Loving My Best Friend

by Reid, Roxy

  13

  Jack

  Yo. What do you want for your birthday? I checked with my dad, and I can get you anything you want. They think you’re a good influence on me. They don’t know the beer was your idea.

  —Jack McBride, scribbled on a sticky note and passed to Eva, eighth-grade science class

  The next day it occurs to me that she should have a ring when we go back to the office. If we’re trying to convince everyone that this was a well-thought-out, intentional engagement, and not a hasty response to an inconvenient photo on a gossip website, Eva needs a ring.

  Which is how I end up in a discrete back room at Tiffany’s, where they stash billionaires who need to go ring shopping without anyone knowing. The short white man who’s helping me reminds me of an ageless yet ancient elf, perfectly dressed, and deeply knowledgeable about all things jewelry related. His name is Norman.

  Norman determines pretty quickly that I do not actually know what I want. Apparently, there’s a difference between a princess-cut and a pear-cut. Also, there’s something called a baguette-cut?

  “Have you thought about this at all?” Norman asks, somewhat exasperated. “Perhaps the lady has dropped some hints about what she would like?”

  “God, I wish,” I sigh. That would be so great if Eva would just tell me exactly what she wants so I can give it to her.

  None of this, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, crap that leaves a man’s insides completely knotted up. She had to know I was talking about her yesterday. Right? How could she not know? Except, if she knew and she didn’t see a future with me, surely she would have said something.

  Norman must sense my torment because he sets the box of sample rings aside and stands up to fetch something. When he returns, he has a heavy glass tumbler, which he fills with a discrete splash of very fine whiskey before passing it to me.

  I blink. “Is that allowed?”

  Norman steeples his fingers and smiles kindly. “I have been doing this for a very long time, Mr. McBride. Why don’t you tell me about the woman you wish to buy this ring for, and then I will make a recommendation.”

  I reach for my phone. “Do you want to see a photo of her? You can see what style she wears.”

  “That’s not necessary, but if you want to show me, you can.”

  I pull up a digital folder I made a few years ago of Eva photos. Her mom was doing some sort of scrapbook for Christmas and asked me to send along a few of my favorites. I pass it to Norman.

  “Those are a few years old. Well, some of them are very old. What I mean is, her hair’s different now.”

  Norman swipes through the photos. He looks through all of them, slowly and carefully. When he looks up, he’s smiling. “You’ve been in love with her for a long time, haven’t you?”

  See! Even fucking Norman can see it. Why can’t Eva?

  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about her?” Norman asks as he passes me the phone.

  “She’s really ambitious, but she never uses it to hurt people. She pays attention to the people around her and notices things I just don’t see. She knows how to take care of herself, but she doesn’t know how to spoil herself. That’s why she needs me. She’s beautiful, and she’s good to my family. Even though my family—I love them, but they’re a lot. Anything that matters, I can trust her with. She makes me laugh at the weirdest times. Like, we’ll be talking about something serious or stressful, and not only does she dive right in and try to figure out a solution, but she does it in a way that makes me laugh. She makes it fun. All she wants from me is … me. In return, I get all of her.”

  Norman blinks.

  “Oh. You meant like, does she like colored stones or diamonds.”

  Norman bites back a smile. “Well, yes, that was what I meant, but what you just gave me, I can work with.”

  He disappears into another room.

  When he comes back, he shows me one single ring.

  It’s perfect.

  * * *

  I bound up to the apartment. It’s a new experience, going home and knowing someone’s waiting for me. Even better, I’ve got something guaranteed to make her smile. The other day, when we were packing up her apartment, she mentioned that none of her exes ever bought her jewelry. I would have gotten her a ring, anyway, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that I can give her something they never did.

  God, she dated some dumbasses. Who wouldn’t want to shower Eva with every gift under the fucking sun?

  I let myself in.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I call as a joke. Well, mostly as a joke.

  A delicate hand pops up on the other side of the couch and waves me over. When I walk over, I see she’s slumped on the couch in leggings and a big, cozy light pink sweater. She’s scrolling through something on her laptop, frowning in concentration.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I’m tracking how well our stories played out in the press. There are a couple blogs and gossip sites that are being snide and skeptical about it—”

  “How rude of them to guess the truth,” I deadpan.

  “—but any of the mainstream outlets that covered it are going with our version, and that seems to be the version that’s circulating on social media. The serious reporters don’t care about your wedding, and the writers who stick to fluff love the romance of it.” She looks up from the screen and smiles wryly. “Who knew all my PR problems could be solved with a hot man and the words, secret engagement?”

  “Speaking of solving problems, I figured we should make this fake engagement of ours official.” I reach into my pocket and toss her that iconic, pale blue box.

  “Jack, please don’t tell me you went out and bought some fancy …” she trails off as she opens the box and sees the ring.

  “Do you like it?” I ask, suddenly doubting myself.

  Eva carefully plucks it out of the box and holds it up to the light. It’s a white gold band with three flawless diamonds in a delicate art-deco setting. It’s modern, timeless, interesting, flawless. The moment I saw it I thought Eva, but now she’s staring at it, and I can’t read her face.

