“You should feel relaxed,” Sam says.
“I know. I’d be the envy of like everyone in the house. So, don’t tell them I’m complaining, okay?”
“Sure,” Sam says, and I know what she means is that I’ll probably have my horror story immortalized somewhere in her writing. Nothing is sacred, I’ve found. But she does at least change our names and fudge any descriptions.
“Well. Should I start with the part where they hosed me down naked like a prisoner, or when I fell off the massage table naked in front of Zane?”
Sam is already laughing before I finish the bit about the hose. “Definitely Zane,” she says. “I can’t believe you flashed Zoey’s brother.”
“What about flashing my brother?” Zoey’s voice is suddenly right there.
I count to ten in my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Am I on speakerphone?”
“Hey, Abs!” a chorus of voices calls out.
“What happened with Zane?” Zoey demands.
“Nothing! I mean something. But not anything you need to freak out over.”
With a sigh, I go into the whole day, from the hose to the endless girl talk to the embarrassing spectacle I made of myself during the massage not once, but twice.
“I didn’t know you were that ticklish,” Sam says.
“I’m not! I don’t know. It was like one thing did tickle, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it or laughing. We had to stop early and get in the hot tub.”
“You got in the hot tub with my brother naked?” Zoey sounds like a volcano erupting, as if the top just blew off her mountain and her words are the ash and lava pouring out.
“No. Bathing suits.” I make sure not to say specifics, so I’m not lying but I’m also not saying that Zane was in his underwear.
Which was my suggestion, but I had no idea how not like a bathing suit his dark briefs were when I suggested it. Especially when they were wet and molding to his body. His totally amazing, muscular body.
Because he was so respectful of me, I did my best to keep my eyes glued to his face when we finally got out because our fingers were turning into prunes.
And I refuse to be ashamed about checking out his butt. It was like that kind of choice that really isn’t a choice at all.
The downside is that there is no way any other man in the world could live up to Zane’s backside. There aren’t words. That stays out of the conversation too.
“Sounds like you two are really bonding,” Sam says, and I can just hear the smirk in her voice, and the wheels turning. “Maybe I’ll get my first love cliché: falling for your BFF’s brother.”
My mouth falls open, and I can’t even make my tongue form sounds to protest.
Maybe because I’d be lying if I did?
“Aw, Zane and Abby would be so cute! I’d totally ship them,” Delilah says in her Deep South drawl.
“I’ll have to see this to believe it,” Harper says.
But Zoey, like me, is silent.
“Do you like him?” Sam demands.
“I don’t know—I mean, I’m not sure I, uh …”
“You like him,” Sam says, sounding smug.
“You like him like him,” adds Delilah.
Zoey? Where is Zoey? I need to see her expression right now. Before I confess or deny anything.
“Can we switch to video chat?”
An instant later, I’m staring at Sam’s deep brown eyes and her long, dark hair. Her eyes are soft, understanding, as she hands the phone to Zoey.
The moment I see her face, I’m reminded of Zane. Today, though, I don’t see the similarities. I’m more struck by the differences. Her eyes are a little darker blue, her nose slimmer. Zane’s lips are fuller, and when he smiles, the real kind when he’s happy, not trying to impress investors, the left corner kicks up a bit more than the right. His hair is a dirtier blond, probably because Zoey gets regular highlights.
“Zo?”
“Abs.” Her voice is like a spool of wire, rolled up tight.
I swallow and sit up straighter on my bed. “Zoey, I might have developed the smallest crush on your brother.”
Crush is underselling it. Like when you buy jeans a size down, thinking maybe you can stuff yourself into them, or maybe they’ll fit next month. Spoiler alert: you’re going to donate them to the Goodwill a year later when you find them at the bottom of a drawer with the tags still on.
Zoey purses her lips and she runs a hand over her hair. “I wouldn’t stop you from dating him, Abs. Did you think I would?”
I shrug. “I guess I never thought about it. I don’t want things to be weird. Or bad. You’re my best friend.”
I sniff and realize too late to hide it that my all-over-the-map emotions from today have gone straight to my tear ducts. Zoey, who is a sympathetic crier, swipes a hand over her eyes.
“I don’t want you to get hurt, Abs. Zane has never been able to commit. Not since …”
Not since they lost their mom. That was back in high school, before I knew either of them, so I only know the little bit that Zoey has shared. Their mom died in a car accident, one where Zane was the only passenger. Their dad is pretty gruff and no-nonsense, an ex-military guy who didn’t do much nurturing. I met him once and felt like I should tuck in my shirt and stand at attention.
“I think that’s why Zane is … the way he is about dating.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I feel all squirmy inside thinking about Zane losing his mom. I’d always thought it was icky how much he dated. But if it was a defense mechanism of some kind, that’s dangerous. It activates that part of me that sees someone who’s hurting. I want to deploy the search and rescue team.
“He might not even like me back. I mean he’s so …”
Perfect. That’s the word I want to use. Not that I think he’s without flaws. He needs to relax, though I’ve seen him loosen up a little this week. More than I thought he could. Then there’s his playboy thing, which now seems less awful to me with what Zoey said about his mom.
