Especially after the time he hit on Zoey, making the kinds of comments you never want to make to a girl’s brother. If we hadn’t already started Eck0, I never would have asked him to partner with me.
After today? I like him even less.
“Don’t let Jack hurt Abby,” Zoey warns.
Just the thought has my blood pressure rising. I don’t even want to think about Jack and Abby. Even if this weekend is about wooing VCs, not women, I hate thinking of Abby as his date. I barely restrained myself from hopping across the desk, knocking Jack out of the way, and asking Abby myself.
It’s just because you feel protective, I tell myself. She’s your sister’s friend, so naturally, you want to take care of her like you do Zoey.
That explanation is starting to feel really thin. The truth is that I liked the idea of Abby as my date for the weekend. But she’s Zoey’s best friend. I can’t just date her casually, then move on. I’m not sure where that leaves things.
“This isn’t even like a real date. It’s a business thing,” I tell Zoey and myself.
“Uh-huh. And you think Jack wasn’t planning on more than business with whomever he brings?”
She’s right. And that protective anger and weird feeling that can only be jealousy shoots right back up my spine. I’m ready to punch Jack again for asking Abby right in front of me.
You could have asked her, coward.
Why didn’t I? I make a mental list of reasons. She’s my twin’s best friend, which could be complicated. She pushes my buttons. And she’s got all the manners of a feral cat, putting her feet up on my desk, eating food that’s been sitting out, scaring off the girl I had been dating. She wears T-shirts about TV shows and has pink hair.
The list really falls apart when I have to admit that I like Zoey’s pink hair. And her pink lips that match. I actually don’t even mind whatever weird pants she was wearing today, because the confidence she wore drew all my attention.
And as much as Abby got under my skin today, it’s the first real thing I’ve felt in a long time. I almost don’t recognize what it’s like to feel anything other than stress.
“I’ll watch out for her. But since Jack asked her, I find myself in need of a date. Do you think—”
“No. I am not setting you up with one of my friends. Not a chance.”
“But it really is just a business thing. Whoever comes will get to eat fancy food and go to the spa. For free. Am I really such bad company?”
“You’re amazing. But I would never set you up with someone I like. I know how that would end.”
“We’ve talked about this. I’m not ready to settle down, so I’m just dating casually.”
“I know what dating casually means, Zane.”
“I promise it’s not like that.”
“We are not going down this road. What happens in Zane’s pants stays in Zane’s pants.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is happening in my pants.”
“Lalalala! Can’t hear you! Byyyeee!”
“Okay, okay. I’m done now. Zoey?” I think for a second she’s hung up.
“Just stay out of Abby’s pants.”
“ZOEY!”
She’s laughing again, and despite how much I’m hating our current topic of conversation, I love to hear her laugh. She doesn’t do it enough. Neither do I.
“Are you ever going to settle down, little brother?”
“Are you?”
“Sure,” Zoey says. “Sometime.”
“Same. But I’m okay with casual. For now.”
I look at my dark house, wondering how long “for now” is going to last. I’m not happy. I can recognize this. And yet, the idea of changing, of looking for something outside of the safe square I’ve drawn for myself feels like walking across one of those bridges with the glass bottoms.
“Fine. Just remember what I said. Abby seems tougher than she is. And she’s dang good at her job, so trust her. I’d like for this to end with my two most important relationships still intact.”
“Aw, I’m one of your most important relationships?” I tease, knowing full well that Zoey and I are still great friends. Even if we do have a few hard lines drawn about the things we don’t talk about. As far as I’m concerned, Zoey comes fully equipped with some kind of protective garments that will be unlocked on her wedding night. She ends all her dates with handshakes or kisses on the cheek.
“Believe it, little bro. You and Abby are my two closest friends. Don’t jack it up. Separate the work and the personal.”
I laugh. “Yeah, like you do with your boss?”
Her voice goes shrill, the way it always does when she’s lying. “I do not have—”
“Night, Zoey!”
I disconnect the call, shaking my head. My sister shares the same stubborn streak I do, so I’m not surprised on my way inside the house when she blows my phone up with texts. I don’t need to read them to know she’s denying that anything is going on with her and her boss.
I grab a glass of water, using one of the three glasses I own, and lean back against the counter. I text back one line: methinks the lady doth protest too much.
Zoey: Shakespeare is going to rise up out of the grave and et tu, Brute your flabby butt for poorly misusing his quote.
Zane: My butt isn’t flabby anymore. Would you like me to send a pic of how it looks in my suit pants? You can share it with your friends when you ask if they’ll go on my corporate trip. -Zane
Zoey: Blocked. You are blocked. Forget everything I said about you being important. You are dead to me.
Zoey: Also. Do you even know how to text pictures?
I’m standing in the dark kitchen, grinning down at my phone when another text pops up. One that makes my heart start revving like an engine at the starting line.
Abby: I had fun working for you today. Your office has a great vibe. Consider me impressed, Z.
I feel a warmth in my chest at her words and start to type out a thanks. It shouldn’t make me so happy that she uses the same nickname that Zoey does. Before I can manage a nice reply, another one comes through.
