Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin: a Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Clichés Sweet RomCom Series Book 1)

by Emma St Clair

  We may be alike in many ways, but not in our love lives. Ever the ice queen, Zoey doesn’t date. Period. At least she hasn’t since we graduated college two years ago. Like me, she’s professionally driven. Unlike me, she doesn’t see casual dating as a fun way of forgetting about work. I also suspect she’s in love with her boss.

  “As opposed to getting up close and personal with Abby, then dumping her. Your usual MO.”

  “You make it sound like I’m some kind of heart-breaking Casanova. I’m not sleeping around or leaving a trail of broken hearts behind.”

  “Riiiiight. You’ve probably dated every girl in the city at least once.”

  “Maybe twice,” I deadpan. “But just dated.”

  “Uh-huh. Anyway,” Zoey says, and I can imagine her waving a dismissive hand, just like Mom used to. I swear I feel my heart constrict just a little bit. I don’t know why Mom’s on my mind so much today. Loss is like that though. Even all these years later, sometimes the pain of it is like a sudden slap in the face.

  “This is all a moot point. Abby wouldn’t want to date you anyway.”

  “Ouch.”

  It really does hurt, though I’m sure Zoey wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure why she has such a low opinion of me. Sure, I go on a lot of dates. But what I said was true: I’m not sleeping around. Not even close.

  Being part of a startup means that I don’t have time for a relationship. For the past two years, I’ve hardly had time to eat. Dating casually is legitimately a way to enjoy someone else’s company, to blow off steam. I’m a perfect gentleman, opening doors, paying the bill, being open with my expectations. It keeps things light.

  And yeah, maybe it’s also a way to keep my heart guarded. After losing Mom, I’m really not sure I can think about getting close to someone again. So, I don’t.

  “Sorry, little brother. Not every woman falls for your unique brand of charm.”

  “Haven’t met one yet who doesn’t.” I smirk, knowing she’ll hear it in my voice.

  “You’re gross. I’m going to go. Just remember what I said—be good to Abby. Even if she’s not into you, I’m sure you could make her miserable in other ways. Don’t.”

  “Anything for you, Zoey.”

  She makes another disgusted sound. “Oh, and I took the liberty of sending over the menu from The Wall. It’s her favorite. The way to Abby’s heart is through food.”

  The Wall is my favorite Asian fusion place. Abby’s got good taste.

  “I thought you didn’t want me going anywhere near her heart.”

  “I don’t. A well-fed Abby is a better-working Abby. Trust me. Keep her in coffee and food and she’ll make all your tech problems go away. Oh! And chocolate. Or Twizzlers. If you could install a steady drip of caffeine and sugar, she’ll be good to go. I’ve got to run, baby bro.”

  “You only have two minutes on me!” I yell, but she’s already hung up.

  Meanwhile, the only thing running through my mind right now is what she said about Abby not being interested in me. It bugs me. Not that I think I’m all that, no matter what I said to Zoey. I just don’t like the idea that my sister can be Abby’s best friend but doesn’t think that I’m a good enough guy to deserve her.

  We’ll see.

  From: MiseryLovesCompany@drlove.advice

  To: DrLove@drlove.advice

  Dear Dr. Love,

  I’ve been crushing on a guy in my workplace for the past year, and we’ve been secretly seeing each other for a month. Our policy says that dating is allowed, but I think he’s nervous about starting anything because he’s up for a promotion.

  I’m tired of watching the office floozies flirting with him and am ready to steak my claim! I’m not sure how much longer I can take the waiting.

  Sincerely, Misery Loves Company

  From: DrLove@drlove.advice

  To: MiseryLovesCompany@drlove.advice

  Dear Misery,

  Real talk: your guy isn’t nervous. He’s not interested.

  And, because you’re writing to me, I know you’re a smart woman who deserves better. Much better.

  He’s hiding behind the excuse of the workplace, and if you don’t believe me, push the issue. I’m not normally into ultimatums, but in cases like this, sometimes you need to set a hard line to find out where you both stand.

