after decades of hiding my feelings I’d want to reveal my lifelong secret love to my best friend privately, but NOPE.
As the queen of ridiculously grand romantic gestures,
I chose a Jerry Springer style television reveal.
* * *
I’ll spare you the anxiety inducing details and just say, it didn’t...work out the way I thought it would.
Cue crawling into a deep dark hole of wine, ice cream and sad ass movies.
I’m never showing my face again.
* * *
Okay, so maybe he stormed off the stage and rejected me on live television.
And maybe when his older brother came over to comfort me...I kissed him.
So much for getting my sh*t together.
* * *
It was just a kiss.
And then a few more.
And then so many toe-curling O’s my brains are permanently scrambled.
* * *
One minute I’m pining for my best friend,
The next I’m falling for his brother,
And to make matters worse...now my best friend thinks he might be in love with me?
I didn’t know it was even possible to screw up this bad.
* * *
Am I destined to make one giant laughable mistake out of my life,
Or did I miss what’s been right in front of me this entire time?
Copyright 2020 by Alexis Winter - All rights reserved.
* * *
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
* * *
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
How to Marry Your Best Friend’s BFF SNEAK PEEK!
Chapter 1
Read the rest of the Love You Forever series here!
Also by Alexis Winter
About the Author
One
PIPER
The text from Preston, my best friend and secret crush, reads: What time will you be home tonight?
I roll my eyes as I quickly respond should be there by 8 p.m. I’ve told him this time and time again since mentioning it last week.
Eight? Why so late?
I shake my head and I can’t help but laugh to myself, wondering if he’s been drunk every time we’ve talked but knowing…that’s just Preston. “Does he ever actually listen when I talk?” I say to myself as I type out my response. I don’t get off work until 5 p.m., then I have to make the drive.
Late dinner and drinks?
You know it. I drop the phone onto the bed by my side and look at the clock on the bedside table. It’s going on 7 a.m. My alarm will be going off in the next two minutes. I push the blankets back and turn off the alarm since I’m already up. There’s nothing worse than hearing that loud blaring sound first thing in the morning. I stand from bed and push my oversized T-shirt back down my thighs before stretching and starting for the kitchen.
I start a pot of coffee and stand by the counter impatiently as it brews. As I wait, I look over the white subway tile backsplash, the gray granite countertops, and the crisp white cabinets with shiny silver knobs. I’ve only recently renovated my kitchen and I’m absolutely in love with it.
I bought this old rundown townhouse with the intention of bringing it back to life. At the low price point, I couldn’t turn it down. Plus, it’s the perfect size for the family I plan to have one day. There are three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an eat-in kitchen, a living room, plus a laundry room. Most of the rooms aren’t being used right now, but that just gives me more time to get everything exactly how I want it. Now that the kitchen is finished, the bedrooms will be my main focus.
I saved a ton by buying this house in the condition it was in, and I’m saving even more doing most of the work myself. The work I can’t do, my dad can help me with, only hiring out if the job is too big for them both. So far, the only thing I’ve hired out has been the new brick and vinyl siding on the house, and the landscaping. This house may have been trashed when I bought it, but the homeowners’ association is expecting it to look just like the rest of the homes in our gated community. I can take as long as I want to do the inside, but the outside had to be the first priority.
The coffee finally finishes brewing and I waste no time pouring a cup to take to the bathroom with me. I take a sip before washing my face and lathering on my $80 moisturizer. I put on my usual makeup and get busy curling my honey-blonde hair. I finish my cup of coffee and brush my teeth before going to get dressed. I pull on a pair of gray dress pants and a ruffly white top. I gather everything I’ll need for the day and pour more coffee into a to-go cup before walking out to the garage.
I toss my purse and computer bag into the passenger-side seat and start up my silver Honda Civic. I click the button and the garage door rolls upward. I back out and hit the button again to close it as I drive off. I’m stuck on the freeway in morning traffic when my stereo tells me I have another text from Preston.
Danny is going to join us for dinner. Anything specific you want? I’ll make reservations.
I snort. Preston make reservations? In Middleton? I didn’t even know there were any restaurants that took reservations.
Let’s go for pizza and beer at Tino’s. Keep it casual.
As I wait for traffic to move again, I imagine telling Preston my deepest, darkest secret. I can see the stunned expression on his face: dark brows drawing together, icy eyes glazing over as he processes the information I’ve given him, running his hand through his messy-but-styled dark hair. He opens his mouth to respond, but the car behind me honks its horn, pulling me from my fantasy.
