My Best Friend's Ex

by Meghan Quinn

  “No, I’m not in Whitney Point. I’m actually,” I swallow hard and stare down at my coffee, “living with Tucker.”

  Inwardly I cringe, unable to make eye contact with Sadie.

  “Tucker? Tucker Jameson?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I nod.

  “Oh, how did that happen?”

  I glance up at Sadie and take her in. She doesn’t seem mad, so I say, “I was at a bar with Logan and Adalyn, drinking my sorrows away about not being able to find a place when I saw Tucker. He was by himself so I went over to see how he was doing. We got to talking, well, Adalyn actually let her big mouth flap and mentioned my homelessness, which spurred Tucker into offering me a room in his house. It wasn’t my first option, it was my only option.” I quickly add, “I’m sorry if—”

  “Why are you sorry? You needed a place to stay.”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe because almost every waking minute of my days are spent daydreaming about your ex-boyfriend’s lips on mine. “Just seems a little weird since you and Tucker were together for so long.”

  “Yeah, but there is nothing between us anymore. And we were all friends before Tucker and I became an item. I’m just glad you’re rooming with someone you know rather than a random stranger.”

  “But . . .” I pause. “It’s in the house he bought for you.”

  Sadie stares down at her coffee. “Yes, but that house was never my home, Em. It was a beautiful gesture, and maybe if I never miscarried, we would have made a lovely home out of it but that’s not how our future rolled out. I can’t think of the what-ifs with Tucker. But you know what, I can be grateful that he has a friend like you to lean on, someone to keep him company in that house.” As if she’s reaching into my soul, Sadie asks, “How’s he doing?”

  How is Tucker doing? How do I even answer that question? He has his good days and bad days. He doesn’t seem to be fully over Sadie, but then again, there are moments of clarity and calm in his eyes that make me think the demons of his relationship with Sadie might be dissipating. How can he touch me, kiss me, hold me so fully if he’s still invested in Sadie? Is that possible? It’s so confusing.

  I shrug, not really sure how to answer. “He seems to be doing okay.” He likes to kiss me a lot, and I want to climb him like a tree and meet his nine inches. Oh, and he looks really good in nothing but a pair of briefs, but that’s neither here nor there.

  Sadie sighs and leans back in her seat. “I worry about him. Last time I spoke to him was when he showed me the house. He tried to give us one more chance but I had already moved on by then, my heart had already fallen for Andrew.” Sadie shakes her head. “All I want is for him to find peace, Em. Do you think he has?”

  Peace? Ha, not even close. There is no peace in that man, only anguish, maybe a little bit of playfulness, and a whole bunch of pent-up frustration.

  I can’t help but wonder what he would be like full of peace. Full of happiness. How different would he be? I feel I’ve seen glimpses. When he’s completely focused on me and waiting for my reaction, especially when he teases me. It’s hard to imagine, and yet, I want to be the girl who helps him find peace, who helps ease the heartache from his soul, the girl who helps turn his house into a home.

  And that realization hits me hard, right in the heart. I want him to meet me at the side door with that smile on his face. The one that stole my breath as if my arrival home was the best thing that had happened in his day.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” I answer honestly. “But I’m trying to help.”

  “Glad you’re there, Em. He needs a friend to pull him out of the darkness.”

  A friend; why does that word feel like acid on my ears?

  Maybe because I don’t want to be his friend.

  Maybe because I want to fuck him in every room of his house.

  Maybe because I want breakfasts, weekends, and happiness . . . with him.

  Maybe because I want so much more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  TUCKER

  “Come on, man. It’s the one Sunday I have off,” Racer complains into the phone. “I don’t get many days off and when I do, I want to get wasted with my friends while watching hockey and eating fucking Little Debbie oatmeal patties by the box. Is that too much to ask?”

  I button up my jeans and feel them hang off my hips but not enough that require a belt. Shirtless, I bend at the waste and lace up my brown boots.

