The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Fucking Christ,” I shout, my hips slowing down, our breaths catching up with the blood roaring through our bodies.

  After what seems like minutes, Julia collapses on top of me and rests her head in the crook of my neck. Sweaty and happy, I brush her hair with my fingers and kiss the side of her head. “You’re incredible, Jules.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” She chuckles and lifts her lips up to my chin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  * * *

  Early morning has fallen over our tangled bed. Sheets are thrown about, I have no idea where our limbs start and end, and I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s not because of all the sex—which has been fucking amazing—but because I have my dream girl in my arms. Her hand is resting on my chest and her fingers are dancing across my skin. This is bliss.

  I can feel it. I can feel the connection we’re growing with every breath we take. I can feel the way she slips deeper and deeper into my embrace. I’ve definitely noticed the way her eyes scan over me as if she can’t quite believe I’m here, in her apartment, in her bed.

  “Are you awake?” I whisper.

  She nods. “Yeah, you would think I would be exhausted at this point, but I can’t seem to shut off my mind.”

  “Anything you want to talk about.”

  “Not really.”

  My lips find the side of her head. “You know, now that you’re my girlfriend and all, you’re going to have to start telling me what’s floating around in that pretty head of yours.”

  “You’re going to freak out.”

  “Well, when you say it like that, it’s highly likely.” I chuckle to lighten the mood but it does nothing to the tension that starts to build up in her, so I squeeze her shoulder. “Come on, I won’t freak out.”

  “Promise?”

  “No, but I’ll try.”

  She sighs and scoots into me closer, twisting her leg through mine. “I’m just having a hard time processing all of this.”

  “All of what? Be specific,” I say calmly, even though my heart starts to race. I don’t think I’ll cope if she backs away from us now. I can’t go back to the way things were.

  “You know how I’m all about . . . science and mapping my life out, making sure everything is in order, everything matches up?”

  “Yes,” I drag out.

  She waits a few beats before continuing. “I guess, I don’t know . . . I think I’m confused.”

  “Confused about what?” Christ, woman, spit it out already.

  “You’re a red.”

  Jesus, this again.

  “Julia, can you do me a favor?”

  “Maybe.”

  I shift her so she’s forced to look me in the eyes. Gently, I cup her cheek and rub her sweet face with the pad of my thumb. “I know this is going to be hard for you, but I really, truly want you to not overthink this, I want you to just feel. Live in the moment with me.”

  “But what if the moment is wrong?”

  “Trust that it’s not.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. Just live in the moment. Will you do that for me? For us?”

  She bites on the side of her cheek, thinking about it. “I don’t live life like you do, Bram, so freely, without a care in the world. I calculate everything, making sure it’s the right move.”

  “And that’s gotten you so far in your career, something you should be really proud of, but when it comes to your love life, you have to set aside your graphs and charts and feel.” I press my palm to her heart. “Let your heart make the decisions and not your head.”

  “I don’t how to do that. For so long my head has protected my heart.”

  “Maybe your beautiful head has prevented your heart from beating to its full potential. Let your heart beat . . . for me.”

  Her eyelashes flutter as she slowly looks up at me. Tentatively, she raises her hand where she brushes my hair, feeling the short, soft strands. “I think I can do that.”

  And just like that, I feel my heart leap out of my chest and right into Julia’s hands. She holds it; she has it all to herself. But I don’t think she realizes that mine beats because of her—that she has the potential to crush it more than anyone else in my life—and I hope she doesn’t throw it back at me. Ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  JULIA

  “You know it’s not that cold out.” Bram flicks my scarf with his fingers. I tighten it.

  “It’s cold enough to wear a scarf so I don’t have to walk around sharing the hickeys all over my neck.” I give him my deepest side-eye, which only makes him laugh.

  “I fucking knew it. Jules, you have to wear those with pride. They’re love marks.” He goes to kiss me, but I palm his face and scoot away from him.

  He chuckles some more, and if his laugh wasn’t incredibly sexy, I would be annoyed. But I love that sound, the light rumble that makes its way slowly up his chest as if the sound is vibrating over every tendon, bone, and muscles in his body.

  “Then let me put ‘love marks’ all over you,” I say, using air quotes.

  He stops suddenly, and irritated bicyclists and joggers dodge him. We’re in the middle of Central Park and he pulls the collar of his sweater to the side and says, “Have at it, Jules.”

  Arrogant man.

  “You’re annoying.” Arms crossed, I walk away from him, but not for long because he scoops me up, arms wrapped around mine, and spins me a few times before planting a kiss on my neck. He starts to suck again and I swat him away. “Stop it.” I chuckle. “Don’t you ever listen?”

  “Nope.”

  I peel myself away from him and hold out my hand. “You’re on probation. You are allowed to hold my hand on this walk and that’s it.”

  “No making out against old knotty trees?”

  “No.” He sadly takes my hand in his. “You lost that privilege once you started marking me with your lips.”

  “Can you blame me? I just want people to know you’re mine. I’m so close to spelling out Bram on your neck, just a few more hickies and we should be good.”

