Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2)

by Everly Ashton

  “On Sundays, I write letters to support the causes I believe in.”

  “Like what for example?”

  “Like to city council about the gentrification of the downtown area, or to the state about voter suppression in poorer neighborhoods, or to organizations that might have charitable donations for the shelter.”

  “You said ‘on Sundays.’ So this is something you do every Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  I open my mouth, a smartass remark on the tip of my tongue, but Marlowe’s words about being on my best behavior if I want to stay come back to me. So I shut my mouth.

  “No retort to that?” she asks.

  I shake my head, afraid if I open my mouth, what I’m really thinking will pop out.

  “Really. Nothing at all to say?” She baits me like she wants to spar.

  I press my lips together and shake my head. This is harder than trying to hold a load when a girl hasn’t come yet.

  “Hmmm.” She studies me for a moment, then leans forward to close the lid of her laptop.

  I shove another bite of omelette in my mouth because the urge to make a joke at her expense is immense. In all honesty, I enjoy our banter.

  “So what happened at your place? Marlowe said there was a fire.” She rearranges herself on the couch so she’s leaning against the back with one shoulder, facing me.

  She’s trying to be civil, so I guess I should give it a shot too.

  “The guy in the unit below me fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand. Dumbass.” I shake my head. “He’s not even supposed to be smoking in there. It’s in our leases.” I finish the last bite of my omelette and rest my fork on the plate.

  “Were you there when the fire started?”

  Is that concern I hear in her voice? No way.

  “Nah, I was just coming back from work. Rolled up to find the fire department already there.”

  “Oh well, that’s good.”

  “What, no crack about how you wish I was burned alive?” I stand and lift my plate off the table. Once again, Fiona’s eyes dart to my six-pack before meeting mine. “I saw you looking.”

  Her cheeks turn pink, and damn, if it’s not the cutest fucking thing. I bet that’s how she looks after she comes—except with messier hair.

  “Whatever. You’re standing there practically half naked. If I were doing the same, you’d look at me.”

  Damn right I would.

  “Oh, Squirt, now you’re just being cruel, tempting me like that.” I wink, which I know she’ll hate.

  With a huff, she grabs her laptop off the table and stands. “My name is not Squirt!”

  “Seems to me I remember—”

  “Shut. Up.” She takes her computer and stomps off down the hall, slamming her bedroom door a few seconds later. Probably to go write more of her letters.

  I chuckle as I bring my dish to the sink to wash it. I tried to get along with her. I really did. I can’t help it if I like seeing her all riled up.

  Six

  Fiona

  I arrive at work Monday morning earlier than I normally would for the sole reason that I don’t want to risk running into Keane in his underwear again.

  Want to know what the most annoying thing ever is? Being hot for the man you hate.

  But damn, the man has the body of a god. Like a real-life statue of David or something. It’s unfair that someone so annoying looks so delicious.

  And even worse, he knows it. He caught me peeking.

  At least I had the self-restraint to stop myself from checking out his package.

  So in order to try to preserve some of my dignity, I made sure to be gone before he would be up. Although he probably sleeps in. I don’t know, but I’m not willing to chance it.

  I check in with our weekend night manager, Colin, when I arrive. He’s just getting the men up and out the door.

  “How’d everything go last night? Any problems?” I ask as he wishes the last man to leave a good day.

  “No issues. Stan got a little rowdy right before lights out, but I was able to calm him down. I think he might be off his meds.”

  Stan is one of our regulars. He’s a sweet man, but he has PTSD—along with some other issues from what he’s said. Sometimes he doesn’t take care of himself.

  “Okay, I’ll look for him at meal service today and see how he’s doing. Anything else I need to know?”

  “I don’t think so. None of the volunteers called in, so everyone should be here today.”

  “Awesome. Well, I’m going to get these blankets into the wash before I start my day.”

  “I can help you with that,” Colin says.

  I wave him off as I walk to the far end of the large room to grab the laundry cart. “I can do it. No worries.”

  “You sure?”

  I grab the large plastic bin and roll it over to the first cot, reaching for the blanket. “Absolutely.”

  Colin stretches with his hands above his head and yawns. “All right then, thanks a lot.”

  “I’ll see you next Sunday. Have a good one.”

  “Same to you.”

  I wave goodbye to him then continue down the rows of cots, throwing each of the blankets in the cart. We have room for 125 men to stay here every night, but by the number of blankets, we weren’t full last night. I’ll have to check how many people registered.

  Once I’ve collected all the blankets, I load the first bunch in the washer donated to us by a local big box store. After I wash and dry my hands, I head to my office to check for any emails and voicemails to deal with before the volunteers arrive.

  The morning passes quickly. One volunteer cleans and disinfects everything in the sleeping quarters from the night prior and finishes the laundry while the rest work on getting lunch ready. Lunch is actually served at eleven, so it’s more of a brunch. Guests are required to check-in because people can only attend lunch or dinner, not both. I wish we had the resources to feed everyone three full meals a day, but we don’t.

