by Monroe, Max
“I know you’re upset—” she starts to say, but I cut her off.
“Upset?” I spit again. “I’m not just upset, Lena. I’m embarrassed. I’m mortified. I’m fucking heartbroken!”
When the word heartbroken leaves my lips, my chest tightens and the tears flow down my cheeks like a waterfall.
God, this is horrible.
And, not only is this horrible, but I’m now lashing out her. Lena. The one person who offered up her friendship on a silver platter and hasn’t been anything but the best kind of friend to me.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter through my tears, and she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry for being such a bitch. I know none of this is your fault.”
“Girl, I get it,” she whispers and rubs a gentle hand on my back. “And I wasn’t exactly being a good friend just then. What happened last night was fucking terrible, and I think you just need a little time to process it. You don’t need me analyzing something so vulnerable right now. You just need me to be here. To be a friend.”
She lets me cry into her shoulder, and I fully take advantage.
Who knows how many minutes pass by, but I let all these damn emotions leave my body in the form of tears and sniffles and sobs. And Lena just stays there, with me, like a best fucking friend.
Once I finally manage to get my emotional ass together, I remove my snotty nose from her cute, bohemian blouse and take the tissue from her outstretched hand.
“Thank you.” I blow my nose and it sounds like a damn trumpet, but I’m too much of a mess to care.
“You’re welcome.” A soft, slightly amused smile crests her lips. “So, your brother’s big day is two weeks away, right?” she asks, and I nod. “How did the fitting go this morning?”
“Good,” I say, and there’s relief in talking about something that has nothing to do with Milo. “Sadie looks amazing in her dress, and thankfully, the bridesmaids’ dresses she picked are actually really pretty.”
“No peach taffeta or purple tulle?”
“No.” A soft laugh escapes my throat. “Thank God.”
Lena grins. “You know what I think you need?”
“Prozac?”
“No, you lunatic.” She laughs. “A girls’ night. Just me and you, some pizza from Vino’s, and a Gilmore Girls marathon.”
“Shut up, you’re a GG fan too?”
“Girl, I’m an OG GG fan. My love for Lorelai was established before my love of coffee.”
“I’m game as long as we avoid talking about anything that occurred last night and get way too much junk food to celebrate my new job.”
Lena looks at me with wide, puzzled eyes. “New job?”
“Beacon House called me this morning.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “I start next month.”
“Maybe!” she exclaims and quickly wraps me up into a hug. “Girl, I am so insanely happy for you! Holy hell! That’s certainly the best news I’ve heard all week!”
A full smile covers my mouth for the first time in what feels like forever. “Thanks.”
“And you have my word,” she adds. “There will be a shit-ton of junk food and no talk of the man whose name we shall not mention until you’re ready to talk about him. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
For now, I am going to avoid all things Milo-related until I give my brain time to actually process what in the fuck happened.
Or, at least, until you have to face him at Evan’s wedding…
Milo
I check my messages again. And still, no response from Maybe.
This morning when I woke up, I sent her a text asking if I could come over and talk to her.
I wanted to make things right. I wanted to tell her why I did what I did.
I just wanted to be honest with her. Well, as honest as I could be with her. Hell, I’m still trying to process it all.
Her response.
I can’t. I already have plans. Sorry.
I can’t. Sorry. It was all too reminiscent of the words that fell from my lips last night.
I wanted to text her back. Call her. Show up unannounced at her apartment.
But I knew that wasn’t right. Or fair.
She asked me to leave last night. And it’s pretty damn obvious, after her abnormally short and flippant message this morning, she wants space. From me.
Damn, it’s a knife to the chest.
And several hours after that painfully brief text exchange, just before I left my place and headed to get things set up for Ev’s party, I got a call from Taylor McHough.
A close acquaintance and the editor in chief at Beacon House.
The one who interviewed Maybe for her dream job.
He thanked me profusely for recommending her, and then proceeded to tell me he went ahead and offered her the job, before they finished interviewing the rest of the candidates.
Today. This morning, to be exact. Taylor McHough called Maybe and told her Beacon House wanted her to come aboard as their newest junior editor. Per Taylor, she accepted the position and will start with their next group of orientees in August.
Two days ago, I would’ve been the first person she called with that news.
She would’ve been a rambling, excited, adorable ball of energy, and I would’ve been the person who got to see her brown eyes shine and her full lips crest up into her cute-as-fuck grin.
But today, after the horrid way things ended last night, I’m the very last person she called—aka she didn’t call me.
The realization makes my stomach turn.
How in the fuck did it all go so wrong?
Especially when everything about her felt so right…
Evan’s big-ass grin catches my attention from the across the bar, and I force myself to stop thinking about the one person I most definitely shouldn’t be thinking about tonight.
My best friend looks happy. A little drunk, but happy nonetheless.
It makes me feel guilty and relieved at the same damn time.
What a nightmare.
Thankfully, our good buddy Cap doesn’t hesitate to step up to the plate and grab the attention of everyone in the room, including me.
