The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Remember what I said about karma?”

  “Fuck, karma. I’m Irish, we have luck on our side.”

  * * *

  I’m a man.

  Just in case you were wondering. I am a red-blooded man with a libido that gets fired up with a small breeze of sex appeal. It happens to the best of us, even when we are head over heels in lust over someone else.

  So when I say this dinner has been uncomfortable, I’m not kidding.

  Tabitha, aka Tabby Cat as her friends call her, decided to come to dinner wearing probably the sluttiest dress I’ve ever laid eyes on. Silver, deep blousy neckline, barely falls to mid thigh, extremely provocative, and leaves nothing to the imagination.

  And I mean that.

  She’s had three nip slips already tonight.

  And I’m not staring. I’m really not. But when she starts to bounce in excitement and what I can only imagine are double Ds start jiggling with her, it’s hard not to see a nipple poke out.

  After three nipples and an ass-load of cleavage a guy is bound to have a minor hard-on. She’s gorgeous too. Blonde hair, blue eyes, full—plastic—lips and a body to kill. When she introduced herself, I immediately thought if I wasn’t trying to get Julia to take a second look at me, I would be taking Tabitha home with me.

  I’m kind of impressed with Jules and her ability to match people up, because nip slips aside, this date is okay. But, the way Tabby Cat is dressed reminds me of a Tinder date, not something I expected through Julia’s dating business. Her outfit doesn’t scream I’m looking for a long-term relationship. I know, because I’ve been on “dates” with many Tabithas before tonight. Then again, I don’t know that much about Tabitha other than she’s a manager at a prestigious jewelry company, she loves Zumba—emphasized shaking her maracas, even showed me, nip slip number one—and when it’s raining, her toes tingle. That last tidbit was something I didn’t really need to know.

  For the record, she also likes to run her toe—that’s not tingling because it’s a dry evening—up my leg to my thigh. I’ve had to swat her foot away multiple times and then apologize blaming a spasm. I think she’s one swat away from thinking I have a condition.

  But for fuck’s sake there’s a time and a place for foot fornication, and a first date in a fancy fucking restaurant isn’t the time or the place, unless this was Jules. If Jules was sitting across from me rather than Tabby Cat, I would be panting and bopping my leg up and down on the floor like a horny little dog.

  Tabitha twirls her wine glass, offering me a view right down her dress and says, “What kind of shows do you watch?”

  She has that husky, I’ve been around the block a few times type of voice. It’s weird, I kind of like, and I kind of don’t. It’s confusing.

  “Shows?” Her toe finds my shin and I quickly pull away, bringing my ankle to my opposite knee. Dinner is done and I’m praying for the waiter to realize I’m waiting on the check. “Like TV?”

  “Yeah, what else is there?”

  “Well, there’s Broadway.”

  “Ew, who likes musicals these days?” She rolls her eyes. “The world needs to realize song and dance is dead. It’s all about the Marvel movies now. Action and excitement. Fantasy. Are you into fantasies, Bram?”

  I don’t want to answer that question because, hell yeah, I’m into fantasies. I’m all about living out the desires we have bottled up inside us, but I’m afraid if I even attempt to answer that question, in two seconds Tabitha will be pulling me out of my seat and right into the ladies’ restroom. So I circle back to her first statement.

  “Musicals aren’t dead. They’re quite entertaining. I like to see one at least once a month, and since I live in New York, I need to take advantage.”

  “You watch musicals?”

  I nod and take a sip of my water. Yeah, no booze for this guy, as I wanted to stay as sharp as a tack.

  “Isn’t that girly?”

  “Isn’t that sexist of you to even think that?” There is a tone to my voice that actually causes her to back down. Thank God, because I really wasn’t in the mood to get into a fight over musicals.

  “Sorry,” she finally says after staring at me for what seemed like a minute. “I didn’t know you were so passionate about musicals.”

