Straight Up Love - Lexi Ryan

by Ryan, Lexi

  “Of course!” She pumps a fist in the air. “Way to turn a girl’s day around, you two!”

  Jake’s gaze ping-pongs between us. “I think this could work out great, actually.”

  I force a smile. “Molly, I’m going to head home. Are you about ready?”

  She tilts her head to the side. “I don’t want to leave yet. Let’s have a couple of drinks and hang out.”

  I shake my head. “I need some downtime. It’s been a crazy week, but you can stay and I’ll come get you later.”

  “No, no.” Molly shakes her head vehemently. “I’m not going to drag you back out if you want to go home. If you give me the address, I’ll just meet you at your place later. I’ll get an Uber.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jake says, turning to me. “I can drive her home.”

  Molly beams. “We can catch up! That’s a great plan. Love. It.”

  “I . . . Thanks?” Jake was never mean about Molly, never hated on her, but he always understood my resentment. When did they become buddies?

  I’m irritated with my own irrational jealousy. I’m being an idiot.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jake asks me softly, and when I stare at him blankly, he says, “For the baby shower?”

  “Oh, right! That’s tomorrow.” I nod. Mother Teresa in my guest room and Harrison’s baby shower all in one day. It’s gonna be a doozy. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

  “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

  “Okay.” I stare at him for a beat, struggling with the possessiveness I’ve felt ever since I stepped out of the kitchen and saw him talking to my stepsister. I don’t want you to drive Molly home. I want you to kiss me like you did last night, but I want you to do it right here in front of everyone.

  He must not hear my telepathic plea, because he’s already moved on, helping Cindy fill a tray with half a dozen of our popular house brew flights.

  “Night,” I say softly.

  “Good night,” Molly calls as I leave, and I know without a doubt she’d never ruin a perfect kiss by telling the guy she had lube.

  Jake

  When Molly asked for her third beer, I decided it was time to take her home before tipsy turned into drunk. Before her little touches—on my wrist, my biceps, the back of my shoulder—turned into . . . more.

  I knew Ava was dying to get out of there, so I offered to drive Molly home. Now that we’re alone together in my car, I kind of regret it. The night is dark—the stars and sliver of moon covered by a thick sheet of clouds—and the car is too small. My mistakes weigh heavily on my tongue, keeping me from having the conversation I need to use this time for.

  “You still smell good, you know that?” Molly says, turning in her seat and staring at me.

  “Molly . . .”

  She sighs. “Sorry. A girl can hope, right?”

  I keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to squeeze the back of my neck. “Do you have any sales experience?” Just pretend it never happened, and everything will be fine.

  “My background is in non-profit fundraising, which is the toughest kind of sales.”

  I nod and swallow. “Jackson Brews needs a regional sales rep in the northeast. I think you could be good at it if you were interested. I’m meeting with a few people when I go out there next month, but if you wanted, you and Brayden and I could sit down while you’re in town.”

  “Like, an interview?”

  I nod, my eyes on the road and avoiding hers, which I’ve felt glued to me since she got in the car. “Yeah.”

  “Sure. Thanks. I think . . . That would be awesome. I’m really grateful, Jake.”

  “No problem. I hope it works out.” I flash her a smile.

  She bites her bottom lip and trails her index finger down my arm. “Was there any other reason you wanted to drive me home?”

  Shit. “Molly, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong—”

  Pulling away, she takes a deep breath and rolls her head to face the window. “Please don’t. Don’t give me that speech. It’s embarrassing.”

  I pull into Ava’s drive and cut the engine. The house is dark except for the single porch light.

  “You’re still in love with her?” she asks softly.

  There’s a big list of people I don’t want to have this conversation with, and Molly is somewhere near the top.

  “Does something like that usually change?” My voice cracks—my insecurities peeking out into the darkness.

  “She rejected you and married someone else. For most guys, that would do the trick. Especially after five years.”

