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The Plus Ones
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Kayley Loring
All rights reserved.
COVER DESIGNER: Alyssa Garcia, Uplifting Author Services
COPY EDITOR: Jenny Rarden
BETA READERS: Neda Amini, LaLinc Proofreading, April Pryor
To the readers, bloggers, Facebookers and bookstagrammers
who email, message, mention and tag me.
Thank you for reminding me why it’s totally worth it to sit on my pale ass in front of a computer all day in my office,
instead of lying on a beach in the Caribbean…
Kilig:
A feeling of exhilaration or elation caused by an exciting or romantic experience.
-- Oxford English Dictionary definition of the Tagalog word
The feeling of butterflies in your stomach,
usually when something romantic or cute takes place.
-- LOST IN TRANSLATION definition by Ella Frances Sanders
Literally what I live for.
-- Kayley Loring
Prologue - Roxy
* Chase and Aimee’s Wedding *
Five Years Ago
Keaton fucking Bridges.
Look at him, all handsome and sweet over there, in that bespoke three-piece suit with that silver tie and his quivering voice. I’d almost like him if I didn’t hate him so much for giving a better toast than I did. I crushed it! But he’s killing it.
Okay, maybe my Maid of Honor speech was a tad on the overly emotional cheeseball side. Maybe I should have come better prepared. Perhaps I should have waited until after my toast to indulge in five glasses of champagne. But my best friend and former roommate is getting married to the love of her life. While pregnant. Things are changing. How else am I supposed to cope?
I didn’t even bring a date to this wedding. I couldn’t think of one guy I wanted to share this special night with. It’s weird that Keaton didn’t bring a date either.
Or not. Maybe it’s not weird. I mean, he did get his heart broken a few months ago. He probably isn’t over his ex-girlfriend yet. That’s probably why he’s so choked-up tonight.
“I’ve known Chase since we were in college,” Keaton says into the mic, “and he’s always been the guy everyone wanted to be around, the guy who made me a better person. But when he and Aimee are together, they become this metaphorical third thing that’s better than anything I’ve ever witnessed. They’ve created an awesome new home together, a successful new company, and now…” He pauses to clear his throat. Goddammit, his eyes are tearing up.
“Now they’re creating an actual third person for all of us to love, and I want you both to know that I will do anything I can for you and your family, always.” He looks down at Chase and grins at him. “You complete me. And she completes you. I love you, man.”
Fucking. Hell.
That was perfect.
That was the best Best Man toast I have ever heard.
He is so getting laid tonight.
Not by me.
Obviously.
I can’t stand him.
Mr. Hoity Toity Pretty Boy, my dad would call him.
Look at him over there. Doing a group hug with Chase and Aimee.
I’ll bet he thinks he’s their favorite.
He’s not the favorite.
I’m the favorite.
I’m the one who was never an immature, rich, entitled ass.
I’m the one who wasn’t a little shit to them two years ago when they first got together. Just because he wanted to date Aimee. He was such a dick!
He may have changed, but some of us don’t have to change.
Okay, maybe I should stop swearing so much if I’m going to be around Aimee’s kid once she has it.
But I’m the best best friend.
I’m the one who’d really do anything for Aimee and Chase and their future spawn.
Where’s Roxy’s group hug?
And where’s that waiter with my champagne refill?
“Roxy!” I hear Aimee call out. “Get in on this!” She waves me over to join the group hug.
I roll my eyes at her, even though I know that she knows that I am dying to get in on that. I get up slowly and trudge over to join Aimee, Chase, and Keaton fucking Bridges in an absolutely epic embrace. It’s fucking beautiful. God, we’re a bunch of cornballs tonight. If I didn’t love us so much, I’d be making fun of us so hard. If I weren’t so focused on how happy I am for my best friend, I’d knee Keaton in the balls for putting his hand on my waist like this.
I’ve never been this close to him before. It’s almost creepy how chiseled his jawline is. It is genuinely annoying how good he smells. Like the Barney’s men’s grooming and fragrance department. He smells like the opposite of my type.
“I feel like maybe we’ve hugged long enough now,” Chase mutters, but he waits for his bride to confirm and end the hug.
“Wrap it up, Gilpin,” I say and then immediately realize she’s a McKay now. “I mean—wrap it up, Mrs. McKay.”
“That’s more like it,” Chase grumbles, but he can’t stop smiling.
So fucking cute.
When Aimee and Chase drop their arms, Keaton slowly removes his hand from my waist, his fingers accidentally grazing my ass. If Aimee weren’t putting one hand on each of our faces and squeezing our cheeks, I would totally call him on it.
“I love you guys so much. Thank you for your beautiful speeches.” She kisses Keaton on the cheek and then kisses me on the cheek, and then she and Chase get pulled away by relatives, and Keaton and I are left standing here.
He nods at me. “Roxy.”
