by Meika Usher
“Doesn’t matter,” I cut in. Because it didn’t. Also, because she’d probably punch me in the face if I told her I thought we’d die alone together.
“Okay.” She turned forward. “Weirdo.”
We arrived at her place a few minutes later, and she hesitated before she got out. “Listen,” she started, her face somber. I turned in my seat so that we were facing each other. “I don’t want to be that obnoxious friend who’s all happy and wedding-obsessed and manically trying to fix up my single friends. So, if it starts to look like I’m headed that way, I’m trusting you to put me in check.”
“Oh, trust me,” I said as I put the car in park. “I will check you so hard.”
“Okay. Good.” She unbuckled and reached for the door handle. “Those single girls I mentioned before? They all suck and totally aren’t good enough for you, anyway.” Then, she reached over and ruffled my hair. “‘Night, man.”
I watched as she disappeared into her apartment building, then pulled away from the curb, stomach sinking. My best friend was getting married. Around me, everyone was moving onto the next stage of their life.
And then there was me.
I exhaled in one quick breath. This right here. This was why Birdie was a bad idea. Because this loneliness I was feeling? It would only get worse the closer to Sunny’s wedding we got. And Sunny was right—I wanted something that meant something.
Birdie? She didn’t.
I could lose myself in her and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
Not to her, anyway.
14: Birdie
“You did what?”
I flashed a grin. I really shouldn’t enjoy scandalizing my best friend so much. “I don’t think I need to repeat that sentence.”
“Nate.” Chad planted his elbows on the table between us, his green eyes on my face. “Your sister’s best friend.”
“I know, I know.” I sank back in my chair and covered my face. “It just...happened.”
In the days following that drunken night, the implications slowly began to sink in. Now, a week and a half later, recounting the details to Chad—which should’ve been awkward, considering we dated for almost two years in college—it hit me: shit was gonna get weird with Nate.
Real weird.
“Nothing just happens with you, Bird.” Chad picked up his fork and stabbed his omelet. “Usually, there’s alcohol and impulsiveness involved.”
“Ahh, see.” I drummed my fingernails against my coffee mug. “The alcohol makes me impulsive. So...really, it’s alcohol’s fault.”
Honestly, though, I hadn’t had that much to drink. I wanted to say I was drunk. Being drunk would’ve been an easy scapegoat. Alas, I was not. Buzzed, yes. Drunk? No.
Nate was, though.
And he probably didn’t get drunk often.
“Ahh, shit.” I winced. “I took advantage of that poor guy, didn’t I?”
“I mean, yeah.” Chad popped a bite of omelet into his mouth and chewed. “He didn’t even get his rocks off. That’s pretty harsh.”
“Must you be so crude?” I jabbed my fork into the fluffy, unsuspecting pancakes in front of me. Chad and I met at Scramble for breakfast bi-weekly. He couldn’t get away much more than that, what with a pregnant wife and a toddler at home.
Man, it was bizarre to think about Chad as a father. We used to do the craziest things in college. All-night keg parties. Streaking through the neighborhood at three a.m. Getting shit-faced and making questionable decisions.
One of us had outgrown that last one. Clearly, it wasn’t me.
“I’m serious, though.” I sat my fork down before I could take a bite. “Nate’s not the kind of guy to do things like this. I can tell. He’s...he’s a nice guy.”
A nice guy who made me come so hard I saw stars.
I started to shove that thought aside, but then Chad said it out loud. Not in those exact words, but basically the same thing.
“He got you off without taking off a stitch of clothing. He’s not that nice.”
My body flushed, from my toes to the tips of my ears. I cleared my throat and stared hard at my breakfast. “You know what I mean, Chad. You’ve met him.”
“I have.” He pointed his fork in my direction. “Which is why I’m having such a hard time wrapping my brain around this whole...scenario.”
“You and me both.” I shook my head. Before that night, I had never thought of Nate—never looked at Nate—as anything more than the nice dude my sister wrote comic books with. I mean, sure. I noticed he was cute. But I didn’t do cute. Or nice, for that matter. And Nate was both.
