Dating My Best Friend: A Second Chance Romance

by Annie J. Rose

  At home, I scrolled through my photo archive on Instagram and landed on a former flame. I had liked Holly when we dated. We were together for four months. She took a modeling job in Hong Kong, and we broke up because we knew we couldn’t handle the distance. She was a sweet and caring person, and we’d both liked doing hot yoga. I decided to give her a call. First I did a quick search to make sure she wasn’t engaged or married already. Since she came up single, I dialed her up.

  I got her voicemail. That told me two things. First, she hadn’t changed her number. Second, she saw my number and didn’t answer. Granted, the woman could have been working or otherwise busy, but I knew her well enough to know that she took her phone everywhere and slept with it under her pillow at night. I didn’t believe for a second that had changed. Could I blame her for not answering a call from an ex? Not really. So I figured I’d leave a nice message. One that sounded like I was interested in her life and not just hitting her up to see if she was in town. It wasn’t five minutes till she called back. I smiled when I saw her info on my screen.

  “Hey, Holly,” I said.

  “Josh! Baby, how you been?” she asked. “It’s the middle of the night here.”

  “I’m sorry. I never know where you’re gonna be. You work all over the world. If I woke you—”

  “No, it’s not a problem. Listen, I’ll be in LA next week. I have a launch party for this tequila brand I’m the spokesmodel for. After the party on Thursday, I’ll give you a call. Two or three in the morning okay? I know you were always a night owl,” she purred.

  Okay, she just wanted to hook up. I scratched my head.

  “I was hoping we could spend some time together, go out maybe. Catch up on what’s been going on in our lives.”

  “Oh. Well—I’m not really in a relationship place. I’m leaving for Budapest after two days in LA, and then it’s on to Jakarta.”

  “I see, well, best of luck then,” I said, disappointed.

  Not to be deterred—and having a full complement of exes I was still friendly with—I scrolled until I found Sierra’s number. She was an actress, the It Girl from a couple of years back, now doing her own sitcom for Netflix. I dialed her up, wondering if a merger of the marriage variety would help her image as much as it would boost mine. After two attempts, I figured out that either she hadn’t set up her voicemail account or her number had changed. I messaged Max to see if he could get me her new number, and his response was, “No, not an actress!”

  Moving down my list, I got a hold of one ex-girlfriend who was engaged already, and three more who were happy to hook up with me, but not interested in a relationship. Either because they were seeing someone else or because they remembered why it didn’t work out the first time.

  The last one I talked to, Raven, had laughed at me.

  “You expect me to believe you want to pursue a serious relationship? I was going out of town for work, and you broke up with me because you didn’t think we were strong enough to handle the separation. Those were like your exact words.”

  “I’ve grown since then, and maybe I realize what I gave up,” I said, trying to seem convincing.

  “Thank God I know better than to take you seriously,” she said and hung up.

  Okay, so maybe there was one ex who didn’t like me at all.

  I was a little discouraged, but I wasn’t a man who gave up that easily. There were plenty of fish in the sea, so I swam over to Chateau Marmont after eleven to see what I could catch.

  Chapter 2

  Abby

  Finally, a break.

  After all that time I spent chasing down details as a script supervisor and writing teleplays on the spec, I got a writing job at last. It was a perfect example of kismet that landed me there, in an actual writers’ room. Just like I always dreamed. Okay, in my dreams it smelled less like stale coffee and cigarettes. In fact, in my dreams, it didn’t stink at all. Still, I had stepped in to help write the Golden Globe-winning season finale in a pinch, and now I was part of an award-winning team.

  I took my place at the table. I set down my water bottle, phone, tablet, and a notepad and pen. Just because I was surrounded by seasoned screenwriters who had more awards than I had candles on my birthday cake, that didn’t mean I didn’t have every right to take up space at this conference table where I’d earned a spot. I’d come a long way from blogging my way through college about my adventures as a Hooters seating hostess (disgusting, misogynistic atmosphere, great tips, and pathetic pickup lines, just as you’d expect). I remember getting excited when I cracked thirty blog followers. Now I had a job working for a top television drama with all of these distinguished…men. All of them. To be fair, it was a show about warfare, so it made sense that—nah, I was just the first girl who made the cut. So I’d have to work extra hard to prove myself to them or they could be asking me to make their coffee. Their stinky writers’ room coffee.

