“Come on, you asshole, you’re better than this,” I mutter to myself, pen poised.
But nothing.
Nothing comes to mind.
“Fuck.” I chuck my pen across the living room, lean back on the couch, and guzzle the rest of my beer. This is useless. I can’t come up with one idea worthy to use to win Julia’s heart.
Not a single one.
When I got the brilliant idea to brainstorm, I popped open a beer and felt invigorated. That was until every idea I started writing on my notepad was pure shit.
Dressing up as a teddy bear and hand-delivering flowers? No one does that.
Singing a love song, preferably something like K-Ci and JoJo’s rendition of All My Life, in the lobby of her office. No one wants to hear me sing.
Hiring a skywriter to spell out “Date me, Jules” above her office. That’s just unnecessary pollution.
Why am I so lame?
The elevator door pings, causing me to cringe with regret. In total desperation, I might have sent Roark a text with the siren emoji and the words, my place, now.
I’m wishing I didn’t send it now, because all I’m going to get is shit from him. But then again, I also added the beer emoji so he should have reinforcements with him.
When the elevator doors slide open, Roark calls out, “Did you find a wart on your dick?”
“No,” I groan. Yup, I regret this decision already.
Roark flops on the couch next to me and hands me a six-pack of Guinness. Christ, I should have been more specific about what beer to bring. I don’t feel like chewing through my beer right now.
He takes in all the balled-up pieces of paper on the floor and then turns toward me. “Are you in the hunt for a new property?”
“Why would I ask for your help when it comes to property?”
He shrugs and opens a beer. “I don’t know. You’re desperate?”
“I’m not business desperate, I’m”—I swallow hard—“I’m relationship desperate.”
Mouth open, eyes wide, Roark slowly rotates so he’s facing me. Like me, he has a flair for dramatics and his facial expression is showing that right now. “Do tell.” Like a dickhead, he crosses one leg over the other and bats his eyelashes at me.
Seriously regretting this decision.
“Can you not act like an asshole please? Just be normal.”
“If you wanted normal, you shouldn’t have text me.”
“Well, Rath wasn’t an option, so can you please try to not make this a big deal, put away your sarcastic comments, and just help me?”
He sips from his beer. “How do I know how to help you if I don’t know what it’s about?”
“You know damn well what this is about. I used the word . . . relationship.”
“Nope, no clue.”
I really hate him. Truly, truly hate him.
“This is about Julia.”
“What? I had no idea,” he answers, hand to his chest.
I thrust his chewy beer back in his arms and point to the elevator. “Leave before I crack your skull.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His Irish accent grows thick. “What’s the rush, lad? I just got here.”
“And it’s time for you to leave.”
There is a slight hint of seriousness in his facial expression when he says, “All right, I’ll be cool. What’s going on with Julia?”
“You’re not going to be a dick?”
He holds up his hands in defense. “I’ll try not to be.”
Because I’m desperate, I decide to talk in the hopes that he is able to act like an empathetic human for a second and offer me some good advice.
“I went to Julia’s apartment Friday night and told her how I feel. Laid it all out on the line.”
“What?” Roark shows genuine shock. “Holy shit. How did that go?”
My lips thin. “Not as planned. She, uh, kind of asked me to leave after I kissed her.”
“Wait.” Roark holds up his hand. “You kissed Julia then she asked you to leave? Dude, how bad was your kiss?”
Abruptly I stand from the couch and grab Roark’s arm, dragging him toward the elevator. The whole time a deep, hearty laugh pops out of him. I press the down button to the elevator and the doors open right away just in time for me to shove him inside.
Still laughing he says, “Don’t be so sensitive. Let’s talk this out, maybe I can give you more pointers.”
As the elevator doors start to close, I point my finger at him and say, “If you utter a word to Rath, I’m chopping your dick off. Don’t test me, because I will.”
Beer halfway to his mouth, he covers his crotch and winces as the elevator doors close.
Fucking waste of time.
I contemplate my options of who to talk to and realize there really is only one person I’m comfortable at this point talking to.
It’s time to shoot off another text.
* * *
I drum my fingers on the table, impatiently waiting, my eyes scanning the small coffee house, an untouched coffee in front of me.
For the fifth time, I check my watch. One more minute.
I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t show. I sounded like a desperate fool when I texted her, but that’s exactly what I am—desperate.
After Roark left, I put the plotting session to rest and spent the rest of the night watching The Kissing Booth. It was paused on Julia’s TV, and I thought that maybe if she does give me a chance, I’d have one more thing to talk to her about, especially since I made things awkward between us.
And hell, that movie was good. As a guy, a teenage love story shouldn’t be something that holds my attention, but I was all about it. I’m a romantic at heart apparently, which if that’s the case, where the hell are all my good ideas for winning the girl?
There isn’t a solid guy blog about dating that I could find that didn’t basically make the entire male race look like a bunch of dickheads. Which then made me think, I need to start a blog.