I roll my eyes—which is a mistake because it almost shakes a tear loose. “Keaton. Those are some friendly fingers you’ve got on you tonight.”
He winks and straightens his tie with those fingers. “If you’d like them on you tonight, just let me know.”
That’s what I thought.
But there’s something…something about the way he looks at me that hints that he’s not just being a cocky flirt. It makes me…step back and walk away.
I pass Aimee’s cousin, one of the bridesmaids, on my way to the ladies’ room. We smile and nod at each other. I overhear her telling her friend that she’s going to “go get me some of that Best Man now.”
You go, girl. Good luck with that.
I’m gonna go cry in a bathroom stall like a proper Maid of Honor.
Okay, I could not cry in the bathroom stall because there were so many women waiting in line. Fucking Greenpoint event loft with one bathroom stall in the ladies room. Where’s a girl gotta go to weep with a little dignity around here?
The dancing portion of the evening has begun, and I refuse to stand around with this tingling nose and these eyes that sting and this lump in my throat.
I look out the glass doors to the deck. Surprisingly, it appears to be empty. Everyone’s inside dancing and being all happy and coupled-up. No one will notice if Foxy Roxy disappears out there for two minutes to squeeze a few drops of this stupid burning liquid from my tear ducts. I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I head for the doors.
As soon as I step out into the night and breathe that fresh air, I feel better.
This loft is on the third floor, and there’s a view of the East River with the Manhattan skyline beyond.
I walk straight over to the railing and stand in a dark corner, facing the river, and let my stupid inner crybaby do her thing.
Fucking weddings.
I let out a loud sigh, grab on to the railing and let my head drop back, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Are you crying?”
I whip around,
wiping the corners of my eyes with my fingertips.
Keaton fucking Bridges.
“Did you follow me out here?”
“I was here first. You just didn’t see me.” His hands are in his pockets. I don’t know how anyone can look so casual in such an expensive suit, like he was born in it.
“Were you crying?”
“I was processing some emotions in a totally cool and masculine way, in private. Or so I thought.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you from processing. Ignore me.”
“I think that would be impossible, Roxy Carter.” His head is cocked to one side, and he’s staring at me. Not grinning or smirking, not checking me out or flirting, just…regarding me.
I can’t handle it.
Maybe if I were in my usual Foxy Roxy attire, but not tonight. Not in this pretty lavender spaghetti-strap dress that I would only ever wear for my favorite girl in the world. Not with my hair up and my neck exposed.
Everything about me feels exposed right now.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Screw you, Bridges.”
And now he’s smirking. And there’s that dimple. That dimple that let him get away with being an immature, rich, entitled ass for so many years. “Can’t take a compliment?”
“Is that what that was?”
He shifts on his heels and turns to face the view, turning his attention to the Upper East Side, where he grew up. “I liked your speech. It was sweet. You’re a good friend,” he says, not looking at me.
“Thanks for the feedback.”
I hear air blow out of his nostrils. He’s quietly laughing at me. Whatever, I’m not being defensive.
“I liked your speech too. It was very…not you.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
We both look back toward the inside space when we hear Aimee’s joyful shriek and loud laughter. Chase and Aimee are dancing, and he just dipped her—very carefully. Those guys. So cute.
“I really love those guys,” Keaton says as we watch them together. A statement. Not even a cheesy one.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a godfather.”
I snap my head around. “They told you they want you to be his godfather?”
He grins. “No. I’m just assuming. I’m sure they’ll ask you to be the godmother.”
“They fucking better.”
“I have no fucking doubt you’ll be the best fucking godmother ever.”
“You better fucking believe I will.” Shit, I really need to stop swearing so much.
“I do.”
I do. Those two little words make me feel all giggly inside. At a wedding. Even when it’s Keaton Bridges who’s uttering them.
All of a sudden, I’m so aware of the fact that there’s so much love and light inside there, so many of Chase and Aimee’s family and friends and co-workers, and it’s just Keaton and me out here. Outside, looking in. Everyone in our circle of friends is married now, besides us. Chase and Aimee. Matt and Bernadette. Vince and Nina. For a second it feels like this is how it’s going to be from now on. Not him and me together, but…Him. And me. Apart. From them.
I shiver at the thought of it.
“You cold?” he asks.
It’s a ridiculous question, even if he is being polite. It’s a warm, humid summer night. But he looks down at me like he knows exactly what I was thinking. His brown eyes are sad, in a happy-sad kind of way, and it’s killing me just a little bit.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
“You sure?”
I feel his hand touch my back, ever so slightly, and it makes me shiver in a completely different way.
“Yeah.” I take a step away from him and turn to face the view again. “You wishing your ex was here tonight?”
“I guess.” He turns back to face the view too. “I mean, I wish she wanted to be here. Y’know?”
