Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Meeting with some volunteers at his foundation’s headquarters. And don’t try to change the subject again. I’m the sober one here, and I’m fully prepared to interrogate the hell out of you if I have to.” She smirks and pushes the drink menu in my direction. “Though we should probably order an appetizer. I want you spilling your guts, not puking in the alley.”
I gather my thoughts, let the vodka course through my veins a few minutes more, and then I give her exactly what she wants—the unfiltered truth.
“Remember when you told me not to fall for my best friend’s girl?” I ask.
Claire’s jaw falls.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t listen.” Not that I could control any of it.
“Oh my God.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “This is bad.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Grant know?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Claire leans in, brows lifted.
“I don’t even know if it’s worth it. For all I know, she only sees me as a friend.” I glance around the restaurant in search of our lavender-haired waitress who delivered the vodka shots and seemingly disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.
My sister frowns. “Do you really believe that?”
“Not entirely.”
“So you think there’s something there? Something mutual?”
“We’ve been spending time together. And there’s definitely a connection.”
She sinks back, resting her chin on the top of her hand as she examines me the way I examine my clients when I feel like I’m not getting the full story.
But her scrutiny is for naught. This is it.
It’s as simple as it is complicated.
As serendipitous as it is fucked up.
For the first time in our lives, Claire leaves me without a shred of advice. She tells me the situation is beyond saving, beyond fixing. She tells me I’m damned if I go for it, damned if I don’t. She tells me no matter what decision I make, someone I care deeply about is going to be destroyed, the trajectory of their life forever changed.
“I wish I had a magic wand so I could fix this for you,” Claire says, head tilted and eyes laced with sympathy. “I’ll just say this … you’re my brother, I love you, and I want you to be happy. And whether that means sacrificing your happiness for your best friend’s happiness or making a move for the woman who sets your soul on fire—I’m with you either way.”
Yawning, she rises from her chair and gives me a hug.
“I’m heading home,” she says an hour later, after three small plates and a shared tiramisu. “I’m exhausted. You’ve exhausted me with all of this soap opera nonsense.”
“Or maybe you’re just, I don’t know, pregnant? And that’s why you’re so tired?”
“Nah. It’s definitely your love life wearing me the eff out.” She squeezes my shoulder, slings her bag over her arm, and shows herself out. I grab the tab and hit the bar for one last drink before heading home.
Sipping my last whiskey of the night—and against my better judgement—I text Brie one more time.
ME: YOU BACK IN TOWN YET? JUST SEEING WHAT YOU’RE UP TO THIS WEEKEND …
The message shows as read almost immediately.
I wait for three blue dots that never come.
On the way home, I detour past her apartment like a goddamned stalker. The lights are on. Her silhouette moves from room to room, the curtains all pulled.
So close, yet a world away …
… until I make a decision I may or may not come to regret.
Tonight, I’m going to say to Brie what I should’ve said a long time ago.
37
Brie
The buzzer to my door rings as I preparing a cup of Sleepytime Tea. After spending a few days in Phoenix, it’s taking me longer than I expected to settle back into my New York routine. The clock on the microwave shows a quarter past eleven.
It’s got to be a mistake.
I’m not expecting anyone.
I toss the tea bag in the garbage, tiptoeing down the hall, when the buzzer goes off again.
And again.
Exhaling, I shuffle to the intercom system. “Can I help you?”
“Brie.” I recognize Cainan’s voice instantly. “We need to talk.”
A half an hour ago, he sent me a text—which I ignored. As I did the other texts he sent this week …
Despite the fact that ghosting isn’t my style, I’ve found myself paralyzed every time I try to think of a response. Maybe it’s my pride getting in the way. All week, I’ve felt silly for getting caught up in whatever this was.
Or whatever this wasn’t.
I let myself crush on a man I knew I could never have—all the while, he was playing me. At least, that’s what Grant insists. And given what I know of Cainan, I have no reason to believe he would ever betray his best friend by hooking up with his ex.