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

by Emma St Clair

  “Number three. You’re letting me crash in your room to avoid … things which shall not be named. For that, I’m forever grateful.”

  Abby lets the pillow drop into her lap and tucks her wild hair behind her ears. It’s still sticking up in a few places. Not that I would tell her. I know she thinks of me as someone who is buttoned up, smoothed down, and totally put together. And yeah, maybe I’m a bit particular about things being a certain way.

  But being around Abby this week has done something to me. It’s almost like her irreverence for those things, for decorum and rules and saying the right thing at the right time to the right people has softened me a bit. Not fully. I’m still a buttoned-up shirt, but now I’m half untucked.

  It’s surprising … and I like it.

  She wrinkles her nose. “I was kind of kidding when I told Jack I wouldn’t sleep with him on this trip. Not kidding that I wouldn’t sleep with him—I wouldn’t—but I didn’t really think that would be on the table. Guess I was wrong.”

  I really hate thinking about Jack and Abby and sleeping together in the same sentence. Even if I’m the one lucky enough to be here with Abby right now.

  “How well do you know Jack?”

  Why are we still talking about Jack? That’s what I really want to know.

  “We’ve been friends since college.”

  “And how did you decide to go into business together?”

  “Why so curious about me and Jack all of a sudden?”

  Abby’s tone is casual, the kind of casual that’s not casual at all. I know she’s not interested in Jack. She made that clear. So, what’s she after?

  “No real reason. Just curious. Since I’m looking into the business, I just wondered how things worked between you and Jack. You seem so … different.”

  “Glad you picked up on that. I might be offended otherwise.” I grin. “Sometimes it takes that person who thinks in a wholly opposite way to round things out.”

  You know who else is my opposite? You, Abs. You. Maybe we should round things out together.

  Ew. File that under flirty lines that should never see the light of day.

  But it’s something I’ve really been thinking about, more and more with each passing moment. Before Zoey suggested that I hire Abby, my sister’s best friend was like a mirage. Alluring, but only from a distance. She wasn’t a solid presence in my life that I could touch. I didn’t hold out any hopes that something real might come from the nervous clenching of my stomach whenever I happened to see Abby. Plus, she’s Zoey’s friend. And Zoey has always told me that her friends are off-limits.

  My sister and Abby have stuck together since freshman year of college. That kind of loyalty says a lot about Abby’s character. And if she and Zoey could get along so well, doesn’t it stand to reason that she and I could too?

  “It does seem to be working well for you two.” Abby pauses, picking at a loose thread on the pillow. When she looks up at me, it’s almost shyly, through her lashes.

  “Are you disappointed? That Jack upgraded, and you ended up with me?”

  Hot rage works its way through my body in an instant. Upgraded? Abby thinks Charla is the upgrade? She thinks I’m disappointed?

  Before I’ve thought it through, my bare feet hit the floor and I’ve breached the space between us. She’s so petite, making me feel powerful as I lean over her. I’m overstepping all kinds of boundaries, showing too much of my hand, but something about the idea that she feels like the consolation prize has me all up in arms.

  Abby’s eyes are wide, her body frozen, like a rabbit in the gaze of a wolf. Maybe this makes me a terrible person, but I kind of like being the wolf.

  “Abby,” I say, my voice low and rough. “You are not a disappointment. You are the upgrade.”

  The words hang between us in the air. In a moment, the spell is going to break and I’m probably going to regret my honesty. And the fact that I’m essentially crowding into her space. While I’m watching, her throat bobs as she works to swallow.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Okay.”

  With a firm nod, I settle back on my bed right next to the pillow that smells like Abby and pick up the remote. “What should we watch?”

  “Watch? Oh no. I’ve got something better in mind.”

  Abby rolls to face me, leaning on her elbow and propping her head up with her hand. The smile on her face is so wicked that my whole body goes hot. My hands are numb. And I feel my heart beating in the wrong parts of my body, like it’s escaped the cage of my ribs and is taking a world tour.

