The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister

by Quinn, Meghan

  Satisfied with whatever the hell she’s working on, she straightens herself and looks up in my direction as I let the door click shut.

  Her blue eyes shimmer past her glasses that she pushes back on her nose with her finely manicured fingers. They’re never a color, at least as long as I’ve known her. She’s always painted them a nude hue. I asked her once why she didn’t paint them pink and her response was that she didn’t want to change the color with every outfit. Nude was easy.

  Hey, I think nude is easy too. I prefer nude . . . her nude.

  Not that I’ve seen her nude, but I will.

  “Bram,” she says with a nervous surprise in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  She smooths her sleek blonde hair and fidgets under my stare.

  “Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to come give me a hug?”

  Like the shy girl she is, she takes a second to gather herself before standing and making her way toward me, one short heel in front of the other. I close the last few inches and pull her into a full-frontal hug. None of this side hug bullshit. No, I want her tits pressed against my rock-hard chest and my crotch whispering sweet nothings to hers.

  Tentative at first, she doesn’t embrace me the way I would have hoped, so I tease her, like I always do. “I’m not going to explode if you squeeze me, Jules. Get in here.”

  She chuckles quietly and sighs, pulling me in closer.

  “Yeah, that’s it, give me the good stuff.” Her subtle perfume floats to my nose and kicks me dead in the dick. Shit, she smells good.

  The embrace doesn’t last long, it never does, and before I get comfortable with her in my arms, she’s pulling away and straightening her blouse, pushing those glasses back on her nose.

  “Do you want to take a seat and tell me why you’re here?” She’s never been one to simply shoot the shit. She’s orderly and professional, and so fucking smart, so she doesn’t waste her time talking about the weather, unless it has to do with a scientific thought. It’s how she’s programmed.

  But talk about the humidity in NYC in the summer and how it’s ruining your outdoor life, she wants nothing to do with it.

  In front of her desk is a sitting area with two chairs and a couch on a deep blue rug. She chooses the couch, and so do I. It’s all about body proximity.

  “Good to see you too, Jules.” I adjust my cufflinks. “How have you been?”

  “Fine.”

  Even if you try to shoot the shit with her, she doesn’t elaborate. Some people might find it awkward, but I take it as a challenge.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place. This rug, is it Pottery Barn?”

  She eyes me, hands in her lap, shoulders poised. “My assistant found it.”

  I bend at the waist and rub my fingers through the rug’s fine threads. “Hmm, feels like Pottery Barn quality.” She doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Had this beef pocket thing the other day from a pub in SoHo. Had potatoes in it and was so fucking good. They call it a pasty. Ever have one of those?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “You’re missing out, Jules.” I casually pick at the arm of the couch. “Is it because the weather has been sickly lately? Is it just me, or does the humidity feel like you have to part the air to walk?”

  She sighs loudly and relaxes into the couch, dropping the strong set of her shoulders. “Bram, what do you want?”

  She’s giving in so quickly. I was just getting started. But since I know she is busy and I technically didn’t have an appointment, I get to the chase. “I came to find love.”

  The room falls silent as Julia slowly rises from the couch, chest forward, as if some kind of exorcist shit is pulling her forward and spinning her head in my direction. Her reaction is valid. I haven’t necessarily been known as the settling down type, so this is coming out of left field for her.

  “Excuse me?”

  I rest my forearms on my legs and focus my gaze, growing serious. “I want you to run me through your program. I want to settle down, and I couldn’t think of someone better to hold my hand while going through the journey.”

  Her nostrils flare.

  Her jaw works side to side.

  She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Is this one of those bullshit bets you do with my brother?”

  Err.

  “Because football season is over and someone lost. Was it you, Bram?”

  What in the ever-living hell is going on right now?

  “What?” I laugh awkwardly. The urge to pull my phone out of my pocket and call out my boys is strong.

  Abort. Abort. The mission has been compromised.

  “What would make you think that?” Trying to look as casual as possible, I sit up and drape my ankle over my knee, as my arm runs the back of the couch.