  I grip my ankle and try to act as relaxed as possible. “Not passionate. I just have an appreciation for the arts. That’s all.”

  “That can be sexy.” Not trying to be sexy, but I’ll let that one go. “But what about TV shows? Do you watch any?”

  “Eh, not really. I don’t have much time given my full workload, but when I do watch something, I like to get caught up on Game of Thrones.”

  Her eyes light up, her lips curve up into a giant smile, and all of a sudden she starts clapping. I give it three claps before . . . and yup, there is it, her nipple. Goddamn, why are they always so hard?

  When she’s done clapping, she grips the table and leans forward. “Game of Thrones is my all-time favorite show.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She nods vigorously. Ease up, killer, you don’t want to snap your neck off.

  “I love the storyline, the nudity, the killing, the incest. I can’t get enough of it.”

  “You love the incest?” I quirk a brow. That’s some freaky shit, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say they like the incest in Game of Thrones. It’s more like, did you see he fucked his sister again? What kind of asshat does that?

  “Well, you know?” She shimmies her shoulders a little. “The taboo-ness of it all. I don’t have siblings, and I wouldn’t want to have sex with them, but the fact that these people just fuck whoever they want, it’s interesting. Don’t you think?”

  I bring my water to my lips. “It’s interesting all right.”

  “And God, the dragons. I couldn’t even imagine what it was like to have those beasts soaring in the air back then. I would have been terrified.”

  Errr . . . I’m going to pause for a second.

  Did she just say she couldn’t imagine what it would be like back then to have dragons soaring around? As if, Games of Thrones is a real time period where dragons ruled the skies?

  Did I catch that right?

  I think I’m going to need some clarification.

  “What do you mean exactly?” I ask slowly, wanting to understand what she’s saying.

  “I mean, I could deal with the incest and the naked shaming in front of the entire city, but dragons is where I call it quits.”

  “Like . . . if you were a character in the show?” I try to clarify.

  “No, like, back in the day.” She looks at me as if I’m the one who’s clueless. “You know, in the dragon era.”

  Okay, now I’m really concerned. Does she think dragons are real? Because if so, we’re going to have a bigger problem than Tabitha’s nip slips.

  “Are you saying dragons are real?”

  She pulls back, almost as if I slapped her. “Are you trying to tell me they’re not?”

  “Uh . . . I mean, I think anyone would tell you they’re not real.”

  She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

  “Happening again?” This date might have just gotten interesting. Has she told others about her fear of living in an era of dragons?

  Trying to be as gentle as possible, I say, “Have you told someone else you are scared of dragons?”

  “Another date. He tried to convince me dragons are not real.”

  “Because they aren’t.” My eyes blink rapidly, wondering if this is a dream. “Dragons are mythical creatures.”

  “No, dragons lived in medieval times. It’s why they used swords all the time, to stab the beasts.”

  I nearly choke on my water. Spitting a little up, I set the glass on the table and plant both feet on the ground, needing to level with this girl. “They had swords back then because guns hadn’t been invented and if they did have guns, don’t you think those would
have been a lot easier to kill a dragon with than a three-foot sword? You do know dragons breathe fire, right? One puff and your knight in shining armor is dead.”

  “Armor is flame retardant,” she replies with a lift of her chin.

  Jesus.

  Christ.

  “You’re delusional.” There, I said it. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and listen to a woman tell me about a time before us where dragons ruled the skies and knight armor was flame retardant. I’m too damn smart to be around someone so . . . so . . . idiotic.

  “Excuse me?”

  I take out my wallet and throw down a few hundred-dollar bills, not caring that I’m probably paying way too much. I just need to get the hell out of here.

  Talk about a buzz kill. No nip slip will ever rectify this woman.

  I lean over the table and enunciate so she can hear me properly. “I said, you’re de-lu-sion-al.”

  Nostrils flare, her face turns red, and before I know it, the rest of her wine is flying out of her glass and straight up my nose.