Flaws and all, if you made a resume for the guy anyone would want to date, Zane would tick all the boxes. If we were back in school, he’d be the king of the cool kids’ table. Meanwhile I’m … me. Not the girl who gets that guy.
As though she can read my thoughts, Zoey levels me with the look she reserves for people who cut her off in traffic or don’t leave at least a twenty-percent tip.
“Shut up. I know what you’re thinking and stop. Now.”
Zoey is the only one who knows everything that happened in high school, and why I might question someone like Zane being genuinely interested in me. I appreciate that she’s vague enough that I don’t have to explain with the rest of our roommates listening in. I bite my lip, giving her a little nod.
“My idiot brother would be lucky to even get a chance with you, Abs.” Then her eyes harden. “If he hurts you, I don’t even care why. I’ll castrate him.” Her eyes go wide. “Chemically. I’ll drug him. Because I’m not going near his—I mean, I wouldn’t—”
“We got it,” Harper calls from the background. “Chemical castration. You’re not going near—”
“Ahh! No more!”
The phone drops as Zoey throws her hands over her ears. I’m now seeing everyone from below. Sam reaches down for the phone.
She’s grinning as her face fills the screen. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, it looks like I might be getting my first story for my book. And I’m happy for you,” she adds.
There’s a knock at the door. Charla must have lost her key. Again. She’s already on her second one. I wonder if there’s a limit.
“Just a sec!” I call.
“Who is it?” Sam asks.
“Just my roommate,” I say, but then a deep voice that is most definitely not Charla calls through the door.
“It’s me,” Zane says.
My eyes fly open. “It’s Zane,” I whisper into the phone. I forgot we were doing video chat and am holding the phone up to m
y face.
There are choruses of cheers and whistling over the phone.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” I hear Zoey calling.
“Ew! You wouldn’t do anything,” Delilah says.
“Exactly,” Zoey replies.
Zane knocks again. “Abby?”
“Hang on!”
“Keep me posted,” Sam calls in a singsong voice.
I disconnect, hoping Zane didn’t hear any of that.
I open the door, staring up at Zane’s handsome face. I feel like what I just confessed to Zoey is evident in my eyes.
“Was that my sister?” he asks.
“What?”
Did he hear everything they said? I’m going to sink through the two floors below.
Zane tilts his head to the side. “I just thought I heard Zoey’s voice. Are you okay?”
I nod, only now feeling like my lungs have released enough so that I can breathe. “Yep.”
“I have a question. More of a favor,” he says.
“Okay.” I don’t seem to be able to produce more than one-word answers. I can tell Zane notices, but he doesn’t draw attention to it.
His hand goes up to his hair, that nervous tell he shares with Zoey. “I wanted to see if I could stay here tonight.”
Forget one-word answers. No words. No air. Just me standing there with my jaw flapping.
“I think, uh, Charla and Jack are planning on staying in our room tonight.”
Okay. Zane is here because he can’t go into his room, not because he wants to stay with me. I’m relieved and disappointed in equal measure.
I swing the door open wide. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He shakes his head as he steps inside the room, brushing against my arm. “I didn’t realize they were in there at first. I heard sounds I can’t un-hear.”
“Ew.” I laugh, returning to my bed. Zane sits down on the very edge of Charla’s bed, looking stiff. “If you’re staying, might as well get comfortable. Want to order room service?”
“Now you're talking,” Zane says, picking up the leather-bound menu book on the table between the two beds. “What sounds good to you?”
“Whatever. No sushi. I don’t do raw fish.”
Zane smiles. “I doubt they have sushi for room service.”
“Hey, it’s a fancy place. You never know.”
He flips through the pages as I grab my laptop. I need a shield, a buffer between me and the man now stretched out on the other bed, shoes and socks off, hair mussed. I’ve never seen Zane so … unbuttoned. I love it.
My plan for tonight was to keep pushing to find the issues with the app. I really want something I can present to Zane. The sooner the better, because the truth that someone is intentionally messing things up weighs heavy on my mind. Working will now do double duty, keeping me from anything I might regret with Zane.
“Gourmet pizza?” he asks.
“That depends. Do you like weird toppings?”
“Only if bacon is weird.”
“If bacon is weird, I don’t want to be normal.”
Zane laughs, because the thing is, I’m not really normal to begin with. Not like him, anyway. He could be used as the measuring stick when it comes to an upper-middle-class, white-collar man.
Maybe I should stop considering this. Because why would Mr. Poster Child for normal want to be with me, the nerd girl coloring outside the lines, even if I have his sister’s blessing?
Chapter Thirteen
Zane
Sharing a room with Abby is a terrible idea, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. Except that she has basically ignored me since I barged in here. Between her computer and her phone, she’s been glued to electronics for the past hour. The upside is that I can pretty much stare at her.
I watch her fingers fly over the phone as she texts someone. The tiny smile on her face ignites a flicker of jealousy. I want to be the one making her smile like that.
“Who are you texting?”
She glances over at me, her smile growing wider. “My sister-in-law, Jessa. She’s like one hundred months pregnant. Every time she texts or calls, I think it’s her telling me she’s in labor.”