  I’m sorry. You deserve better. Solidarity, sister.

  Miserable on your behalf, Dr. Love

  PS- Just for future reference, it’s stake your claim, unless we’re talking about prime rib.

  PPS- As women, let’s stop calling each other floozies. It only makes it okay for guys to think that they can call us floozies. Respond with the movie I stole that quote from and I’ll give you a gift card to the coffee shop of your choice.

  From: MiseryLovesCompany@drlove.advice

  To: DrLove@drlove.advice

  Dear Dr. Love,

  Mean Girls. Duh.

  Also, you were so right. He was apparently seeing several other of the office … women. Dating in the workplace is okay. Two- and three-timing isn’t.

  Guess who got the promotion?

  Thank you!!!

  Sincerely, Single and Promoted

  Chapter Four

  Abby

  I know I shouldn’t keep trying to ruffle Zane. But I just can’t seem to help it. I’ve still got on my Stranger Things tee, but I trade my jeans for some men’s tweed pants that hang low on my hips and put my hair in braids. The finishing touch is a lollipop.

  Which immediately draws Zane’s critical gaze as he lets me into the office, which is a very basic and boring space in a strip shopping mall. I do my best to keep a blank face while his eyes zero in on my lips. I was trying to get under his skin but watching him look at my mouth gets under mine in a totally different way.

  I pull the lollipop from my mouth and toss it in the nearest trash can. “Hey, Zane! Long time no see. I’m ready to get up and personal with your system.”

  I waggle my eyebrows at him and feel like I’ve won an award when his cheeks flush. Make Zane Blush could be a great new game.

  “Come on back,” he says tersely. I follow him, noting the way the tight line of his shoulders matches Zoey’s when she’s stressed. Only, Zane’s shoulders are much broader than I remember, even in his suit jacket.

  Do men wear shoulder pads? I make a mental note to find an excuse to pat him down later and check. For research purposes.

  Despite the lack of character, this place immediately draws me in with its frenetic energy. I thrive in work environments like this, which makes me feel a tug in my gut. I have not felt this in my current job in a long time.

  I realize that Zane has been talking to me while I was busy checking the place out. I give him an apologetic look. “Sorry. Got distracted. This place has energy! I love it.”

  His assessing eyes sweep the room, but more like they’re finding fault than appreciating it. “Thanks. We’ve worked hard. It’ll be better once you fix what’s wrong.” He starts walking again, leading me toward a series of cubicles and desks in the back. I swear I hear him mutter, “If you can fix what’s wrong.”

  Oh, he did not just throw the gauntlet down like that. Forget Make Zane Blush. The name of the game is Prove Zane Wrong. Now I wish I’d worn my headband with the unicorn horn, just so I could gloat that much more when I shatter his low opinion of me.

  “This is where we have you set up,” he says, extending an arm out to a utilitarian desk in a corner that has Ikea written all over it. Not literally, of course, but it has that spartan Swedish look. I don’t mind though, because he has several monitors set up just as I specified in an email to his assistant. I’ll probably end up doing a lot of work on my laptop, but I wanted to take the first deep dive into their system directly on their servers.

  “Come to papa,” I say, trailing a hand over the giant monitors. “Hello, darlings. Ready to go to battle?”

  Zane coughs, sounding like he’s covering up a laugh. The idea that I could make
him laugh thrills me more than making him blush. Not as much as earning his respect though. Doing all three would be like the perfect trifecta.

  “All the login information is inside the folder, along with an example of the problem we’re running into.”

  I flip open the folder and begin reading, eager to get started.

  Zane keeps standing there until I look up at him. “Anything else?”

  “I also have food, as promised. I’ll go grab it.”

  The office chair squeaks and has no back support. This will have to go. If I need more than one night’s work, that is. My hope is to knock out their issue tonight and make Zane’s jaw drop. Half the time when people hire me, they think it’s some massive thing that takes me like five minutes to figure out. From the start, this doesn’t seem like a big deal. I boot up the computer and get to work.