  I read through the email the team got that morning from the director with an upcoming plot twist that he, the producers, and the head writer had worked out earlier. It meant that a character I created for the two-part finale, Cirenda, would be getting a more prominent role. I was excited to see what I could do with her character.

  I made a few notes, cleared my throat, and was about to start talking when another writer piped up about pairing Cirenda with Milrand, the grieving warrior. That got my hackles up. The first significant female lead in four seasons didn’t need a boyfriend straight out of the gate. She needed to develop a complex set of motivations before pairing off or being confined to the role of love interest.

  “To me, the biggest contribution this character can make to the fabric of the story is the addition of some levity. Remember the Twitter reaction to her sarcastic remark in the first part of the finale? It was viewer gold. So I, for one, am eager to see Cirenda bring comic relief to Ancient Crowns,” Mitchell, one of the senior writers, said.

  “I agree that Cirenda’s feisty personality was my favorite part of working on the finale, and that should remain part of her character,” I said, “but relegating her to comic relief is a mistake. She didn’t disguise herself as a man and ride all the way from Mykonos to slip on a proverbial banana peel in-between giving Milrand blow jobs. It would slam dunk on her integrity as a fighter and a former priestess to have her cracking jokes to relieve the tension for the front burner characters. I’m sure you see that.”

  “You’re very attached to Cirenda. She’s the first character you’ve gotten to bring to life. But you have to realize that, as part of a writing team, many of our story decisions are guided by the wishes of the director, producers, and network based on focus groups and what they respond to. Our millennial viewership has flagged in the last two seasons, and projections indicate that adding more humor will win them back. We need those numbers in a younger demographic to attract more sponsors,” Randolph, the head writer, said patiently.

  “It’s a business,” I said. “It’s hard for me to remember that sometimes because I’m new at this. I appreciate your help, and I’ll definitely need your advice going forward. But as a fresh voice on a proven team, I believe my vision for Cirenda appeals to the female viewers of my age group—strong, independent women who care about the greater good even if it means sacrificing some personal happiness.”

  “We’ll take that under consideration and revisit it later,” Randolph said.

  I winced and took a drink of water. , had effectively dismissed me, and it stung.

  We went down a list of several upcoming plot points that had been decided upon already. Most of them just plain sucked. But after being reminded that I was the new girl, I decided to keep my mouth shut for now.

  “We’ve worked together, the group of us, for better than a decade for this network. There’s a learning curve to the workflow of a team, and we respect that. In turn, you have to respect the process of collaboration. We were in a bind when you stepped in on the finale. We would have agreed to practically anything the network allow
ed on the heels of Robert’s sudden departure. So you may have gotten the impression that, in the throes of our grief, we were rudderless. But there’s a leadership structure in place,” Randolph said. “We have eleven more items to discuss. This might be a good time for a break.”

  I nodded, cheeks flaming, and went to the ladies’ room where I could be sure I wasn’t being followed, considering I was probably the only woman on the entire floor. I could do this. I just had to change my approach. I had swooped in and rescued them when Robert, one of their writers, had died after a short bout with pneumonia. I’d been in the office working on script supervision details as a freelancer when they tapped me to write. They’d liked my ideas well enough then, and the episodes had been a success. Now that they didn’t need me as desperately, I might have to soften my attitude. I was used to having to shout to be heard as a woman in a man’s industry and a woman whose previous job was to nitpick the details. As much as I hated having to temper my personality, I wanted a good work experience, and they would have to be fed my ideas with a sugar coating. I was stepping on toes, and I’d have to back off a little. I needed to build some goodwill. I brushed my hair, stared at myself in the mirror, and nodded, chin up.

  When I strode back into the room, I went straight to Steve. “I owe you an apology,” I said. “I came in here overzealous because I was so thrilled to be working with you all and wanted to prove my worth. I got us off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry. I know I have a lot to learn.” I gave him my shy, humble smile.