  “Like what?” The gravelly edge of my voice is embarrassing. And for the second time today, I feel like a teenage boy, way too affected by simple things that Abby says or does.

  “It’s time I get all the dirt on Zoey.”

  “Dirt?” Cold water couldn’t have shocked me more. Thinking about my twin will do that to me. “On my sister?”

  “Oh, come on. Please? You know she’s been feeding me info on you for years.”

  She has, has she? My eyes narrow. Abby’s widen suddenly.

  “Not that I asked about you. She just needed to complain, and I was there.”

  “Uh-huh.” Abby’s cheeks are flushed, and it’s a look I love on her. A look I'd like to be the cause of. And not because she’s embarrassed. “What kinds of things has she told you?”

  Abby stills, looking uncomfortable. Her gaze moves to the framed photographs of nature on the wall behind me. I glance back at the pictures, then at her.

  “That cute bunny can’t save you. What did you and Zoey talk about?”

  I don’t think she’s going to answer at first, and I’m starting to get nervous. I’ve always been pretty straightlaced. Not a lot of dirt, no skeletons. My heart makes its way back to my torso but lands in my stomach, not my chest. I don’t have a lot of dirt, except for …

  “Your, uh, dating habits.” Abby coughs, still not looking at me. “Mostly how she thinks you’re a big, fat man slut.”

  I fall back with a groan and cover my face with the pillow. It’s the one that smells like Abby. For a few seconds, I breathe in and out, letting her scent fill me, considering what to say that isn’t too embarrassing or doesn’t make me sound worse.

  Why did it take me until this week to realize how stupid I’ve been? How selfish? Even if I wasn’t sleeping with half of Austin, which I’m sure is what my sister and Abby think. Dating so flippantly was still stupid and immature and unfair. Mom would have had a lot to say about it. None of it good.

  Finally, I roll over, mirroring Abby’s pose and still clutching her pillow for support.

  “Abs, I want you to know something.” I make sure to keep my gaze firmly locked on hers.

  “Okay.” The expression on her face is sort of tortured, like she wishes she could have avoided this conversation altogether. But I pushed us right into it, didn’t I? It’s better this way. Get everything out into the open. If anything ever was to happen with Abby, we’ll have to talk about our dating history at some point anyway. Now, at least she can decide before we even start if I’m worth giving a chance.

  “I’ve dated a lot of women. That’s true.”

  “Women like Charla and Chelsea,” she says, and I realize how that must seem to someone like Abby, a woman who is completely the opposite of the women who work to put their worth all on the outside.

  Abby keeps her beauty like a pearl, tucked away, tightly protected. Not that she isn’t gorgeous on the outside, because she is. But the more time I spend with her, it’s like she’s opening bit by bit to reveal the true treasure.

  It's one worth fighting for. One worth going after.

  But I can’t tell her all that. Not yet, when I haven’t asked her on a proper date, or even flirted enough to give her the sense that I’m interested.

  Interested? Ha. I’m smitten.

  So, I hold back, for now, and simply give her the truth. “I haven’t wanted to date anyone seriously. The past few years, since …
well, for a long time, I’ve just dated casually. Dated. I haven’t been doing more than dating casually.”

  I pin her with a look, wanting her to know what I’m saying without having to spell it out. She gives me a brief nod, so I continue.

  “I was always clear about my intentions. Casual. A few dates. That’s it. Nothing more. There hasn’t been anyone that I ever felt tempted to ask for more.”

  Until now.

  Until you.

  It’s a good thing Abby can’t hear the thoughts I’m projecting. I’m sure she would go running from the room if she knew how tempting she is. Not just physically, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate the space between us. That I wasn’t battling thoughts of climbing over into her bed and showing her exactly how I’m feeling rather than saying it.