  “Sorry, Racer. I have plans with Emma.” I really have no idea if she’s available, but I planned a day for us and I’m hoping she’ll put the books down for a day and join me. I’m not ashamed to use my body as a weapon against her, hence the reason I’m waiting to put my shirt on. I think asking her shirtless will better my chances. Is it wrong? Yes, on all levels, but am I desperate to get out of this house with her and spend some time together? More than anything.

  “Of course you have plans with Emma. When did you two start dating?” His tone is snide. I don’t blame him. He really doesn’t get many days off, and we’ve often spent them together, so I can understand his frustration. But there is always Smalls.

  “We’re not dating. We’re just . . .” What are we? On the verge of sexual combustion? Pretty much. At times I wonder why I’m holding back. I just, whenever I go near her bedroom, I can’t help but look at the room opposite hers and think about what I lost. And I really don’t want to bring Emma into my bedroom when I still have Sadie on my mind; it wouldn’t be fair to her, but hasn’t prevented me from touching and kissing her every chance I get. But is that fair?

  “Are you going to finish that sentence?”

  I blow out a long breath and run my hand over my jaw “Shit, I really don’t know. I want her, Racer. I want her so bad, but I can’t seem to let the past go.”

  “Sadie.” It’s one word but it means everything. He understands.

  “Yeah.”

  The whiney-bitch Racer disappears. “Tucker, it’s over, and you know I wouldn’t just say that. You have to move on, man. Easier said than done, I get that.” He sighs and says, “Fuck, fine, have your day with Emma, clear your head, enjoy the moment, but promise me something.”

  I chuckle. “I didn’t know I had to get permission from you.”

  “You always do. Remember that. Every major life decision goes through me.”

  “Noted.”

  “Good. Now that’s settled and I’m allowing you to abandon me on my day off, promise me this: you will take this day to actually enjoy yourself, enjoy Emma, and for one day, for twenty-four hours, forget the past and experience the present. Can you do that for me, penis breath?”

  Jesus. I chuckle to myself and think about what he’s asking me. Twenty-four hours of forgetting everything behind me. Can I do that? Hell, I want to try. Maybe I’ll finally be able to breathe.

  “Twenty-four hours? Easy.”

  “Better be, especially with Emma at your side. Now hang up before I change my mind.”

  “Enjoy your day off, don’t get too fat from Little Debbie.”

  “Metabolism of a fucking god, dude. There is no fat on this body.”

  Such a dickhead. I hang up the phone and snag a black sweater and my leather jacket from my closet and head downstairs. Emma’s door is closed so I give it a light knock.

  “Come in.”

  I already know she’s settled in for studying because her “calming candle” is lit and the scent started to float up the stairs to my bedroom. When I walk in, sure enough, she’s parked on her bed, legs crossed, hair over her shoulders and a highlighter in her mouth.

  “Hey. What’re you doing?” It’s a stupid question, because it’s obvious, but I want to gather her attention.

  When she looks up, her brows pinch together as she takes in my shirtless body. Waving a pen in my direction she asks, “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  Not looking to be coy at all, I answer, “Because I have a question to ask you and thought it would be harder for you to say no if I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
>
  She snaps her book shut and sets it to the side. “You don’t play fair, Jameson.”

  “Never claimed to.” I walk toward her bed and link our hands together, pulling her to her feet. Her eyes search mine as I say, “I want to get out of here for the day and I want your company.”

  “But I have to study,” she replies weakly.

  “Not an excuse.”

  She laughs. “My student debt begs to differ.”

  “Are you saying no?”

  “I’m saying I have to study.”

  Having zero shame, I place her hands on my chest and say, “But can’t you see that I’m asking you with no shirt on?”

  “Yeah, and maybe if you took care of me yesterday in the kitchen instead of teasing me, your shirtless tactic might actually work on me. But I see through you, Tucker. You’re a ball of tease.”

