Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2)

by Everly Ashton

  “Just some stuff at work, that’s all.”

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask, glancing at her.

  “With you? Hard no.”

  “It’s interesting how you worked the word hard into a sentence about me.” I give her my grin that never fails to get under her skin.

  Fiona rolls her eyes. “Give it a rest.”

  So I do, because she really does seem like she’s had a rough day and isn’t in the mood for our usual sparring.

  For the next twenty minutes, we watch the documentary—I’m surprised she hasn’t demanded I change the channel. Marlowe comes out of her room and joins us.

  “Hey, Fi. How’s it going?” she asks.

  “It’s going. Where are you off to?”

  Marlowe does a little spin to show us her outfit. “I have a date. What do you think? Does this scream ‘take me home and ravage me’?”

  My face puckers up like I ate something sour. “Gross, Lowe.”

  My sister rolls her eyes at me and looks at Fiona.

  “You look amazing. He’s a fool if he can’t see that.”

  “Thank you.” She beams with that hopeful smile she always has when she’s pursuing someone. “I’ll text you where I’m headed, and if I need you to call me with an emergency to get me out of there, I’ll just text you 9-1-1, okay?”

  Fiona chuckles. “I know the drill by now.”

  “All right then. I’m off. See you guys later—or not.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Gross.” I toss the pillow I’m leaning on at her, but it hits the back of the apartment door after she closes it with a yelp.

  “What’s wrong, you’re not equal opportunity when it comes to sex?”

  “Not when it comes to my sister,” I grumble.

  “Like you’ve never made her deal with your own bullshit.”

  “I don’t talk to my sister about my sex life. I know you’re an only child, but that’s not something siblings do.”

  She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “I seem to remember you forcing your sister to keep Becky McGraw occupied while you finished with Stephanie Lorenzo at a house party in high school. Marlowe constantly had girls coming up to her, wanting to know what was going on with you and whoever after you hooked up with someone and blew them off.”

  “That was high school.”

  “So? You’re saying you’re a changed man?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” A vision of Annabelle from my work floats through my head, but that’s different. It was one time and she was in agreement of that before we did it. I can’t help it if she liked it so much she keeps coming back for seconds.

  Fiona guffaws.

  “You don’t believe me?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Whatever.”

  But it pisses me off that Fiona still sees me as the same person I was in high school. It’s like the people in my life don’t think a person can change, grow, and mature.

  The timer on the oven beeps, and I walk into the kitchen and put the girly oven mitts on again. The lasagna looks perfectly cooked, so I pull it out, set it on the stove top, and turn off the oven.

  “What’s that?” Fiona asks, grabbing a water from the fridge.

  “Vegetable lasagna. I didn’t add any meat so that you could have some if you want.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that.” She stares at the dish with the same desire she did my abs the other morning.

  “I know you didn’t. It’s just something an adult would do as a thoughtful gesture after being allowed to move into someone’s apartment after their own was damaged by a fire.”

  I turn to leave the kitchen, hating the way she always assumes the worst of me. After my phone call with my mom earlier, I’ve had enough for one day.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” she says before I’m out of the room.

  “I’ve lost my appetite. You enjoy.”

  I don’t bother to turn around and see if she has any reaction to my exit. Just like everyone else who’s known me my whole life, she thinks the worst.

  Eight

  Keane

  “Sounds like you’ve had a lot going on in the past week.” Rod sips his soda.

  I met Rod when I was fifteen and working my first job as a bus boy. One night, two of the sous-chefs didn’t show up for their shift, and as a last resort, he subbed me in to help out. He says he saw something in me, so when he left the restaurant to accept a job at the local college teaching culinary arts, he suggested that I take the summer programs they offered there for teens. He’s been a friend and mentor to me ever since.

  “Tell me about it. It’s been intense.”

  “At least your sister stepped up for you.”

  “Yeah, she’s good people.” I sip from my coffee even though it’s nearing eight o’clock at night. Since I’m used to working late and sleeping late, I try not to veer too much off that schedule on my days off. Otherwise it’s hell trying to get back to it.

  Once I left the apartment, I called Rod to see if he could meet me at our usual spot—a dive of a diner on the south side of town. It doesn’t look like much, but they make a triple-decker grilled cheese that’s to die for, and the coleslaw on the side is some of the best I’ve had. I’m surprised Guy Fieri hasn’t showcased this place on his television show Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.

  “So what’s your plan to buy-in with Jacques?”

  The waitress sets our food in front of us, and after we thank her and she leaves, I respond. “I’m not sure. I’ll go to the bank to file for a loan, but I’m pretty sure they won’t give me one. I was thinking of asking my parents to co-sign for me, but then my mom called and reminded me how little confidence she has in me.”

  Rod frowns before taking a bite of his French dip. He knows the history with my parents, and if I’m honest, I think that’s part of the reason he took me under his wing in the first place.

