by Regina Kyle
“What happened to sisters before misters? Chicks before dicks? Besties before testes?”
“Nine, eight, seven—”
“I don’t want my brother to find out like this,” I blurt out, the tacit admission the quickest way I can think of to stop her from tapping the little blue arrow that sends her text through cyberspace to Jake. “It should be me that tells him. Or Connor.”
She hesitates for a second, then swipes the screen and puts the phone back in her purse. “Fair enough.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. That was close. Too close. “I can’t believe you’d out us to my brother. I know you’re marrying him, but I met you first. And you wouldn’t even be with him if I hadn’t hired you to help take care of Roscoe.”
She gets a dreamy look in her eyes and her lips quirk into a wistful smile. “For which I’m eternally grateful to you and that big, lovable doofus. The dog, I mean. Not your brother. I don’t know what I would have done if your parents hadn’t decided to leave him with us after the cruise.”
“If you’re so grateful, how could you threaten to tell Jake I’m sleeping with his best friend?” I ask.
The dreamy look vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cool, clear calculation. “That’s just it. I threatened. I never really intended to go through with it. I knew you’d fold like an ironing board.”
“Who even uses an ironing board anymore?” I grumble.
“My grandmother,” she answers quickly. “And my mother. Not that you’ll catch me using one. That’s what dry cleaners are for. But you’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“I threatened. You caved and confessed in a desperate attempt to stop me from spilling the beans to Jake. Just like I knew you would.”
Dammit, she’s right. I shake my head at her. “You’re diabolical, you know that? The CIA should use you as an alternative to waterboarding.”
“Thank you,” she says, spreading her arms wide and doing a little mock bow.
“That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.”
“Sounded like one to me.”
I shrug and reach for my beer. “Have it your way.”
My phone dings for a third time, diverting my hand from my glass. I guess the third time really is the charm because it’s Drew—finally—with my ass-crack-of-dawn call time.
I throw the phone into my purse, toss back the rest of my beer, and stand. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to run. Early call time tomorrow. I’ll text you with my schedule and we can figure out the dress shopping thing.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She stands and hugs me. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you guys. I think you’re a great couple, no matter what Jake says.”
I’m torn. Half of me wants to scream that we’re not officially a couple. The other half is ready to do battle with my brother over his objections, whatever they are, even though he’s miles away. He takes the whole overprotective thing to a new level.
“What does Jake say?” I ask, option for a neutral approach.
Ainsley bites her lip, clearly regretting having brought the subject up in the first place. “I’m sure he’ll make his feelings known when you tell him the big news. But one of you better do it soon. Because you know how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut.”
My stomach drops. I thought I’d bought us a little more time. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”
“Good. I’d hate to let something accidentally slip when Jake and I are—”
I hold up a hand. “Stop. I beg you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I was going to say when we’re playing Scrabble.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure you were.”
We laugh as we say our goodbyes, but inside I’m a mess. Because having to tell Jake means I have to let Connor know that our secret’s not a secret anymore.
And the truth is, I’m not exactly sure how he’s going to react.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Connor
“WHAT ARE YOU still doing here?”
I look up from my computer to see Jake lounging in the doorway of my office. My eyes flick to the clock on my screen, then back to him. “What are you talking about? It’s barely seven. That’s not late.”
“For the old, Connor, yes. The one who lived at the office until well past dinnertime. But not the new Connor, the one who’s been hightailing it out of here before the sun sets for the past few weeks.”
Fuck. I thought I’d been pretty stealth, sneaking off to spend nights with Brie when she’s not working. Tonight, she’s having some girl time with Ainsley, so I figured I might as well stay at the office and get some work done. Now I wish I had stuck to my original plan and gone home, even if it was to an empty apartment.
Funny, it never used to feel empty, even before Giselle moved in with me. I’m the kind of guy who has always valued what my mom called “alone time.” I like my own company. All I need is a good book on my e-reader or a half-way decent documentary on TV, and I’m good to go.
Or I was. But now, the thought of spending the night in my monstrosity of an apartment without my roommate seems worse than having a root canal without Novocain.
“Ainsley thinks it’s because you’ve got a new girlfriend,” my annoyingly persistent best friend continues, pushing off the door frame, plopping his ass in a guest chair, and propping his feet up on my desk.
Got it in one. Question is, she does have any theories on who the lady in question might be? And has she shared them with Jake?
I loosen my tie and undo the first couple of buttons on my dress shirt. When did it go so damn hot in here? I’m suffocating. “Ainsley needs to mind her own business.”
“If you can get her to do that, do me a favor and tell me how.” His toothy grin takes the sting out of his words. The guy is completely whipped. And loving it. “My fiancée is very strong-willed.”