Abby: Except for the stiff in the suit. That guy needs a vacation.
That warmth bleeds right into something more like irritation. I’m the only guy in the office who wears a suit. Even Jack dresses up only when we’re doing important investor meetings or dinners. I’ve always heard the echo of the phrase “dress for the job you want, not the one you have.” We may be a startup, but I see Eck0 going places. Topping Forbes and Fortune 500 lists.
Sue me if I dress the part. I love wearing a good suit. And if I’m not wrong, I saw Abby eyeing me today. I suspect that she liked the way it looked as well.
I try to think of an appropriate response. By the time I’ve changed and left my sparsely decorated house for the garage where I’ve set up a home gym, I’ve still got no smart reply.
And with Abby, I feel like I need to up my texting game. Be sarcastic and funny. Use gifs or memes appropriately. Stop signing my name like I’m a hundred years old.
Between sets, I send one line. It’s lame, but maybe that’s just me.
Zane: Thanks for all the hard work today, Abs. -Z
Or was that too personal? Why did I call her by the nickname I’ve heard Zoey use? I hate that I’m overthinking text messages.
I see the little dots as she types something, but I shut off my phone. Because even though I know better, everything Abby does draw a reaction from me. The kinds of reactions I’m starting to have are far from irritated. They’re on the opposite end of the spectrum, and that can’t be good.
When I’m going to bed, I break down and check my phone. And when there’s not a message from Abby, I feel far more disappointed than I should.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Dr. Love,
I’m a newlywed and was expecting a life of bliss. Or, at least, that honeymoon period everyone talks about.
&
nbsp; Instead, my husband leaves his clothes all over the house, dumps dirty dishes in the sink, and thinks passing gas at the dinner table is an athletic event, and he’s going for gold.
How can I find the married life I was hoping for?
Sincerely,
Disappointed
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Disappointed,
Lower your expectations.
Or get a dog. They’re easier to train and usually pass gas under the table.
The best option, and the one the fewest people seem to try, is sitting down together, talking through your expectations, and trying to see where you can each give a little.
Best of luck!
-Dr. Love
Chapter Six
Abby
“I can’t do it,” I say, flopping back dramatically on my bed. “You’ll have to go in my place.”
“And spend the weekend on a double date with my brother? Pass.”
I roll over and prop my head on my hand. “It’s not like you’ll be dating him.”
“No. I’d be with Jack. And as gross as dating my brother would be, dating Jack would be worse.”
“Is Jack really so bad?” I ask, the nerves in my belly feeling like a pit of vipers.
All week while working long days at my day job and longer nights at Zane’s office, the dread has been growing. I’ve tried to really bury myself in work, which isn’t hard, considering that there is definitely someone messing with the coding on the app. And they’re good. Not as good as me but giving me a run for my money. It’s no wonder Josh and the other tech people on his team can’t figure it out. Josh has offered his help more than once, I’m sure not thrilled that I’ve been called in to clean up what he couldn’t. He’s still friendly, but I can sense the territorial feelings he tries to hide.
And speaking of hiding feelings, the sleepy little crush on Zane I’ve kept for years like a tiny ember, has grown into a fire you could probably see from space.
There’s the Atlantic Ocean, the lush green of North America, and that red pulsing thing in Texas? That’s just Abby’s crush on Zane.
It would have stayed a tiny, manageable flame if he hadn’t started being so nice. When I came in Tuesday, he’d put a container of Twizzlers on my desk. Wednesday, my squeaky chair had been replaced by an ergonomic version that I know wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t so much the expense of the chair, but the fact that he noticed my discomfort and fixed it without being asked. Last night he had dinner meetings and I didn’t see him. I felt like a little kid whose lollipop was stolen. Pouty, sullen, and irrationally upset. That is, until he had a courier deliver me a flat white, my favorite coffee drink.
He was still stiff, too formal, and way too easily rattled by me in person. I don’t know quite how to read the kind gestures, other than to assume Zoey has told him how to keep me happy. But a part of me gets totally giddy with every new thoughtful gesture. Now that we’ll be getting out of the office for two days … I don’t know what to expect from him. I’m nervous enough about that. Zoey isn’t making things better talking about Jack.
Zoey turns to me and, seeing the expression on my face, sits down next to me on the bed. “You’ll be fine. I told Zane to watch out for you.”
I blink at her for half a second. “You told Zane to watch out for me? Like you told him to keep me supplied in food and caffeine this week?”
Her guilty look says it all. The coffee, the Twizzlers, the chair—he did it all as a favor to Zoey. Of course, he did. Why else would Zane be so nice to me? The disappointment in my belly eclipses the worry I had before about spending the weekend as Jack’s date.
“I just gave Zane some pointers,” Zoey says.
“Ugh. Do you know how embarrassing this is? It’s like parents leaving specific notes for the babysitter on how to handle their problem child.”
“You’re not a problem child. You’re doing Zane a big favor, Zoey.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
I scold whatever wayward part of me has gotten all worked up over my best friend’s twin.