  Crap.

  “I mean, it’s not a jewelry set engraved with your accomplishments,” I joke.

  “It’s perfect,” Eva says softly.

  “Oh. Good.” I hop over the couch and sit down next to her. “Let’s see if it fits. I checked your jewelry box, but you never know.”

  I take it from her unprotesting fingers and slide it on her left finger. It’s weird, but as I’m doing it, I get this sense of fate. Like everything in my life has been leading up to putting this ring on Eva Price’s finger.

  Which is a load of bullshit. It’s just a ring.

  Still. It fits her perfectly, and the way she’s staring at it, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, she might be reconsidering me as relationship material.

  Hey. A guy can hope.

  I drop a kiss on Eva’s cheek as I stand up. “Perfect. You can wear it when we go back to work on Thursday.”

  I wander off to order us dinner, trying to ignore the way she’s still staring at my ring on her hand.

  14

  Eva

  Jack’s being so weird about his birthday party. He keeps checking to make sure I’m still coming. He says he wants to tell me something important afterward.

  —Eva Price, journal, junior in high school before she moved to California

  It takes me a week of wearing Jack’s ring before I break and call Tracy. She’s only been back in the states for a few days, and I definitely shouldn’t be talking to a reporter about this, but I’m desperate.

  It’s been a week of Jack being, well, perfect. We challenge each other at work, go home and relax together over amazing food and bad TV, and then challenge each other some more in bed. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sexually satisfied in my life. It’s not just the sex. Jack is considerate. He makes sure I eat on busy days. He makes sure I turn off the phone and relax when I’m fina
lly at home. He figures out dinner on the days when I’m too tired to move. When I occasionally return the favor, he gets this giant grin on his face like he’s delighted I’m worried about him.

  I’ve never had a guy take care of me. When one of my ex-boyfriend’s thought to go above and beyond, it was just that—going above and beyond. A rare treat that made me feel special and loved.

  Jack takes care of me like it’s an utterly ordinary thing to do. Like it’s not anything special. Like I should actually expect my man to always have my back, and I should demand more if he doesn’t. The worst thing is, I’m beginning to believe him. He’s seducing me into getting used to being treated like my needs matter as much as his, if not more.

  I sit in the back of my favorite cafe, staring down at Jack’s ring on my finger and waiting for Tracy. It’s strange to see his ring on my finger but also terrifyingly easy to believe.

  Is it any wonder I’m falling for him?

  This is why I need my other best friend—a tough, sarcastic, skeptical woman who will knock this fairy-tale out of my head before I start believing in it. Because if I let myself believe in it, I could do irreversible damage to my friendship with Jack.

  “Holy hell, that’s a rock.” Tracy scoots into my booth like a tornado, dumping three bags on the seat next to her and spilling her black coffee on the table as she sits down. Tracy is a stunningly beautiful plus-size reporter who once got a high-level CIA agent to spill his secrets in an interview. We met when I was trying to help my first client recover from an expose Tracy had published on him. By all rights, we shouldn’t be friends, but she’s one of my favorite humans on the planet.

  I try to dab up her spill with some paper napkins, but she grabs my hand and examines the ring. “Wow. That sucker is big.” She winks at me. “Is he compensating for something?”

  “Tracy! No. He doesn’t need to compensate for anything.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my God, you’re blushing. You’re so smitten.” She dumps a lethal amount of sugar into her coffee and starts stirring. “So, how long have you been officially dating? Since right after his birthday, right?”

  I blink. I was sure Tracy would come in suspicious of my sudden engagement and demanding the truth. Instead, she’s acting like a conspiracy theorist who’s just had their favorite theory proved correct.

  “Why do you think we got together after his birthday?”

  “Because you missed it. You know Jack. He pretended it didn’t matter—there were hundreds of people there, and who cares if you weren’t—but he was miserable. Got drunk and went home with some skinny Instagram influencer who just wanted a famous notch in her bedpost.”

  I take a sip of my coffee. “I still don’t see how this relates to us getting together.”

  “I figured you found out about the Instagrammer and read him the riot act about making bad decisions. He confessed he did it to get over you. You were shocked he was in love with you because you’re always oblivious to that kind of stuff, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you loved him, too. So, you dumped what’s-his-face and got together, but you kept it quiet in case it didn’t work out because you didn’t want to deal with the opinions of all your friends and family.” Tracy sips her coffee. “Am I missing anything?”

  I glance around the coffee shop to make sure no one’s close enough to hear us, then lower my voice. “Off the record?”

  Tracy rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. No one cares about your love life. He’s not that famous.”

  “Tracy, I’m serious. Promise me nothing I say passes your lips. To anyone. Friend, colleague. No one.”

  She sets down her coffee, my seriousness finally penetrating her concentration. “Okay. I promise. Off the record. What’s up?”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s all fake.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “What the fuck? Was that kiss in front of the hotel some kind of publicity stunt? Because, once again, I reiterate, he’s not that famous, and that photo could have caused you and him a lot of problems if you hadn’t announced the engagement … Oh my God.”