  “She’s not married now.”

  Molly squeezes my shoulder, and the dome light comes on as she opens her door. “Yeah. And you’re not most guys. Night, Jake.”

  Jake

  Five years ago . . .

  She’s marrying Harrison. She’s marrying Harrison, and she doesn’t want me.

  I’m a mess. All I can do is repeat the ugly truth to myself again and again until rejection sits in my stomach like an undetonated bomb. I feel it there—a heavy obstruction ticking ominously with every second since Ava asked me to leave. At any moment, it’ll explode and tear me to bits.

  I do what any grown man does when faced with heartache and rejection. I go to the bar with the intent of getting as shitfaced as possible. I slide onto a stool, wave to Cindy, and order a beer and three shots of whiskey.

  “You’re not kidding around tonight, are you?”

  I’ve been so wrapped in my own world, my thoughts racing at a hundred miles per hour, that I didn’t even realize someone took the barstool beside me. It’s Molly, Ava’s stepsister. Her platinum-blond hair is down around her shoulders, her big blue eyes dancing with amusement.

  “Hey, Molly,” I say. Cindy slides my drinks in front of me.

  “Let me guess,” Molly says. “A girl has you twisted in knots, and you’re trying to forget her.”

  “Wow. You’re a fucking psychic,” I mutter. I throw back the first shot and wince. I’m a beer guy more than a liquor guy, and that shit’s intense.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  “Ava’s engaged.”

  “I heard that.”

  I try to laugh and produce nothing more than a few pathetic puffs of air. “I’m not handling the news very well.” I’m surprised to hear myself say it—surprised I say anything at all. I didn’t come here intending to talk about my problems with anyone, let alone Molly, who’s practically Ava’s nemesis. The girls get along, but sharing a father—step or otherwise—they’ve always been incredibly competitive with each other. It’s a competition Ava’s sure she loses again and again, but I’ve never believed that.

  “Are you going to tell her how you feel?” Molly asks.

  “Already did.” I take the next shot, and this time the trail of fire into my stomach feels great. If I have to feel the tick, tick, tick of the bomb lodged there, I’ll drown it in booze. “I told her I loved her.” The words are a dull, serrated blade scrubbing down the center of my heart. “She did not appreciate me sharing that information.”

  “Jake.” Molly curls her hand around my forearm and squeezes. “I’m sorry. I can see how you feel about her, but maybe it’s better this way. Who knows if it would have even worked out between you two? And this way, you won’t ruin your friendship.”

  “I think that ship’s sailed.” I take a breath. “I’m pretty sure I ruined my friendship the moment I decided to kiss her.”

  She draws in a breath. “You kissed her,” she says softly. “Wow.”

  “Too little, too late,” I mutter.

  “She’ll get over it.”

  I shrug, as if I don’t give a shit, and then take the next shot, proving I clearly do.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what problems I’m trying to drink away?” Her lips twist into a smirk.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” I’m acting like a dick because I’m in a dick mood.

  Molly doesn’t seem to mind. �
�Right. Well, I’m going to tell you anyway because no one else wants to hear it.” She pauses a beat and then meets my eyes. “My father—stepfather, whatever—is an asshole who tries to control my life, and my mother’s a doormat. I’m terrified of starting grad school in New York. Everything feels like it’s kind of . . . falling apart, and I really just want to be close to my mom right now, but I can’t because I can’t tolerate my stepfather.”

  “He is a dick, but Ava said he adores you.”

  She tenses and stares at her drink, her jaw tight. “I wish he didn’t adore me. He’s the whole reason I almost killed myself to finish undergrad in three years instead of four—always pushing, pushing, pushing. And when I pushed back . . .” She turns to me and shakes her head. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m being a coward.”

  “You’re not.” I sigh. “And what you’re feeling is normal. Everyone gets homesick. You’re going to grad school for a reason, right?”

  “Yeah, to impress my father.”

  “Ride it out. You can always come home.”

