by Lily Kate
At the last moment, I add one more item to the con list.
He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to lose him
My finger hovers over the delete key, but before I can delete the list, I’m startled, flinching as a text message vibrates my phone. I hit Save without looking and slam the computer shut, just in case Jack is somehow already here.
My hands shake as I lift the phone to peek. I’ve already made my decision. I have eleven cons and ten pros, which means the chastity belt has won.
I breathe a little easier once I see the message.
Aimee: So, what’d you decide?
I can’t make myself answer her, and as I close my eyes and tell myself not to fall asleep, I can’t help adding one more item to the pro column. This one, to my little romantic heart, is worth all of the cons in the world:
I want my happily ever after.
Sitting up in bed, I’m struck with a realization. It’s now or never. Jack and I are adults; if we choose to sleep together, certainly we can still be friends after, right?
It’s this logic that pushes my hand to write the note.
It’s simple. Two words and a smiley face. I set it on the pillow next to me, and as I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of the words there.
Join me?
Chapter 19
JACK DARCY
I’m bone tired.
Every muscle in my body aches by the time I arrive home.
Well, with the exception of one. I have exactly one bone in my body that thinks with a mind of its own and is raring to go. I’ve barely parked and hit the button for the elevator before my mind sends signals down below that have me worried about what Allie will think if she’s still awake.
It’s been a long night; I was busy from the second I arrived to the second I left the hospital. Under normal circumstances, I’d barely be able to stand long enough to shower before collapsing into bed.
Tonight, there’s a complication with my plan. She goes by the name of Allie Jenkins.
For starters, I’m not sure if she’ll still be at my condo. She might’ve headed home already. Despite her four glasses of wine with dinner, she’ll be completely sober by now, and it’s likely she rose early and drove herself home. Probably to avoid dealing with me—the idiot that left during the most incredible moment of his life.
Despite the logic with that, it’s the off chance, the Hail Mary, the wild card, that maybe, she’s still at my apartment. It’s this thought that stops my breath as the elevator reaches the top floor.
I step foot into the hallway leading to my condo wondering if she’s still here, will she be on the couch? The bed? Will she be expecting me to pretend that nothing has happened or will she want to pick up where we left off?
I slide my key into the door and push it open as quietly as possible. There’s a squeak about two thirds of the way through, and I pause, halfway into my entryway, and still.
Nothing. There’s not so much as a sound, let alone her sweet figure resting on the couch as I’d hoped. The blanket is folded neatly in the corner, and as my fears are confirmed, a pit grows in my stomach.
As I haul myself in the direction of the shower, I wonder what’s going through her mind. I certainly don’t regret what happened between us, but does she? My biggest fear is that I’ve gone too far; I don’t need much in this world, but I do need Allie Jenkins in my life. That is non-negotiable. If she prefers to pretend this never happened for the sake of our friendship, I can handle that. It’ll be painful, but I’ll do it. For us.
I already have my shirt off and am halfway to the shower before I notice the lump in my bed. The beautiful lump with the frizzy hair that has the pit in my stomach evaporating like morning dew.
Dropping my shirt in the laundry bin, I turn to investigate. Allie Jenkins in my bed? Check. A soft little smile on her face? Check. The covers pulled up to her chin covering every inch of her body? Check, check, and check.
My hand reaches toward her rosy cheeks, and I can’t help but push some of her wavy hair back from her face. She must have showered before she climbed in bed because she smells fresh and clean, with hints of my shampoo—me—on her.
At my touch, she curls closer, mumbling something too soft to hear. I lean in but it’s clear the words are nonsense. Dream-talk. I lean closer still, but a cool, almost chilly breeze brushes over me, and I look up in surprise to find the bedroom window open.
With a few quick strides, I slam it shut hard enough that a draft sails through the room, and Allie twitches in her sleep. If she’d slept all night with the window open and damp hair, she’d be sick by morning.
With a smile, I head into the bathroom. She might not’ve left me an open invitation to join her in bed, but I’m perfectly happy with this outcome. With any luck, we’ll be able to set the record straight in the morning, and I can explain how I feel about her. I can finally tell her that I don’t regret a minute of what happened tonight, and I can ask her out on a proper date.
As I climb into the shower, a sense of right settles on my shoulders. If there’s one thing the lonely drive home tonight proved to me, it’s that Romance Academy worked. It might not have worked out as expected, but it did make one thing startlingly clear: I’m in love.
I’m in love with my best friend.
Chapter 20
ALLIE
My eyes fly open. For some reason, I can already feel the warmth in my cheeks and a tingle that feels like embarrassment radiating down my spine.
I’m not sure why, yet; I’m not even sure where I am. As I roll around in a small swatch of heaven-on-earth, things begin to sink into place. Super-comfy bed? Awesome smelling pillow? The sizzle of eggs and bacon? Check, check, and check.
With a rush, the evening comes back to me and hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s easiest to just let the waves wash over me, bringing the memories back with a vengeance. Jack Cinderella-ing my shoes. Kissing me in the ocean. Kissing me on his couch. Leaving me to sleep alone all evening despite a very forward invitation.
