The WRONG Brother: A Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love You Forever Book 1)

by Alexis Winter

  I guess maybe I should start a friend zone club for girls. We could sit in a big circle, pass a bottle of wine, and tell each other about the guy who just couldn’t see us as anything more than their friend. I’ll call it End Zone. Get it? Like friEND, meaning the end of this bullshit relationship we’re stuck in.

  But honestly, I don’t want to end the relationship I have with Preston. I love him. He’s my best friend and he knows all my secrets, even the embarrassing ones. If I have to pick between being his friend or nothing at all, I’ll take what I can get. That’s how in love I am. I’d rather sit on the sidelines and watch every other girl get the one thing I can’t have over not having him in my life at all. I’m pathetic.

  “Have you even listened to one word I’ve said?” Danny asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Huh?” I ask, finally turning to look at him.

  He looks from me, to Preston, and back. He lets out a light chuckle and shakes his head. “Still have that crush, huh?”

  My back straightens. “What? What crush? What are you talking about?”

  He roll his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he mumbles as he takes a sip of his beer.

  I bump my shoulder to his. “Seriously.”

  He sets his empty glass down and turns to look at me. “I see it, Piper. Everyone sees it. Well, except for him, I guess.”

  “Really?” I ask, feeling my face heat up. “He doesn’t know? At all?”

  “He’s never mentioned it. You’ve never told him?”

  “No way! I’m too afraid he’d turn me down. I mean, we’re best friends. To him, I’m built like a Barbie doll down there.”

  He laughs. “I doubt that. You’re built too nice up top to just have a lump in your jeans.”

  I bump against his arm again. “What do you think he’d say?”

  He looks over at him again. “Honestly, I think he’d turn you down. But not because he doesn’t think you’re attractive or anything like that. I think you two have a relationship most people never get—something everyone wants. It doesn’t matter if you’re wrong; he will always have your back, because you’d do the same for him. He needs a constant in his life. And that’s you. I don’t think he’d ever do anything to jeopardize that. He needs you too much. He loves you too much to risk losing you.”

  I sit back, watching Preston, and nod.

  “I’m going for a refill. Need anything?”

  I shake my head as he walks away. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to let this crush go and accept the fact that I won’t ever have Preston the way I want. But I feel slightly better when I realize I already have him in a way no other woman ever will. Well, at least not until he gets married.

  Three

  PIPER

  Around midnight, the woman Preston’s been working on gets up and leaves. He stands back and watches her go with a smile. When she’s no longer in sight, he makes his way back to the table.

  “Aw, leaving empty-handed?” Danny teases him.

  “Yeah, but I got her number,” Preston says, holding a piece of paper between his index and middle finger. He tucks it into his pocket before looking over at me. “You about ready to call it a night? If you drink much more, I have a feeling we’ll be making that call to my parents.” He gives me a smile—a smile that’s reserved only for friends.

  I nod. “Yeah, let’s do it.” I finish off my beer as he works his way out of the booth. When my glass is gone, I push myself up. The fast movement goes straight to my head. Dizziness takes over and I trip on my own feet, falling straight into his arms.

  He’s smiling wide at my clumsiness but helps get me to my feet. “Whoa, guess it’s a good thing we’re leaving. Someone has gotten weak on us, Dan.”

  “Screw you. I’m not weak and I hold my alcohol just fine. I just tripped over the table leg,” I lie. Truth is, I don’t drink as much as I used to. I find there’s no time in my life for hangovers.

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you home,” Preston says, agreeing but sounding like he’s only doing so to keep me under control.

  I smile and wave. “Bye, Danny.”

  He laughs and shakes his head at me. “See ya next time, Pipes.”

  Preston leads me out to his car in the parking lot. He opens my door and helps me down into the seat. I buckle up while he walks around the car and gets behind the wheel.

  “Wait, aren’t you drunk? Should we walk again?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink since that first pitcher, and that was, like, four hours ago.”