  He finishes chewing and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I’m sure that’s not true. I think sometimes people get stuck in certain behaviors and it’s like any habit—it’s hard to break.”

  I think of Fiona and the enemy dynamic I started with her when we were young and how that’s carried us through all these years. Maybe he’s right.

  “Your parents are just used to questioning you about everything and worrying about the missteps you might take. I don’t think it has anything to do with their confidence in you.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, picking up my grilled cheese and taking a bite. I moan when the flavor of the cheese, bacon, and sautéed onions hits my tongue. Delicious.

  “Why don’t you go see this new space with Jacques and see what you think? Discuss the type of place you’d want to run there, and after, present a business plan to your parents. The same as you would for any investor or bank. Help them see it’s a good investment for your future.”

  I fork up a heap of coleslaw from my plate. “Yeah. Maybe that would convince them.”

  We enjoy our meals in silence for a minute while Rod’s suggestion rolls around in my head. It’s not a bad idea. It would show my parents I’m serious about this venture and that I know the restaurant business more than they assume I do.

  I stay for another hour and shoot the shit with Rod, finally saying goodbye so he can get back to his wife, Jane.

  “Tell Jane I said hello.” I give him the handshake-into-a-guy-hug combo.

  “Will do. Good luck with everything. Make sure to let me know how it works out.” He clamps me on the shoulder like a father would a son.

  “For sure. Thanks again for listening.”

  “No thanks necessary. You can do this, Keane. You’ll figure out a way.”

  The entire drive back to the apartment, all I think about is whether my life would be any different if my parents treated me the way Rod does. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and they’re not bad people. They’ve just ne
ver really expected anything other than failure from me. At least that’s how it feels.

  But Rod’s right. I will figure out a way to make this venture happen. I’ll show my parents I’m a safe bet.

  “You must be Marlowe’s brother.”

  My foot is on the first stair in the entryway of the building when someone speaks behind me. I whip around to find a lady in her seventies standing in a floor-length nightgown that’s a little too see-through for my liking. The door of the apartment near the building entrance is wide open.

  “I am. I’m Keane.” I step back down and over with my hand held out to shake hers, carefully keeping eye contact so I don’t accidentally get an eyeful of something I don’t want to.

  “Mrs. Davenport. I’m the building superintendent, which is just a fancy name for the landlady. Your sister told me what happened at your apartment. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. Everyone was okay though, and that’s all that matters.”

  She leans in, and the wrinkles beside her eyes deepen. “Your sister didn’t mention what a looker you were.”

  I chuckle. “Thanks. You available?”

  She swats at me playfully. “Oh, I see you’re trouble when you wanna be. I’m alone now since my husband died a decade ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We had a good life, nothing to be sorry for. I’ve had my one great love and I’m sure I’ll see him sooner than later.”

  This woman’s a riot. “Well, let’s hope it’s later, not sooner.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” She gives me a big toothless smile. It’s clear she’s not wearing her dentures.

  “Well, it was good to meet you. Thanks for letting me play roommate with the girls.” I shift to step back on the first stair.

  She grips my hand, blue veins showing through her paper-thin skin. “You stay as long as you like. I have a feeling you’ll be good for those two.”

  “I’m not sure Fiona would agree with you. Mind having a talk to her for me?” I wink.

  That will only piss Fiona off more, which somehow puts a satisfying smile on my face.

  “Oh yeah. Definitely trouble.”

  She turns without saying goodbye and shuffles back toward her door. I wait, and she gives me a small wave before closing the door. Only after the sound of several locks sliding into place do I continue up the stairs to the third floor.

  Using my key, I unlock the apartment door and step inside. Fiona turns around on the couch from watching reality TV.

  “Lowe home yet?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  I toe off my shoes and hang my spring coat on the hook next to hers. Figuring it’s best not to get into another sparring match with her, I head straight toward my bedroom.

  “Keane.”

  At the opening of the hallway, I stop and turn to face her. She’s muted the TV and is repeatedly tucking her hair behind her ears. There’s something about her expression. Is she… nervous?

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts, almost as if she thinks the words won’t come out if she doesn’t force them to. She fidgety with uncertainty, but I’ve never heard those two words come out of her mouth directed my way before.

  “For?” I step farther into the room.

  Her eyes narrow as though she’s annoyed at having to spell it out for me. “For the way I acted before. Something happened at work today, and I took it out on you when you did a nice thing by cooking the lasagna.”

  “Are you saying this because you tried the lasagna and it’s the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?” I grin, forcing from my mind the picture of putting something of my own in her mouth.

  She shakes her head, but there’s a slight smile on her face.

  “Admit it. It was the best you’ve ever had.”

  “It was really good,” she finally admits.

  I know that took a lot for her to admit, so I won’t rub it in. I step forward and sit in the chair. “So what’s going on at work? Anything I can help with?”

  “The girl who normally works the overnights has a family situation and she’s asked me to switch shifts. Now starting next week, I’ll be the one doing the overnights.”

