Just Joshing: A BBW Romantic Comedy (Short and Sweet Series Book 1)

by Evie Mitchell

  I’d finally slunk off, showered and returned to find guests already drunk off their asses. Josh and Sam had found me, plying me with liquor and teasing compliments while Bess worked the room, Pete, her doting boyfriend, trailing.

  At 3am I’d been drunk as a skunk, outside in the garden dancing under the stars, entertaining Josh and Sam with my antics. Sam had passed out shortly after, but Josh had stayed awake, looking out for me. I’d dropped to his side, happy drunk grin still in place.

  "I love Pete," I’d gushed, hands flailing happily about to emphasize my point. "He’s my best friend."

  "I thought Bess was your best friend."

  I’d frowned, reaching out a hand to trace his serious lips.

  "You should smile more." I informed him, ignoring the question as my fingers traced the shape of his mouth. "I like it when you smile." I pushed at the corners, trying to force a smile.

  "Do you just?" His lips kicked up and I dropped my hand, sighing happily.

  "Mmhmm." I nodded, throwing my hands out wide and falling onto my back in the grass. The sky rotated dizzyingly above me.

  "What else do you like?"

  "Dogs. And my family. And helping people. And you. But I love Pete." I admitted. "But no one lets me have a dog or help people or love Pete. Not even Pete."

  "Why?"

  "Cause I’m not pretty or smart or good. I trip over too much. And mum is allergic to dogs." I rolled toward him, curling onto my side, hands tucked under my chin. "That’s a lie though. She just doesn’t like them."

  He looked down at me. Reclined, legs stretched out fully in-front of him, leaning on his elbows, the moonlight brushed his face, giving him a surreal fairy look. Like a night fae come to steal away unsuspecting women.

  "You love Pete?" His voice remained low.

  "Since I was eleven." I admitted, my eyes closing. "He gave me a macaroni-picture-frame."

  He chuckled. "You gotta up your standards, sweetheart. Or you’ll fall in love with every kindergartener alive."

  I huffed out a laugh, eyes closing, wishing his soothing voice would keep talking. "No. Just Pete."

  "Why?"

  "Cause he’s my oldest friend. And he saw me."

  "Lots of people see you. I do."

  I laughed, feeling my happy-buzz slip. "No. I’m not smart enough. Or non-fall-y enough. Or… anything."

  "You’re beautiful, Molly."

  I could feel the hot tears wetting my cheeks. I didn’t want to cry; I needed more alcohol. But I was so tired. And embarrassed. I hated being embarrassed and it happened all the damn time. And I was just so tired of not being wanted. Of not being enough.

  "No one sees me." I forced my eyes open. "I thought Pete did. But he’s with Bess."

  Josh reached out, brushing hair away from my face, fingers brushed across my cheeks removing the tears. "Find someone worthy of you. Pete isn’t that guy, he’s an idiot."

  I shook my head. "Pete’s it. No one else even cares. If he can’t see me…" I trailed off, hiccupping a little.

  "Make them." Josh whispered fiercely. "Make them see you."

  The party buzzed around us as Josh stared at me, his eyes narrowed in anger.

  I narrowed mine in response.

  I want to punch your stupidly perfect face.

  He cocked an eyebrow as if to say, just try it.

  We glared for a moment longer before he rolled his eyes, breaking the stare down.

  "Fine," he turned his back on me. "Let them win."

  I scowled, barely resisting the urge to poke my tongue out. "I’m not letting anyone do anything." I stepped beside him, looking at the gathering. "This isn’t a competition, Josh-u-ahhh." I drew his name out. "I’m not competing against anyone. Bess is my friend. I’m happy for her and Pete."

  I searched my feelings, verifying the validity of my claim. Apart from the wistful wish of wanting a partner, I felt nothing but joy for them.

  "Yeah? Tell that to your face," he retorted.

  I straightened, flicking hair away from my face. "Excuse me?"

  He raised the glass to his lips, shrugging. "You heard me."

  "What’s wrong with my face?" I demanded, stepping in front of him, forcing him to look at me. His trademark smirk had settled back in place.

  "You’ve got your green-eyed monster on."