  “What?” I ask, confused. Wasn’t he right there drinking beside me the whole time? Well, he was with that woman for a while. A lonnnnnng while. Now that I think of it, he didn’t have a drink that whole time. And he didn’t share any of the pitchers Danny bought. No wonder I’m so drunk. Danny and I had at least three pitchers to ourselves.

  “This is your fault.” I point at him.

  He laughs. “What’s my fault?”

  “Me being this drunk. I’m going to have a hangover tomorrow because of you.”

  “How’s it my fault?” he asks, turning out of the parking lot.

  “I thought you were drinking with me. Turns out, I drank twice as much as I thought because you weren’t drinking your share.”

  He laughs harder. “You would still be this drunk, dumbass. We just would’ve spent more money.”

  Oh. Yeah, I guess he’s right. When I start drinking, I don’t like to stop until something makes me stop: I get sick, I pass out, or the bar closes. I’m many things, but I’m not a quitter. Which is another reason I don’t drink very often anymore.

  “My mom’s going to be sooo mad at me when I get home,” I laugh out.

  “At least you didn’t get arrested,” he points out.

  “Good point! I’ll make sure to bring that up if she starts yelling at me.”

  “Any plans for tomorrow?” he asks, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

  I shrug. “Nothing on the books yet. Why, what’s up?”

  “I was thinking we could have a good old-fashioned beach day—you know, like we used to? We could pack a cooler then spend the day working on our tans and getting drunk. Then we could grab some dinner off the hot dog cart. Sound good?”

  I smile, thinking about all the good times we’ve had on our beach days. “Sounds good! Noon? You know I don’t like getting up early, and now that you’ve got me this drunk, it’ll probably be even harder to get out of bed.”

  “Noon it is,” he agrees as he pulls into the drive at my parents’ house.

  I unbuckle and climb out. Like the gentleman he doesn’t want anyone to know he is, he waits until I get inside the house before backing out of the drive. I bounce my way off the walls up to my room. The second I fall into bed, the only thing I can think about is my Uncle Peter and my Aunt Beth getting it on in my room, around my things . . . in front of my baby picture, for crying out loud! First thing tomorrow, I’ll be telling Mom to buy a new bed. This one’s tainted.

  My phone rings and pulls me out of a deep sleep—so deep I didn’t have one nightmare about my tainted bed. I grab it off the bedside table and answer it without looking.

  “Hello?”

  “Rise and shine, sunshine,” Preston says, sounding way too cheerful for as bad as I feel.

  I don’t respond. I can only groan.

  “Oh, come on. We have a day full of festivities planned. Get your ass up and let’s hit the beach.”

  “I thought we agreed to noon?”

  “It’s 11:30. By the time you get ready, it’ll be past noon. Now get up. Don’t make me pick you up out of bed. You know I will.”

  “Fine. I’m getting up.” I hang up the phone and go directly to the connected bathroom, hoping a shower will make me feel more human. A good 30 minutes later, I’m climbing out and pulling on my red bikini. I tie it extra tight with the memory of Preston running by me on the beach and snagging the string, causing the bottom half to untie on one side. I remember my face
was just as red as this bathing suit.

  I pull my honey-blonde hair into a messy bun, tug on my shorts, and slide on my flip-flops. For good measure, I grab my extra-dark sunglasses before exiting my room. I find him already in the living room, talking with my parents as they watch TV.

  “There she is,” my dad says when he sees me walking down the stairs.

  “Morning,” I mumble.

  “Morning? Ha!” Dad scoffs. “You’re just as irresponsible as you were at 16.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “Don’t judge me. I’m on vacation.”

  That causes my parents to laugh.

  “Ready to go?” Preston asks. “A warm muffin and some coffee await you in the car.”

  “Mmm, I’m ready,” I agree, a little too eagerly.

  Preston opens the door for me and the moment I step out, I’m blinded by bright sunlight. My head throbs as I shield my eyes, causing me to walk right into my mom’s ceramic planter. “Oweee!” I cry as I jump up and down on one foot while holding my shin with both hands.