“You can say that again.” I push his feet off my desk and shut down my computer. No use pretending like I can concentrate on work now. Not when Jake may or may not suspect that I’m fooling around with his baby sister.
“So is it true?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Are you seeing someone? How long has it been going on? Have you slept with her yet?”
“What are we, teenage girls? Are we going to do each other’s hair and paint our nails next?”
“We’re evolved men, comfortable discussing our thoughts and feelings.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And our women.”
Uh, yeah. Pretty sure you don’t want the deets on all the ways and places I’ve screwed your sister.
“Does this look like the locker room at the Y?”
I gesture around my tastefully decorated office, worthy of a spread in Architectural Digest. My eyes land on a framed photo of my mom and me on the bookshelf.
It’s a new addition. One of the ones in the box Brie rescued from my father. I’m about seven or eight and we’re at the beach, probably someplace in the Hamptons, splashing in the surf wearing matching swimsuits and broad smiles. Similar to the grin splitting my face now at the memory of how Brie surprised me by framing the photo and sneaking it into my briefcase one morning before I left for work.
Jake leans over my desk, lifts one of the silver balls on my Newton’s cradle, and lets it fall, starting the chain of balls in motion. “Dunno. Haven’t been to the Y in years. Not since I installed my home gym.”
I grab the Newton’s cradle and stop it, the rhythmic click-clicking already driving me crazy. “You know what I mean. I’m not giving you a blow-by-blow of my sex life.”
“No one asked for a blow-by-blow. I’d settle for who’s the girl and when did it start.”
“You’re not getting that, either.”
“Since when? We’ve shared that kind of stuff since we were in middle school.”
; Since the who is your sister and the when is when hell freezes over, as in I’ll answer your questions when hell freezes over.
I snag my mug off the desk blotter and drain the cold dregs of my afternoon coffee. “You did. I didn’t even date until tenth grade. And it’s not like there was all that much for me to talk about.”
He shrugs and stands. “Be that way. But I’m warning you. Ainsley’s a woman on a mission. And she has a way of making people talk.”
“Thanks for tipping me off.”
Jake leaves, and I lean back in my chair, tipping my head back to stare contemplatively at the ceiling. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little unsettled by our conversation. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of sneaking around. I want to man up and tell Jake about my relationship with his sister. We’re two consenting adults. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with us having a little fun together.
And maybe more than a little fun. Yeah, we’ve only been together for a couple of months. And no, our differences haven’t magically disappeared. She’s still the glittery, sparkly star attraction. I’m content waiting in the wings. But despite those differences, being with her feels right. It feels good. There’s window-rattling, mind-blowing, off-the-charts sex, sure. But there’s also easy laughter and casual touches and a comfortable, uncomplicated friendship I haven’t had with any other woman I’ve been intimate with.
Before I spill my guts about any of this to Jake, I need to talk to Brie. I’m not going public unless she’s fully on board. And it would be nice to know if she—like me—wants more than a short and steamy fling.
I sit up straight and grab my cell phone off my desk. I go to my recent calls and find her number—near the top, of course—but I stop myself before I hit send, remembering that she’s still with Ainsley, doing whatever it is women do when they get together. I don’t want to interrupt their female bonding time. What I have to say to Brie can wait a few hours.
I’m about to stash my cell in my back pocket and pack up my things to head home when it rings. A quick look at the screen tells me it’s Brie. Guess I won’t have to wait to talk to her after all. Although the more I think about it, the less I’m sure this is a discussion we should be having over the phone.
“Houston, we have a problem,” she says when I pick up.
I drop the file I’ve been working on into my briefcase and sit back down in my desk chair, spinning it around so I’m looking out the window at midtown. I love this time of day, when the sun has set and the city lights are coming to life.
“You and Ainsley get yourselves in trouble? Do I need to bring bail money?”
“Not me and Ainsley. She left a few minutes ago. I’m taking about me and you.”
I spin my chair back toward my desk. “What’s wrong?”
She drops her voice to a whisper so I have to strain to hear her. “Ainsley knows.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Knows what?”
“About us.”
“How?”
There’s a long pause, then she lets out a long sigh that reverberates across the phone line. “I told her.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “You what?”
“I had to. She saw our picture on my phone. I tried to convince her it was nothing, but she wasn’t buying it. She was going to tell Jake. Apparently, they had some sort of stupid bet on whether we were going to hook up.”
I pick up a pen and start nervously clicking it. “He was in here a few minutes ago sniffing around. Asked me if I had a new girlfriend.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I stalled him.” I throw the pen down on the blotter. “Do think Ainsley told him and that’s why he was asking questions?”