“I’d like to propose a toast!” He stands up from his barstool and punctuates that statement with a wolf whistle.
If there is one person who is a guaranteed distraction in all things, it’s Cap.
For once, I’m thankful for it.
“To the man who is about to give up his bachelorhood in less than fourteen days and commit himself to one pussy for the rest of his life.” Cap grins. “We’re all so happy for you, man. Well, terrified for you, but also happy. Or, at least, we’re pretending we’re happy…”
“You done?” Evan asks with a slightly annoyed, but mostly amused, smirk.
“Almost,” Cap responds and raises his glass in the air. “To Evan, may your dick always be harder than the rest of your happily-wedded-life.”
Evan rolls his eyes. I shake my head on a sigh. Thatch bursts into laughter. And the rest of the guys at Ev’s bachelor party join in on the hilarity. Cheers and chuckles go around the room, until everyone has offered Evan their teasing condolences and downed their beers in his honor.
Tonight, we celebrate my best friend’s last days of singledom.
And being the good best man that I am, I’ve rented out his favorite hole-in-the-wall bar in Brooklyn, invited fifty of his closest friends, and made damn sure the bar would stay open, flowing with booze, and all drinks would be put on my tab.
It’s not even eleven o’clock, and already this crowd of idiots is rowdy.
Thatch and Cap act like they can break-dance in the center of the room, knocking over tables and barstools in the process, while five of our other buddies stand in the corner downing beers through a funnel.
Where they obtained a funnel is beyond me, but who am I to tell them no.
Fuck, it’s going to be a long night.
You’d think the best man would be enjoying the hell out of the groom’s bachelor party, but after what went down with Maybe last night, I can’t stop thinking about her—the off-limits sister of the groom-to-be.
I’ve never felt more like a prick than I do right now.
I feel guilty for keeping this from Evan.
I feel guilty for telling him I would do a simple favor and help his sister out with her career in publishing, and instead of just doing that, I fucking do a whole lot of things I definitely shouldn’t have done and wind up falling for her.
But what’s killing me the most, what’s making me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet, is the way things ended last night with Maybe.
When she asked me to have sex with her, to be the one who took her virginity, I just kind of freaked out. The realization of what I feel for her and what she is to me hit me like a goddamn bullet to the chest—I am in love with her.
In love with my best friend’s little sister.
It all became too much.
Her. The fact that I love her. The fact that we were inside Ev’s old apartment. The fact that she pretty much asked me to fuck her.
Not make love to her. But fuck her.
I had to ease off the fucking gas of this insane, addictive ride. I had to stop it before it went too far.
And now, I’m in the middle of Ev’s bachelor party, and I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop wondering if she’s okay. Or what she’s thinking. Or if she is ever going to speak to me again.
It’s all fucked. I’m fucked.
Pretty sure you mean you’re in love with Maybe and fucked.
Yeah. That too.
I order another beer from the bartender, and the instant he slides it my way, I lift the pint to my lips and down half the glass in two gulps.
“Well, well, well, someone is hitting it hard tonight.”
I look beside me to find Cap grinning like a son of a bitch.
“Mind if I join you?”
I nod toward the bartender, and he slides a fresh beer to my obnoxious friend.
He drinks it down and proceeds to call Thatch over and order three shots of tequila.
“Ah hell, tequila?” I question, and Thatch claps his hand on my back.
“C’mon, Mindy,” he teases. “Just open wide, relax your throat, and let the nectar of the gods flow into your belly.”
“You dick.” Cap frowns. “And here I thought I was special. Apparently, that’s the line you use on all the girls.”
Thatch smirks. “But only the girls I really like, bud.”
Against my better judgment, I raise my tequila glass in the air, cheers the two bozos standing beside me, and down the hatch the liquor goes.
It burns the entire way, but I finish off the rest of my beer to soften the blow.
“Another round!” Cap exclaims, and internally, I groan.
Welp. Looks like I’m not getting out of this night without a shitload of booze and a Sunday morning hangover.
The clock on the dashboard of the cab shines bright and red with four a.m.
Cap sits in the passenger seat in the front, talking to our poor driver about who the hell knows what, and Thatch and I are stuffed into the back.
We closed the bar down around two, dropped an extremely drunk Evan off at his apartment on the Upper East Side, and now, the cabbie is in the process of getting the rest of us home.
First, me.
Then, Cap.
Before he has to make the long, thirty-minute trek to New Jersey to drop off Thatch.
I glance out the window and watch the streetlights pass us by on a blur, but my phone vibrating in my pocket grabs my attention.
Evan: DUDER. BESTIE NIGHT OF MY LIVES. I LOVE YOU.
I grin and shake my head.
Even though I had a hell of a time getting my head out of my emotional ass, it appears the groom didn’t notice I was only partially present at his bachelor party.
Thank God.
The last thing I wanted to do was ruin his night with my fucking baggage.