  I halt and clutch my neck. “You can’t be serious.”

  His head flies back as a full-on guttural laugh takes over him. He pulls me in by my shoulder and continues to walk. “Oh Jules, you’re too easy to tease, babe.” He presses a kiss against my head and leads me under a bridge where unfortunately, he adds another “love mark” to the collection as I moan . . . and roll my eyes. Only Bram.

  * * *

  “There is no way that’s true.” I shove at Bram’s chest but he doesn’t budge as he keeps me plastered on the counter, standing between my legs, casually feeding me grapes from the colander in the sink.

  “Why don’t you ever believe anything I say?”

  “Because you embellish . . . a lot. It ruins your credibility.”

  “Being a good storyteller should not blemish my credibility. You’re being entirely too unfair about this.”

  I quirk my mouth to the side in disbelief. “So you’re telling me when you were five, you accidentally chopped your toe off but then luckily a surgeon was able to sew it back on, and since you’re all grown now there is no scar?”

  “Exactly.” He smiles cutely at me.

  “You are such a liar.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Fine.” I put my hand out to him. “Give me your phone, I’ll call your mom right now. I’ve met her before, so she’ll tell me the truth.”

  He winces. “You know, that’s not a good idea. I think she’s at her Bunko club right now. She gets all pissy when I interrupt her.”

  I give him a giant eye-roll and quickly push him out of the way and hop off the counter, scooting away from him before he can grab me. “You’re such a liar. You didn’t cut off your right pinky toe.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Ha.” I point at him. “You said it was your left pinky toe.”

  He looks up to the ceiling, trying to backtrack. “Did I?”

  “Oh m
y God, you’re the worst, you know that?”

  I make my way to the expanse of his living room windows and put two large pieces of furniture between us, because I know this man, and putting distance between us is only going to drive him crazy . . . which is exactly what I want to do. He drives me crazy with his words, so I’ll drive him crazy with playful distance.

  “That’s not what you said the other night in the shower. I’m pretty sure you said I was the best you’ve ever had.”

  Unfortunately that’s true. I wouldn’t normally inflate his ego any larger than it is, but God, the shower . . . he did this flicking long stroke thing with his tongue that made me nearly jump out of my skin. The confession popped out of me before I could stop it.

  Nonchalantly, I shrug my shoulders and say, “It was a lie.”

  “Ha.” He pompously throws his head back and laughs. “Please, who could be better than me? Don’t forget, I know your list of bed conquests, and there is no way in hell any of them even came close to my caliber of being able to make you scream in the bedroom.”

  Steam builds up and starts to blow out my ears. The confident, arrogant ass. I might like him—a lot—but I’m also allowed to want to punch him when the time is right, and the time is absolutely right at the moment.

  Tamping down the urge to plow my fist right to his eye socket, I decide to play with his confidence. “You don’t know everyone.”

  “Oh please, Jules, I know—”

  “Blake Davenport.” I fold my arms over my chest and stick out my hip, the hem of Bram’s shirt dancing high on my thighs.

  He blinks a few times. “Blake Davenport?” he asks a little skeptically.

  “Yup, works in my building, twentieth floor, CEO for Davenport—”

  “Advertising,” Bram finishes for me, his face growing angry.

  So, Blake Davenport is a real person. Incredibly attractive actually. He’s been known to show up on page six of the gossip magazines around the city, a new girl on his arm every night. He has a reputation as a man looking for sex, and only sex. There is no doubt in my mind Bram knows exactly who he is.

  He twists his lips to the side in displeasure, his eyes focused on me, as if he’s trying to mull over the thought of Blake and me together. “You’re telling me you had sex with Blake Davenport.”

  I wiggle three fingers at him. “Three times. Twice in his office, once in mine.” I don’t know why lying is coming so easy to me right now, but it’s just flowing and I’m loving the reaction. For once, I have the upper hand on Bram when it comes to words.

  If he wasn’t so snarky and cocky all the time, there is no way I would be teasing him right now, but a taste of his own medicine will do him some good.

  I can almost hear the grinding of his teeth as his jaw works back and forth, his sharp mind contemplating his next move.

  “How big was he?”

  “What?”

  He doesn’t skip a beat. “How big was his dick?”

  Knowing there is about to be a slew of questions headed my way, I prepare myself and try not to show any tells in my lying. “About the same as you. You’re a little girthier.”

  That puffs some air into his chest, but not enough because his eyebrows are still drawn down into a V, his anger building.

  “Did he talk dirty to you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did he spank you?”

  “Didn’t have to. Plus remember, no one has ever spanked me besides you.” Ha, nice try.

  You can see his disappointment in his inability to catch me in a lie. “So what made him better, as you say? Because I’m pretty sure no one else spends forty-five minutes on foreplay.”

  “That’s because Blake can spend ten and have me come harder and longer.”

  Oh God, the fury in his eyes, the absolute shock in his mouth. It’s almost too good.

  “Harder and longer, huh?”

  I slowly nod. “But it was just hot, sweaty sex. Nothing more.”