And now I had to look him in the face, knowing he knew what my O face looked like.
“Jesus.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “What do I do?”
“Well.” Chad took a swig of his coffee and sat his mug down with a thud. “You’ve never been one to avoid situations. Something tells me you’re not about to start now.”
“I see the dude all the time,” I grumbled, sending a glare his way. “Obviously, I’m not going to avoid it. Couldn’t if I wanted to.”
Although, we’d both done a bang-up job of avoidance thus far. Almost two weeks had passed. A whole eleven days. And neither one of us reached out to the other. Silence.
Which surprised me not one bit, considering the utter look of panic on his face as he fled my apartment.
“Okay, so here’s what you do.” Chad leaned in again, eyes serious. “Next time you see him, you walk right up to him and say, Hey, remember that night you dry humped me to the best orgasm I’ve had in months? We should do that again. Only, maybe not so dry this time.”
I narrowed my eyes and contemplated using the fork at my fingertips as a murder weapon.
“Think of my unborn child,” Chad said, reading my mind. “Think of my already-born child.”
“You’re an asshole.” I shoved a bite of pancake in my mouth. “An unhelpful asshole.”
“Look.” He threw his hands up. “I just don’t see the problem here. You’re two consenting, single adults. You obviously have chemistry. Enjoy it.”
I chewed slowly, shooting daggers at my best friend. He made it sound so simple. “The last time I enjoyed chemistry, I ended up with Veronica.” I jabbed my pancakes again. “And we both know how that went.”
“Veronica was a controlling wench who wanted to turn you into her little puppet.” Chad shrugged. “You’re not that person anymore. You’d shank someone before you let them change you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Wench?”
“I stand by it.”
“Fair enough.” I twisted my lips into a wry smile. Ever since Chad became a father, his language had gotten...inventive. No more swears for this guy. It was actually quite adorable.
“You intentionally missed my point, though,” he said, leaning across the table to steal a bite of my pancakes. “If your issue here is that you think getting involved with someone with actual potential—and not your usual questionable fare—is going to somehow cause you to revert back to your old—“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I raised my hand, silencing him. “Don’t go all head-shrinky on me, man. It ain’t that deep.”
Chad rested his chin in his hand and grinned. “If you say so.”
I glared and grabbed my water glass. “You should’ve seen the way he fled my apartment.” I gulped from the glass. “Like he couldn’t get away fast enough.”
It shouldn’t have bothered me. It didn’t bother me.
Except that it did.
Usually, I was the one fleeing the scene. And my reasons for fleeing were never good. I thought about my last sort-of hookup. The Night of the Half-Boner. Dude couldn’t keep it up and all the sexual energy left the room in one hefty wheeze.
Not keeping it up, hadn’t been Nate’s problem. Not by a long shot. From what I could feel through his jeans, it was very much not his problem.
That meant...
“It doesn’t matter,” I said aloud, cutting off my thought process before it could si
nk its hooks in. I didn’t do self-doubt. Not where meaningless pseudo-flings were concerned.
“A little bit, though.” Chad stole another forkful of pancake. “Or else you wouldn’t be overanalyzing it.” He chewed his bite slowly, then added, “Which you clearly are.”
“Only thing I’m overanalyzing is how to put an end to your obnoxious rambling.” I slid my plate closer to me and scowled. “Now, stop stealing my pancakes, you thieving fuck, and let’s talk about something else.”
Chad laughed, loud and joyful. “Fine, fine,” he conceded, scooting his own plate closer to me. “Omelet?”
“I don’t want your pity omelet,” I grumbled, trying—and failing—to ignore the way his words burrowed into my brain like little truth parasites. “I’ve got pancakes.”
“Pancakes won’t fill that emptiness inside of you,” Chad said, hiding his smirk behind his coffee mug.
His wife would probably understand if I murdered him.
Pretty sure she would.
“And neither will murder.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, stabbing my pancakes instead.
They’d have to do.
15: Nate
Eight o’clock sharp, Cat and Jude’s apartment.