  Preston laughs. “Come on, vampire. I’ll get your blind ass to the car.” He places his hands on my shoulders and leads me off the porch toward the car. Once inside, the tinted windows make opening my eyes much easier. I look down at my shin to see a scrape and a bruise already forming.

  When he takes his seat, I turn my heated gaze on him.

  “What? It’s not my fault you hurt yourself,” he says around a grin.

  He’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from being mad at him. He starts the car and I sit back, pulling my seatbelt over my body. “Where’s my muffin?” I ask, looking around the car and not seeing my favorite white, blue, and yellow bag.

  He rolls his eyes but reaches into the back seat, handing over the bag. I smile as I open it, peeking inside to see my favorite banana nut muffin. I inhale the sweet scent and my mouth instantly waters.

  As he starts driving toward the beach, I tear off the top of the muffin and put a small piece into my mouth. It practically melts on my tongue. I lean my head back, close my eyes, and smile, enjoying the sweetness. “Mmmmm,” I moan. “It’s literally like heaven in my mouth.”

  He snickers and shakes his head. “If only I could find a woman who treats me as well as you treat your baked goods, we’d all be set.”

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Um, hello! She’s right here! You think I treat my baked goods well, you should see how well I’d treat you. It wouldn’t be a muffin melting on my tongue right now. It would be your hard coc . . .

  “Should we swing by the store to grab stuff for a picnic or live off hot dogs all day?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  I feel my face heating up. It’s like he knew what I was thinking and wanted to stop it before it could go too far. “I’m good eating wieners all day,” I say around a smile as I wag my brows at him.

  He laughs and pushes against my arm. “There is seriously something wrong with you.”

  “What’s the most wieners you’ve ever eaten in one sitting?”

  He shakes his head. “Can we stop calling them wieners?”

  “Fine. How many hot dogs can you eat in one sitting?” I need a distraction and, hey, I’m always willing to talk about winning that hot dog eating contest a few months back.

  He shrugs. “I guess four?”

  “Four?” I scoff. “Amateur.”

  He laughs in disbelief. “Okay, big shot. How many have you eaten?”

  “Seventeen!” I gloat.

  He laughs even harder. “What? No fucking way. I’m hitting the bullshit button on that one.”

  “I swear. And I have proof!” I grab my phone and pull up the picture that was taken of me after I won the contest. My stomach is probably double its normal size. My cheeks are puffed out like a squirrel carrying nuts, I have a sash across my chest, and both arms are thrust into the air, ecstatic I won. Next to me is a judge holding a sign with the number 17 on it. He’s also holding an envelope containing my prize.

  He looks at the picture and laughs. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be proud of this. Delete that shit and deny it if anyone asks if it’s you.”

  I smack his arm. “Are you kidding me? I’m thinking about having it framed. This is my finest hour!”

  He chuckles and looks toward the road. “What did you win anyway?”

  “Free Netflix for a year,” I state.

  His mouth drops open. “You ate 17 hot dogs, probably made yourself sick, and took a year off your life for a one-year subscription to Netflix?”

  I smile and nod. “And bragging rights, of course!”

  “My statement still stands.” There’s a long, drawn-out silence as I put my phone away and he continues to drive. “What made you join a hot dog eating contest to begin with?”

  I smile. “My friend Riley and I went to the state fair. We had tickets to a concert, but we went early just to hang out, drink, and stuff our faces with fair food. Anyway, we got hammered in the beer garden and needed to sober up before the concert, so we went in search of food. We were passing by the hot dog eating contest stand and she bet me I wouldn’t do it. I figured, two birds, one stone. I got free food and I won the bet! And a year of free Netflix! Triple win!”

  “And that’s why we’re friends,” he laughs out. “You see what I mean about you and Calvin never working out? He would never even consider doing something like that. And here you are, doing it just to prove a point.”

  I snort. “Not that I would ever even consider dating your brother, but am I really that different from him? And if I am, people do say that opposites attract. Maybe he’s what I need and I’m what he needs. You know, he needs someone to push him to do something out of the box, and I need someone to keep me from crossing the line, because you know the line and I have never seen eye-to-eye.”