  She pushes her chair out from under her and stands abruptly as I try to sneeze out a rather unpleasant chateau merlot.

  “I’ll have you know, if you actually did your research, Mr. I Went to Yale, you would know that dragons are real and that scientists have been trying to hide their existence from the masses. Read the Bible. It will give you a much-needed education.”

  I wipe my face. “Is this the same Bible that states Jesus fed a multitude of five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish?”

  Growing angrier by the second, she leans forward and practically spats in my face. “It’s called magic, dipshit, Wikipedia it.”

  She starts to walk away, and just because I’m the asshole I’ve grown to be, I shout out, “Wikipedia isn’t a reliable source. No school or university allows it as a quotable reference.”

  Her back turned toward me, a sway in her hips, she lifts her hand in the air and shows off her lovely middle finger to the entire restaurant.

  Classy.

  Very, very classy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  JULIA

  Sophomore year, Yale University

  “I don’t think I can keep my eyes open anymore.” Clarissa props her eyes open with her fingers while her elbows rest on the library table.

  I can feel her pain. I’m completely and utterly whipped. Finals week is kicking my ass. I thought my freshman year was hard, but my sophomore year has stepped it up a notch, leaving me sleepless, living off coffee, and walking around the beautiful paved grounds of Yale like a zombie between exams.

  School is everything to me, but right now I want a break from it. Not a divorce—I’m not at that level yet—although I would really like some kind of “Ross and Rachel Break.” Just a few more days and then it will be over. Then I can sit on my bed, laptop on my lap, and watch all the romantic movies my little heart desires.

  It’s going to be a dream.

  “I think I’m going to head out. Do you want to come?”

  I look up from my book, highlighter in hand, and shake my head. “I have about five more pages to get through of taking notes and then I’ll be on my way.

  “Do you want me to wait for you?”

  “No, I’m good. I don’t feel like carrying your sleeping body back to our dorm. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Clarissa starts to pack up. “We’re hitting up the French toast bar tomorrow morning, right? Davie was telling me they have every fruit compote you can think of.”

  “Yes. I think the French toast bar is the only thing motivating me today to get through this material. I will see you in the morning. Be careful walking back, okay?”

  “I will. See you in the morning and don’t stay out too late. You might make it through the material, but if your head’s not in it, you’re not going to retain anything.” Clarissa hefts her book bag over her shoulder and grants me an air kiss, retreating quickly. She’s going to conk out the minute her head hits her pillow.

  Okay, time to focus.

  Five more pages.

  I can do this.

  Sitting up tall, I lightly slap my cheeks, blinking rapidly to wake myself up. Take a swig of my cold coffee, shake my shoulders, and then go back to my page, the words floating across the page, sentences long forgotten.

  Crap.

  Maybe I need to do a little stretching.

  Taking a quick observation of my surroundings, I spot two other students burning the midnight oil completely immersed in their books, not paying me the tiniest bit of attention. Seeing the coast is clear, I stand from my chair, clasp my hands above my head and bend from side to side before bending forward into a downward dog position. I hold the pose for a few seconds before standing back up and repeating the process five times. I’m not a yogini, but I saw something on a YouTube about sun salutations. I know I’m not doing it right, but it’s close enough.

  Once I complete my last round, I sit back in my chair and tell myself I’m refreshed, that all I needed was a little yoga in my life.

  Letting out a long breath of air, I uncap my highlighter and straddle the book with my hands.

  Here we go.

  Human behavior blah blah blah.

  I blink a few times. Let’s try this again.

  Human behavior is blah blah blah.

  “Come on, Westin,” I mutter to myself, once again giving me cheek a good slap.

  Human . . . I wonder if they’ll have whipped cream with the French toast tomorrow. Chocolate chips? Blueberries, they have to have blueberries.

  Oh hell.

  This is pointless.

  I close my book and pack up my bags. Clarissa was right. I need to call it a night. There’s reading and learning and then there’s reading the same sentence over and over again and still not absorbing it. I believe I’ve hit my brick wall.