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “That took balls, young lady. I don’t know if I would’ve had the nerve to take on an executive producer when I started.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but it’s tact I need to work on.”

  I took my seat and spent a rather frustrating day listening and taking notes and speaking much less. I had to play the long game to earn their respect and push my ideas forward. That meant modesty and quiet—two things I mostly sucked at.

  After work, I went out for drinks with a few friends. We had gotten too busy to keep up our Wednesday margaritas tradition in the last year or so, but it was a special occasion. I was meeting up with Katie and Sara for guacamole and gossip to celebrate three whole months of being single. I was so glad to see them. We hugged and laughed and talked over each other as we ordered our appetizers and drinks. We saw each other pretty often, but a night out together was rare. Especially since Sara just finished moving out of our apartment to join her boyfriend Andrew in his townhouse. Katie was always busy, working crazy hours as a nail tech on top of grad school. So a night out with those two was the highlight of my month.

  “So how is working in TV scriptwriting full time?” Sara asked.

  “It’s a dream come true! I mean, it was a thrill getting to pitch in on the finale, but today it’s real. It’s my job now. No more sifting through pages and dailies looking for inconsistencies with a hairstyle or a nickname or something mentioned from a past episode that’s wrong.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” Katie asked.

  “Nothing. The head writer even complimented me for having the courage to stand up for the female lead I created in the finale.”

  “So it’s a boys club. You expected that. And you can hold your own. I know you,” Sara said supportively.

  “You know what you need to help you get along in the boys club?” Katie asked. “Some of that.” She pointed to a TV above the bar that was showing a movie preview for the new Josh Mason movie—he was a cop or something, and his shirt was off.

  “I wouldn’t mind being in a club with him,” Sara said, draining her drink.

  “He is a hottie,” I sighed. “But the truth is, he’s not a bad actor. Did you see him in The Hook Up Hangover? He was hilarious, and his line delivery was so sharp even though some of the material was stupid.”

  “It’s called The Hook Up Hangover. Did you expect it to be smart?”

  “No, I expected it to be awful with a side of eye candy, and he was better than I expected. He showed some emotion, got a little choked up at the end when the stripper went back to her boyfriend.”

  “I thought he was the stripper?” Sara asked.

  “Different movie.”

  “Oh. I’ve seen a bunch of his movies, but they all tend to run together.”

  “Yeah, he sticks to the formula,” I said. “But I think he could do more.”

  “But do you want to see him play a drug dealer? Or someone who keeps his shirt on?” Katie asked. “I didn’t think so. We don’t care if the movie’s stupid, as long as he’s half-naked and looks like Josh Mason. Have you watched his trainer’s YouTube channel? That shit is better than porn.”

  “No. Why would I watch people exercise on YouTube? I have enough trouble dragging myself to spin class without spending my free time watching workouts. Fitness inspo doesn’t work on me. Only my pants being too tight motivates me,” I said.

  “It’s not for the fitness advice. It’s because Josh Mason works out in black compression shorts and nothing else. Kettlebells, medicine ball, circuit training. The push-ups. God, someone fan me,” she said, scooping up guac with a chip.

  I ate some chips and shook my head. “He’s great to look at, but I think he doesn’t get the respect he deserves as an actor because of the roles he chooses.”

  “So consider it a blow for the double standard. All those movies where Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry had to stand around in a tank top while some guy was the hacker or the fighter or whatever,” Katie said. “These cheese fries are amazing.”

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  Also by Annie J. Rose

  All books are FREE to read with Kindle Unlimited

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  Sinful Desires: A Contemporary Romance Box Set

  Forbidden Nanny

  Accidental Surprise

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  The Perfect Match

  Marry Me Already

  Boss Daddy

  About the Author

  Annie J. Rose is a contemporary romance author who loves to bring all your fantasies to life. She writes steamy romance with a happily ever after.

  Born and raised in New Zealand, she often spends most of her time writing stories by her balcony. Pharmacist by day, smut-writer at night.

  For any questions or concerns please reach out at: contact@anniejrose.com

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