  She tilts her head to the side and smiles at me. “I wish I were like Ava and wasn’t afraid to tell him what I want. She doesn’t let him rule her life.”

  “Doesn’t she? Isn’t that why she’s marrying Harrison?” Suddenly, I wish I were a smoker. Going outside and pulling poison into my lungs sounds like a fucking great time at the moment.

  She shrugs. “I think she loves Harrison. But if she cared what Dad thought, she never would have majored in drama or stayed in Jackson Harbor. He wanted her to be an engineer.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Man, the fights they had her senior year of high school . . . He shouted, and she froze him out. I envied her so much.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure she envies you too.” I wave to Cindy again. “Two more shots,” I say, and when Cindy slides them onto the bar top in front of me, I offer one to Molly. “To forgetting,” I say, tapping my shot glass against hers.

  “Are you just being nice to me to spite my sister?”

  “Not at all.” I’ve never been mean to Molly, but I’ve always kind of given her the cold shoulder in a show of solidarity to Ava. But why should I do anything for Ava anymore?

  She doesn’t want you.

  “Okay, then,” Molly says, swaying a little on her stool. “I have a confession to make.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I was in high school, I had the biggest crush on you.”

  I blink at her. Molly was what you would call a “cool girl” in high school. She was a cheerleader and on the debate team. She was a straight-A student and always welcome in the “in” crowd. She was also four years behind me and my best friend’s brat little sister.

  “You did not,” I say. “You were a baby when I was in high school.”

  She dips her head and looks up at me through her lashes, a crooked smile pulling on one corner of her mouth. “I did, Jake. I thought you were hilarious and so freaking cute. And then you went to college and . . .” She skims her gaze over me slowly as she shakes her head. “Well, it only got better from there.”

  “Oh, so now the truth comes out. You liked me after I started working out.”

  “And before,” she says.

  I laugh softly. “My ego needed that tonight, so thanks.”

  “Ava’s crazy for not wanting you.” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth. “If I were her, I’d at least give it a shot.” She taps on my shoulder. “One. Wild. Night.”

  I scan her face—pretty blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and parted pink lips. “Are you coming on to me, Molly?”

  Her pink cheeks flame brighter. “Do you want me to?”

  Ava calls Molly Mother Teresa, but when Molly was at Jackson Harbor High School, the guys around here had a different nickname for her. Something much less innocuous. I wonder if Ava ever knew they called her stepsister Blow Job Molly.

  She shakes her head and averts her eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

  Hell. “We’ve been drinking, and considering my seriously bruised ego, I’m not sure I can trust my judgment right now.”

  She swallows, and her gaze drops to my mouth. “I could never tell you how I felt because you were Ava’s, but if she knows how you feel . . . if she pushed you away anyway . . .” She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I’m not the evil stepsister for telling you now, am I?”

  “You leave tomorrow.”

  She nods. “I do. So maybe we should make the most of tonight.”

  I just stare at her, at a loss for words. Molly is sweet and smart. Despite her sketchy reputation in high school, everyone wanted her. She’s fucking beautiful, and she’s . . . not Ava.

  Silence stretches between us, as if she’s waiting for me to make my move or say my piece. When I don’t, she releases a puff of air and slides off the stool and heads to the bathroom.

  “Molly,” I call after her.

  She holds up a hand, signaling for me to leave her alone. I feel like a world-class dick. I know too well how it feels to be rejected by someone you’ve been in love with for years. It’s not a feeling I’d wish on anyone. And, hell, I’m only pushing Molly away because I don’t want to betray Ava. How ridiculous. I can’t betray a woman who isn’t mine and doesn’t want to be.

  Molly disappears into the bathroom, and long minutes pass as I stare at the door waiting for her to emerge.

  “Shit,” I mutter. She’s not coming back. Because I’m an asshole who just made her feel shitty. I head across the bar and down the hall to knock on the door to the women’s restroom. “Molly?”