  I opened my mouth to deny but snapped it shut, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I don't want to talk about it."

  His smirk dropped, leaving behind a touch of pity. "Why didn’t you do anything about it? Pete could have been yours."

  I blew out a breath, staring down at my glass as I twirled it slowly between my fingers. Josh could be like a dog with a bone. He wasn't going to drop this.

  This conversation requires alcohol.

  I downed my drink, turned on a heel and made a beeline for the nearest waiter. Josh trailed, murmuring greetings to people as we passed. I swapped my empty for two full flute glasses, downing one immediately. I placed it back on the waiter’s tray then turned back to Josh. The fingers of my free hand hid in the folds of my skirt, beginning their anxious tick once again.

  "I did," I looked back at the crowded ballroom, pasting a fake smile on my lips. "I made a play for him and it didn't work."

  It was a sad thing to admit but, in this story, I played the role of the dowdy lady-in-waiting. Where Bess was sugar and spice and all things nice, I was what rejected spinsters were made of.

  Josh waved the waiter away, coming to lean against the table beside me. I stood ramrod straight, no part of me touching a surface. I felt unexpectedly brittle, as if I would shatter if I relaxed even a minutia.

  "When?" Josh asked. I didn't answer. Didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, I focused all my attention on the happy couple. Bess screamed with laughter as she draped herself over Pete on the other side of the room. She caught my eye, flashing a smile and a wave. I bared some teeth holding the glass up in cheers.

  "Why do you do that?" Josh asked, foot tapping in time with the music provided by the Jazz band.

  "Do what?" I sipped the champagne, determined to drink this glass slower, knowing the alcohol was already going straight to my head.

  "Put up with her. With them. They're both vapid. I love my brother, but let's be honest – he doesn't exactly breathe integrity. Why not just dump and run?"

  The wine loosened my tongue, "Like you and Sam?"

  "We didn’t-" Josh’s head twisted towards me.

  "You did. Both of you. And left me to deal with the fall out of your decisions." I held up my glass, tipping it in a salute. "Thanks for that, by the way. Really appreciate it."

  Josh fell silent. He crossed one leg in front of the other, leaning further against the table. He placed the glass down, tucking hands into his pockets as we watched Bess and Pete hug his grandmother.

  I sighed.

  "Ugh. I can't stay mad at you. Move over." I gulped the last glass, dropping it to the table. I hip checked him, coming to slouch beside him, my arms crossing as we continued to watch the room. For a long moment we were both silent. Finally, I blew out a breath, leaning into him slightly.

  "It doesn’t matter now anyway. Water under the bridge and all that."

  "Molly, you know why we did it." His hushed voice implored me to understand.

  I closed my eyes. Yeah, I did know. They'd left me to follow their dreams. To get out from under the thumb of our parents. To make something special.

  Our families weren’t dissimilar in their expectations. But while the Greenfeld's had just Josh and Pete, my family was large. I was the youngest, and only girl, of five children - Hendrix, George and Thomas, Samuel then me. My father had a love of alcohol and my mother was satisfied with naming rights for a girl.

  Maleficent Glorious Archer.

  Little Miss Molly played inside with her dolly while her brothers played outside in the rain. Along came Josh-Spider who sat down beside her, and poked till she came outside to play.

  "Yeah." I shook my head, attemptin
g to clear it. "It was just… a lot."

  "You never said anything."

  I huffed out a laugh, glancing over at his gorgeous face. "Would you have come home?"

  "For you? Yes. You know we would have."

  I shook my head. "And that’s why. You and Sam deserved to follow your dreams. Not be stuck in some office job working for the family when we both know it would have done nothing but crush you."

  "How bad was it?"

  I crossed my arms, goosebumps rising as I remembered the tears, the crackdown in freedoms. "I wanted to attend Duke."

  "But you went to Yale."

  I nodded. "Within driving distance. Home for Sunday dinner every week." I didn't mention the weekly visits with the Dean or the updates the sorority house mom would send my parents. And god forbid I ever tell them about the arranged dates or vetting of roommates.

  He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a messy trail behind. "I didn’t know."

