by London James
I smile to myself, remembering how hellbent she was on moving out of Long Island and into the city after college. Hopefully Brooklyn is everything she wanted it to be.
I take the scenic route, walking along Ft. Greene Park before finally heading to the restaurant. Am I nervous? Nervous isn’t the right word, but excited isn’t either. I want to see Briony again, but I’m not sure how to feel or act. Ben won’t be there since he had to pop into the office, so we can get away with a little more flirting than we could with him around. Or we can continue to play it cool like nothing happened. That’s probably the wisest decision, since banging my best friend’s sister, even after more than ten years since our ill-fated ‘relationship’, would only complicate things.
Except when I turn the corner, the first thing I see is her. The sight sets my heart racing.
She looks hot as fuck sitting in the open window of the restaurant, reading a book. Her black curls are up in a loose bun, and she’s wearing her glasses, which give her a hot-librarian vibe. Her delicate neck looks ready to be kissed and sucked on, and I know she probably has a cute sprinkle of freckles across her shoulders from the sun. She’s wearing a dress again—pink this time, but short, giving me a nice view of her smooth legs. She has on flat sandals, so she’d probably be nice and small tucked against me.
My restraint goes flying into space faster than a rocket.
“Hey, you,” I say, sliding up next to her and putting my hand on her lower back, just like I did at the party.
She jumps and slams her book shut, looking up at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
My mouth drops open, and I pull my hand off of her like her dress is on fire. “Well, hi.”
“Uh, hi.” She stuffs her book into her bag and slides away from me like I smell bad. “More politely—may I ask why you’re here?”
I’m so thrown off that I blink for a few moments before responding. “Dinner with Daisy? To go over some pre-wedding event planning?”
This time she’s the one to blink rapidly, clearly horrified, which only pisses me off. Did we not clear the air a bit at the party? Sure, we hooked up, but I couldn’t exactly walk her home after that and make a big deal of it. She asked me to act like it hadn’t happened, so I did exactly as she’d asked.
“But… why? What?” She would suck at poker because I can read the full emotional journey she’s going through right now—annoyance, confusion, resistance. Her large eyes are so expressive.
“Did Ben not tell you that I’m his best man? And did Daisy not mention that she wanted me to make some cocktails for the pre-wedding parties?” A sinking feeling comes over me. Of course, neither of them would have mentioned that. They’re both smart people, but sometimes they assume that everyone can read their minds.
“Nope, they both left that little detail out.” Briony catches a waiter’s eye. “Can I get a carafe of white wine? Whatever’s the house wine is fine.”
“And I’ll have a whiskey sour,” I add.
“A little early to be hitting the hard liquor, no?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“Apparently I’ll need it to get through this dinner with you,” I snap. “What the hell, Briony?”
“What do you mean, ‘what the hell’?”
“What’s your problem?” I can hardly focus on how pretty she looks when I’m moments from losing my shit. Though the fact that I can even have a lustful thought when I’m angry is a feat in itself.
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish trying to breathe on land. “I… what… ?”
I close my eyes and take a slow, deep breath through my nose. I’m good at holding it together from my experience in the Navy, and sometimes, I need to put myself back in that mindset. “I asked what your problem is. You look like I just came from using your cat for javelin practice or something.”
“How did you know I have a damn cat?” she asks, her voice rising. If the table wasn’t bolted to the floor, she probably would flip it onto the sidewalk.
“What about Chunk?” Daisy comes from around the corner, smiling as always. She pulls off her sunglasses and tucks them into the case.
Briony pastes a grin on her face, which miraculously looks natural. “We were just talking about pets. How I adopted Chunk and uh, stuff.”
“Oh, cool. Ben and I were thinking of getting a puppy after the wedding. Is that a cliché? A couple with no kids getting a dog to kind of do the parent thing?” She takes a seat next to Briony, right as the waiter drops off our drinks. “Wow, you guys are hitting the sauce already?”
I knock back half of the drink in one go. “It’s that kind of day.”
Daisy gives me a questioning look and pulls out a folder. “What happened?”
“Visited my dad,” I explain, thankful for the opportunity to change the subject, even if it’s to one of my least favorite ones.
“Oof, I’m sorry.” Daisy knows all about my past with my dad and his illness. “How is he?”
“Alive,” I shrug. Son-of-the-year winner, right here.
Thank god Daisy knows when to leave something alone. A waiter transfers us from the window bar to an actual table and hands us menus. It’s all tapas, which would be nice if we were in Spain where tapas actually feel like a real meal. Instead, this place is unnecessarily pricey and with, from what I’m seeing on the other tables, microscopic portions that aren’t even worth sharing. I’m a billionaire, sure, but no one likes being ripped off. The quality better be good.
“Are we down to share stuff?” Daisy asks. “I’m down for patatas bravas, of course… ”
Daisy and Briony go back and forth about what they want while I watch, waiting for them to make a decision. They order most of the menu; then I ask the waiter to double it. I know Daisy is cool with sharing food, but I know Briony isn’t like that. Whenever she was around watching me and Ben play video games in high school, we always fought relentlessly over whatever snack was being passed around. The memory almost makes me smile. Almost.
