The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister

by Quinn, Meghan

  Not in the mood to even glance at my emails, I turn in my desk chair and face the windows, taking in the cold streets of New York below. Thankfully I don’t have to walk far in the blistering cold weather—just a quick hop out of my car and into the building—but hell, seeing everyone bundled up to their heads, walking around, reminds me why I hate the months in between New Years and Spring. Yet, I’ve made Julia come to my office, meaning she’s had to brave the cold each time. Shit. That’s a dick move.

  My phone beeps with a text, and immediately I begin to grin like a fool.

  Julia: I didn’t even consider leaving my apartment. It’s so cold right now. Tube socks . . . where is that coming from?

  Shit, maybe I’ve never talked about her tube socks before. I’ve only admired them from afar. Time to come clean.

  Bram: First time I met you, you wore tube socks and rocked them like a champ. Ever since then, I always look forward to seeing you in those white fabric sheathes.

  Julia: What is wrong with you?

  I chuckle and hunker down in my seat, as if I’m back in high school and talking to my crush.

  Bram: What? Can’t a guy admire a girl’s socks?

  Julia: Socks aren’t usually admired.

  Bram: Mark it in my profile as a specialty of mine. So when do I get to see you again?

  Julia: You’re sounding a little impatient.

  Bram: Maybe because I am.

  Julia: I’ll be in touch with Linus to set something up.

  Bram: Or you can just text me.

  Julia: And bother you with such menial things?

  Bram: Anything that deals with you isn’t menial, Jules.

  Julia: It’s Julia :)

  Chapter Twelve

  BRAM

  Senior year, Yale University

  Knock. Knock.

  “Bram, Denise is downstairs claiming she left her bra in your bedroom.”

  I look up from my books. The sophomore standing at my door shakes ever so slightly as he waits for me to speak. We don’t haze in our fraternity, but we do instill fear into the lower-classmen, letting them know the upper-classmen are not to be fucked with.

  “Denise? Yeah, she fucked Thompson last night, not me. She’s playing the game, man. What’s she wearing?”

  “A long coat.”

  I roll my eyes. “Dude, she’s naked under there. Send her back to her dorm or wherever the hell she lives. Do not let her up here.”

  “Got it. Should I tell her anything?”

  “That maybe she should have a little more self-respect, rather than coming back here for a second night in a row, looking for another guy.”

  “Do you really want me to say that?”

  “No.” I drag my hand over my face. “Christ. I’m trying to study, man. Leave me the fuck alone and don’t let anyone else bother me.”

  “Got it. Sorry, Bram.”

  Quietly, he shuts my door and leaves me in peace.

  Denise. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to pull this stunt. She’s been to the fraternity house a few times now, always trying to hook up with me but getting turned down, so she hooks up with someone else who doesn’t seem to have standards, Brady Thompson being her latest conquest.

  Winter break is around the corner, finals are coming up, and it’s fucking go time for me. The boys in the house know that when it’s two weeks from finals, I don’t like to be bothered. Yeah, they give off the vibe that I’m hanging out with some chick, or high, or whatever bullshit they come up with, but in reality, I’m glued to my desk studying like a motherfucker.

  And there is a reason for it—for the deception—because I want to be a surprise. I want to be the person who comes out of this university with the lowest expectations hanging over their head and blow everyone out of the water.

  Growing up with the “gift from God”—my older brother who could do no wrong—everyone in my family has had low expectations of me. Therefore, I’ve kept them low so when I succeed, I can throw up the middle finger to anyone who ever doubted me.

  Yeah, not even in the slightest bit mature, but I never said I played the game like an adult.

  “Are you kidding me? I can be up here.” I hear a girl’s voice echo through the hallway.

  “You don’t have permission.” I hear a freshman’s voice crack. They are the most nervous when it comes to hallway patrol.

  “Yes, I do. Let go of my hand. I need to find my brother.”

  Brother. There is only one guy on the third floor who has a sister at the university.

  “Who’s your brother?” the freshman asks.

  I go to my door, fling it open just in time to find Julia struggling against a freshman.

  “Let her go, you jackass,” I say, prying the freshman off Julia. “This is Rath’s sister.”

  “Rath has a sister?”

  I push him to the side, away from her. “Yeah, so remember this face, because she’s allowed up here whenever she goddamn wants. Got it?”

  “Yes. Sorry, Bram.”

  He stands there awkwardly so I finally say, “Beat it,” and he scurries away. I push my hands in my pockets and stare at Julia. “Sorry about that. We’re still training some of them.”

  She fixes her large sweater and adjusts her ponytail, bringing it to the side and over her shoulder. “Not a problem.” She twirls a strand of hair. “Is Rath here?”

  I shake my head. “He’s on campus in a meeting with a professor. What’s up?”

  “Damn it,” she mutters.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Umm”—she bites on her bottom lip—“not really.”

  “Okay,” I drag out. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d rather you not.”

  “And why’s that?” I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to be offended.

  There is a thump against a wall and then a low moan. Jesus, did Thompson invite Denise up here . . . again?