  Damn.

  Plan B.

  I take a step closer and start to move my hands up her back, getting ready to really make a move. I lean my head forward, lips wet, and ready when she palms my face, stopping my pursuit.

  Strong-arming me away, she says, “Nice try, but your attempt has been blocked. Now, please excuse me while I get back to my books; at least they give me what I want.”

  She’s playing hard to get. Fair enough, I deserve it.

  “Yeah, and what do you want from me?” I link my thumbs in my belt loops, dipping my pants a little lower, it doesn’t go unnoticed by her.

  She clears her throat and turns toward her books, settling on her bed again. “You know what I want from you.”

  “Can you be clear? I tend to forget things.”

  She eyes me for a second and shakes her head. “If you can’t remember what I want then there is no hope for us.”

  I snap my finger and say, “Ah, you know what? I have a faint memory of your hard nipples rubbing against my chest. Does it have anything to do with that? Or the way my cock rubbed against your wet center? Didn’t think I noticed? Babe, I could feel your heat through your pajama pants.”

  Her mouth falls open only to be quickly shut. “You did not.”

  “I did. And I also heard you last night as you came around your vibrator.”

  Once again, her mouth falls open, but this time her face blushes an embarrassing shade of red. Caught . . . jill-handed.

  “No need to be shy about it, babe. It was hot, so hot that I jacked off to it.” I shrug and start to walk toward the door. Instead of teasing her, which only gets a good blush out of her, I try for honesty. “I really just wanted to spend a day with you, away from everything. Just you and me. But I get it, school comes first . . .”

  I head out into the hallway when I hear her groan. “Fine, I’ll go if I can study in the car.”

  I peek my head back into her bedroom and give her a big smile. “Deal. We leave in fifteen, babe.” I wink and head to the banister to don my shirt. She put up more of a fight than I expected, but hell, that was fun.

  Twenty-four hours, I can do this, especially with Emma by my side.

  ***

  “I thought you were going to be studying the whole way.” I tease Emma who’s had her head turned, looking out the window for the past ten minutes.

  Huffing, she turns back to her book and says, “How am I supposed to study when there are so many pretty houses to look at?”

  “You’re not. So put the book down and enjoy the view. What are you really going to retain in the next few minutes anyway? Sometimes it’s a good idea to rest the brain, babe. Have fun with me today, pick up the book tomorrow.”

  She sighs heavily and caps her highlighter. She sets her book on the ground and says, “You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

  I link our hands, pressing our palms together. “Nah, I’m good for your studious soul and you know it.” I playfully squeeze her hand. “Why doesn’t DJ Jazzy Nurse Tits find some good music for us? And when I say good music, I mean it. None of this One Direction crap.”

  “Oh please, you like them.”

  “I really don’t, but thanks for trying. Hook your phone up to my radio and play me the best you’ve got.”

  “Hmm, okay.”

  I glance over at her and I swear her smile stretches as wide as a Cheshire cat. What is she up to?

  She takes a few minutes to flip through her phone. “Really taking your time there, aren’t you?”

  “Just making sure I impress, that’s all. Can’t have DJ Jazzy Nurse Tits letting you down. Which by the way, I’m still not committed to that name.”

  “Too bad I am.” I squeeze her knee, which causes her to buckle over and laugh. “Fuck, are you ticklish?”

  “Badly.”

  “Huh.” I can’t help my smile. “Looks like I can have fun with that later.”

  “Go ahead,” she answers nonchalantly. “Hope you like getting kicked in the balls, because that’s what’s going to happen if you try to tickle me.”

  “Vicious.”

  She chuckles and then says, “Ah, found it. Are you ready for this?”

  “Lay it on me, babe.”

  The sound of a single guitar strums through the speakers of my truck and it immediately pulls my attention just as a male, folky type voice matches up with the strum of the guitar. I’ve never heard the song and I’m kind of fucking shocked it’s on her phone. This doesn’t sound like the kind of music she listens to.