  She gives me a once-over, her eyes raking over my finely tailored and pressed grey suit, never blinking, looking so damn serious that I’m not going to lie, I feel a little nervous with what she might do or say.

  That gaze, hard as stone, just like her brother’s. It must run in the family. Ruthless killer runs cold through Julia’s veins—mental note made.

  “Well, I don’t know, Bram, maybe because ever since I’ve known you, you’ve thought love is for douchebags. Your words, not mine.”

  Every guy is an asshole in college, and there are very few of us who make a good impression. There are also very few of us who sit back on a Friday night doing all the romance crap women live for. In case you were wondering, I wasn’t one of those guys . . . obviously.

  “People change, Jules.”

  She gives me a pointed look. “A year ago you told me marriage was for the desperate souls walking this earth.”

  “Okay, I didn’t say desperate.” I point at her. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said marriage was for the delirious. Huge difference.”

  “Not really, because it still shows that you don’t believe in love or marriage. So tell me the truth. Why are you here?”

  “For love.”

  “Bram.”

  “I’m here for love, damn it.”

  She shakes her head. “Rath told me about the bet, so stop trying to act like you’re here for any other reason.”

  Okay . . . I see what she’s doing here. She’s trying to trick me. Did I mention she’s smart? Not just book smart too. She’s trying to get a reaction from me, one where I say something like, “He fucking told you?” which would confirm her suspicions.

  But what she doesn’t realize is that I’m onto her.

  Not today, Julia, not today.

  “How did he tell you?”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, looking a little flustered from my response, or lack thereof. She’s smart, but she’s also a bad liar.

  “I mean, how did he tell you about this ‘bet’?” I use air quotes. “Was it during brunch yesterday?”

  She nods, her eyes lighting up. “Yup.”

  “Aha.” I practically jump off the couch like Sherlock Holmes does when he solves a relentless and tiresome case. “Bullshit. I had brunch with that dickhead yesterday. Caught you, Julia.”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t have time for this, Bram.” She starts to make her way to her desk, but I’m on her in two seconds, pulling on her hand so she has to face me. Both standing now, I stare at her and try not to get lost in her ocean-blue eyes, eyes I’ve been lost in before.

  “I’m serious, Julia.” I pin her with my stare, trying to show her how committed I am.

  And yeah, I might not be serious about going through her program—it’s just a gateway to get to her—but I’m dead set on finding love. And I’ve picked the person I want to find love with.

  Honestly, I’m making her job easy. But maybe I’ll keep that small detail out of it for now.

  And why don’t I just ask her out, you ask?

  Because, I tried telling her how I felt once and fucked it up. But that’s a story for another day.


  “You really want to go through my program? You’re not going to be a dick about it?”

  “I’d never be a dick to you.”

  Counting off on her fingers, she says, “The time in the hot tub at Rath’s place. The time you stole my hot dog. The time I was blow-drying my hair—”

  “Okay, settle down.” I straighten out my suit jacket, hating that I’ve been that elementary school boy toward her pretty much our entire relationship, picking on her and acting like her older brother’s best friend, which is exactly what I am. “I’m not here to be a dick. I’m here to try out the dating scene. I don’t want to pick up girls at the bar. I want someone smart, sophisticated . . . beautiful.” My eyes fall to her lips for a brief second before I meet her eyes again.

  She must not catch my blatant flirtatious move, because there is zero reaction on her face. And to be honest, I’m not surprised. Julia has always had a great poker face.

  “You really want to date?” I nod. “Fine.” She spins on her heels and goes to her desk where she takes a seat, her professional veneer cloaking the girl who used to wear white tennis shoes to a frat party. “I can squeeze you in next Wednesday.”

  I pull my phone from my jacket pocket, ready to start my offense.

  “Wednesday? What time?”

  “One.” She clicks around on her computer.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to come to my office.”

  Her brow quirks up. “Excuse me?”