  “Nothing more?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “So if I took you to Blake’s office and had an impromptu lunch with him and you, you’re telling me nothing would happen?”

  “Do you think in that crazy mind of yours I would screw him right there, in front of you?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know, it almost sounds like things were carnal between the two of you.”

  I shake my head. “Are you jealous?” There is a teasing tone to my voice that I can tell he doesn’t appreciate.

  “Am I jealous? More like disturbed. You can’t tell me that there is some guy out there who fucks you better than I do. I’m supposed to be your number one. Fuck.” He rakes his hand through his hair and now I kind of feel bad for pressing his buttons, because he’s seriously distraught. “Jules, you’re my number one. Never in my life have I ever been with anyone who comes even close to the way you make me feel. And . . . fuck, it kills me that you don’t feel the same way about me.”

  Okay . . . now I feel really, really bad. Maybe my joke has gone too far.

  He heads toward the couch and lowers his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Shit, I don’t know . . . fuck, I think I need to think about this for a second.”

  As if he can’t be near me, he starts to walk to his bedroom and that’s when I realize it’s time to stop the joke. This has gone way too far and it almost seems like he’s on the verge of breaking up with me. Panic surges my body forward where I stop him from exiting the living room.

  “I was kidding. I don’t know why I said I had sex with Blake. I was just trying to . . . I don’t know, one-up you since you’ve had all these wild stories in your past.”

  “What?” His brows draw together.

  “I didn’t have sex with Blake.”

  He huffs and blows by me, his shoulder bumping mine. “Whatever, Julia. You should leave.”

  “Bram, wait.” I pull on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It was stupid and a joke gone wrong. Please, look at me.”

  I yank on his arm and when he turns around, I’m greeted with a giant smile and a shake of his shoulders as he starts to laugh.

  What. The. Hell.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I tried to hold it in as long as I could, but I can’t.”

  I take a step back. “Why are you laughing?”

  He pulls me into a hug and kisses me on the head. “You’re cute for trying to one-up me, but Blake is gay, babe. All the women you see on his arms, merely beards. Next time you try to one-up me, make sure you have your facts straight.”

  This son of a bitch. He tries to shine that winning smile at me but it’s no use, I see red. Pure, unfiltered blood red. Someone is going to be stabbed tonight, and I’m one hundred percent positive it’s going to be Bram Scott.

  “Are you kidding me?” I try to push away but he doesn’t let me out of his grasp. “I’m going to murder you.”

  Yes, that was said with my crazy voice, but all it does is make Bram laugh, lift me over his shoulder, and carry me to his bed where he shows me exactly why he is the best lover I’ve ever had—even though he’s the most infuriating man to hold a conversation with.

  * * *

  I spin on my heel and throw some air guns in Bram’s direction as I shuffle along the polished pine floor. Pins and balls bounce around us, cheers erupt randomly, and ball machines are on a constant rotation while my pitiful boyfriend sulks in a very cozy lounging couch.

  “Did you see that?” I motion with my thumb behind me. “I’m pretty sure that’s my third strike in a row, which means I got a turkey.” I start flapping my arms like wings and jutting my head out. “Second turkey in a row. How many strikes is that?”

  He purses his lips, arms crossed over his chest, a slouch in his seat. He mutters something, but I can’t quite hear him over my celebration.

  “Can you say that a little louder?” I cup my ear.

  “Six,” he hisses, causing me to laugh. Oh, he’s so mad. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
Bram Scott has fallen from his pillar and it’s amazing. Nothing like seeing your boyfriend look more human, rather than this invincible man where nothing can touch him.

  “That’s right.” I nod and sit next to him, patting his leg. “Six strikes. Wow, that’s amazing. How many strikes do you have again?”

  “You know, gloating is not attractive.”

  “Aww”—I cup his chin—“are you feeling sour?”

  “Damn fucking right I’m feeling sour. How the hell do you know how to bowl so well? Were you taking secret lessons I didn’t know about?”

  “Sort of. Remember the douche from college I dated? He was in a bowling club. One of the only things he ever did with me was take me to the lanes. He taught me how to bowl.”

  “What a dickwad. Who teaches a girl to bowl?”

  “Uh, it was romantic and cute, and a good life skill to acquire since I can drive my current boyfriend crazy with jealousy.”

  He stands and rubs his hands on his jeans, his shirt lifting slightly in the back when he picks up his ball, giving me a small glimpse of a patch of skin. “You know this is the last time we’re ever going bowling, right?” He gives me a stern look over his shoulder before launching the ball forward, straight into the gutter. I hold my lips together, holding in the outburst of laughter that wants to come out.

  He quickly turns around and points at me. “Not a fucking word, you hear me?”

  I zip up my lips and shake my head.

  He mutters something over by the ball machine giving me a chance to unleash my smile as he tries for his second turn, launching the ball high in the air. The ball hits the lane midway and bounces a few times before hitting two pins.

  I clap for him.

  He gives me a murderous look.

  “Hey, at least you know if you launch the ball like a rocket, you can at least hit two.”