  A good night’s rest and some French toast is really what I need to revitalize myself, not some half-assed sun salutations. It’s all about the carbs and refined sugars during finals week to get you through the pressure of acing all your exams.

  In record time, I clean up my mess, stow it away in my backpack, and make my way out of the library, praying that my fellow late-night studiers make it further than me.

  The campus is dark, only a few lamps lighting up the midnight sky, casting an eerie glow on the old stone buildings. Even at night, darkness cloaking the intricate architecture, I still think it’s the prettiest university in the United States. I remember visiting Rath for the first time here, my eyes wide, my heart immediately attaching to the Yale blue scattered all over the beautifully historic campus. I knew this was the school I had to go to, the school I would earn my doctorate from.

  Or at least hope to earn my doctorate.

  There will be no doctorate if I can’t pass these exams, which means I need to hoof it to my dorm and get some sleep.

  I grip the straps to my backpack and pick up the pace just as, from the corner of my eye, I see a tall figure approaching. My stomach jumps, my heart rate skyrocketing as the man I can’t quite make out picks up his pace until he’s right next to me.

  I freeze, ready for the worst when the guy says, “Julia?”

  Peeking one eye open, I take the guy in and recognize him from one of the frat parties I attended with Clarissa, not one of Rath’s—which was against his rules, but Clarissa really wanted to meet up with this one guy who coincidentally stood her up. Figures. I never told Rath about it because there was no need to get him upset.

  “Uh, yeah.” I keep my hands to myself even though he holds his out to shake. Casually he sticks it back in his pocket.

  “Trent.” He presses his hand to his chest. “We met at Sigma Chi a few weeks ago.”

  “Yup. It’s nice to see you again.” I keep it short and sweet. I have no intentions of engaging in small talk. I hate it. I’m not good at it. “Well, have a good night.”

  “Wait”—he pulls on my shoulder—“where are you
going? Want to grab a drink?” Is this guy for real? It’s one o’clock, most bars around here would be closing soon. And it’s finals.

  “No thanks.” I try to step away but he keeps his hand on my shoulder, shooting my nerves into overdrive. “I’m tired, so I’m heading back to my dorm.”

  “I’ll walk you.” He grips my arm tightly. “What dorm do you live in?”

  “Umm, I can walk myself, really, it’s okay.”

  “Where do you live, Julia?” he asks, venom dripping from his voice.

  I try to loosen away from him but instead, he grips both of my shoulders and locks me into his side.

  “Let go of me.” I attempt to shimmy away from him but there’s no use, he’s stronger than I am.

  “Don’t make a scene, just tell me where you live and I’ll walk you home.”

  “I don’t want you to walk me home. Please,” I beg, tears filling my eyes. “Let me go.”

  “If you don’t tell me where you live, then—” Before he can finish his sentence, he’s ripped from my side followed by a loud crack of bone on bone.

  Horrified, I turn to find Trent lying across the pavement with Bram pinning him to the ground, fist pulling back again and striking him in the face repeatedly.

  Crunch after crunch rings through the silent night air, and if I wasn’t so terrified for what might happen to Bram, I would let him continue, but Bram is so close to graduating, and I don’t want him to ruin that over some dickhead.

  I race to Bram and pull on his bulky shoulders, trying to hold him back. “Bram, stop,” I shout. “Please. I’m okay. He’s not worth losing your education.”

  Bram has one fist in the air, ready to connect with Trent’s bloody face one more time when he pauses, my words sinking him. Pulling Trent up by the shirt, he brings him close to his face. “Report this, and I report you for being a sexual offender on campus, and you will lose everything. Touch her again and I’ll make sure I finish what I didn’t get to finish here. Got it?” Rough and determined, Bram enunciates his every word.

  When Trent doesn’t answer, Bram shakes him and asks again, “Got it?”