JUST JOSHING
By Kim Congram
Writing as Evie Mitchell
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, facts, sometimes random sentences are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in what she hopes is an entirely flattering but fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Evie Mitchell; All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be distributed, posted, or reproduced in any form by digital or mechanical means, including via Instagram, Facebook or Twitter, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Editor: Nicole Wilson
Dedication
To my husband,
the key to happiness is always saying yes.
Like when I ask for a puppy… or if I can eat your fries.
Also, to Nicole.
Thanks for being the best editor and cheerleader.
This one is for you.
Other Books by Evie Mitchell
Thunder Thighs
Double the D
Muffin Top
The Mrs. Clause
New Year, Knew You
Other Books by Kim Congram
On Edge
Rough Code
Just Joshing
Molly
I'd always assumed I'd end up marrying and having a family. But it's not until my best friends announce their engagement that I realize I'm stuck in a rut. A really deep dating rut.
If I want that family? It's not gonna fall into my lap.
So, what's a girl to do? Shake off her blues, dust off her heels, and try and win herself a man.
My only issue? Joshua Greenfeld. My best friends' older brother.
Josh seems determined to derail my plans. And to be honest, I don't hate his efforts…
Josh
Molly has always been my one. The girl who got away. The beauty that I never really took a chance on.
Mostly because she was in love with my brother.
Or so I thought.
When I find out she's dating, I decide to seize my chance. And this time? I'm not kidding around.
Warning: This fluffy piece is filled with dating disasters, a Bridezilla best friend, and a man with a library to rival any fairy tale. So, get thee a man and settle in – this love story is no joking matter.
Please note: Translations are available at the end of the novel.
Prologue
Molly
"I’m so sorry, Maleficent!" My mother gushed. "We’ve been in such a fuss with the move that…" She shook her head helplessly. "We forgot."
I smoothed hands down the soft pink fabric of my party dress. Hours earlier I’d brushed my hair, scrubbed my face, and climbed into the big chair in the living room, waiting patiently for my party to start. It was my eleventh birthday.
"That’s okay Mommy." I replied, trying to still the wobble of my bottom lip. "I understand."
I pushed up from the chair, pausing to straighten my dress.
My father’s hand came down on my shoulder. "Molly…" His deep voice was filled with regret. "We’re sorry, Pumpkin."
I looked up at him. "It’s okay Daddy." I rubbed my nose with the palm of my hand. He opened his mouth to reply, his face stricken, then shut it, glancing away.
Words wouldn’t bring me presents or the promised party. I left the room, climbing the big curving staircase that filled our new foyer. We’d only moved into the brownstone last week. My shiny black Mary-janes clicked unfamiliarly on the hard wood floor. In my room, I took my dress off, hanging it in the giant walk-in closet. Underfoot, the plush white carpet was spotless, every surface immaculate. We had an army of nannies, maids and butlers to ensure nothing was ever out of place.
My room had been decorated in whites, soft pinks and Tiffany-blue. Mommy called it our upgrade. Daddy had said the other house had been a starter. He said we were old money, but Grandfather had insisted we earn our way. Grandfather was dead now. I didn’t miss him. He'd been mean, and used to pinch my arm when I was loud.
I missed our old house though. It had twelve bedrooms, thirteen bathrooms and was surrounded by trees and land. I’d had my own pony, and my brothers and I had been allowed to romp through the grass, climb trees and get dirty without Mommy caring.
Now, we only had eight bedrooms and seven bathrooms and there seven of us, Mommy, Daddy, Hendrix, George and Thomas, Samuel and me. Daddy said he’d be buying the house next door to expand, but I didn’t like living here. The city was noisy, and I couldn’t visit my pony and I wasn’t allowed to get dirty. Mommy said I was to be sent to school soon. I knew what that meant, boarding school. My brothers disappeared for some of the year, only to return for the occasional weekend or holiday. I didn’t like it. I missed my brothers, and I knew I would miss my home – no matter if it was new.
I flopped on the bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Eleven sucks." I lisped, tongue poking at the gap in my front teeth.
My door burst open, flying back to smack against the wall with an almighty crack. Samuel, home for the weekend, was accompanied by his best friend, Joshua Greenfeld, and Josh’s younger brother, Peter. Peter and I had grown up together, our families living next door to one another. I suspected part of the reason we’d moved to the city was because they had done so a year earlier. My mother and his were best friends, our fathers in business together.
"Happy Birthday!" They yelled. Peter bounded to my bed, landing beside me. He thrust a poorly wrapped gift under my nose.
"Open it!" He demanded, blonde hair flopping about. "It's for you!"
I carefully peeled back the poorly wrapped paper.
"This is us." I whispered, fingering the macaroni-picture frame. Under a thin piece of glass sat a picture of Peter and I, arms wrapped around each other, beaming at the camera. Samuel made funny faces in the background while Joshua laughed beside me, one arm looped around my shoulder. It had been captured at their family’s vacation home last summer.
"Of course," Pete declared. "You’re my best friend."
I looked up into his face, his blue eyes serious as he stared at me.
"You’re my best friend too." I whispered as my young heart fluttered.