That idea lasted for about ten minutes until I realized I have nothing to say other than invest your money and get rich, and there are plenty of money blogs that can elaborate on that recipe for success.
It’s why I ended up watching The Kissing Booth twice, but we’ll keep that to ourselves.
The door to the coffee house opens and she finally strolls in, decked out in a long black parka, winter hat with a white pom-pom, pink scarf, and winter boots. When she spots me, she raises her hand in my direction and quickly gets a cup of steaming coffee.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Walking outside in this snow is almost impossible.” Quickly she disrobes and drapes her coat over the empty chair between us and sets her purse down as well. With a deep breath, she smiles back at me and says, “Tell me everything.”
In a weird change of events, the girl Julia set me up with is now my fairy godmother when it comes to dating.
“Where do I even start, Carly?” I ask, slouching in my chair.
“The beginning.”
She grips the paper cup of coffee with both hands and brings it close to her face, the steam warming her red nose. Attention completely focused on me, I commend myself for making a smart decision and contacting Carly last night. I knew she would be understanding, and one hundred times better than Roark. If only I had thought to text her first.
Wanting to give her the entire scoop, I start from the beginning like she asked. I tell her about the kiss, about my confession, about Julia’s reluctance, how she thought I was treating the program as a joke, everything.
And once I’m done, Carly sits there, a thoughtful look in her expression, a slight quirk in her lips.
“And she said I can’t right now?” I nod as she takes another sip of her coffee, the liquid resting on her tongue for a few seconds before she swallows. “Right now leads me to believe there is still a chance.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” I feel excited. “She left it open.”
“Which is exactly what a confused wo
man would do. She didn’t completely shut you down but she didn’t say yes either, which means there is plenty of room to change her mind.”
“You think so?”
Carly slowly nods. “Totally. Which means you need to get your romance on. You need to show her how perfect you two would be together, how you can be the man she’s looking for.”
“I can do that, but everything I think of feels so lame.”
She sets her coffee cup on the table and spins it around at the base, a grin pulling at her lips.
“Let me guess, you were thinking about doing something extravagant like skywriting?”
“How”—I pause for a moment—“why would you think that?”
She chuckles softly. “Because men like you always try to be too extravagant.”
“What do you mean men like me?”
“You know, men with money to burn in their pocket.” Her grin turns into a full-on smile. “Admit it, you were thinking about a skywriter.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s beside the point.” She laughs even harder but I don’t think she’s making fun of me like Roark did, so her jovial humor doesn’t get on my nerves. “I mean, I might have thought about hiring a skywriter but that’s all it was, a thought.”
“I’m glad you kept it at a thought, because that’s not the kind of approach you need with Julia. I’ve spent a good amount of time with her and one of the things I realized is that she’s calm and reserved, so you need to make your gestures powerful, but understated. Does that make sense?”
“It does. Make it meaningful.”
“Exactly. How long have you known her?”
“Over ten years.”
“So you know a lot about her, right? You’ve had moments together in those ten years?”
“Many.” I smile to myself, thinking back over the years I’ve snuck in little moments with Julia.
“And were they all good moments?”
All except for one, but that near disaster meant I got to hold her in my arms. Despite the fucking reason why, it was the first time I realized I would do anything for this girl, even if it meant getting expelled from Yale because of nearly beating someone to death.
“Yeah, for the most part they were all good. But even so, she seemed so completely surprised that I had feelings for her. She had no clue whatsoever, and I don’t know how or why.”
“I’m not saying this is the case, but what if she’s never believed she was in your league?”
“That’s ridiculous, Carly—”
“We both know it’s ridiculous.” She says that with a smile, and I realize that Carly likes and respects Julia, which gives me more confidence. “But you said she saw you as the entertainer, the one who always holds his own, and her as the observer. The reticent one happy to exist in the shadows. Even in college she was the people watcher, and it’s part of what makes her brilliant at her job. It therefore makes sense to me that she’d never attribute interactions with her as interest in her. My guess is that she’s felt invisible to you, that she hasn’t mourned that, but shrugged her shoulders and thought that was simply the reality.”
God, this girl is smart. “I don’t know how to change her mindset, Carly. If that’s how she’s perceived me, us, my interactions, how do I reverse that? We’re talking ten years here.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “You start reminiscing, but share those times from your perspective. Show her how you felt then. Pull from those moments, and send her things to remind her of those moments, and how they affected how you felt about her. Unless she sees the past from your point of view, from your experience, she'll only ever believe her version of your history. Trust me, it’s the little memories that caused you to love her that will impress her the most.”
“The little things.”
She nods. “Yup. Seems so simple, right?”
“It does.” I sit back in my chair, scratching the side of my jaw. “So what if I sent her little reminders this week? Something that shows her I’m in this for the long run and we would be the perfect fit?”
“It sounds romantic to me. Do you have anything in mind?”
A small smile peeks past my lips. “Tube socks.”
A pinch in Carly’s brow forms. “Tube socks?”
I slowly nod, my smile stretching into a full-on Grinch grin. “Yup. Tube socks.”