Down, girl! Bad Abby! No crushing on Zane. NO.
But whatever part of my subconscious starts feeling all fluttery when I hear his voice or see his face needs to go to obedience school. She’s not listening, and still wants to jump up on the furniture and chase cars.
Hopefully I can keep Zoey from noticing. I can never admit my feelings to her. She would hold it over my head for the rest of our lives. Worse, she’d feel sorry for me. I mean, she already laughed at the idea of me and Zane dating. That should have been enough to warn me off.
Zoey makes a face. “I might have also asked Zane not to let Jack deflower you.”
I stop breathing completely. I can feel the blush starting at the middle of my chest, zooming up to my cheeks and ears.
“Zoey. Did you tell your brother, the one I’m about to spend the weekend with, the one who dates anything with a C-cup and legs, not to let his business partner deflower me?”
“Not in those exact words. But basically.”
I fall back on the bed, groaning. Something stabs me in the temple, and I toss an underwire bra across the room. “Tell me again that I shouldn’t feel like a child that you’ve asked your brother to babysit?”
Zoey stands up and begins going through my clothes again. “Stop wallowing. You’re being dramatic. Now, I’m picking out your clothes, ironing, and helping you pack.”
“Ironing?” I don’t think I’ve looked at an iron in the last, oh, I don’t know—ten years? “Is that something people still do?”
“Yes. Many of us iron.”
I sit up, watching Zoey move the hangers around in my closet. “I don’t even have the kinds of clothes that need ironing.”
Though I’m not opposed to skirts and dresses, I tend to wear more funky, relaxed clothes. Nothing like the button-up white collared shirt Zoey put on after changing out of her suit today. This is Zoey’s version of casual: khaki pants and a pressed white blouse. My casual is cutoffs I made myself from a pair of faded jeans and a ribbed black tank top.
“We can mix and match from Sam’s closet if need be.”
Sam is the only one in the house who’s vertically challenged like me and somewhat close in size. Her style is a few steps down from Zoey’s business and business casual, but still more Ann Taylor, where I’m more likely to shop in Forever 21. I feel like the forever in the name gives me the green light to shop there. I can forever pretend I’m still twenty-one, even if everyone else in the store is a teenager. Or a teenager’s mom.
“Do you know anything about these VCs or their wives?”
Zoey’s question drags me back to my present dilemma and my dread. Because not only am I spending the weekend with my flaming crush and his slimy partner, but two strangers and their wives. At a resort spa. There is not one thing about this weekend that feels comfortable to me.
I shake my head. “But I’m guessing that they have money, since Jack and Zane are courting them at a five-star resort. Which means they’re likely older and a few degrees more fancy than yours truly.”
Zoey hums a response, pulls a blue shirt from the closet, tossing it next to me. I play with the buttons, that nervous feeling squirming around in my stomach again.
“You’re not going to make me pretend to be someone more … normal, are you?”
Zoey stops what she’s doing and spins to face me. Her eyes flash, and I know she knows exactly what I’m thinking about. She’s the only one other than my parents or brother who knows exactly why this question matters to me. After so many years, I wish that my past didn’t still surface every now and then, bringing all my self-consciousness up from the depths with it.
Touching my hand, Zoey says, “Normal isn’t a thing. You’re you. Don’t change your style for anyone, Abs. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
I know this. I do.
Normally, I’m self-assured, full of swagger
, not insecure and needy. But this weekend is so far out of my comfort zone that it throws me back a bit, back to the Past Abby who wasn’t sure about anything. Most of all, herself.
I nod, giving Zoey a lopsided grin, and we both pretend like my eyes aren’t wet.
The first sign that this weekend is going to be worse than I expected is Zane’s date. And that’s saying something, considering I had very low expectations to begin with.
“I get carsick,” the leggy brunette says, cocking a hip and fluttering her eyelash extensions at Zane.
The only thing keeping me from becoming the regular kind of sick is that Zane doesn’t seem impressed with her whole schtick. He hasn’t even sneaked a peek at the impressive top half of her, which is shocking since she’s been aiming those things at him since she stepped out of her car in cowboy boots, a short skirt, and a scrap of material posing as a top. Even Jack has had a hard time keeping his eyes away. Not surprising. Also not cool.
Two points for Zane.
My best friend’s twin (always good to remind myself of that fact) looks downright irritated as he glances at me.
Oh. Oh! It’s not that he isn’t charmed by Charla’s act. He’s irritated because that means he has to sit in back with me. Not with his weekend date. Fantastic.
“Great. Hop up front, Charla,” Jack says with a grin, opening the passenger door for her. He clearly doesn’t mind the seat switch.
If I was waiting for either guy to open my door, they might have left me in the parking lot. Everyone already has their seat belts on by the time I climb into the tiny back seat of Jack’s car. I don’t know cars, but the engine purrs and it’s all shiny outside, with soft leather inside.
Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin: a Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Clichés Sweet RomCom Series Book 1) Page 5