  I lean forward, clasping my hands between my open legs. “And that’s not something you want to do?”

  She shrugs. “Not really. I enjoy interacting with the people who use our services, and overnights don’t really allow that. Most of the time it’s lights out and everyone sleeps. It’ll just be different, and I’m not sure it’ll be a good different.”

  I frown. I’m surprised she’s telling me all this. We don’t exactly share our thoughts and concerns. “So why did you say yes then?”

  Her head rears back and she blinks a bunch of times as though she’s surprised by my question. As though she hadn’t considered that she could say no. Then again, when is the last time I heard Fiona tell anyone no, even me? That would be never.

  “Her mom is sick, and her dad works nights. She didn’t want her mom to be by herself.”

  “You could’ve still said no. Did the idea even occur to you?”

  She holds my gaze for a second with the bravado I’m used to from Fiona, but her gaze quickly falls to her hands. “It won’t be forever.”

  “Whatever you say.” I stand from the chair, locking my gaze with hers again. “You know it doesn’t make you a bad person if you put yourself first.”

  “I know that,” she says, but even a stranger could tell she doesn’t believe that.

  I have my guesses as to why she thinks she can’t, but I’m not ready to call her out on it yet. After all, I promised to play nice.

  Nine

  Fiona

  A little more than a week has passed since Jerica asked me to switch with her, and I’m two days into my new shift. It’s going to be an adjustment. Although I’m allowed to sleep when I’m at the shelter on overnights, I don’t sleep well—there’s always a disturbance with one of the men at some point during the night, and my single twin bed feels as if it’s been around since the 1970s. Then I have to wake up early to prep for the day and to show everyone out of the shelter bright and early. By the time I arrive home, I’m still tired, but not enough to sleep.

  So I’ve decided to try to keep busy by catching up on the projects I’ve wanted to finish for a while. First up—remove the wallpaper from my room.

  There’s no telling how old it is, but it’s old. When we first moved here over a year ago, I left it up because it’s retro and cute and the small daisy print accented my boho style. But I’m tired of it and I want to paint the walls instead.

  I push my nightstand into the center of the room, where the rest of my bedroom furniture sits. My mattress is piled up with the drawers from my dresser because it was too heavy to move it with them in there, along with a bunch of other stuff. My room is utter chaos right now, but in the end, my redecorated room will be worth it.

  I grab the ladder Mrs. Davenport let me borrow from the property maintenance closet in the hallway and drag it into my room. It creaks when I open it and position it near the wall.

  On the way home, I stopped at the hardware store and picked up a paper scorer and TSP so I can soak the walls and remove the paper. I’m hoping I don’t have to do too much patching on the walls underneath, but there are bumps and lumps visible underneath the paper, so that doesn’t bode well for me.

  I score the wallpaper on the first section and spray the wall with water, using my scraper afterward to lift one section of the wallpaper at the seam. Once I have an edge, I pull up the paper. It takes the front section of paper off but leaves the backing, so I repeat the process until the wall underneath is exposed. It’s painted in boring beige. I can’t wait to add some cheery color to these walls.

  After an hour or so, I grow frustrated at not being able to reach the top of the wall well enough to remove all the wallpaper. One of the things we all loved about this apartment was the high ceilings. In newer apartments, the ceilings are lower. But
that’s proving a disadvantage right now.

  I’ve managed to clear one entire wall except for about a foot and a half at the top. I’m spraying the remaining paper near the ceiling when Keane’s bedroom door opens, and the bathroom door closes.

  I made myself scarce the first couple of days on my new shift so that I wouldn’t have to interact with him much during the day. So today is the first test of whether or not we can extend the new tenuous truce between us.

  I grab the scraper off the top of the ladder and step onto the highest rung. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little uncomfortable standing this high.

  Just don’t look down. Focus on what you’re doing.

  I use the scraper to get underneath the soaked wallpaper.

  “What are you doing?” Keane says behind me.

  I grip the ladder and look over my shoulder at the doorway. “Seriously, do you need me to take you shopping or something?”

  He stands there in his boxer briefs—his chiseled chest and treasure trail like a neon blinking light demanding I check them out and follow the path they take toward the large bulge in his underwear. Keane Travis is definitely packing.

  “Get a good enough look?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, and I’m not impressed.”

  He steps into the room with a chuckle, a smirk on his perfectly-shaped lips. “Your body betrays you.” He motions to my chest.

  I look down to see the sharp points of my nipples through the thin cotton T-shirt. Note to self: wear thicker bras.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of being embarrassed and covering myself. “It’s cold in here.”

  His blue eyes light up, probably having some sexual innuendo or sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, but he somehow restrains himself. He examines the wall. “This looks like a lot of work.”

  “It is. I’ve already been at it for a couple of hours.” My toes rise up on the ladder to reach the higher point.

  “I know.” He raises his hands up above his head and stretches, yawning at the same time.