  I’m on the phone for part of the morning, trying to arrange more donations of toiletries, socks, and underwear, then I join the lunch line to help feed everyone.

  I’ve managed not to think of Keane or his abs once since I arrived at work. Okay, maybe once, but that’s all. Which means they weren’t that impressive.

  After we’ve cleaned up from lunch, I say goodbye to the morning volunteers and head to the office to eat my own lunch before the afternoon volunteers arrive.

  I’m surprised to find Jerica waiting inside. “Aren’t you a little early?”

  Her lips press together and a line forms between her brows, but she doesn’t say anything.

  I close the door behind me. “Is everything okay?”

  Tears rim her eyes, threatening to fall.

  “What is it?” I step over to her and place my hand on her shoulder. I’ve never seen her upset like this.

  “It’s my mom. She’s sick.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. What’s going on? Did you just find out?” I lead her over to the chair in front of the desk and sit down beside her.

  “She just found out this morning. Had a follow-up at the doctor’s office. I guess something came up on her mammogram and so they did a follow-up ultrasound. Ran a few other tests and the doctor said it’s definitely breast cancer. I didn’t even know all this was going on. She only told me because she’s going to have a mastectomy and do some chemotherapy and there’s no way she can continue to hide what’s going on.”

  Her face crumples and I rub her back, trying to soothe her as best I can. I know Jerica and her mom are close—she talks about her all the time.

  “I’m sorry. That’s terrible news, but from everything you’ve told me about your mom, she sounds like a strong woman. She’ll get through this.”

  The first tear runs down Jerica’s cheek and she wipes it away. “I can’t believe I didn’t know she was dealing with any of this. She must have been so scared, waiting for the test results to come back.”
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  “I’m sure she was just trying to spare you from worrying in case it was nothing.”

  She nods. “She always puts everyone else first. It’s time for her to let other people help her.” She shifts in her seat to face me, and my hand drops from her back. “Which is why I’m here early. I need to ask you something.”

  “Anything. How can I help?” I ask.

  “I wondered if there was any chance you’d switch shifts with me—you work the overnight and I’d work the day? My dad works nights too, and I hate the idea of my mom being all by herself at night. Especially after her surgery. And what if she’s sick from the chemo and no one is there to help her? She always took such good care of me when I was sick and I—”

  I squeeze her hand. “Consider it done.”

  Her eyes tear up again. “Are you sure?”

  How can I say no when anguish fills her eyes? “I’m sure.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She jolts forward and wraps me in a hug, squeezing tightly.

  “You just concentrate on getting your mom well, okay?”

  She pulls away and nods rapidly. “I owe you one, Fiona. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  “Don’t mention it. Do you want me to stay and work your shift tonight?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’d rather be busy. Try to keep my mind off of it. Mom’s treatment hasn’t started yet.”

  “Okay, no problem. But if that changes, you let me know.”

  “I will.” She stands from the chair. “I’m going to go tell my mom the good news. I’ll see you in a few hours before my shift starts.”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  She leaves the room in a hurry and I lean back in the chair, enjoying the warm feeling in my chest, the one that’s ever-present when I’m able to help someone.

  The sensation extinguishes like ice water on hot coals the moment I realize that this means I’ll now be working a similar schedule to Keane and we’ll be alone in the apartment with each other every day.

  Crap. It’s true what they say—no good deed goes unpunished.

  Seven

  Keane

  I turn the channel from the Food Network to ESPN. So far today, I’ve managed to talk to my landlord (my apartment won’t be ready to move back into any time soon), grab a few basic items to wear (I think I’ll do online shopping from here on out because I hate the mall), make a list of everything I need to replace right away (a phone charger is at the top of my list because apparently my sister turned back to her bratty thirteen-year-old self when I stole hers), and go grocery shopping (these girls don’t know how to properly stock a fridge). Not bad for my day off.

  I click off the TV. I’m about to head into the kitchen to prepare something for dinner when my phone buzzes next to me on the couch. When I pick it up, my mom’s name is on the screen.

  Shit. I know what this is about. I’m sure she’s spoken to Marlowe, who’s told her that I’m living with her and why.

  It wasn’t like I was going to hide from my parents the fact my apartment nearly burnt down, but I’ve been putting off calling them because I’m sure there’s some way they’re going to make it my fault the fire happened in the first place, even though I wasn’t even there. My parents love me and we have a decent relationship, but they always think the worst of me.

  Deciding it’s better not to put off the inevitable, I slide my thumb over the screen and accept the call. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Honey, I was just talking to Marlowe at work and she told me what happened. Are you okay?”

  I should hang a sign out the window for psychic readings to earn that two hundred grand. “I’m fine. I wasn’t even home when it started.”

  She exhales roughly. “Even so, you should have called me right away.” Her tone is chiding.

  “And what would you have done all the way from down there?”

  My parents moved to Georgia as soon as Marlowe and I were out of the house. My mom suffers from arthritis and her condition worsens with the cold weather we have here in the northeast.

  She huffs. “This is still something you should’ve told your father and me.”