Briony reaches over the table for water right as I do, her gaze lasering right through me as our hands touch. She snatches it out of my hands and pours some for herself before slamming it back down on the table.
This is going to be a long dinner.
Chapter Three
Briony
I don’t consider myself an angry person, but this whole wedding situation is already testing my own self-knowledge.
I cannot believe that Ash is here and that he thought he could roll up to me with a sexy ‘hey, you’ as if he didn’t drop me like I was garbage after our hookup. But I can believe that Daisy arranged this dinner without realizing how awkward Ash and I are together. Ben has told her everything about our little debacle years ago, but he probably correctly assumed that we were both adults who were over it. But she doesn’t exactly know that we hooked up and are now right back in the awkward zone again.
God, that hook-up. Even though time has passed, I feel like it happened yesterday. I blurted out everything that happened to Zara the second she came home from her long-weekend trip. She’s hard to impress, but her inky black eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she slow clapped for me.
“Zara! This is not a slow clap moment! This is a roll around on the ground in shame moment!” I groaned, throwing myself on her bed.
“Um, first, there’s no shame in sex,” Zara said, in her not-quite-British-but-not-quite-American accent, leaning more toward the American side. She’d gone to visit her mom’s side of the family in Westchester over the weekend and picked up the accent more. “Second, the man made you come all over his hand at a damn party, girl. That’s hot. And he’s hot. I’m proud of you for embracing your saucy side.”
“Zara!” I rolled face-down, ignoring the warm throbbing between my legs. It really was hot. The hottest thing that I’d ever done. It was so hot that I still can’t stop thinking about it.
“I know, I know.” She sat down next to me and rested her hand on the back of my head. “But more importantly, that�
��s a dick move he made. Let’s go talk to some wine about these feelings, yeah?”
And that’s why she’s my best friend—whenever shit really hits the fan, she drops everything to help, even with my most annoying problems.
What’s also annoying about this Ash problem? How he looks infuriatingly good. His outfit isn’t out of place in Brooklyn by any means—chinos, rolled up a little at the ankles, canvas sneakers without socks, a button-down linen shirt—but somehow, he makes it look especially delicious. I can’t help but imagine his body under the clothes, powerful and masculine, with a certain grace to his movements. Just catching the mix of the same cologne he wore at the party with a little sweat is killing me.
He watches Daisy and I silently as we pick out some tapas to share. After we order, he asks the waiter to double everything we got.
“So we won’t end up fighting over the last potato,” he explains to Daisy, glancing at me with a knowing look so briefly that I nearly miss it.
I think back to high school when we would fight over who would get the last chip or who was eating more of the snacks. I had such a big, dumb crush on him back then that any sort of interaction would fuel my daydreams for weeks.
“So…” Daisy pulls out her tablet from her bag and loads up a document, placing it on top of the folder she already pulled out. “Pre-wedding events! Thanks for coming to talk about them with me, by the way. I’m dead serious when I say that you guys can refuse to do certain things if they seem like they’ll suck away your time.”
I believe her—her chill reins in Ben’s tendency to be over the top, and she’s understanding to a fault. She’s a psychologist, after all.
“Ben and I were thinking of having a beach-themed engagement party, a joint bachelor/bachelorette party weekend at a ski resort, maybe, and a rehearsal dinner that we haven’t quite figured out yet,” Daisy continues. “The engagement party will be at the pool of that new hotel in Boerum Hill, which I’ve already reserved, and we were thinking Vermont for the ski weekend since it’s kind of close. We don’t want to fly out to Utah or anything. I’d love your ideas for the rehearsal dinner.”
I nod, pulling out my notebook for the ideas that are already flowing. My brain is itching for any good distraction from the heat coming off of Ash’s knee close to mine under the table. Beach theme sounds fun for a pool party—hibiscuses come to mind immediately as the central flower. I’m not sure how flowers would fit in at a ski resort, or what event we’d even need them for. And a rehearsal dinner… Maybe she’ll be happy with actual daisies being incorporated into it.
“So you want signature cocktails for each of these?” Ash asks, also pulling out a tablet. His hands are so big that he can hold it across its center with his thumb and middle finger without a problem. “How about one that’s more your speed and one that’s more Ben’s?”
“Ooh, that would be nice.” Daisy nods, tapping away at her tablet.
“You can design cocktails?” I ask Ash, surprised. “Or make them, whatever.”
“Yep. Mixology.” He shrugs like it isn’t a huge deal. “I made the punch at the 4th of July party.”
So he’s the one responsible for that booze bomb. And by extension, he was responsible for both of us getting so tipsy that he fingered me on a rooftop.
I’m never going to drink again. After this carafe of wine, of course.
“How do you even have time for hobbies?” I ask in wonder. Between my day job and my business, I’m pretty tired. I can’t imagine being a CEO, working out regularly, being involved in veterans’ charities, and having a genuine hobby.
“I do have time to have a little bit of a life despite being the CEO of a company, Briony,” he says, a playful look in his eyes. I narrow mine in return, despite my fluttering heart. I am not going to fall under his spell again.