  The song plays out, little strums, followed by some background piano, it all works. Fucking catchy as hell.

  When it ends, Emma turns her body in her seat and says, “What did you think?”

  She’s practically bouncing on her seat, waiting for my opinion.

  Not answering right away, she gets frustrated and pokes my shoulder, causing me to laugh. “Fine. I liked it. You shocked me actually; I didn’t think you were going to pick something so soft. Good choice. Who was it?”

  Her smile grows even wider. “Niall Horen. The song is called This Town.”

  “Niall Horen. Is he new? I’ve never heard of him. I like his voice.”

  “You’ve heard him before.”

  “Have I? What song?”

  “Any One Direction song I’ve ever played. It’s his first solo song.” The cackle that follows her confession is actually quite endearing because it’s a full-on belly laugh, as if she just caught me with my pants down, willy out, dawning a fucking duck hat on my dick.

  When her laughter starts to die down a little, I say, “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

  She wipes her eyes. “I do actually. Tucker loves One Direction,” she singsongs.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.” I turn into Main Street in Skaneateles, New York, and start searching for parking. “I don’t like New Direction, but am I starting a little boy-crush on Niall? Well, I’m not going to deny that.”

  Once again her laughter fills the cab of my truck and I can’t help but soak up the beautiful sound, loving this day already . . . even if it’s at the expense of my manhood.

  ***

  “How cold do you think that water is?”

  I have my arms wrapped around Emma’s shoulders, her back is to my chest, and I’m holding her tight as I lean my head over her shoulders and take in the expanse of Skaneateles Lake.

  “Freezing, babe. There might not be snow on the ground right now, but it’s cold.”

  “Like I would get a black foot if I stepped in it kind of cold?”

  “Yeah, black foot-worthy for sure.”

  “Only one way to find out.” She shifts and then nods her head at the lake. “Go ahead, give it a go, you can be my guinea pig.”

  I squeeze her tighter and kiss the side of her head. It’s insane how easily I can be affectionate with her. I don’t even give it a second thought. “You’re cute, but never going to happen.”

  “Not even if I asked sweetly?”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Why is dipping a toe in the freezing lake something you even want to do right now?”

 
She shrugs. “Just interested in the arctic.”

  That garners a laugh from my belly. “You’re interested in the arctic? It’s Upstate New York, Emma, not the northern most part of the earth.”

  “Sometimes it feels like that.”

  Can’t disagree with her on that. Living in Upstate New York is not for the faint at heart. You have to be ready to fight winter day in day out and the unpredictability of its cumulative snowfall.

  “I would say you should be used to it by now, but I can remember seeing you walk the halls in high school, bundled up from head to toe. You had this red winter hat with a pom-pom on top that almost seemed like it covered your entire head. The only reason I knew it was you under that hat was because you were the only one in the whole school who owned such a ridiculous piece of winter wear.”

  “Don’t you dare speak ill of that hat,” she teases. “Scarlet gave me many years of warmth.”

  “Gave? Do you no longer have the old girl?”

  She shakes her head and then rests it against my shoulder. “My cat, Marla Hooch, peed on it and once cat pee hits anything, it’s over. There was no saving it.”

  Laughing, I say, “Oh fuck, I forgot about Marla Hooch. You named her after your favorite player in “A League of Their Own.” She would piss on everything. She pissed on my backpack.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “The fuck she didn’t. We were all over at your house after school because you, Sadie, and Smilly were selling cookies for Christmas and wanted us to be taste-testers before you went out in public with your product. I went home with a very wet and very foul-smelling backpack. Luckily Saddlemire had a backpack he wasn’t using and gave it to me.” Thank God for my friends, because I was the kid with nothing. I made a little side money from working under the table for Julius and anything I made went straight to food and clothing for myself since my mom was MIA.