  “I’d planned to call you. I’ve just been a little busy buying clothes to wear, replacing all the necessary items, and finding somewhere to live.”

  “Oh yes, I heard your sister took you in. I hope you thanked her. It’s so big of her to do that for you.”

  I try really hard not to resent my sister for the way she’s placed on a pedestal by my parents. It’s not her fault and she’s never relished the position, so the two of us have a good relationship. But sometimes, it’s hard to swallow.

  My hand tightens around the phone. “Of course I thanked her.”

  “Good. Do you have any idea how the fire started?”

  “The guy in the apartment underneath me fell asleep with a cigarette in his mouth. He got out okay and called the fire department.”

  “Oh wow. Well, I’m glad he’s okay.” She pauses. “Didn’t you tell me you caught him smoking in the stairwell before?”

  “Yeah, I saw him that one time.”

  “You’re not supposed to smoke in your building, right?”

  Here we go…

  “Nope.” I stand from the couch and push a hand through my hair while I pace.

  “Well, maybe if you’d informed the landlord that he was smoking, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You’re not really trying to blame this on me, are you?”

  No way. It’s not even remotely my fault.

  “I’m just saying that with a little initiative on your part, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Like that time you forgot Marlowe at school and the principal called me out of an important meeting.”

  Heat flushes through my body and my muscles quiver. But I don’t bother fighting back anymore. I’ve learned the hard way that it won’t make any difference. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”

  “Oh, don’t get all sensitive on me, Keane. I’m just suggesting.”

  “Well, as you can hear, I’m fine. No one was hurt, and besides losing everything I own, life will go on.”

  “Did you have the good sense to have renter’s insurance on your belongings?” she asks.

  I clench my free hand and wave my fist in the air to try to relieve some of the anger coursing through my veins. “Of course I did. I spoke with the insurance company earlier today.”

  “That’s good at least.”

  I sigh. I love my mom, but I hate doing this with her. Both she and my dad still see me as the teenage screw-up. It seems like an identity I’ll never shake where they’re concerned.

  “How’s Dad?” I ask to change the subject.

  My mom launches into telling me how my dad spends most of his time on the golf course these days and brings me up to speed on what is going on in our extended family. By the time I hang up with her, I’m beaten down as always.

  I head into the kitchen to lose myself. It’s one of the reasons I began cooking in the first place. When I’m in the kitchen, everything that’s bothering me falls to the wayside and it’s just me, a bunch of ingredients, and the potential of what they can be.

  I decide on a vegetable lasagna, since that way Fiona will be able to have some as well. Marlowe will see I’m trying. Not to mention, the last thing I need on top of losing everything I own is to lose my six-pack too.

  I pre-heat the oven. Once I’ve layered the sauce, lasagna noodles, and mix of veggies in the pan, I cover it with aluminum foil. The apartment door opens, and a few seconds later, my sister joins me in the kitchen.

  “Hey, just in time. I’m about to put this in the oven.”

  She cringes. “Sorry, I have a date. But save me some. If it’s anything like my last few dates, I won’t make it through starters.”

  I open the oven door and glance over my shoulder. “That bad?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “The last guy I went on a date with asked how I felt about polygamy.”

  I c
huckle and open a few drawers, searching for the oven mitts.

  “Left of the stove,” Marlowe says.

  “Thanks.” I open the drawer and find a pair of pink oven mitts with white roses printed on the fabric and slide them on my hands.

  “That’s a good look for you,” Marlowe says.

  “Screw you.” I slide the lasagna pan in the oven and shut the door before setting the timer to fifty-five minutes. I set the oven mitts on the counter. “Where’d you meet this guy you’re going out with tonight?”

  “Same place I always meet them. On a dating app.”

  “Maybe you should try something else since that doesn’t seem to be working for you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I have to change. I’m meeting him in forty-five minutes.” She turns and leaves the kitchen.

  “Make sure you let me know where you’re going and leave the guy’s name and stuff,” I call after her, reaching into the fridge for a beer.

  She doesn’t bother answering me, and her bedroom door closes as I reach the living room. I sit back down on the couch and turn on the TV, flipping through channels until I come upon a documentary about World War II.

  A half hour later, the apartment door opens again. I look over my shoulder to see Fiona drop her keys onto the small table near the entryway and hang her spring coat and purse on a hook.

  “Hey,” I say.

  I like what she’s wearing today. She has on a pair of fitted jeans, a tight plain black T-shirt, and nude sandals with a bit of a heel. It’s hard not to notice the way the fabric of her T-shirt stretches across her medium-sized chest. Hell, it’s always been hard not to notice Fiona, no matter what she’s wearing.

  “Hi.” She plops down on the chair beside the sofa, exhaling roughly and crossing her arms.

  I sneak a quick peek at the way that makes her tits hike even further up, then I concentrate on the TV. “Rough day?”

  “Why do you say that?” she snips.

  And here I thought we were trying to play nice. Fuck the vegetable lasagna.

  “You seem extra pissy tonight.” I don’t look at her, but I feel her shooting daggers my way.