  I shrugged, glancing away. "It’s doesn’t matter now."

  We were both quiet for a long moment as we people watched. The glances sent my way had slowly eased as the vultures found new prey to pick over.

  "Why are you still friends with her?" He asked quietly. "She treats you like shit."

  I huffed out a laugh. "Bess may seem selfish, but she’s actually a really good friend."

  "Bullshit. Pete was going to ask you out before she made her move."

  I didn’t answer.

  "You already knew…" He pushed off the table, turning to me fully. "You knew. When? When did you find out?"

  I raised a shoulder, watching an old lady pick over a tray of mini-quiches as if this were her most important decision ever.

  "And what?" Josh demanded. "You just chose to do nothing?"

  "I was going to ask you, you know?" Pete was drunk, his words tripping and slurring as he tried to communicate.

  Spring break, we were in Cancun with Bess and four of our friends. Bess was currently dirty dancing with a hot local across the bar. I’d been assigned as "sober sister" for the night. I didn’t mind. Pete and Bess had been "broken up" for over twelve months and finally, finally, I felt like this trip was my opportunity. No longer would I be shoved in the friend-zone. Tonight, I was making my move.

  "Ask me what?" I said, smiling indulgently. His blonde hair flopped adorably over his spectacularly blue eyes as he looked up at me, dopey smile in place.

  "To date." He slurred. "Me." His finger poked himself in the chest emphatically.

  I jerked back. "What? When?"

  "Originally." He replied, "But Besssh, she said you weren’t interested."

  My head whipped around to look at Bess gyrating against the local, then back to Pete. "What?!"

  "Yeasssh." He nodded, smiling tipsily. "Itsh okay. We were young. Now we’re not."

  "But it’s not true." I protested. "I wanted to. I am interested! I do want to!"

  He blinked at me. "But… Besh said-"

  "She lied!" I pushed up from the booth, slapping my palms on the table top. "I want to! I love-"

  Pete vomited. The technicolor drinks he’d consumed painted the table, the booth, and my torso.

  I gagged while Pete slummed back in the booth, staring at me in horrified fascination.

  "Schhhit." He drawled, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Schorry."

  I looked at him, then down to my vomit covered white top then back up. "I think I should get you home."

  "Oh my gawd! Petey, are you okay?" Bess appeared, helping him from his seat.

  "Yesch," He slurred, "But Molly is-"

  "Disgusting!" Bess wrinkled her nose. "I thought you said you weren’t drinking."

  "I didn’t. It’s Pete’s." I replied, attempting to ignore the squelch of my sandals.

  "Molly! Will you love me tomorrow?" Pete asked, arm snaking out to draw me in.

  "Of course." I said, hand wrapping around his back to help move him along. Bess trailed, gathering our things and flagging our other friends.

  "Will you go out with me, Molly McGee?" He said, calling me my nickname from childhood.

  "Always Petey Piper." I replied, smiling over at him. "All you had to do was ask."

  I’d gotten them all back to the hotel, cleaned myself up, then returned to the lounge room. Standing in the doorway, I’d taken one look at the scene and left, heartbroken. I’d spent the rest of the night lying in bed listening to Pete and Bess fuck while I cried myself to sleep.

  Best vacay ever…

  "Answer me, Molly!" Josh demanded, his voice drawing the eyes of those around us.

  "Cancun, spring break, junior year." I whispered, shooting smiles at the on-lookers. They waited and when we didn’t feed them further, looked away returning to their gossip.

  He stared at me. I vehemently ignored his force-like pull.

  "They were on a break." He frowned, starting to piece it together.

  "He vomited on me, asked me out then fucked her all night." I replied, smile still in place, looking anywhere but him. "They got back together. He doesn’t remember asking me out."

  Josh swore under his breath. "But she does?"

  "Of course." I paused to look over my shoulder at him. "And later admitted she only hooked up with him so I didn’t."

  I watched the shock cross his face.

  "But Josh," I placed a hand on his arm. "It doesn't matter. Anything I once felt for your brother is gone. I'll love them both as dear friends, but I'm not in love with them. Either of them." I forced an ironic smile. "I'm jealous of their relationship. They have someone to come home to. They have a partner." I chuckled, "I don't even have a goldfish." I nodded towards the dance floor. "Let's just drink and be merry for them, okay?"