  I type the appointment into my phone and include her on the email invite. Her computer dings as I pocket my phone. “Wednesday at one, my office. I’ll make sure my assistant has that beet salad you like cooled and ready for you.”

  I start to walk away.

  “Bram, I don’t make office calls.”

  “Can’t wait to get down to business with you, Jules.”

  “Bram.”

  From over my shoulder, as I’m parting, I wink. “See you Wednesday.”

  “Bram,” she calls out one more time before the door shuts behind me, a huge smile on my face.

  I give Anita a quick nod before I hit the down button to the elevator. I’m well on my way to dating my best friend’s sister.

  Might not seem like it, but Julia is a woman who needs to be eased into something slowly. I found that out years ago. She is thoughtful about her decisions and never jumps into something on the spur of the moment. No, she has a pros and cons list, she measures out her reasoning, and when she’s ready, she makes a decision.

  Knowing that about her, I’m going to take my time easing her into the idea that Bram Scott is a relationship man and then . . . oh fuck . . . I’m going to throw her for a loop, catch her off balance, and then swoop in like a goddamn knight in shining armor and claim her as mine. Yeah, because like Julia, I make my pros and cons list, measure my reasons, and when ready, make my decision. She is my decision—has been for a while—but now it’s time to make magic.

  Julia Westin has no idea what’s about to happen to her.

  Chapter Three

  BRAM

  Senior year, Yale University.

  “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

  I down the last drops of my beer bong and then hold it out to the crowd, showing them my impeccable drinking skills. Put that on my goddamn résumé.

  Slightly dizzy, hot as shit, and full of pride, I listen to the crowd chant my name as I hop off the table and run into the back of my best friend, Rath.

  “Dude, I’m wasted.”

  He turns and embraces me, arms fully wrapped around my back, and I return the hug, because he’s my person. Yeah, that’s right, he’s my fucking person, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Guys can have persons. It’s not just a Grey’s Anatomy girl thing.

  Ever since our freshman year, when we were stripped down to wearing nothing but thongs, our cocks barely contained in the small scrap of fabric and dancing for our sister sorority, I knew Rath was going to be the guy who stuck by my side through the good and the bad. Hell, when we both dipped down, stuck our asses out and bare-mooned each other, butt cheek to butt cheek—in front of twenty women, the smack ringing out through the thick sweaty air—I knew . . . this dude will be my person.

  Still holding on to me tightly, he says, “Ann Marie just showed me her tits. I think I’m going to cry.”

  I squeeze him even tighter. “Ah fuck, congratulations, man. Were they everything you thought they would be?”

  “Small and perfect, just the way I like them.”

  I push away and grip his shoulders, staring him in his droopy, beer-filled eyes. Both wearing cardigans with no shirt, our hair a sweaty mess, we are living out our last year at Yale and owning it. “So why are you standing here with me and not in the house with Ann Marie?”

  “My sister.”

  Two words.

  All he has to say.

  I’ve had many late-night conversations with Rath, you know, sitting out on the porch, beers in hand, shooting the shit about our families. Rath loves his sister. And not just loves her in a brotherly obligatory way, but he really likes her, adores her, worships the ground she walks on. He’s told me story after story about his sister, how smart she is, how she’s meant to do something special in this world, has so much more potential than he does but doesn’t even know it.

  Hell, the first time he spoke about her, I might have gotten a little boner over the image I was drawing in my head. Smart women turn me on.

  There’s nothing worse than a woman pretending she’s stupid or acting stupid. Want to know how to get my balls to shrivel up into my dick? Act like a ditz. Makes me cringe every goddamn time. And even though we go to Yale, you’d be surprised by the amount of “dumb” women we’ve come across.

  “Julia is coming? Here? Tonight?”

  He nods. “She’s supposed to be here any minute. It’s her first frat party.” He flattens out his hair. “How do I look?”

  I look him up and down, hand to my chin, giving him a fair assessment. “I’m going to be honest, dude. You look shit-faced.”