“And you’re fine with doing some flowers for all of these, right?” Daisy asks me. “The engagement party would have flowers as decorations, but the other events would have centerpieces and whatnot.”
“Of course.” It’ll be fun, and a good addition for my website’s portfolio. Plus, I’m happy to have any sort of distraction from Ash and my disaster of a dating life, especially if it makes Ben and Daisy happy.
“We’ll pay you guys, of course,” she adds. “Your time is valuable.”
“You seriously don’t have to,” Ash says. “I’m happy to do it for free.”
Ugh, why did he have to say that? He’s a billionaire, and I am far from one. Getting paid would help my savings for my business, and I know that my parents are chipping in to pay for parts of the wedding. On top of Daisy’s wealthy parents helping out, and their combined income, they aren’t hurting for cash. How can I get out of this without sounding like a jerk? Damn it, Ash.
“Thank you for the offer, Daisy. I’m excited to add some more stuff to my portfolio,” I finally say after a long stretch of silence. She smiles broadly, thank God. How did Ben find such an amazing person to spend his life with?
“Great! I’m so excited.” She’s damn near glowing on top of her usual warm self. That’s what love does to you, I guess. It’s infectious.
The waiter arrives with all of the plates of food, crowding them onto the table. We hardly have space for it all. We dig in, not coming up for air until half of the food is gone.
Once we slow down enough to have an actual conversation, Daisy brings up some indie film festival that she and Ben went to, which leads to a thankfully peaceful and polite chat. The only times Ash and I look at each other are when our forks cross, going for the same pieces of food. We duel back and forth, snagging bits of meat or veggies out from under each other. I eat way more than I should, just to defeat him.
This man is making me an idiot. Or maybe I’m just uncovering how many dumb things I do on a regular basis. I hope it’s the former.
Once dinner is over, Ash slips the waiter his credit card before Daisy and I can pull ours out. I mutter a thank you and put my card away. For such a relatively small amount, the food is insanely expensive. Ash shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.
We finish up and walk outside together.
“I’m heading to the C train,” Daisy says, pointing behind her. “So I’ll see you guys later? Text me if you need anything.”
We hug and watch her wander off. Tension falls from my body when I realize I can stop putting up a front for Daisy. I wave to Ash and start walking to the G train, only to find him following me.
“What? Are you going to the G also?” he asks.
“Can’t you just get an Uber home or something?” I ask, still walking.
“Why would I when the subway works perfectly fine?” He catches up to me. “Just because I have the money doesn’t mean I need to throw it around. What if I like the grit?”
I raise an eyebrow. “The grit of the G train running through one of the bougiest Brooklyn neighborhoods?”
“I could get rammed in the ankle by a rogue stroller,” he says, mock-serious. “I could have a bruise that would last for weeks. I could have to wrestle a dad who’s hopped up on oat-milk lattes to get inside a crowded car. It could be devastating.”
I snort despite myself and slow down a little, so he can stick with me. We make it to the train and swipe in, heading to the center of the platform. It’s sweltering. The hot, wet garbage scent that permeates the entire city during the summer wafts up my nose. The countdown clock blinks to show that the next train will arrive in five minutes. So that means five minutes of standing next to Ash, avoiding awkward conversations. It could be worse, especially on a weekend.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t mention that I was coming to this dinner,” Ash says after a while.
“Thanks. But it’s not your fault that Daisy didn’t tell me,” I point out.
“I know. Just figured I would apologize, too.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and leans against the wall.
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that, so I keep quiet. My fingers itch to pull out my phone, b
ut I don’t want to be the first one to do it. It’s rude anyway, even if we aren’t talking. But I want some distraction.
The heat makes sweat drip down my lower back and between my breasts. If I focus on Ash, I’ll probably end up saying something stupid. He’s deep in thought, anyway, his eyes unfocused on something across the train tracks, so I stay quiet and watch the rats chase each other on the tracks below.
The train comes rumbling up soon after. Even though it’s the weekend, the G train usually isn’t as full as other trains are. There are a few open seats that I nearly go for instinctively, but I stop when I realize that Ash might sit next to me, his broad shoulders pressed up against mine. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from frowning. I can handle sitting next to the man. Jesus. I’m acting like a kid terrified of catching cooties.
Ash grabs the pole instead, to my relief, and I follow suit.
“Are you upset about how I acted at the party? After our moment?” he asks, suddenly looking down from an ad for a mattress and into my eyes.
“Yes,” I say quickly, laughing mostly out of shock that it’s taken him, a genius CEO, that long to figure it out. To my surprise, he looks genuinely embarrassed.
“And that’s why you acted like I had used your cat—Chunk? Or Chuck?”
“Chunk.” I appreciate the fact that he used his name, weirdly enough.
“Like I used Chunk for javelin practice. Though I’m guessing he wouldn’t be a very good practice tool with a name like Chunk.” His lips press together, holding in a smirk. His sense of humor was always a little twisted like that. Back in high school, I found the fact that he sometimes laughed at his own jokes while he was telling them endearing. Honestly, it still is—it’s such a contrast to the dryness of his humor and overall seriousness. “Or is the name ironic?”