Josh interrupted, snatching my hand and pulling me out of the room. "Come on. We've talked Estelle into taking us to the Zoo!"
We ran about Central Park Zoo, eating ice cream and stuffing our faces with hot dogs. Josh, Samuel and Peter may have thought it was a makeshift birthday party for an otherwise unremarkable day. But for me, it was a day that would define the next few years of my life.
That had been the day I fell in love with Peter Greenfeld.
Chapter One
Molly
Oh-my-fucking-god!" I slapped a hand to my mouth, immediately regretting my reaction. "I mean," my voice squeaked. "Congratulations!" I threw my arms open, wrapping them around my best friend, Bess Kirkson.
The ring on her left-hand tangled with my hair, ripping strands free as she disengaged.
"You'll forgive me for not telling you earlier, right? It's just," she laughed giddily, "Pete surprised me by proposing in Tiffany’s – like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama? You know, with Patrick Dempsey? He knew I loved it and decided to recreate it. Then we bought the ring and it's fifteen carats', Molly! Fifteen! And then we went back home and just had the most amazing sex, before coming here." She gushed, thrusting her hand in my face. The giant diamond twinkled, catch
ing the lights of the ballroom. I snatched at her hand, using this as an excuse to free my stray hairs from her ring.
"Of course, I forgive you." I injected joy into my voice pasting on the biggest smile I could manage. I looked back down at her hand. "Wow! Check out that rock. I’m so happy for you."
"Oh, Molly. Thank you!" She threw her arms back around me, swaying us from side to side. "I just knew you'd be thrilled. You’re my oldest and dearest friend," she pushed me back, pegging me with puppy eyes. "Please say you'll be my maid of honor."
"Of course, silly."
As much as I loved Bess, I couldn't say that she was my best friend. No, that role was taken by the man beaming beside her – Peter, her fiancé. We’d been born six-months apart. I’d grown up in his house and he in mine. Our parents were best friends, our older brother’s inseparable. Peter and I had shared everything - dreams, illnesses, toys. On my eleventh birthday I’d fallen in love with him. Years ago, I'd assumed we’d end up together.
At fifteen, lazing around the pool at our summer home, I’d admitted my crush to Bess. They were dating the next week. Now, over twelve-years later, they were engaged. I'd made peace with this eventuality. Any romantic love I'd had for Pete had long since thawed, leaving behind something more akin to sibling affection.
That didn't mean it was easy watching Pete press joyful kisses to Bess' lips.
I wasn’t bitter about being single. Nope. Not me. Not at all. Look at me being sugar and spice and all things nice cause only bastards aren't happy for their friends.
I knew I could be simultaneously happy for them and still have a little ache in my heart. It wasn't that I jealously coveted Peter. No, I was envious of their relationship. They had their one person. In this crazy world they'd found the one person they wanted more than any other. And I wanted my one.
Peter stepped into the space left by Bess. "Hey, Molly McGee."
I wrapped arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Hey, Petey Piper."
We grinned at each other. "Congratulations." I gently punched him on the arm. "You never said a word."
He chuckled, pretending to rub the pain away. "I think you gave me all the pointers last month."
I frowned, trying to remember. "Wait. Her birthday? You used the birthday suggestions I gave you for this proposal?"
He grinned, shrugging.
I opened my mouth to tease him but was interrupted by a booming voice behind me.
"There they are! It's about time!" Pete’s dad, Geoffrey stopped beside me, clapping a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Thought you’d never get a ring on the girl."
A mirror, though older, image of his son, both were blonde, blue-eyed and big-mouthed. They laughed easily, smiled freely and invited everyone to enjoy their orbit.
I watched, smiling, stepping back to give them space as Geoff pulled a laughing Pete and Bess in, wrapping them in his big arms.
"You know," the hushed words brushed the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I never thought he’d actually do it."
I turned, blinking in surprise at Joshua Greenfeld, Pete’s older brother and his exact opposite. Black hair, tan skin with his mother’s deep mahogany-brown eyes. His navy business shirt fell open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He wore sharp black pants with perfect creases and shiny black shoes. But no matter how well dressed, Josh remained too casual for this suit and tie affair.
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, unsure of how to respond. He always did this to me, made me clam up. Where Pete was smiling comfort, Josh radiated edgy tension. If he were a cliché, he'd fall into the bad boy genre. A man who always knew who he was, what to say and how to act – consequences be damned. A good man wrapped in a bad boy shell.
Meanwhile, I was the awkward younger sister, always out of step with the world. My awkward made babies with my anxiety when he was around.
He caught my surprised look.
"Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice girl." He shrugged, tucking hands into his pant pockets. "Just never thought they fit. She’s champagne and caviar, he’s burgers and beer."
"They’ve been together a long time," I pointed out. My fingers beginning to tap a nervous tattoo against my thumb, each finger marching one-by-one against the pad of my thumb before starting over. "He can afford champagne."
Our parents, along with being best friends, were business partners. I’d been raised in boardrooms and at dinner parties where mergers and cutthroat politics took place and were managed with a handshake and a bottle of shared whiskey.