  No response.

  I knock again. “Molly, I’m sorry.”

  When she emerges, her eyes are wet with tears, her chin held high. “Sorry about what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I don’t know what makes me do it. Guilt? Desire? Loneliness? But I slide a hand into her silky blond hair and lower my mouth to hers.

  She gasps against my lips. “Jake . . .”

  I kiss her. I kiss her with all of the emotions I’ve had bottled up all day. Hope. Fear. Disappointment. Heartache—so much fucking heartache. And when she kisses me back, it feels good. For once, I’m not alone. For once, I’m not being pushed aside as just a friend. For once, I’m needed as desperately as I need Ava.

  The whiskey is hot in my blood and her hands are crazy all over me, and when someone clears his throat trying to get past us, I push her against the wall and double down on this mistake.

  There’s more kissing. In the back hall. In the alley. More booze and laughter. Then we eventually stumble up to my apartment above the bar.

  The next thing I remember, the sun is pouring in my bedroom window. I bolt upright, dread crawling over my skin like a thousand invisible bugs. Molly is curled into the sheets beside me. She’s naked, judging by her bare shoulders and the way the sheet’s draped across her. One slim arm is on top of the covers and reaching in my direction.

  I kissed Molly. I remember kissing her. And I remember more alcohol. Flirting. I have flashes of being outside the bar, holding her against the brick as her hands roamed all over me. And after that? After that, everything gets blurry. Flashes of bare skin, roaming hands, clothes thrown to the floor. Fuck.

  After years of wanting Ava and having her fail to see me as anything but a friend, it felt good to have Molly’s hands on me. I couldn’t have Ava, but the stepsister she’s always believed was so much better than her threw herself at me. I knew it was sick and twisted, but somewhere in my petty, self-pitying mind, it actually made me feel better about myself. A fuck you to the universe. To Ava.

  At least, that’s what I thought four shots and a couple of beers in. This morning, nothing is better. Everything is worse. Molly’s blond hair lies across her cheek, her sooty black lashes making her look like something out of a photoshoot.

  I want to get out of here before she wakes up, maybe leave her a note that says, Let’s pretend this never happened. But I also want to refrain from being the world’
s biggest dickhead. I can’t have it both ways.

  “Hey.” She’s awake, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she takes me in. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?”

  Not okay. What the fuck did I do, and how many times did I do it? “I’m fine.”

  She scrapes her fingers down my chest and smiles. “Last night was . . . wow.”

  I drag a hand through my hair. There’s no way I’m getting out of this without being the asshole. “Molly, you’re amazing. You’re gorgeous and sweet, but last night . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Whoa . . .” She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Hey, save me the speech, okay?” Her face goes stark with disgust. “I leave today. You don’t need to worry about me clinging to you or . . .” She looks down to her lap before bringing her eyes back up to meet mine. “I won’t tell Ava.”

  Those words flood me with relief. I don’t want them to matter. I don’t want Ava or anything she thinks to matter, but that doesn’t change that it does. What happened last night would make Ava hate me. She’d be angry. Maybe even refuse to speak to me again.

  Yesterday I was so sure my relationship with Ava was over on every level. When I walked out of her apartment, I thought I was walking away from her. I was sure I couldn’t continue to be her friend when I wanted so much more. But this morning, in the light of this stupid-ass mistake, I realize more than ever that I don’t want to lose her.

  Terror grips my stomach. Loving Ava doesn’t mean all or nothing. It means I’ll take her in my life however I can get her. Even if it kills me.

  “Molly . . .”

  She puts one hand on my chest, holding her sheet in place with the other. “Last night was a bit of a dream for me. My only regret is my timing. If I’d told you how I felt before she rejected you, this could have been about us instead of about her.” She shakes her head. “But then, this probably wouldn’t have happened at all, would it?”

  I search her face and try to imagine how I would have responded if she’d come on to me months ago. Or years.