  But more than ever, I know I need to hold back. Because I want more with Abby, and I want to do things differently. I can’t risk scaring her off by confessing my attraction, physically and otherwise. It’s too much. Too soon. It would be like tossing her into the deep end of the pool.

  Then again, what do I know? I don’t have serious relationship experience to draw from.

  The air in the room has grown thick and hot, like it’s a different atmosphere altogether. We’re in a bubble, created by my words, by my feelings, and maybe—hopefully—by her feelings too.

  Abby is hard to read. She speaks her mind most of the time, or what she speaks is her mind, but only a piece. The rest is under the surface, carefully guarded. I wonder if I can be the one to get past the barricades.

  For now, I need to dispel the tension, to back us up a few steps, even if I’d like to do the opposite. I’ve been avoiding commitment for so long that it’s hard to fathom I’m now wanting to race toward it. I feel a bit like a car heading down a steep hill, unsure if my brakes are going to work.

  I forcibly relax my body and give Abby a brilliant smile. “So. Dirt on Zoey. Where do you want me to start?”

  From: TangledUp@drlove.advice

  To: DrLove@drlove.advice

  Dear Dr. Love,

  I love my girlfriend, but I’ve gotten tangled up with another woman. My main concern is not to hurt either of their feelings.

  How can I come clean?

  -Tangled up

  From: DrLove@drlove.advice

  To: TangledUp@drlove.advice

  Dear Tangled,

  If your main concern is not hurting them, I think I can help you out. Get them both together and tell them the truth. Then your main concern can shift to worry about both of them hurting you.

  Tip: I’d wear a cup.

  Hoping you get what you deserve,

  Dr. Love

  PS- If you forward me their phone numbers, I’ll be happy to break the news and let them break your nose.

  From: TangledUp@drlove.advice

  To: DrLove@drlove.advice

  Dr. Love,

  You suck. I’ve complained to your manager and hope you get fired.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Abby

  I’m not a morning person. Just like I’m not ever going to be on time. But when the smell of coffee lifts me from my dream about playing polo while riding unicorns, I decide that I could rethink my stance on mornings. No big deal—just rewrite the code that makes me hate them.

  At least, if I could wake every morning to find a shirtless Zane, smiling and holding out a cup of coffee.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he says, and just like that, I’m done for. Totally sunk.

  “Hi,” I manage to croak.

  I know that in the morning, I truly am the furthest thing from beautiful. But Zane? He is a glorious sight.

  Gone is Mr. Perfect, and in his stead is a softer, gentler version. One with sleep-mussed hair, delicious stubble, and a face that’s somehow both bright and tired at the same time. It’s like trading in a stiff hardback book with the dust jacket on for a well-worn paperback that’s been read through, its pages soft.

  Did I mention his shirt is off?

  He must have taken it off during the night, sleeping in just his shorts, or maybe his boxers, since he couldn’t get into the room for his things. The last thing I remember is watching the movie Up with him and arguing about which of us was crying. Spoiler alert: both of us were crying. I’d seen the movie before, but I’ve never made it through the first five minutes without getting teary.

  I realize I’m staring, but I can’t be held responsible for my actions before coffee. Zane’s grin widens, and I shake off the fog of sleep, pulling myself up a bit closer to sitting.

  “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. And I agree. You can’t be held responsible for your actions right now. Hence, the coffee.” He hands me the cup.

  If I had any doubt that this was more than a crush, it vaporized the moment our fingers brush when he hands me the coffee. I might as well be wearing a sign that reads, Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

  “It’s just from the coffee maker,” Zane says with a boyish smile that turns the dial all the way up on my stuttering heart. “I haven’t been down to the lobby to get you real coffee yet.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. It’s not terrible and will do for getting me moving. “I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”

  My tone is light, but my inner voice is saying things like, Marry me. How many children should we have? I prefer sapphires and emeralds to diamonds.

  Zane stretches his arms above his head, yawning, and though I got to see a lot of him shirtless yesterday during the couples part of spa day, I don’t mind getting another look at all that golden skin and the hard lines of his chest and abs.