I glanced at the text again, then up toward the building. Sunny gave me very specific instructions in the text I received earlier this afternoon: not a second later than eight. Bring pizza—two large, one extra cheese and pepperoni, one with all the meat—and a six-pack of beer.
And, for the love of god, don’t be late.
I half expected her to give me a secret code to get inside.
Cat had organized a plan-the-wedding thing tonight. Which, uh, what was that, even? But I agreed to come, mostly because Sunny hadn’t given me a choice, but also because what kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t show?
The shitty kind, that’s what.
I rang the buzzer and readjusted my grip on the pizzas. If I had to be outside in the cold, at least I had pizza to keep me warm.
“They wrangled you in, too, huh?”
Shit.
I didn’t have to look to know who stood behind me. I didn’t have to look, but I did, anyway.
Birdie stood there, short black skirt, bright purple tights, and sexy-as-hell knee-high boots. I swallowed and pulled my gaze to her face. And tried not to notice the delicious pink flush in her cheeks.
Last time I saw her, I had put that flush there.
I forced my eyes away from her. Time and place, Nathaniel, I thought. And standing outside my best friend’s brother’s apartment was not the time to relive those moments. Never would really be an ideal time. But my brain had other plans.
I glanced back toward the building, silently urging someone to buzz us in. It had officially been a week since The Jizzening, and I still wasn’t prepared to face Birdie. “You know how, uh, convincing Sunny can be.”
“If by convincing you mean demanding, then, yeah.” Birdie’s voice was wry. “Sunny is super convincing. But at least you brought booze.”
The fingers of my other hand gripped the handle of the booze in question. “Have the feeling we’ll be needing it,” I muttered as heat crept up my neck and across my cheeks. Sunny did not mention her sister would be here tonight. Not that she had a reason to mention it. Any other time, it wouldn’t have mattered. But that was before.
Before I knew what those legs felt like wrapped around my waist.
Before I heard my name on her lips as she came.
Before I came. In my pants. And ran away.
I didn’t think it was possible for my cheeks to get any hotter. I was wrong.
Stepping forward, I hit the buzzer again. Come on, I urged someone—anyone. Open the damn door.
“So, uh,” Birdie started, and from the corner of my eye I saw her cross her arms over her chest. “You feeling better?” A pause. “All rested up?”
I winced. Glancing upward, I willed someone to open the damn door. Wedding planning hell with Cat was way more appealing than being out here with Birdie. Her eyes stared holes right through me, daring me to say something. Say the wrong thing. To lie again, like I had that night. I pressed my lips together and exhaled. “Birdie, I—”
Before I could finish, the door swung open and Ben greeted us with his trademark doofus grin. I nearly hugged him.
“Hey, you two.” He held the door open so we could enter, freeing me of the six-pack dangling from my fingertips. “Thanks for bringing the essentials.”
“Welcome,” I said to Ben as I followed Birdie inside. I forced myself to stare at the back of her head and not her ass. Because that skirt was doing all kinds of favors. Not that I’d noticed. Because I wasn’t looking at her ass. “So, what are we looking at here?”
AKA: How much is this going to suck?
I didn’t need to spell it out. Ben picked up on it. “Oh, it’s going to suck, my man. It’s going to suck hard.”
Ahead of us, Birdie said, “Shouldn’t the maid of honor be doing this stuff?” Glancing backward, she added, “I’d totally have done it. I just didn’t know I had to.”
“Wait.” I stopped. “You think you’re the maid of honor?”
Birdie turned to look at me from her place on the third step up. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Uh. No,” I shot back, thankful for the annoyance instead of the gut-wrenching shame. “That would be me.”
“How do you figure?” Birdie stepped to the left so that Ben could ascend the stairs to avoid our conversation. “I’m the sister. Clearly, I have dibs.”
“There are no dibs on maid of honor.” The sass that slipped into my voice would’ve embarrassed me if it weren’t for the sheer outrage I felt at Birdie’s assumption. “You can’t call dibs on maid of honor.”