Strangely enough, as the memories from last night wrap up and bring me through this morning, I’m left with a sweet sort of satiated feeling. A hint of bittersweet creeps in, too, like eating the cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae. It happened, and it was delicious, but now it’s over.
The thing is, I don’t want Jack Darcy to be my dessert. I want him to be my breakfast, lunch, and supper. Dessert happens too seldom for my taste. I don’t want Jack to be my once in a while treat—I want him as my daily staple. As I inch the covers higher onto my chin, I make a mental note that love-analysis by food group could make an excellent blog post.
The thought of a blog post has me wondering where on earth the note for Jack ended up. Seeing as Jack’s not here next to me, he either saw the note and ignored it, or he didn’t see the note at all. I pray desperately for the latter, and I continue my search for the Post-It in a frenzy.
As I sit up, I frown at the pillow next to me. The note isn’t there, nor is it on top of the covers. I shake the sheets a bit, and even slide to the side of the bed and peek on the floor. Nothing.
The note is gone, and the only person who could’ve moved it is Jack Darcy himself.
With a gasp of horror, I scurry back underneath the covers and throw the blanket over my face. The embarrassment has returned to pelt me in all its glory, pinpricks of discomfort itching at my back. Even my scalp stings with the mortification of what Jack must think of me.
I have to imagine he thought I was still under the influence of wine when I wrote that note. He probably crumpled it up and tossed the evidence of my desire for him in the garbage. It could spare us both an awkward discussion over breakfast.
Filled with a sudden panic, the desperate need to get out of here is overwhelming. What will Jack, my best friend of twenty-odd years, say now that he knows for certain I want him? Absolutely, positively desire him. My note left nothing to the imagination.
Maybe I can climb down the side of Jack’s bu
ilding. I can avoid him for a while until this blows over and we both forget it ever happened. Inching out of bed, I saunter over to the window and realize it’s shut.
I’m certain I opened it last night. The cool breeze is what lulled me to sleep eventually after a night of tossing and turning—despite the ice cold shower I’d taken to calm my nerves.
This can only mean one thing: Jack came into the room, shut the window, and saw the note. My fingers rest on the window sill and I peek down. Maybe I can jump. It’s only about a zillion feet off the ground.
I tug at the window. It doesn’t move, so I tug harder. Harder and harder until I have to imagine that the window is stuck. Eventually, I give up and sneak back to bed, my palms slick with sweat as I debate my next course of action.
I consider calling Aimee, and unlock my phone. I’m distracted before I can hit dial by a message from Caroline. Caroline? I pause, wondering briefly if I’d called her last night and forgotten about it. I mean, I like Caroline, but we haven’t exactly been chatting over text message.
Caroline: Great blog post! I loved it!! Assume you’re talking about Doc Darcy?
Me: What blog post?
Caroline: The one from today. Were you really up that late? It was posted at like...4 this morning.
Me: I didn’t write a blog post.
Caroline’s next text contains a link that stops my heart.
A link to my very own blog. The one that’s not meant to be live yet, the one I’m too scared to start using. The blog post that I’d created for shits and giggles, and the blog post that is now live, having been viewed 2,439 times.
I freeze and quickly flip open Jack’s computer. My phone isn’t right; it must be lying to me. Unfortunately, however, by the time I’ve pulled up the stats on the big screen, the number has increased to 2,579.
“Shit!” I stifle a cry. “Shit-freaking-shit!”
I slam Jack’s computer shut, catching myself at the last second and making the landing just a bit softer. A soft slam. Then I grab my phone, which has since pinged three more times—probably all Caroline, or who knows, maybe it’s Us Weekly—and scurry back to the window.
I start yanking on it with all my might, determined not to give up until I feel fresh air on my face. I even raise my leg and brace it against the window, recruiting my full body for the effort.
Screw climbing down, I think, maybe jumping would be a better solution. The past twenty-four hours have gone from a delightful fantasy to an utter nightmare. I pull and yank and grunt and wonder how long it’ll take Jack to notice I’m gone.
Just when I’m beginning to break a sweat, the door creaks open behind me, and I freeze. I’m frozen solid with one leg on Jack’s window, a t-shirt that has twisted out of place and no longer covers my ass, and both hands on the window. Add that to the con list from today’s circus.
“Are you trying to...” Jack trails off, gives a shake of his head that tells me he can’t quite put this puzzle together. “Open the window?”
“Yeah.” I gasp. “I suppose you could say that.”
A deathly quiet silence settles over us. Jack watches me for a long beat, his gaze straying to my ass only once, and then back to my eyes. At the same moment, I remove my leg from the windowsill and pat down his t-shirt as he strides across the room, gives a single, dainty flick of a button, and pulls the window wide open.
“Better?” He turns, raising an eyebrow. “I locked it last night.”
“Yeah, that’s better,” I say, moving next to him. “Excuse me now, I must go.” I elbow him out of the way and rest both hands on the windowsill. Immediately, my head swims with dizziness as I look at the ground below. “Crap. I forgot how high you live.”
“What’s going on, Allie?”
“What’s going on?”