  He stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes raking my face, searching for… reassurance? Truth?

  Finally, he nodded, settling back next to me on the table.

  We were silent for a long moment while the party flowed about us.

  "You know, I don't know why you're friends with her," he muttered.

  "Josh… being happy for them, remember?"

  He ran a hand through his hair leaving the strands standing on end. His disheveled appearance was so achingly nostalgic that I could help the warm feeling filling my belly.

  "So, how about them Cubs?" He finally asked, sealing our truce.

  I pasted a grin on my mouth, forcing the melancholy from my thoughts. I could do this. Be normal. Feel okay about my life.

  Liar, liar pants on fire.

  Chapter Two

  Molly

  I spooned another mouthful of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie while watching Elle Woods kick butt at Harvard. Two weeks post engagement announcement and I'd already been sucked into the wedding vortex that was Bess Kirkson.

  I didn't like to say bitches were crazy but all evidence pointed to a Stage Five Bridezilla.

  The day following the announcement a Tiffany-blue box had arrived on my doorstep, a black tote bag with Tiffany-blue trim, embroidered with my initials beautifully packaged within. The entire thing had exploded with glitter when I'd opened it, dousing me, my entry floor and my ceiling in blue shimmer. The bag also had a note asking if I would be her maid of honor, then requested that I attend a breakfast to meet and greet with the other bridesmaids… the following morning.

  Between then and now I'd already talked her down three times, negotiated a fight between her and Pete, helped interview thirteen wedding planners, and agreed to meet next week to view dresses.

  I deserved a night at home.

  "You tell 'em, Elle!" I lifted my spoon in toast, as Elle argued about sperm emissions being reckless abandonment. "I wish I had scented ink." I muttered, licking the spoon. "I should order some."

  My phone buzzed, a text from Bess lighting the screen. I thought about ignoring it for a moment then sighed. If I didn't answer she'd just start calling.

  Bess: You okay? You skipped yoga

  Me: Sure. Just a long week

&n
bsp; Bess: Okay but don't skip too many. You have a dress to fit into! <3

  I rolled my eyes. Please god let them decide to elope next week.

  Bess: I spoke to Mrs. McAndrews at a luncheon this week. Mentioned your charity-do. She's agreed to donate and will call you this week. Said Mr. McAndrews will buy two tables. Hopefully that will help?

  Me: OMG! You are the best! If Peter weren't marrying you, I would!

  This is why I loved Bess. She just quietly went about using her connections to help me, not even realizing how big an impact it would have.

  Bess: Speaking of which… Are you free next weekend?

  Me: Y?

  I straightened, gripping my phone. Was my wish about to come true? Were they willing to hit Vegas for a quickie wedding?

  Bess: I've signed you up for speed dating.

  I blinked at the screen. "Motherfucker."

  Me: WTF? Why would you do that?

  Bess: You need a date to the wedding.

  Me: Sam is coming!

  Bess: OMG you can't bring your brother! Besides, he's already invited.

  Bess: Just go to the event. It's been for-ev-aaaahhhh since you dated

  I mean… truth. I'd decided to get back out there following their announcement, but between work, Bess' near constant demands, and the pit of hell that was Tinder, I just hadn't found the will to date.

  Me: That's because I prefer fictional boyfriends to real ones

  Bess: Your fictional boyfriends never gave you an orgasm…

  Me: How do you know ��

  Bess: OMG TMI!!! Are you going?

  Me: Fine. Send me the deets. You owe me.

  Bess: Yay!

  An email notification appeared. I hesitated, finger hovering over the icon.

  "Ice cream isn't going to cut it." I heaved myself off the couch intent on searching for hard liquor. My cupboard held a veritable selection of alcohol. I perused the offerings for a moment then settled on something to complement my ice cream. Kahlua seemed like the best option. I headed to my computer, ice cream tub in one hand, alcohol in the other. Settling at the desk, I mixed a shot into my ice cream, scooping up a large spoonful of the slurpy mess before opening the email.