Birdie’s lips quirked. Slowly, she dragged her eyes over me. “So, what? You’re gonna rock that bridesmaid dress, then?”
I straightened my shoulders, undeterred. “Sunny and I have already discussed it,” I said, my voice haughty. Seriously, Nate, I thought. Tone it down. You sound ridiculous. “It’s going to be magenta.”
“Magenta,” she repeated, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That’s mighty specific, man.”
“Hey, it’s not my wedding.” I slid passed her and started up the stairs. “I’ll wear whatever Sunny tells me to.”
“Screw that.” She followed up the stairs behind me. “If she tries to put me in a magenta dress—“
“And that’s why I’m the maid of honor,” I cut in, tossing a smirk over my shoulder.
Ahead of us, Ben chuckled. “I think you guys are gonna have to take this up with Cat,” he said as we reached our floor. “She’s definitely got an opinion.” He shoved the apartment door open and we followed him inside, exchanging looks.
“What do you think he means?” Birdie whispered, stopping next to me.
I caught a whiff of her, and had to stop myself from leaning in. How did she smell so sweet? Clearing my throat, I tilted my head toward the living room. “We’re about to find out.”
Slowly, we followed Ben into the room. It was like a wedding shop and a party planner made babies all over the place. Bridal magazines and fabric samples and flowers and travel brochures and...I didn’t even know what else. Everywhere. This stuff was everywhere.
“Uh...” I started, looking for a place to put the pizza.
“Over here,” Sunny called, holding out her hands.
I handed the boxes over and she sat them on her knees and opened the top box. “Come to mama,” she said, pulling out a slice from the all-meat pizza.
“So, Sunny,” Birdie said, taking the mostly empty seat next to her sister. “Nate here is under the misconception that he’s your maid of honor.”
“He is,” Sunny said around a mouthful of pizza. Not a second of hesitation.
I suppressed a fist pump and lifted my chin. Take that.
“We can’t have a dude as maid of honor,” Cat cut in, and all heads turned toward her. She sat in
the middle of the floor, surrounded by wedding debris, her long red hair in a sloppy ponytail, sweats and tank top and bare feet. I barely recognized her. “It’ll throw off the whole aesthetic.”
At this, Birdie straightened, a smug look settling in on her face.
“I don’t care about aesthetic,” Sunny interrupted as she polished off her pizza slice. “Nate’s my best friend. He’s the maid of honor.”
“But I’m your sister,” Birdie cut in, batting her eyelashes. Like that was going to do any good. Clearly, she didn’t know Sunny very well. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Oh, sure,” Sunny replied, going in for a second slice. “But Nate’s Nate. He’s my person.”
“Thanks, babe,” Ben called from his place in front of the TV, where he and Jude sat watching football. He lifted his water bottle in a mock-toast, but didn’t turn our way. “Love you, too.”
“Oh, shut up,” Sunny called back. “You’re my person. Nate is my person.”
“You are aware that makes no sense,” Birdie said, her dark brows sloping downward. “You can’t have two people.”
“I can and I do.” Sunny bit into her pizza. “And Nate is the maid of honor.”
“Nope.” Cat slid a binder full of fabric samples from her lap and stood. “Can’t happen.” She eyed me, from my scuffed sneakers to my messy hair. “He can be a groomsman, though. If he manages to find a comb.”
“Hey,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “I have a comb.”
“But do you know how to use it?” Cat countered, and Birdie snorted.
I glared first at Cat, then Birdie. But, instead of justifying their smart-assery, I turned to Sunny. “How’s the pizza?”
“Perfect,” she responded, lifting a slice in my direction. “Want some?”
“Absolutely.” I took the slice and the seat on the other side of Sunny, sandwiching her between Birdie and me. Then, we clinked pizza slices in a toast and each took a bite.
Cat eyed us from her place in the center of the chaos. “I’ll consider it,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s put a pin in it.”
I thought about telling her that it wasn’t her place to put a pin in anything, but, to be honest, Cat kind of scared me. And so I tilted my head her way and took another bite of my pizza.