  “Noooo,” he whines. “She’s never seen me drunk. Quick, slap me across the face, punch the booze out of me.”

  “Tempting, but not going to work.” I glance around, looking for a solution, but in my drunken haze, I can’t seem to put together one idea to help my friend. The only thing coming to mind? More shots!

  Interrupting my thoughts, Rath grips my shoulder and shakes me, swirling around the beer I just chugged. Whoa, the room is spinning. “Coffee. I need coffee. Isn’t that supposed to work?”

  “Eh, I don’t know.” I sway side to side. “When is she supposed to—?”

  “Rath?” A small voice draws both of our attention to the left where a fair-haired, timid-looking girl stands, glancing at us with a look of consternation.

  Before Rath picks her up and spins her around, I catch a brief glimpse of beautiful eyes hidden behind black-rimmed glasses. Wavy blonde hair floats over her shoulders and hell, I can’t help but glance down, taking in her ass, encased in a pair of denim overall shorts.

  Okay . . . maybe not the best choice of clothing for a frat party, but it . . . works.

  Who am I kidding? The outfit is atrocious, and are those white tennis shoes and tube socks she’s wearing?

  Tube socks.

  Freaking tube socks.

  Daring move, but if she’s going for the whole stay away from me vibe with her outfit, she’s nailed it. I don’t think there’s a guy here who can handle a girl in white tube socks that normally belong on an old fart on the racquetball court.

  But even though she popped out of an episode of The Golden Girls, I can’t help but stare. Her whole look is working for me in the best way possible. The frump look should scare me off, but hell, it just makes me want to peel her like an onion, layer by layer, baby.

  “Juuuuliaaaa!” Rath sets his sister down and then pulls her into a hug, pressing his chin to the top of her head. Huh, she’s short. I like that too. “I’m drunk. Don’t hate
me.”

  She chuckles, the sound sweet on my ears. “I know you drink, Rath.” She steps away from her brother and adjusts her glasses.

  “Since when?”

  “Since last year when you came to my dorm room, drunk off your ass but acting like you were just dizzy from too much exercise and not enough water. Not to mention, you’re twenty-two.”

  “Well, the not drinking water part was correct.” He laughs and then points to me. “Julia, I finally think I’m ready to introduce you to my other half, the man of my dreams, the shell to my pistachio nut, my best friend of all time, Bram Scott.” I couldn’t have said it better.

  I hold my hand out as Julia stares at her brother, a pinch in her brow, a perturbed question in her gaze. Shaking her head she turns toward me, noticing me for the first time since she arrived. Hand stretched out waiting for her to take it, I watch as she doesn’t hide her quick assessment of me and then with slight trepidation, she takes my hand in hers. She gives it a good squeeze before letting go. “It’s nice to meet you. When my brother first told me about you, I thought you were lovers, and then I walked in on him and some girl during Christmas break his freshman year and realized he was just overtly passionate about you.” Deadpan. Completely deadpan. This girl.

  I stick my hands in my pockets, letting the wind kick back my cardigan, showing off my impressive chest, but her eyes don’t cut down to take a look. Interesting. “I can’t help the kind of passion your brother has for me. All I can do is nurture it and make it stronger.”

  “It’s true. He’s captured my soul.” Rath puts his arm around me and then plants a giant kiss on my cheek. “God, I love this man.”

  Eyes wide, Julia looks between the two of us, confused. Wanting to make sure we’re all on the same page here, I push Rath away and say, “We really aren’t lovers. We like tits and pussies.” Her nose scrunches, disgust clear in her expression. “Sorry.” I wince. “I mean breasts and vaginas.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, and something about her reaction is charming. I don’t think a lot of women have rolled their eyes at me the way Julia just did . . . like I’m a complete idiot. Being president of the most popular fraternity on campus has made getting laid pretty damn easy. Women practically throw themselves at me because only the greats come from this fraternity. The rich, the inventors, the famous. We’re known for producing the cream of the crop. If you snag a guy from Alpha Phi Alpha, you’re pretty much set for life.