Chapter Twenty-One
JULIA
“Anita, I don’t want to be an asshole, but do you have that coffee?” I rub my temples, a deathly migraine pounding in the back of my eyes.
No response.
“Hello? Anita?” I lower my head to my desk, the cool wood temporarily soothing the heinous ache ricocheting through my skull.
Nothing.
“Anita,” I groan like Rocky, calling out for Adrian.
The door to my office swings open. Thank God.
Eyes closed because the sun is too bright on this wintery Tuesday morning, I hold out my hand and wiggle my fingers.
“Just place it right here in my good hand.”
“In your good hand?”
My head pops up. A screeching, piercing pain hits the back of my eyes as I stare at a stylishly dressed and concerned Bram.
That rumbly voice.
That masculine scent.
That handsome face.
It hits me at once, like a bulldozer plowing right into my chest. Oompf.
I want to blame it on the headache, say the migraine has taken over, but in that moment, I feel my head go dizzy, a light feeling soaring through my brain when he leans down at my side and presses his warm hand to my back.
“Are you okay?” Hushed, concerned.
“No.” I swallow hard, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over my skin.
“Anita,” Bram calls out, “get me a warm hand towel please.”
Before I can tell what he’s doing, Bram hoists me out of my chair and takes me to the couch where he lays me down. He retrieves the wastebasket next to my desk and puts it in front of me right before he takes a seat and maneuvers my head onto his lap.
Anita rushes in with a hand towel and hands it to Bram, who presses it against the back of my neck. “Has she eaten anything?”
“Her usual breakfast sandwich.”
He carefully strokes my forehead. “Have you taken any medicine, Julia?”
“No,” I weakly say, tears pricking at my eyes, wanting to fall.
“Can you get me three Ibuprofen please, Anita, and some water?”
“Of course.” Anita scatters away, the sound of her retreating footsteps like boulders dropping in my ear.
Soothingly, Bram rubs his thumb over my forehead. “If you need to throw up, the basket is right next to you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my head feeling like a ticking time bomb with every beat that pulses harshly through it.
I want to ask why he’s here and how he knew to bring me a drink this morning when normally Anita brings me something on her way into the office. I want to ask him why he’s so gently taking care of me when I so rudely made him leave my place the other night.
But I can’t. Instead, I close my eyes and even out my breathing, trying to help alleviate some of the symptoms of my migraine.
“Shh,” Bram coos. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He strokes my eyebrow with the pad of his thumb and then moves his thumb to my temple where he slowly massages it and then back up to my eyebrow.
It feels incredible and oddly erotic.
“Here you go,” Anita says.
Temporarily, Bram’s hand leaves my face, only to hold a few pills in front of me. He then opens a bottle of water. “Take these real quick and then lie back down.”
Eyes still closed, I take the medicine and then do what he suggested.
“Hold her calls until told otherwise. Thanks, Anita.”
“Of course, Mr. Scott. I’ll be right outside.”
The door softly clicks shut, the silence just what I need. Bram rotates above me, barely shifting until I feel the so
ft interior of his silk-lined suit jacket fall over my shoulders. He removes the towel and then goes back to intricately massaging my forehead with his meticulous fingers.
It doesn’t take long until I drift off to sleep with the feel of his fingers skimming my skin firmly in my memory.
After what feels like hours, I open my eyes, my migraine completely gone and Bram nowhere to be found. Very slowly—too scared the migraine will be back full force—I lift up from the couch, Bram’s jacket sliding to my waist. He left it with me?
I roll the luxurious fabric between my fingers, letting the soft scent of his cologne ease the tension in my shoulders. Did he leave anything else? I turn toward the coffee table and see nothing but a barely sipped water bottle and the trash can right below it.
Hmm, disappointing.
Not sure what time it is but knowing I need to get some work done, I slowly rise from the couch and make my way to my desk where I see a note taped to the top of my computer.
A smirk pulls at my lips as I sit and snag the note.
Dear Jules,
I hope you’re feeling better. I hated seeing you in pain. I might not have a PhD like you but, I do have my nursing degree in TLC, and this nurse says take the rest of the day off. Before you can even think about starting up your computer, I’ll have you know, Anita stole all the important cords to your computer and Internet. I instructed her to go home and come back with them tomorrow. When you’re ready, Mikey, my driver, is downstairs ready to take you home. He’s also been instructed to stop by Starbucks and get a soy chai latte whenever you come down as well. The one I brought you this morning is cold by now.
Text me to let me know you’re okay. Sorry I couldn’t stay. I had meetings I couldn’t reschedule, but just know, I’ll be thinking about you the whole time.
Feel better, Jules.
Love,
Bram
I roll my teeth over my lip, trying to contain the stupid grin on my face, but there’s no use, I’m smiling like a fool. I should be mad that he basically took over my day, made me rest, sent my assistant home, and told me to go home. I should be mad that he bossed around my assistant. I should be mad that he came here when I told him I couldn’t handle anything about us.
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 19