  How much working out does it take to get a body like that? When does he even have the time? Would it be weird to ask if he could bench press me?

  “What are you thinking about so hard over there?”

  Zane reaches out to smooth the furrow in my forehead I always get when I’m deep in thought. At his touch, everything in me shifts sideways, and I’m like a ship sinking in a movie, all the alarms blaring and lights flashing. People running amok on deck while the whole thing lists to port.

  What am I thinking about? Oh, not much. Like, how I’d love to toss the coffee to the side and tackle you, climbing your strong body like I’m a squirrel and you're my favorite tree.

  “Wondering what time it is, and what kind of breakfast they serve in this joint.”

  “A lovely one. With waffles.”

  “Belgian?”

  Zane nods, looking pleased with himself.

  “Let me guess: Zoey told you?”

  “Yep. Part of the Abby handbook.”

  “What else is in that thing?”

  “Mostly that to keep Abby running and happy, I have to keep her fully caffeinated and fed with her favorite foods.”

  “I'm not a car. Or a zoo animal,” I grumble.

  “Of course not,” Zane says. “You’re an Abby. One of a kind.”

  And then, as if he didn’t just make my heart do a happy dance, he stands and says, “I call first shower!”

  I’m more awake but no less twitterpated an hour later, strolling beside Zane as we head toward the elevator and, hopefully, better coffee and a big, fluffy Belgian waffle.

  The carpets are so plush that the whole hallway has this hushed feeling to it, and I’m tempted to kick off my flip-flops and walk barefoot on it. So, I do.

  “What are you doing?” Zane asks. His tone of voice is amused, not irritated like it might have been a few weeks ago.

  “This carpet is amazing. You should try it.”

  “You want me to take off my shoes and socks and walk barefoot through the hotel?”

  I make a face at him. “When you put it like that, it does sound crazy.”

  “Fine.”

  We stop so Zane can remove his socks and shoes. He’s still got on his golf outfit from yesterday since all his clothes were stuck in the room with Charla and Jack. I would tease him about a walk of shame,
but since he slept in my room, it doesn’t have the same bite.

  When his socks are tucked neatly into his shoes and he’s standing on the carpet barefoot, he spreads his arms. “Happy now?”

  “No, dummy. You’ve got to walk around. Shuffle a little. This is like the Taj Mahal for toes.”

  I move in a little circle, dragging my feet a bit so the plush fibers are practically massaging my toes. Zane just stares, and for a moment, I think that’s all he’s going to do: stare like I’m a loon.

  But then he joins me, and it makes me ridiculously happy to see this tall, devastatingly handsome man shuffling around in circles barefoot in a fancy hotel. I start to giggle.

  “Now are you happy?”

  More than I could say. “Yep.”

  But then, familiar voices sound from around the corner where the bank of elevators is. Zane’s eyes meet mine, and then next thing I know, he’s opening a door next to us I hadn’t even noticed and shoving me inside.

  We’re now standing flush, my back pressed against his chest, in a tiny housekeeping closet that smells of disinfectant and bleach.

  “What are we doing?” I hiss, aware of every breath he takes, and how his chest pushes more firmly against mine.

  “Hiding.”

  “Why are we hiding?”

  “I don’t know! I panicked!”

  I giggle, and Zane shushes me, which makes me giggle more. His big hands land on my hips, and suddenly, there is no air in this closet. I’m a fire, and I've burned it all up.

  The voices outside grow louder, even as the room seems to become hotter, smaller. I’m Alice, and I’ve drunk whatever potion makes me swell ten times my size. That’s how it feels as I’m more and more aware of every inch of Zane’s body, every place it’s touching mine.

  “Zane.” My voice sounds choked. It’s a warning. But for what? I don’t know. Only that this moment feels too combustible. Too big.

  His hands squeeze my hips, and I shudder as he leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Hush, Abs. They’ll be gone in a minute.”