Or worse, unload the kind of news that could literally ruin our friendship.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I have no idea what Evan will do when he finds out about what happened between Maybe and me. But I know I’m going to have to tell him eventually. Even if she never speaks to me again, I still need to be honest with him.
He deserves that from me.
I tap the screen of my phone and check my emails, but it doesn’t take long before I’m back in my text inbox, scrolling through all of the exchanges between her and me.
Her sassy remarks. Our silly jokes. Our near-daily conversations over the past several weeks. Those dirty sext messages from what feels like forever ago. The Deflower me, please? text she sent me after my visit to the Willises’ floral shop.
It’s all there. A trail of how we evolved from friends to more than friends.
How I went from a man who simply adored her to a man who’s in love with her.
God, it’s hardly been twenty-four hours since I saw her, and already, I miss her.
I know I’m a little drunk and I’m probably not in the right state of mind, but fuck, I just want to talk to her. I just want to see how she’s doing.
My drunken brain in charge, I hit the text box and start to type out a message.
How are you?
How in the fuck do you think she is?
Delete.
I miss you. I wish you’d talk to me.
You sound ridiculous.
Delete.
I’m in love with you.
No way I’m telling her that via a drunken text message.
Delete.
“Whatcha doing, bud?” Thatch’s voice fills my ears, and I glance beside me to find him staring down at my phone, clearly reading what’s on the screen.
“What the hell, dude,” I mutter and quickly slide my phone back into my pocket. “Nosy, much?”
“Wait a minute…” He pauses for a moment. “Did I just see you doing what I think you were doing?”
Cap’s ears perk up, and he turns around to look into the back seat. “What was he doing?”
“Texting little Miss Maybe Willis.” Thatch smirks like a real asshole, and Cap’s eyebrows practically touch his hairline.
“No shit?”
Thatch nods. “Yep. That’s exactly what he was doing. And you wouldn’t believe the things I saw him typing—”
I cut him off with a groan. “Can you just drop it?”
“Nope,” they say simultaneously.
“Drop the shit, bro,” Cap adds. “And for once, tell us the truth when it comes to her.”
Well, fuck. I mean, it’s a little too late to act like nothing is going on.
I might be drunk, and I might regret it in the morning, but I can’t find a reason not to tell them. If anything, I just want to tell someone.
“Fine.” I fold like a deck of cards. “But before you bastards start chiming in with your usual sarcasm bullshit, you need to know things aren’t good between me and Maybe. They’re pretty fucking horrible, actually.”
Both of their faces fall.
“What? Why?” Thatch questions, and for once in his life, even drunk, he manages to appear serious.
Even Cap joins in and flashes concerned eyes my way. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better.” I shrug. “Yeah, I’ve definitely been better.”
It only takes a few more questions from two of my best friends to break the dam.
And before I know it, I just kind of unload it all on them.
I tell them how it all started.
I tell them how shit just kept happening between us.
I tell them about last night.
And I tell them the most important part of it all—I’m in love with her, and she wants nothing to do with me.
By the end, Cap is staring at me with wide, slightly drunk eyes, and Thatch appears to have something in his eye.
“Are
you crying, T?” Cap questions.
“Fucking right, I’m crying,” Thatch answers through a sniffle. “Shit like that makes me emotional. I feel like I’m watching The Notebook, but only it’s not The Notebook. It’s Milo’s fluffing life.”
“It’s going to be okay, dude.” I reach out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he still has more to say.
“Goddammit, Noah.” He sighs and rubs at his eyes some more. “You should be with Allie, for fuck’s sake. You two belong together. You fluffing belong together!”
And here I thought I was the emotional one.
I want to laugh, but I figure it’s probably better if I let the big giant process his feelings.
So, for the rest of the ride to my place, I find myself comforting Thatch while Cap watches on with a slightly confused look in his eyes.
Thankfully, though, when the cabbie pulls in front of my building, Cap climbs into the back seat to sit with Fiona Feelings so she doesn’t have to process her emotions all by herself.
I tell them goodnight and toss the driver more than enough money to cover not only his full night of driving a bunch of drunken fools around, but also a generous tip.
“Thank you,” the cabbie says.
“It’s the least I can do,” I say. “Mind getting these two home safely?”
“You have my word.”
When they pull away from my building, I offer up a silent prayer that after the cabbie drops off Cap, he doesn’t have to pull over to console Thatch.
And just before I step inside my building, I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and type out a text that I need to send.
Me: I heard you got the job at Beacon. I’m proud of you, kid. You deserve it. You deserve everything you want and more.
And I don’t send it because I want a response from her. I send it because, even though she refuses to talk to me, I want her to know I’m genuinely happy for her.
Maybe
Sadie, being the kick-ass, laid-back gal she is, insisted we start her bachelorette party at Applebee’s in Times Square.
While I loathe Times Square, I love me some apps from Applebee’s, so I can excuse the tourist madness and focus on the priorities—potato skins, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings…I’m talking all the greasy goodness.