  Not wanting Julia to be subject to whatever is going on in Thompson’s room, I grab her hand and pull her into my room. I shut the door to afford us some privacy, not realizing that the minute I have her in my room, my mind starts to wander with all the things we could possibly do in here.

  What’s she hiding under that oversized sweatshirt?

  Does she secretly wear slutty lingerie as something special just for her?

  Is she wearing . . . tube socks?

  “What are you doing?” she asks, tearing her hand away from mine and looking around my room.

  Insulted that she thinks so low of me, that I would possibly take advantage of the situation, I say, “Don’t kid yourself, Jules. I was bringing you in here so you didn’t have to be exposed to Thompson’s fucking. Now, what’s up?”

  Her face falls flat and for a second, I think about apologizing, when she lifts her chin and says, “I just needed some help from my brother. But it’s no big deal. I can walk back to my dorm.”

  “Walk back? That’s like five miles.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Did you . . . walk here?” I tilt my head to the side, studying her.

  “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. Just, uh, tell him that I stopped by.”

  “Jules, I can—”

  “It’s Julia,” she says sternly.

  I roll my eyes. “I can give you a ride back to your dorm.”

  “Not necessary.”

  I scoff. “It is actually, because if your brother knows I let you walk back to your dorm at sunset, he would make my balls his own personal punching bag.” I grab my keys off my dresser. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “Julia, I’m serious, you’re not walking back.”

  She still doesn’t move.

  “Christ, woman.” I scratch the back of my neck. “What is it?”

  She twists her sweatshirt with her fingers and says, “Um, can I borrow twenty dollars?” Before I answer, she quickly says, “I left my wallet and phone in my friend’s car. She left for the weekend a
nd um, I really need some . . . you know . . . feminine products.”

  I hold back the smile that wants to pop through. “You need tampons?”

  “I’d rather not go into detail. This is embarrassing enough.”

  “Do you need me to drive you to a store?”

  “Sort of.” She cringes and then sighs. “God, I hate this so much, having to ask you for help.”

  “Aw, don’t sweat it, Jules.” I wrap my arm around her sweater-clad shoulders and give her a good squeeze. “I’ll help a girl out. I’m all about feminine products.”

  “Shut up,” she groans as I guide her out of my room and down the back stairs that lead to the garage. “You realize how humiliating this is for me, right?”

  “Well aware, but let me tell you, I’m excited. I’ve never picked out tampons before. This is a new life experience for me.”

  “This is not an experience. You are staying in the car and that’s final.” Bossy little thing.

  * * *

  “How does a girl even know where to begin?” I ask, my eyes wandering over the shelves. Pink and purple and blue, white and black packaging with sporty women and hearts, and promises of no odor . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “What did I tell you? Just be quiet and stand over there.” She points to the end of the aisle, but I don’t listen, because why would I?

  “Do you need super-sized tampons?” I pull a box from the shelf and look at the back. “Are you a heavy flow-er?”

  She rips the box from my hand and puts it back on the shelf. “I don’t need super. Just regular.”

  “Ah, all right. What brand do you use?”

  “I don’t need your help, Bram.” She walks to a section of black-looking boxes with neon colors. She snatches a box of tampons and a smaller box of what looks like pads, but I have no clue.

  Trying to catch a better look, I ask, “What are those?”

  “None of your business.” She takes off down the aisle and I quickly catch up to her.

  “You know, if you educate me, I’d be able to empathize with you. Give me a little insight into the world of menstruation.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Let’s just pay for these and leave.”

  “But what about chocolate? Isn’t that a thing? Do you need chocolate, Jules?”

  “I just need these two items, now come on.” She walks to a register but I don’t follow her, instead I turn the corner and head straight to the pharmacy’s candy aisle. And because I’m the one with the wallet, she has to follow me.

  “What do you like? Dove? Or are you a Hershey girl?”

  “Bram, please, let’s just go.”

  I shake my head and pull her in close to my side. “If we’re making a period run, we’re doing it right. Now, pick out some things that will make you feel better. Candy, ice cream, chips . . . do you need some of that Midol shit?”

  From the crook of my shoulder, she glances up at me, a confused look in her eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?”

  Hmm . . . maybe because I find her interesting, because she’s smart and beautiful even under her crazy oversized clothing. Maybe because there’s something about her that’s captivated me.

  But I can’t fucking say that. Besides, does she think I’m normally mean to her? Why is she so surprised I’m being nice?

  “Because, you’re my best friend’s little sister, which means, when he’s not around, I step in to take care of you.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Now tell me what you want.”

  Briefly, she bites on her bottom lip, contemplating whether she should take advantage of my offer or not. When her shoulders sag and she lets out a long puff of air, I know she’s giving in.

  See, just a little persuasion and I always get my way.

  “I like those Mrs. Fields cookies and sour cream and cheddar Ruffles.”

  “Yeah? That we can do.” We walk around to the food aisle, find a giant bag of Ruffles, followed by two boxes of Mrs. Fields cookies.