“All right, all right. I’m going,” I mumble to myself as I hit the gas.
It’s funny, because I’ve imagined telling Preston how I really feel many times over the years, however, I never seem to figure out what he would say. Would he get angry? Would be confess his own attraction? I don’t know. And that’s exactly why I’ve never uttered those words to him.
Preston and I, along with his older brother, Calvin, grew up together. It didn’t hurt that his house was right across the street and our parents have been the best of friends for as long as I can remember. Preston and I were always together. While Calvin is clearly the better choice if someone’s looking for a relationship, Preston is the one my body has always craved.
Well, I shouldn’t say always. We were like best friends when we were little, then that
boys have cooties phase kicked in. Even though I was deathly afraid of catching his cooties, we still made sure to cause trouble where we could. Preston was always the attention-seeker of the two brothers. It’s like he was addicted to it. If too much time had passed with him going unnoticed, he’d make sure to get the attention of everyone in his vicinity.
If I had to pinpoint the exact moment Preston stole my attention for a whole different reason, I’d say it was the summer between freshman and sophomore year. He’d been away with his traveling baseball team.
I remember Calvin and I were hanging out in his backyard, chilling by the pool, when Preston arrived home. He walked out the patio door, looked over at his brother, then met my eyes. He smirked and the sun was shining down on his dark hair that had natural highlights from spending the summer on the field. With his icy gaze on mine, he pulled off his shirt, revealing a rock-hard chest and defined abs. Over the summer, he’d changed from a teenage boy to a man, and I was in love. In those two seconds, I imagined pushing him up against the wooden privacy fence in his backyard and taking what I never knew I wanted until that moment. I saw us falling in love, getting married, having children, and kissing every second of every day. Then he jumped into the pool and the cold water splashed me, pulling me out of my daydream.
Since that day so many years ago, Preston has only managed to get better-looking. His body has become even more manly—so defined and hard. His angular jaw has become sharper, and he now has dark stubble across it that I imagine would feel amazing against my skin. His blue eyes are still icy, but they now hold knowledge and secrets, making them even more enthralling. His skin is always tanned from being in the sun—he loves anything outdoors—and his dark hair has somehow managed to keep those natural highlights that are a mix of caramel and cinnamon. The man belongs in an Abercrombie catalog.
With a face and a body like his, he gets everything he wants, and that means everything—including women. Any woman would be proud to have him on her arm. Hell, any woman would brag about a one-night stand with him. There would be no shame in confessing you had a short-lived fling with this man. In fact, I think there’s a local club for said women. Raise your hand if you’re another notch on Preston Young’s bedpost.
I know you’re probably wondering: Are you another notch on the bedpost? Well, my friend, I must admit I am not. Sadly. While Preston is what you could call a womanizer, he’s always held his relationship with me to a higher level. The most we’ve ever done is a drunken kiss during a game of spin the bottle back in high school. And let me tell you, it was what dreams are made of. But deep down, I wonder if Preston even sees me as a woman. For years I’ve wondered: What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he ever flirt with me? Why doesn’t he want to have a drunken one-night stand with me? The answers to those questions are still unanswered because I’m too afraid to ask them out loud.
I finally manage to make it to the Wonder Home Magazine office. Wonder Home Magazine is fairly new to the shelves when you compare it with other publications in the same genre, like Better Homes & Gardens. Our main focus is giving ideas and inspiration to transform an old, outdated home into something more beautiful and modern while still holding on to its classic charm.
I have to admit, the things I’ve learned by writing here have been put into action during my current home remodel. I can’t wait to learn more and apply it to my own place. I’ve only worked here a year, so I’m still fairly new and get assigned the smaller articles. It’s my dream to work my way to the top, writing the hard-hitting features that make the front cover—maybe even moving up to become editor-in-chief.
I drop off my things at my desk before heading to the break room to load up on the sugar I’ll need to finish my article and get out of here. I grab two glazed donuts and take them back to my desk. Turning on the computer, I take a bite and wash it down with my coffee. By the time my computer is up and running, and I’ve returned all the necessary emails, my sugar-and-caffeine buzz has kicked in enough to get to work.
I write a meaningless article on how to turn pallets into garden and patio additions—swings, planters, patio furniture, and fire pits—then read it over before submitting the story for approval. While I wait to hear back, I grab my phone and call my mom to make sure she remembers I’m coming home tonight.