  I barely look up when Zane comes back in with my order. “You can just set that on the desk,” I tell him.

  “Do you need anything else?” he asks.

  I wave him away, already waist deep in code. “Nah. Thanks for the food. I’ll eat when I come up for air.”

  “Want me to refrigerate it?”

  “No, it’s fine.” He hesitates, and I’m again forced to look up at him. “What’s the problem?”

  “I just don’t want you to get food poisoning. Food left out for more than a half hour—”

  “Zane. I got this. Now, shoo.”

  “My office is just over there if you need me.”

  Finally, Zane leaves me alone, and I put on my earphones, cranking up Vivaldi. Sometimes I like techno or rock, but when I’m starting a project, Vivaldi has a great energy that gets me going.

  Minutes or hours later, I push back from the desk, my neck and my jaw tight. I stand up, stretching. It’s definitely been hours. The office still has a slight buzz but has cleared out a lot.

  This bug is much larger in scope than what Zane described. Either he was way too optimistic, or he just doesn’t know squat about the development side of things. I’m guessing it’s the latter. To someone on the outside, the issue with their code would look like a glitch. But on the back end, it almost looks … intentional. Which has the programmer in me all kinds of excited. I love a good challenge. And if someone is hacking or sabotaging the app, nothing would bring me more joy than catching the rat.

  Snagging my takeout containers and a pair of chopsticks, I head out in search of Zane’s office.

  “You lost?” A guy with a mess of blond hair and an untucked button-down shirt intercepts me, grinning as he eyes my chest. I’m about to say something I’ll probably regret later, when he says, “I love that show.”

  Oh, good. Not a creeper. Just another Stranger Things fan. “Me too. It’s amazing.”

  “You’ll probably think I’m a total dork, but I have the LEGO set of the Upside Down.”

  “Seriously? I wanted that, but they stopped selling it.”

  He and I grin at each other for a minute until I remember where I’m headed. Away from this adorkable guy, who seems like my type but does nothing for me, and toward the man who definitely isn’t my type and yet has my heart jumping like my nephews after I’ve given them Pop Rocks.

  “Can you point me in the direction of Zane’s office?”

  He immediately looks nervous. “Zane? He doesn’t like being disturbed.” Lowering his voice, he says, “Plus, I think his flavor of the week just stopped in.”

  Gross. Zoey has always griped about Zane’s dating habits, but I never really witnessed it.

  I have no reason to be bothered or feel the odd prickle of jealousy that’s skating over my skin. Zane is my best friend’s brother and my sort of boss for now. That’s it.

  “It’s cool. He’s expecting me.”

  “Oh! You’re the tech genius.” He looks suddenly a little less enthused.

  I do a little bow and almost drop my orange chicken. “That’s me. I’m Abby.”

  “Josh. I’m on the programming team here if you need anything. I’m happy to help if you get stuck. I helped design what you’re poking around at.”

  And there it is. Subtle, but it’s a classic example of the delicate male ego after being threatened by a smart woman. If I give him five more minutes, he’ll be mansplaining something I taught myself in high school.

  “So … Zane’s office?”

  “Right.” Josh leads me toward the back of the big open space to an office door that’s open. He stops a good ten feet away and points. “Good luck. Call if you need help.” He smiles again, reverting back to the nice-guy persona he started with.

  “If you hear screaming, that will be Zane, not me.” With a wink, I saunter away, stopping outside the open door when I hear voices.

  “Zane, why? Things were going so well!” The whine in this chick’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. This is the kind of woman Zane dates? Triple yuck. That thing that isn’t jealousy swells inside me, like a balloon with too much helium.

  The icky feeling in my stomach intensifies when I catch a glimpse of the woman inside the office. She’s a model type, waify and gorgeous, stuffed into a dress that shows off her tiny waist and not-so-tiny, um, other assets.