“You guys are close, then?”
She nods. “My brother is cool. He totally doesn’t deserve Jessa though. She’s amazing. And their boys are total nuts, in the best way possible.”
I see something in her face as she talks about her family. A warmth brightens her features, almost like the difference between being inside under all that fake light, and then stepping out into the sun.
“Do you want kids?”
The question seems to startle her, and the phone falls to her lap. Why did I ask that? It’s a dating question. Not even a first- or second- date question. Have I ever asked a woman that? No. Definitely not. I haven’t even asked my sister.
I try to keep my face neutral, like I’m not starting to sweat, like the question was just a friendly, getting-to-know-you kind of question.
“Actually, I … yeah. I do want kids.” She searches my face, her words gaining confidence as she nods. “I’d like a bunch.”
My eyes widen. “Define a bunch? Like, a bunch of bananas? Or, like a bunch of grapes?”
Abby throws her head back and laughs. I watch the place where her pulse jumps, just beneath her jaw. Her skin there is pale and smooth. I want to drag my lips along it, to trace a path right up to her mouth. I swallow hard as she looks back at me, wiping a few tears from her eyes.
“I’ve never heard anyone make a fruit analogy with kids.”
“And I’ve never heard someone say they want a bunch of kids. I’m just trying to get a ballpark here. Five? Fifty?”
Her lips twitch, a playful smile emerging slowly. “Why? What’s your cutoff number? Don’t think you could handle a bunch, Zane?”
I shrug. “I like a good challenge. Hit me with your number.”
Abby regards me for a moment, and I feel slightly terrified because I swear it’s like she’s lasered right through to my brain. A scary thought. Because my brain is completely Abby-focused right now.
“Somewhere between three and five. Just depending on how hard it really is. Could you handle that?”
With you? Yeah. I think I could.
I’m sitting a few feet away from Abby, and though I just felt transparent and exposed under her gaze, I know she isn’t reading my mind. If she could, she would know that a seismic shift took place a moment ago. Though I bought my house with the vague idea of a family and kids, it was foggy. Unreal. Way off in the future.
Now? It feels almost close enough to touch. Just across the space between the two beds.
I realize that Abby is still waiting for my response. Putting on a light smile that doesn’t scream have my babies!, I say, “If you could handle it, I could handle it.”
“You don’t seem surprised that I want to have a big family,” Abby says, her voice a little lower, a little softer than it was moments ago.
This feels like one of those iceberg questions, where there’s a lot buried underneath. Some subtext I don’t know. At least, not yet. A lot rests on my response, but I’m not sure what I need to say, so I go with the truth, hoping it’s what she needs.
“Are you kidding? I could totally see you with a big, wild household. You’d be a great mom.”
Though Abby turns away, ducking her head so I can’t fully see her expression, I didn’t miss her smile. Ding! Ding! Ding! Right answer, Zane.
Except it’s got me thinking of my mom, and how happy she would be if she were a fly on the wall for this conversation. And then that ache rises up, the one that sometimes hibernates for days or weeks, and then takes me by surprise, as raw and real as when I lost her.
I’m thankful that the conversation dies out a bit. I need a moment to collect myself, to let the pain of missing my mom work its way through me. After a few minutes where Abby’s typing is the only sound, I can breathe again.
“Has anyone ever mentioned t
hat you’re a workaholic?” I ask her.
Abby raises her head to look at me, slowly, like she’s counting to ten in her head. Maybe she is, because I swear I see her lips moving as she finally meets my gaze, one eyebrow arched high. It’s exactly the kind of look I was hoping to get, and I can’t contain my smile.
“Have we met?” she asks. “I’m the pot. You must be … the kettle.”
“Nice to meet you, pot.”
“Likewise,” Abby says, shutting her laptop with a satisfying click. She sets it on the chair she’s dragged over next to the bed and turns her full attention to me. “You know it’s your fault I’m working right now.”
“It’s also my fault you’re here right now.”
“Do you regret it yet?”
Abby’s still got a saucy look on her face, one that I’ve come to appreciate in a whole new way this week. But I sense a little vulnerability there too, just underneath the surface. I remember what Zoey told me, that Abby’s more sensitive than she lets on.
“No way I could regret it.” I begin counting on my fingers. “First, you’re fixing our tech problem. And I’ve been assured, mostly by you, that you’re the best.”
Her smile is goofy and wide, her hazel eyes bright. There’s something about being the one to put that look on her face. I never did drugs, but the way my heart does a happy little kick, I feel like I get what all the fuss is about. Because I could easily become addicted to this feeling, to that look. To Abby.
“Second, you provided hours of countless entertainment today at the spa.”
Her eyes fly wide, then narrow. She tosses one of her pillows at me and uses the other to hide behind. I catch the one she tosses, and only because she’s not looking, hold it up to my face. It smells like her, warm sugar and coffee.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not a chance.”
She mumbles something under the pillow that I can’t quite understand. I consider throwing the pillow back to her but decide to keep it. I can fall asleep tonight smelling her.
Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin: a Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Clichés Romantic Comedy Series Book 1) Page 10