  “I don’t need two boxes.”

  “Who said both were for you?” I wink and then head to the coolers for a drink. I snag a milk for the both of us and then ask, “Anything else you need?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, let’s check out then.”

  We spend the next few minutes going through checkout, the girl across the counter noticing our collection of items and giving Julia a look of sympathy, and weirdly some kind of female acknowledgement passes through them. Kind of like, good luck this month, I hope your uterus is kind.

  I do the same thing with men. When I see them get nailed in the crotch, boy, oh boy, do my balls shrivel up in pain for the poor guy. Is this the same thing?

  Probably not.

  I don’t think they’re even comparable. Pretty sure periods fall in the line with childbirth. Don’t compare them to any kind of male pain because there’s no use; they’re not even in the same league.

  Once we’re in my car, I open the bag and pull out the milks and my box of cookies. The packaging is cumbersome but once I have two cookies out, I hand her one and hold up my milk to her. “Cheers to your period. May Aunt Flo be a calm bitch this go around for you.”

  Julia smiles. “How eloquent.” And then we clink our milks together and eat our cookies in silence. After a little while, Julia turns in her seat and faces me, resting the side of her head on the headrest. “Thank you for tonight, Bram, I really appreciate it.”

  “Any time, Jules. You can always count on me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  JULIA

  “This can’t be right,” I mumble to myself, going over the test results one more time. Hand pressed to my forehead, feeling overly exhausted, I go over his bubble sheet results and pinch my brow.

  This is why I shouldn’t have taken Bram on, because I had a feeling something like this would happen. I know him, I’ve known him for years and yet, here I am, looking at his results and feeling like I don’t know him at all.

  I spent all last night running everything through my system. My observations, his answers, and the results were not what I was expecting at all.

  Not even close.

  That’s why I decided to put everything to the side and come back with a fresh mind today.

  But after running everything again, I’m coming up with the same dating hue.

  Red.

  RED!

  Bram is so not a red.

  Reds are cold, sinister, almost evil in a way. They’re known to be ruthless in every facet of their lives, even the bedroom, which, that I could agree with. Bram seems to be very ruthless when it comes to the physical stuff, but in regular life? I can’t seem to wrap my head around that.

  I think back to college and the small moments I had with him. Yeah, he was an ass most of the time, always showboating and proving how amazing he was, but behind the boisterous façade he liked to show off, there was a softer side to him, a sensitive side, one that I’ve now experienced a few times.

  And the other day, when he brought me cookies, or when he made reservations at my favorite restaurant for one of our meetings, or the bouquet of pens, or the soy chai latte with the note on it—it was so sweet, so thoughtful. And his note, ugh, it was perfect.

  Reds don’t do that. Reds aren’t thoughtful or sweet. They are cold and jaded. They’re hard to get along with and the only dating color they can possibly have a chance at matching up with are oranges, and it’s only because they are a lighter version of a red.

  I can’t fathom setting Bram up with an orange.

  This entire time I guessed he was a blue or a green, two similar colors, because both have the protective instinct and a type of charisma that draws people.

  I’m so confused.

  I sit back in my chair and let out a long sigh just as Anita pops into my office. “Hey Miss Westin. Clarissa is here to see you.”

  Oh thank God, I need the distraction.

  “Great. She can come in.”


  Clarissa pops through the door holding a bag of food in her hand and wearing a giant smile. “Ah, I haven’t seen you in so long.” She rounds my desk and gives me a big hug, with food and all.

  When she pulls away, she goes to my seating area where she sets the food down and pats the couch next to her. “I’m commandeering your lunch. Sit, talk to me, tell me about your life.”

  This is exactly what I need. I kick off my heels and pad my way across the thick carpet of my office and sit next to Clarissa, who’s pulling grilled cheese sandwiches out of their boxes.

  “You love me, don’t you?” I ask, taking in the enormous sandwiches that we’ve grown to love together.

  “You know I do. I hope you worked out today because we’re about to take down some calories.”

  “I’m totally okay with it.” I chuckle. “I haven’t had one of these in so long.”

  “Figured as much, and that’s why I got them.”

  A few years ago, when Clarissa and I moved to the city, we found this hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Cheez Whiz, and all they make are specialty grilled cheese sandwiches on the crunchiest bread you will ever eat in your life. These sandwiches are giant hail-sized drops of heaven in your mouth. I’ve never regretted getting one.

  The crunching sound of our teeth working through the sandwich fills the office as we both take bites and moan at the same time. Yes, they’re that good.

  Chewing and talking, I say, “Thank you, I really needed this today.”

  “Yeah? Having a rough day in the matchmaking business?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What happened?”

  I look around my office as if someone is recording this conversation and whisper, “Promise to keep this between us?”

  Clarissa rolls her eyes. “Julia, who the hell am I going to tell? You know whatever you say is always kept between us.”

  “I know, I just get nervous. I technically have an NDA.”

  “Which I drew up for you, so as your lawyer, I’m going to say it’s okay.”