  “Yeah,” I say, watching as she figures it out.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, the kiss was real, but everything after that …”

  “Not so much.” I sip my coffee while she slumps back in the booth, processing.

  Her eyes flick down to the ring. “It’s fake, but he still got you that ring? Because it’s fucking perfect for you, and it’s not exactly cheap.”

  I lean in. “This is the problem. We’ve always been friends, right? But then we started this friends-with-benefits thing, and then there was the photo on the gossip site, so now we’re stuck playing house. Which would be fine, except he keeps doing these sweet, perfect things. And I can’t help it. I’m falling for Jack McBride.”

  “Huh.” She sips her own coffee. “I guess this means we’re not talking about my love triangle with a really hot Thai model and an almost equally hot Australian travel reporter?”

  “Which one’s better at sexting?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “You don’t live in Thailand or Australia. Which means long distance. So go with whichever one is better at texting. Problem solved. Now back to me.”

  “Okay, fine, back to you, but only because that was a legitimately brilliant solution.” Tracy sips her coffee. “So what’s your problem, exactly? Are you trying to figure out how to get Jack to fall in love with you for real, now that you’re falling for him?”

  I sit back in surprise. “What? No. He’s never had a relationship last longer than six months. That’s a nonstarter.”

  Tracy cocks her head. “Whose idea was the fake engagement?”

  “Mine.”

  “How long did it take him to agree to it?”

  “I don’t know. Less than two minutes. He was fine with it once I clarified we could keep sleeping together.” I shrug. “That’s not the point.”

  “You’re living together, right? Who suggested that?”

  “Him. But that doesn’t mean anything. I started it at the hotel. I kissed him.”

  “Yeah, and he kissed you back. That kiss was rated R from what I saw. You probably scarred the doorman.”

  I cross my arms. “What are you getting at?”

  She ticks off each point with a finger. “One, he basically pounced on you as soon as you made a move that let him know you were interested. Two, he agreed to a fake marriage in a heartbeat as soon as he knew it wouldn’t end the real romantic relationship you and he had just started. Three, he proposed you move in with him. Four, he bought you a real engagement ring that is literally perfect for you. Five, he’s doing so many ‘sweet’ and ‘perfect’ things, you’re over here freaking out at me about falling in love with him.” Tracy takes a sip of her coffee. “Face it. You’re being wooed.”

  “He is not wooing me,” I hiss.

  “Have you ever known Jack McBride to do anything he doesn’t want to do?” Tracy asks.

  “No, but—”

  “Wooing,” she says sympathetically.

  “It’s not like that!” I run a hand through my hair, then lower my voice. “He’s self-conscious about the fact that he’s never been in a longer relationship. I told him he might as well practice on me since we’re together for the next eighteen months. He’s not doing this stuff because he wants to be in a relationship with me. He’s doing it because he wants to be in a relationship with someone, and I’m safe to practice on. Unfortunately, he’s really good at it, and it’s having unintentional side-effects.”

  “I … guess that’s possible,” Tracy says reluctantly. “So, what do you need me for?”

  “I need you to talk me out of it. I need you to remind me that this is Jack, and he’s great at friendship but crap at relationships, and I’d be a fucking idiot to get my hopes up.”

  She sips her coffee. “I thought you just said he was really good at the relationship stuff.
”

  “Tracy. Not. Helping”

  She sighs. “I guess if you’re falling for him and you don’t want to, just spend less time with him? Throw yourself into work. Hang out with me. Forget to return his texts when he sends you a joke.”

  “So ghost him?”

  Tracy shrugs. “That’s what I do.”

  “It’s going be hard to ghost Jack considering that I live with him.”

  “I believe in you! Ruin your happiness! Crush that love!” She lifts her fist in the air like she’s cheering me on.

  I groan and drop my forehead to the table. “Why did I kiss him?”

  “Because he’s a smart, hot, powerful guy who treats you well and thinks you walk on water, and you’ve been fighting off having a crush on him as long as I’ve known you.”

  I sigh into the table. “It’s not that I don’t want to believe he wants a real relationship with me. I wish he did. I wish it so much that I know I’m probably projecting and seeing things that aren’t there.”

  Tracy drums her fingers on the table.

  I glance up at her. “What? What are you thinking?”

  Tracy makes a face. “You don’t want to know.”

  I sit up. “No. Tell me. I’m going crazy here. If you’ve got something to say that will give me some clarity, spit it out.”

  She drums her fingers some more. “Does he ask for direction in bed?”

  “What? What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

  “You think he’s only asking you for relationship stuff because you’re a safe, friendly person to ask. It’s got nothing to do with him trying to learn how you like being treated in a relationship. Right?”

  “Right,” I say cautiously.

  “If he asks you what you like in bed—in a setting that is the definition of un-platonic—because he’s trying to learn how to treat you specifically, not women in general, isn’t it possible he’s asking you what you like in a relationship for the same reason?”