  Essentially, she’s the antithesis of me. Just like the kinds of girls who spent middle and high school terrorizing me. Calling me the nerd girl (not inaccurate) or worse, pretending to be my friend so they could play some stupid prank and humiliate me.

  I feel my neck getting hot.

  Nope. You’re not still that girl. You’ve owned who you are and are unapologetically awesome. We’re past this, Abs.

  My pep talk totally works. Maybe that’s because in my head, I hear it in the voice of Agent Gibbs from NCIS. He’s very convincing.

  Got it, Gibbs. I’m awesome.

  “What about the weekend trip?” she whines. “I was looking forward to alone time with you. Lots of alone time.”

  Ew. I don’t want to imagine Zane having alone time. Not with this kind of woman anyway. Would I mind being alone in a room with him? No.

  Other than the obvious fact that I’m not his type. And he’s not yours, Gibbs reminds me.

  Right.

  “That was a work trip anyway,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  Without being able to see Zane from my position out here, I can just focus on the deep rumble of his voice.

  The deep timbre of his voice goes right to my belly, launching dozens of flapping wings. I try to imagine them as bats, not butterflies, but for some reason, that launches my brain into picturing Zane as Batman. With that square jaw and serious broody thing he has going on, he’d make a delicious Bruce Wayne.

  Not helping.

  “I’m sorry,” Zane says. “Things are just crazy with the launch. It’s not a good time.”

  A pause. “Maybe after your launch? I can wait.” The hopefulness in her voice is almost worse than the whine. I can smell the desperation and decide to do us all a favor.

  I take a breath and walk right into his office. “Zane, I've finished looking around. It’s not good.”

  His face snaps up to me. The woman in the chair across from his desk eyes me from head to toe, finally turning back to Zane as though she’s dismissed me as a non-threat.

  Oh, honey. If you only knew.

  I don’t take my eyes off Zane. And there’s the look of shock I hoped for. Only, it’s not as satisfying now because I can see thinly hidden panic.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Bugs. You’ve got bugs. An infestation.”

  The woman jumps to her feet. “Bugs? What—”

  I turn to face her. “Have you spent a lot of time around him? I only ask because these kinds of bugs tend to multiply. It’s not safe until I can do a full scrub and get them out. But it’s a big job.”

  Zane jumps to his feet. “Abby! What are you—I don’t—”

  “It’s fine. I can handle it. You just need to know what you’re dealing with.”

  The woman shoots Zane a horrified look
and practically runs out the door with her purse. As she brushes by me, I notice that there is a tiny dog in there. Poor guy.

  I sit down in her empty chair and put my feet up on Zane’s desk, digging into my takeout. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.

  Zane slumps into his seat, running a hand over his hair, reminding me of Zoey. I love that they have all the same tells. It gives me an insider’s guide to how he works.

  “You’re welcome,” I say.

  “What?”

  I point my chopsticks to the door. “For getting rid of your first pest problem. That kind is particularly hard to eradicate. You’ve just got to cut and run, or they’ll burrow deep.”

  That blush, which I can’t help but find adorable on Zane’s otherwise chiseled face, appears once more. It shows me his human side. I can’t tell if he’s furious with me, impressed, or something else.

  Slow clapping from the doorway grabs my attention. I tilt my head back, looking at the man standing there from upside down.

  Even from a funny angle, the man is gorgeous. Tall, which is something I love as a vertically challenged person. Dark jeans that hang off narrow hips, highlighting the broad chest stuffed into a blue polo.

  “That was quite the performance,” he says, eyes fixed on me. They’re a deep brown, like a perfectly brewed shot of blond espresso. Nice. But I prefer Zane’s deep blue.

  The blood is all going to my head, so I sit back up. Zane glares, his gaze ping-ponging between me and the man, who has stepped inside the office. He leans against the wall, looking like he should be on a movie poster or something. That wicked grin has bad boy hero written all over it. A little too cocky for my taste.

  “You’ve definitely traded up,” he says to Zane.

  My brain is trying to process his words but keeps returning an error message.

  “Huh? Who’s trading what now?” I ask.