I sit down at the bar and order a beer, but angle myself so I can watch them. I don’t bother to hide that I’m checking them out. Three of the four are hot enough to take home, but one in particular catches my eye. Long legs, straight hair, full lips. She’s exactly the type of girl I usually go after: tall, blond, nice boobs. It’s an easy sell for me. You might think that’s my type, but the truth is, it isn’t. But it is the type I go for to get my mind off my real type.
Because my real type—the woman I want more than anything—I can’t have. She’s my best friend. And she’s always been off limits.
I fell for Kylie, hard, when we were teenagers. Fuck, it was before that, but at ten or eleven years old I hardly knew what the feeling was. I knew I loved it when she came over. I found out where my Aunt Cindy kept her day planner, and I’d sneak it to look for the appointments with Mr. Winters, our family lawyer. If Mr. Winters was coming over, that meant he’d bring Kylie. He always did.
I’d wait for her at the top of the staircase like a fucking puppy. She’d walk in the door and the world would get a little brighter. The pain of losing my parents wasn’t quite so bad when she was around. It was the only time I was really happy.
By the time we were teenagers, the three of us still hung out all the time, although we went to different schools. I watched her developing body with keen interest and a fair amount of confusion as to what was happening to mine when I thought of her. And that’s when it started—the shitty timing. She came over one day and pulled Selene aside, the two of them talking in excited whispers.
Kylie had a boyfriend. He’d kissed her on the mouth. With tongues. I pretended I didn’t care, that it didn’t cut through me like a fucking butcher knife. I made a joke about the size of her new boyfriend’s dick, and she was mad at me for weeks. So I never commented on her boyfriends again.
Relationships came and went, for both of us. I started dating girls; they weren’t her, so nothing lasted. I got a reputation as a player, and I went with it. Might as well. It’s all part of the facade, the mask I wear to be the man the two women in my life need me to be. Selene needs me to be her strong guy, her rock, her protector. So I am. Kylie needs me to be her friend. So that’s what I am for her. And if that’s all I ever get to be, then I’ll take it and consider myself fucking lucky. Because being her friend is a hell of a lot better than not having her in my life at all.
That’s what I tell myself, at least.
But as time goes on, it’s getting harder to keep it inside. I love every second I get to spend with her, but at the same time, it’s torture. I’ve watched her date assholes who don’t appreciate her, and some who almost do—and those are the ones who scare the fuck out of me. We’re both nearing thirty, and one of these days, she’s going to meet the guy who will capture her heart and take her from me forever.
I have no idea what to do about that.
I don’t interfere with her relationships. Just a text asking for a date, like the one she got at dinner tonight, is enough to send me retreating back behind my protective wall. I live behind that wall, never letting the world see the man I am inside. It’s tall and thick as fuck, built of hard stone and painful loss. I’m the man my girls need me to be. Nothing more.
So instead, I look for happiness, or some version of it, and usually just find a lot of empty sex that makes me feel like shit when it’s over. I don’t talk to my girls about that either. They see what I want them to see—the big, confident asshole who can turn any woman into water in the blink of an eye. And I am that guy. He isn’t an act or a lie. But he’s not all of me.
Tonight, because the ache in my chest is too much to bear, I let him take the lead.
I take a long pull from the bottle and turn my attention back to the blonde at the table. I catch her eye and offer a very small smile. Just a twitch of my lips. She looks down quickly, like she’s going to play shy.
Most guys would order her a drink and have it sent over. I don’t play that game. I’ll make eye contact a few times, show her I’m interested. If she approaches me, great—I like it when women are bold. If not, I’ll just walk up and tell her what I want.
I don’t get turned down very often.
I glance at their table again. They’re all looking at me now. I focus on the blonde, holding her gaze for a long moment. The others giggle a little and whisper behind their hands.
I take a swig of my beer. Might as well get this show on the road.
“Evening, ladies,” I say as I approach the table. I hold my hand out to the blonde. She takes it and I lean in, bringing her fingers up to my lips. “Braxton Taylor. And you are?”
She looks at me with an open mouth. Yep, she’s in. I can see the yes in her eyes.
“Jessica,” she says.
I keep hold of her hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Jessica.”
Her friends are staring at me, just as open-mouthed as she is.
“You, too,” Jessica says, her voice breathy.
I hesitate for half a second, wondering if I should ask her over to the bar to get her away from the influence of her friends, or just say fuck it and proposition her right here. I decide on the fuck it option.
“Jessica, I was wondering something,” I say.