Peter, and most of my brothers, had happily followed the well-worn path into the family business. But Josh and my closest brother, Samuel, had taken another route. They’d started their own production company, leaving New York for the warmth and glamour of Hollywood. Sam took center stage as director while Josh supported as script-writer and cinematographer. Their first success had come in their early twenties - three Oscars and two golden globes for They called him Dog. I’d nearly burst with pride, fingers pressed to my lips, eyes glued to the TV, watching as they’d walked-up the red stairs to accept their awards.
Their success stood in stark contrast to my own life. Women in my circle were rarely encouraged to pursue careers. Say what you would about feminism, but the concept had not yet reached the upper echelons of my society.
I’d been trained from a young age to adorn the arm of the man who would be my most suitable match. My marriage would be a political move, a merging of families and businesses. I’d been schooled on how to be a credit to my husband, to not embarrass him, to grace his life like a pretty ornament reflecting his every whim.
It had never been clear to me who "he" would be.
While Bess had fallen whole-heartedly into the role expected of women of our station - embracing the afternoon teas, dinner parties and charity functions - I’d felt a growing disquiet. A stirring of unease. I’d attended college, as all good women do. After all, one must have a degree to prove their intelligence to potential future spouses, and marriage-minded mothers regarded college as a veritable hunting ground for young women looking to secure their first husband.
But instead of graduating into Daddy’s money, I’d thrown myself into the business side of charity work. I had a dual business-event management degree, an economics major and a minor in world politics. I wanted to help people. So, I did. I’d talked or bought my way onto boards, leveraging my parents’ connections. I now chaired three charities, and volunteered four days a week at various organizations across the city.
Growing up surrounded by money and privilege you learn certain truths. I knew I could never change the opinions of those who had everything. Those born with silver spoons, my family included, expected life to hand them opportunities on silver platters. I'd long ago learned that money and connections spoke louder than talent or skill. I'd been born into influence and I wasn't above using it to get what I wanted.
A joyful screech distracted me. Josh and I shifted to watch the happy couple. Bess flung herself around Pete. He caught her; head thrown back as he laughed at her antics. A small part of me sighed in longing as I watched Pete press an exuberant kiss to her lips. Bess' red hair, perfectly curled, waterfalled down to touch the small of her back. Her lipstick, despite the kisses, remained perfect. I took in the whole picture, her gorgeous hair complementing the stunning white dress which dipped between her breasts and ended mid-thigh. Her infectious happiness. His grin. The entire picture was perfectly accentuated by the sparkling diamond on her finger.
I had to go.
I turned away from the gathering, tears blurring my vision as I blindly moved towards the exit. Single-minded in my purpose, I failed to see the waiter crossing my path.
"Watch ou-!"
A hand gripped my arm, wrenching me back against a hard chest. The waiter waivered, hand frantically weaving from side to side as he tried to stop the glasses on his tray tipping to the floor. Finally, catching them, steadying the tray he looked over at me, a relieved smil
e on his face.
"That was close!"
"I’m so sorry." I gushed, jerking out of Josh’s grip. "I’m such a klutz."
"Don’t worry about it," the waiter grinned. "Drink?" He held out the tray, offering me a glass.
"Oh no, I’m just about to leav-"
Josh reached over, plucking up one of the glasses and shoving it into my hand. He went back, taking another for himself.
"Thank you." He nodded to the waiter, dismissing him.
I looked into Josh’s fiercely dark eyes.
"I have to-"
"Don’t give them the satisfaction." His growled the words, low and angry.
"Excuse me?"
He jerked his head towards the happy couple. "She's a nice girl, but this… production. They're watching you. The vultures. They're waiting for a moment they can use to rub your face in it."
The blush seared away whatever tears remained.
"I’m not in love with him." I retorted, my voice a low hiss, eyes darting quickly about to ensure we wouldn’t be overheard. My back stiffened, finding eyes on me.
While I'd been concentrating on the happy couple, it was obvious that I'd become the subject of whispered conjecture. As I glanced around the room, clusters of guests shot speculative glances my way, heads dipping together conspiratorially.
"Oh my god." I turned my back on the room, facing the buffet table. "Oh my god."
"Breathe, Molly. Don't let them see."
I shook my head. "I'm not even in love with him. Why would they care?"
Josh coughed, "are you sure?"
I shot him a glare. " I'm pretty sure I know my own feelings."
"But at your twenty-first you said—"
" Jesus, Josh. You can’t hold a drunk confession from years ago against me."
Twenty-one and legal. Three shots of tequila, three mojitos and a party I never wanted in the first place. Bess had planned the surprise. I’d come home from the gym, hot and sweaty, to a house full of people I barely knew. I’d been embarrassed and ready to die in my stretched-out yoga pants, sweat stained t-shirt and barely functioning sports-bra. Instead of letting me change, Bess had forced a drink in my hands and escorted me around the room. No one had hugged me, instead offering polite smiles and congratulations from afar. I hadn’t been offended – such was my life.
Just Joshing: A BBW Romantic Comedy (Short and Sweet Series Book 1) Page 1