I get a little screechy and debate laying everything on him. His rejection of my offer last night. The ensuing embarrassment. Now the horror of my blog post going live. I must have hit Save and Publish instead of Save as Draft or whatever the heck it said on there. I didn’t take the time to read it, hence the problem.
At the last minute, however, I catch myself. Under no circumstances will I hint to Jack about the blog post’s existence. At least, not before I take down the article. If Jack finds out I published something, he’ll want to read it. He’s supportive like that. The problem is that there’s no way he won’t realize the article is about him, the one and only Doctor Daring.
He’s both the figment of my fantasies and the bane of my existence.
Instead, I put on my peppiest face and try my best to ignore everything. “Nothing is going on. How are you? How was work?”
“Fine,” he says, cautious. “How did you sleep?”
“Just dandy. Do I smell eggs?”
“Allie, about last night—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand and force the brightest smile I can muster. I feel like a nightlight. “Things ended exactly as they should. We don’t have to talk about it. How about we both pretend it never happened?”
“I want to explain—”
“You don’t have to explain a word.” I clap my hands in front of me and rub them together. “I get the picture loud and clear. I’m starved, can we eat?”
His forehead creases in confusion. “What do you mean you get the picture?”
I try not to hyperventilate as I watch his eyes fall on me, bright and curious and searching, one of his hands roaming subconsciously over his five o’clock shadow.
“I’m not interested in pursuing this, either,” I babble. “I mean, I really like you. As a friend, a brother, whatever. Last night, we got a little carried away. We kissed. So what?”
“So what?” Jack freezes. When he speaks, it’s a murmur. “So what? It was incredible.”
I glance up, looking into his eyes for as long as I can manage until it’s too much. There’s a softness there, a curiosity. I can sense he’s trying to let me down easy, so I help him cut the cord.
“It was a great kiss. You’re an amazing kisser, and I’m sure your next date will end much better than this one did. I think—”
“What if I don’t want another date? What if I thought this one ended just fine?”
“Jack.” I shake my head, lingering on his name as I struggle for what comes next. “Just leave it alone, please. We kissed. We’re both single, consenting adults, and it was—well, it was a fun time! But the only reason you kissed me is because we’ve been focusing on this stupid Romance Academy. You’ve been so focused on learning how to fall in love, and I’ve been so intent on helping you, that things got confused. Let’s just forget about it.”
“Allie—”
“We’ll do one more practice date together, and then I think we should just forget about my helping you. It’s messy, and...” I trail off, shrugging one shoulder. “And confusing. You don’t need me anymore, Jack. You never did need me.”
“I’ve always needed you.”
“I don’t mean like a friend. I mean, I had everything wrong here. I tried to change you, and I’m sorry for that.” I glance down at my feet, swallowing past a lump in my throat. “The right girl’s going to come along and love you for you, Jack. Just the way you are.”
My hand reaches out of its own accord and touches his cheek. My fingertips feel the roughness of his stubble before tracing over his sexy jaw line. My thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and the sensation sends a shiver across my skin.
His eyes land on my mouth as his hand reaches up and clasps my fingers in his. Then he drags his eyes upward to meet my gaze.
“I’m going to get going.” I change the subject before he can say something that weakens my resolve. “Can I use your computer quickly?”
“Uh, what?” He blinks at the abrupt change of subject. “My computer?”
I nod.
“Sure, uh, go ahead. Breakfast is ready, too.”
“I’m not hungry,” I tell him, flipping open the laptop and quickly closing out of the windows.
&
nbsp; “Okay.”
I wouldn’t be in such a rush to get out of here except I have to get home and figure out how to work this stupid blog. I need to delete this pro and con list that’s apparently viral material before Jack gets wind of it.
After I change, I think, looking down at Jack’s t-shirt. I move to the closet and search through the various items I’ve stashed here over the years. As I dress, his eyes follow my every movement.
“Thanks though,” I tell him, sensing a quiet hurt radiating from him. “It smells amazing.”
He watches as I gather my things, close out of the browser on his laptop, and stand. When I make my way tentatively across the room, his eyes follow me.
I spin around at the door, inspired to wipe the concerned look from his face. “For what it’s worth”—I pause to offer a wink—“I stand by my professional analysis.”
“Professional analysis?”
“You do not suck at kissing.”
Chapter 21
ALLIE
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Nope.” I gesture to the article pulled up on the screen of Aimee’s phone. “It’s real, and I was on my way to remove it from the face of the earth when you called.”
“I’m glad I called when I did,” Aimee says, holding the phone closer. “Did you see that one hundred and three people have left comments on your post? It’s hard for big time bloggers to get that response.”
I roll my eyes as we stroll at a snail’s pace around the school track. Aimee had called during my drive home from Jack’s house to see how things had ended up last night, and I’d confessed everything to her. The rejection, the blog post, the awkward morning...and my attempt to scale the side of Jack Darcy’s building.
“Seriously,” Aimee said. “I don’t think you should take it down. It doesn’t say Jack’s name or give away any of your personal information. Your audience is just interested in reading something that’s funny and honest.”
“Too honest, and I hadn’t meant it to be funny.” I hang my head, sullen. “I’d meant it seriously.”