“No. She promised me she wouldn’t, at least until we’ve had a chance to tell him ourselves, and I trust her. But one of us has to. Soon. She won’t hold off forever.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I rest my elbows on the desk. “Truth is, I wanted to say something when he came in here tonight. Only I couldn’t do that without talking to you first.”
“You did? Really?”
She sounds surprised and maybe a little hopeful. Now I regret even more that we’re having this conversation over the phone and not face-to-face so I could read her expressions and body language.
“Really. Why are we being so damn furtive? We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“You’re right. We’re not.” She hesitates, and I can picture her twisting a lock of her hair around her finger like she does when she’s deep in thought. “But I’m not sure Jake will see it that way.”
“I’ll make him see it that way,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I push back from my desk and stand. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“Wait.” Her voice has gone from surprised to panicked. “You’re going to tell him now?”
“Why not? You said it had to be soon, right? And what’s sooner than the present?”
“Do you want me to come over there? I could hop on the subway and be there in twenty.”
“No.” I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “This is something I have to do on my own.”
“Let me guess. The bro code.”
“What do you know about the bro code?”
“I’ve seen The Hangover.” She pauses again, and I can hear traffic noises in the background. “So what are you going to tell him? That we’re—hooking up?”
Hooking up. The words sound wrong coming out of her mouth. Cheap. Dirty.
I perch my ass on the corner of my desk and rub the back of my neck with my free hand. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“You tell me.”
I want to, but I also don’t want to scare her off. So I go for the soft sell. “I hope it’s a little bit more than that. It is for me. But we don’t have to define it, or put a label to it, if you’re not ready.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell Jake? That we’re not putting a label on it?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“He might not like it. You might wind up with a black eye. Or worse.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
For you.
“I’m not sure I am. I’d hate to see that pretty face all banged up.”
My hand moves from my neck to scrub across my jaw. The end-of-day stubble scratches my palm. “You think my face is pretty?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she says, laughing. “You’ve got a mirror. You know you’re good-looking.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it once in a while.”
“Just call me when the dust has settled and you’re on your way home. That way I can make sure I’ve got an ice pack and some ibuprofen handy.”
“Will do.” I push myself off the desk and start toward the door. “But I won’t need them. Jake’s been my best friend for over twenty years. He might be surprised at first, maybe even pissed, but he’ll get over it.”
He has to. Because I’m not backing down. I’m not going to let some stupid unwritten bro code stop me from seeing where this thing with Brie is going.
I end the call and head down the hall to Jake’s office. I don’t bother knocking—he never does—and waltz in, unannounced. He’s standing with his back to the door at the mini bar, pouring himself what looks like a scotch.
“Drinking on duty?” I ask.
He turns to me and lifts his glass. “You know the club has a strict no-alcohol-while-on-the-clock policy. This is iced tea. Want some?”
I hold my hand up. “I’m good, thanks. Have you got a second, or are you heading down to the floor?”
“Too early for that. I don’t usually go downstairs until after ten. That’s when things start hopp
ing.” He gestures to one of his guest chairs. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand. This won’t take long.” I hope.
He shrugs and sits on the corner of his desk. “Suit yourself. What’s up? Did the booze distributer screw up our order again?”
“No, nothing like that.” I change my mind and decide to take a seat. It’s either that or start pacing the room, which would only make me more on edge than I already am. “You asked me earlier if I was seeing anyone.”
“Yeah. And you skillfully avoided answering me.”
“That’s because the person I’m seeing is someone you know.”
His forehead creases in a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re back together with Giselle.”
I frown right back at him. “It’s not Giselle.”
“Thank God. You dodged a bullet with that one. I never liked her. She’s way too high maintenance. Even her name screams pampered princess.”
“You’re the one who practically forced me to ask her out.”
“That was before I got to know her.”
“You could have told me you felt that way earlier. Like maybe before I asked her to move in with me.”
“Would you have listened?” He quirks a brow at me as he sips his iced tea.
I chuckle. “Probably not.”
“If it’s not Giselle, then who is it?”
“I’m not sure you’re going to approve of her any more than my ex.”
“Why? Is she a demanding diva, too?”
“Not exactly.” Damn, I wish that was scotch he’d offered me. To hell with the no-alcohol-on-the-job policy, I could really use a stiff drink right now. I take a deep breath and plunge on. “It’s your sister.”
He chokes on his iced tea, spewing it all over the paperwork messily strewn his across his desk. If I’m a tad on the OCD side, Jake is a certified slob. I don’t know how he finds anything in this mess.
“You’re shitting me,” he says, grabbing a napkin from one of his desk drawers and trying unsuccessfully to blot up the dark stains seeping into his papers.