  He shrugs. “I guess you could be right, but what the hell would the two of you talk about?”

  I bite my lower lip, desperate to prove my point. Don’t ask me what my point is, because even I’m not sure. “Anything. The same things we talk about. I mean, you and I are exactly alike. We would have fun doing anything and everything. But Calvin and I would have to connect on a deeper level. Well, either that or he’d just have to be really good in bed,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. It’s like he’s too focused on something else, so I let the topic fall away completely.

  A little while later, we make it to the beach and he grabs our things and carries them down to the sand. While he sets up the blanket, I stick the umbrella into the sand and get everything situated. I set up our beach chairs, strip out of my shorts, and place the cooler between our two chairs so neither of us has to reach far for a beer. I know beer is the last thing I should be thinking about after last night, but the hair of the dog is the only way I’m getting through this.

  I take a seat in the chair and grab a beer. I slide on a koozie and pop the top, taking a long drink. Alcohol isn’t allowed on the beach, but everyone does it, and as long as things don’t get crazy and you’re not openly showing your container, no one gives a shit.

  Preston sits beside me and does the same. We both drink our beer and look out over the water. “Remember the graduation party we had here?”

  I smile. “Of course I do. I finally got the chance to show up stupid Linda Miller by doing that keg stand and winning the party.”

  “Winning the party? That’s what you think you did?” I can hear the amusement in his voice, so I turn to look at him with my brows drawn together.

  “Yeah, what do you think I did?”

  He smirks. “If I remember correctly, you did a keg stand, got dizzy and drunk, then puked on half the student body.”

  Oh yeah. I forgot about that part. “But after that, I did another keg stand and didn’t puke. Still sounds like I won.”

  He laughs. “I love how you always make everything so positive. It’s like that time I got into that fight and was suspended from the football game. You came over and we ended up getting trashed a
nd going skinny-dipping in the pool.”

  I nod. “I remember that well. That was the first time I got to see little Preston.” I laugh because I know the only word he’ll focus on is little.

  “Little? What do you mean little? If anything deserved the title of ‘little,’ it was your tits.”

  I gasp. “My tits were not little. They were still growing. I was a late bloomer. The same couldn’t be said about you, though. Your voice changed in the sixth grade. One day you sounded normal and the next it sounded like you got ahold of Chewy’s squeaky toy and had it lodged in your throat.” I can’t hold back my laugh when I think of a 12-year-old Preston chasing after the dog to get the squeaky toy from him.

  “Shut up. It wasn’t that bad.” He playfully smacks my leg.

  I nod. “Oh, it was that bad. I remember you trying to talk your mom into letting you skip school until it calmed down.”

  He shakes his head, annoyed that this is what we’re talking about. “You think mine was bad? Don’t you remember Calvin’s?”

  I honestly can’t say that I do. By that point, Calvin was too old to hang out with us, since we were just a couple of kids at the time. He still hung out with us, but more in secret. I don’t think he wanted to let on to his friends that he was slumming it with some dorky kids. “I don’t think anyone was as bad as you, Pres.”

  He waves his hand through the air, done with this conversation. After a while, he asks, “So, how’s work going?”

  I nod as I take a sip of my beer, already starting to feel a little better. “It’s going well. I’ve officially been there a year, so hopefully the promotions start rolling in soon.”

  “I don’t understand the whole promotion thing. I mean, you’re a writer now, so a promotion to what exactly?”

  “Writing better pieces—things that make the cover or are a page long instead of just a couple paragraphs. The bigger the piece, the more recognition you get. And eventually, I could move to head writer—or even editor. However, it’s going to take a lot longer than a year. Some people have been there since the magazine started, and they haven’t even gotten a promotion yet.” I shrug. “But for now, I’m content. I mean, it keeps me busy, it pays the bills, and I do enjoy writing.” I look over at him as he watches a couple of girls run to the water. “How’s work going for you?”