I nod. “Yeah. Sorry.” Surprisingly, I really am sorry for him. I liked her—Tamara. Aimee and Chase liked her. He obviously loved her. Aimee said he was devastated when she decided to move to LA without him. He would have moved there with her, but she just didn’t want him to. It was over for her. And he was heartbroken. Still is, probably.
“You seeing anyone?”
I shrug my shoulders. “No one special. Y’know. You?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Silence. There’s music coming from inside. There’s traffic noise and people out on the streets below us. But it just seems so quiet all of a sudden as I feel him eyeing me.
I clear my throat. “You should get back in there and talk to Aimee’s cousin. She’s been eye-boning you all night.”
“Has she? I hadn’t noticed.”
I glance over at him, ever so quickly. He doesn’t look away. It’s not that I’m not comfortable being looked at. Or stared at. With a rack like mine and a mouth like the one I’ve got on me. I’m just not used to being looked at or stared at by him. He’s not staring at my rack. He’s not responding to some wisecrack I just made. He’s just looking at me. And I’m definitely not comfortable with it.
In the good way.
In the tingly way.
Because he looks so handsome and he’s being so sweet.
Two thoughts I’ve never had about Keaton Bridges before.
But he’s got this vibe tonight… It’s so…
And this all feels so…
It’s that freaking Chainsmokers song that just came on. It’s this beautiful summer night. It’s all that champagne. All those wonderful people in there. That custom-made suit with that silver tie. These strings of warm white café lights all over the place that make everything feel so romantic. Everything… It’s just messing with my head. Or my heart. Or my ovaries.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, looking out at the view again, “but you look really beautiful tonight. I just…wanted to make sure you know that.”
I resist every urge to scoff at him or tell him to fuck off, and the strangest thing happens. I feel it. I feel the compliment, instead of just assuming he’s saying it because he wants to fuck me. Because he doesn’t. It’s Keaton. He’s just looking at me with those sad brown eyes, like…like he wants me to know that I look beautiful tonight. That he noticed. That he notices me.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He nods. “You’re welcome.” He turns back to look out at the river and exhales, like he’s finally said what he wanted to say and there’s nothing left to say anymore.
Except now I want him to keep talking.
Or I want him to…
What?
Make me feel less like I’m on the outside looking in.
Keep making me feel beautiful tonight.
And as if he just heard my thoughts, he twitches, takes one step toward me, pulls me in toward him with one hand, and places the other under my chin to lift it up as he kisses me. It all happens so fast I can’t do anything other than hold his face and kiss him back. I can’t do anything other than grab on to his lapels and respond to his lips and his tongue and his hands and the soft moans and the quickening of our breaths. I can’t ignore what’s going on between my legs and I really can’t ignore what’s pressing against my thigh.
I never would have pegged this guy for a good kisser, but holy shit.
I know what this is, though.
This kiss is a silent conversation between two not-exactly-friends, about loneliness and confusion and trying to hang on to something that was so good and now it’s changing and we’re happy and sad at the same time because what if that thing that those people have will never come for us?
This kiss is restrained and urgent and reassuring and alarming, and it is shaking me to my core.
When his lips find that spot high on my neck, below my earlobe, I groan and my knees give out.
My knees actually lose their ability to hold up the rest of my body.
He holds me tighter and lifts me up without pausing his ge
ntle assault on my neck.
This is not the drunken make-out session of two reckless partygoers who just need to get through the night.
This is leading somewhere, and it is not somewhere either of us are meant to go to together. Not with each other. Not ever.
I push back against his hard chest, pull away from him.
He emits a low guttural sound, his eyelids heavy, but he complies.
I wipe my lip gloss from my chin and his, watching him as we both slow our breaths and straighten ourselves up and remember where we are and who we are and who we aren’t to each other.
For all I know, he could have been thinking about his ex-girlfriend while he was kissing me.
“I’ll go back inside first, okay?” I say. “You wait out here a couple of minutes.”
He nods. His brown hair is always perfectly mussed-up in that way that only a two-hundred-dollar haircut and hair product can make it, but it is really mussed-up now. I shouldn’t touch him again, but I have to run my fingers through his hair to make him look more presentable.
He wraps his long fingers around my wrist. Presses his lips against the palm of my hand very quickly. His eyes are less bleary now, but they are asking me a question.
Should we?
I want to laugh, because obviously we shouldn’t. We couldn’t. He’s a grown-up trust fund kid. I will always be the daughter of a mechanic. Things are already so different between us and our best friends, and if we sleep together even once, it will just change things even more.
He knows this. It’s not really him asking this; it’s his boner. I’m no dummy. I know how boners work. I know how weddings work. I know how I work.
I pull my hand free from his soft grip, touch his cheek, and shake my head. “See you around, Bridges.”
I walk away from him, away from the summer night air and the strings of warm white lights that are hanging overhead just for us and the most surprising kiss of my life and the guy that I have no doubt I will go back to wanting to dropkick the next time I see him.
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 61