“Hey, honey,” she answers.
I smile from her always-sweet and welcoming tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Oh, you know, just working in the flower beds while watching your dad try to build me that built-in grill you wrote about.”
I laugh. “Are you serious? You got Daddy to build you that grill?”
“Well, it was lovely and I think it would look great out on the patio, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but . . .”
“No buts. What I want, I get,” she giggles out.
“Whatever you say. You guys remember I’m coming home tonight, right?”
“Of course, dear. Your room is already made up with fresh bedding.”
“Mom, you didn’t have to change the bedding.”
“I really did. Your Uncle Peter and Aunt Beth stayed with us last weekend. Between you and me, I think something freaky went down in that bed. Maybe I should buy a new one.”
My mouth drops open and I can’t hold back my laugh. “Gross! Why would you tell me that?”
She laughs. “You know how much I love messing with your head.”
“I’ll probably have nightmares now, Mother.”
This only makes her laugh harder. “Well, they did forget a book on the nightstand. It was Kama-something . . . Kama Sutra maybe?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Mom, stop talking.”
She laughs. “I’ll see you this evening.”
“Bye, Mom.” I hang up the phone and shiver with disgust.
To give you the mental picture I have, imagine this: My Uncle Peter, who is my dad’s brother, is about 250 pounds. He’s short and round and covered in patches of dark curly hair—everywhere but the top of his head, that is. His wife, my Aunt Beth, is tall like an Amazon. She easily towers over my uncle. She’s built like a linebacker. I mean, they’ve been married for years, so of course they have sex, but that’s not what I want to picture when I climb into my childhood bed.
Another shiver runs through me, but I shake it off when I see an email pop into my inbox with the subject line “Article Approved.” With a smile on my face, I sign out and pack my things. I’m happy I get to leave early. This will give me more time to spend at home with Preston and my family. It’s going on 2 p.m. when I make it to the parking lot, and it’s nearly 3 p.m. by the time I’m packing my car for the weekend.
As I make the long drive home to central Illinois, my mind goes back to the daydream I always have, only this time, when I tell Preston how I feel, he looks at me with pity as he shares the news of his recent engagement. That would be my luck. You’d think that since these are my daydreams, I’d have control over them, but nope. They surprise me just as much as they would anyone else. Things like this make me not want to tell him how I feel at all.
Instead of thinking about what his reaction might be, I instead try to remember the good times we’ve shared. Like that drunken kiss when I was 16.
I reach out and spin the bottle. Everyone watches intently as it spins and spins. I look away, glancing at all the smiling guys who are watching the bottle spin. And then I look at the one guy I want to kiss. He isn’t smiling. In fact, he looks a little afraid that it’ll land on him.
The bottle starts to slow and I watch it, willing it to land on Preston. Like I had some kind of mental control over it, the bottle stops and I follow the neck to see where it’s pointing. Preston.
His eyes are wide with fear and his lips are slightly parted. I smile up at him as his tongue slips out, wetting his lips. Everyone in the circle is hooting and cheering, clapping and whispering. So many of them have questioned our relationship before. I mean, Preston sleeps with everyone and I’m already around him
all the time anyway. They can’t figure out if we’ve slept together or if we’re really just the friends we claim to be.
I get up on my knees and lean toward the center of the circle as Preston does the same, only he doesn’t shy away. He doesn’t move slowly like I’m doing. He’s in a hurry—whether it’s a hurry to kiss me or a hurry to get it over with, I don’t know, but he doesn’t waste any time.
He reaches for me and his hand lands on the base of my neck, pulling my lips to his. His lips are soft and strong—sweet but with the lingering bitterness of beer. His tongue rubs against mine and my eyes flutter closed. My entire body feels like it’s been lit on fire. I don’t know if it’s the embarrassment I feel with everyone watching or if it’s because he’s touching me, but it’s a burn I enjoy nonetheless.
Just as I place my arms around his neck, he pulls away. His face is red and his eyes are glassy. His body seems harder than it did before and his back is straight. I smile as a giggle escapes at the awkwardness of our moment, but he’s stock-still, not smiling, not moving, not even looking at me.
The kiss itself was amazing, but the way he acted like he’d just been made to eat a worm was a bit of a turnoff. I still can’t figure out why. Was he repulsed by the thought of kissing me? Was it all a show to make everyone believe kissing wasn’t something we’d done before? Was he worried it’d end our friendship?
The WRONG Brother: A Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love You Forever Book 1) Page 1