Can't Have You: A Stand-Alone Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Lilian Monroe

  Jackson scoffs. “Of course Finn’s making you work. He probably wants you in that little booth all by yourself so he can salivate all over you. Bring some tissues to mop up all his drool.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, I know so, honey. That boy is trouble. Keeps the bar in business all by himself.”

  “He’s been quiet these past couple of weeks,” Nadia says, shrugging. “Haven’t seen him out at all.”

  “I wonder why,” Jackson deadpans, staring at me. “Perhaps a little Punk Princess has captured his attention?”

  A blush rises up my neck. I shake my head. “Please. He’s my boss. It’s not like that.”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, not believing me. “Give me your phone number. I need to know more about you. Let’s go to lunch. Are you free today?”

  “I’m working until four o’clock.”

  The door to the back opens, and Finn steps through. Jackson huffs, waving at me. “Let her go early, Finn. Nothing’s happening here.”

  Finn’s eyes slide over to me, and a delicious heat tingles over my skin.

  No, Esme. Stop. Enough.

  He’s off-limits. I don’t even like him anyway! He turned me down and hasn’t come near me since. It’s been four weeks of slow torture, orbiting around each other and pretending I don’t care. I need to get over it.

  Besides, by all accounts, he’s a player and a party animal. Who cares if his eyes make my insides turn to warm goo?

  The only reason I’m working here is because I want to make a few bucks this summer and spend some time away from home.

  But Finn’s eyes pull me in. I steal a glance at his lips before looking away, blushing.

  Jackson stares at the two of us, making a small noise as he pats his lips with the tips of his fingers. “Well, whatever. We’ll pick you up on Saturday at, say, noon? We can walk over together.”

  I nod, forcing a smile as my insides rage. “Sure.”

  As Nadia and Jackson leave the shop, I can sense Finn’s presence behind me, big and dark and almost irresistible. He moves closer, and my breath catches.

  “Esme…”

  I turn to stare at him. He leans against the desk, his eyes drifting down my body. I pretend not to notice.

  The phone rings, and I move to pick it up. My arm brushes against Finn’s side, the touch nearly burning me. I try to school my face, but I know my cheeks are blushing crimson.

  How does he do that? How does he make me feel off-balance by just being here?

  I lean back, but not before my whole body thrums for him. For what will never happen. For the line that neither of us is willing to cross.

  I won’t be played for a fool. I won’t let him dangle his attractiveness like a carrot in front of me. If he wanted to be with me, he would have done it already.

  Answering the phone, I force myself to meet his gaze. My eyes are hard. The mask is back on.

  Finn Gallagher didn’t want me three weeks ago, and he hasn’t made a move toward me since. I’m not pathetic enough to chase him, no matter how alive he makes me feel.

  When the weekend comes around, Jackson, Nadia, and Willow come to pick me up at home. The three of them welcome me into their friend group without missing a beat, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake by being so unapproachable for so long. I could have done this every day for the past month I’ve been in Woodvale. It’s nice being around people. Having friends.

  It’s also nice to have some time away from Finn and the torment of being close to him.

  “You are so gorgeous. Did you know that?” Jackson says, picking a piece of lint off my shoulder. “I love your style.”

  “What, denim shorts and a t-shirt? Old Converse shoes? I didn’t know this was a style.”

  He laughs, as if I made a joke. Nadia hooks her arm through mine. “That’s a style, Esme. A good one.”

  Jackson stares at me. “So, what’s the gossip?”

  I frown. “About what?”

  “Has Finn tried to jump your bones yet?”

  Red-faced, I duck my head. “No. It’s not… We aren’t…”

  He sighs. “I get it. What is it with these skydiving boys? I mean, I know what it is. They’re all hot as sin. You’re probably right to stay away. I hear even Benji’s a bit of a player.”

  “Benji’s not like Finn,” Nadia says. “I’ve known him since I moved here. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “They’re all the same,” Jackson says with a wave of the hand. Willow laughs, winking at me, and my heart feels light.

  The four of us head over to the park in the center of town where the Woodvale Fringe Festival is set up. The sun is beaming down on us, and I’m starting to regret my choice of beanies—black, woolen, and hot. As we walk over to the park, beads of sweat are already trickling down my neck.

  Jackson talks a lot, but the sound of his voice is somehow soothing. He’s quick-witted and funny, and he makes me feel like we’ve been friends for decades.

  I’ve spent the past six years mourning friendships that have dissolved into nothing, feeling lonelier than I thought was possible, and fighting off cancer at every turn.

  Now, within a few weeks, I have friends. I have a job. I have the promise of a future.

  Who cares if Finn doesn’t want me? I don’t need him.

  My new friends lead me toward the Fringe Fest. I wipe at the back of my neck uncomfortably.

  Jackson notices. “Warm?”

  I groan. “Didn’t really think through my choice in headwear. The sun is hotter than I anticipated.”

  He shrugs. “Take it off.”

  “My hat?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” He tilts his head. “Did you have to shave your hair off when you were going through chemo? Kit told us about the lymphoma.”

  My throat tightens. I nod. My heart thumps in my chest at the thought of baring my head, but my new friends smile at me.

  “It’s up to you,” Willow says gently. “But I think you could pull it off.”

  “I haven’t been out in public without a hat on in a long time,” I say, glancing at each of them in turn.

  Their faces are earnest. They aren’t staring at me with pity or sadness. To them, it’s just taking off a hat because it’s hot out.

  Sure, my hair is growing back. It’s half an inch long, now. But what’s half an inch? I still look like a cancer patient. I still don’t look willowy and flirty. I can’t flick my hair over my shoulder and bat my eyelashes.

  “I think short hair would suit you,” Jackson says. “You’re sexy, anyway. It would go with the whole don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.”

  “Don’t push it, Jackson,” Nadia says, smiling at me. “We don’t know what it’s like to go through what Esme has been through.”

  Fear and insecurity swirl inside me, sitting on my chest like an anvil. If I take my hat off, will people stare? They’ll know I was sick. They’ll assume I’m weak. I’ll see it in their eyes, and it’ll remind me of all the ways I should be afraid.

  But Willow, Nadia, and Jackson don’t think I’m weak. They don’t pity me. Who cares if strangers do? What does it change?

  Strength rises up inside me as I square my shoulders. The three of them look at me, smiling softly. There’s no pressure. No pity. No sadness.

  Just the truth: this beanie is friggin’ warm, and I’m sick of hiding behind it.

  “No,” I finally answer. “Jackson’s right.”

  Before I can stop myself, I do the one thing I haven’t had the guts to do in years. I pull my beanie off, crumpling it between my fingers as I lift my eyes toward the sky. The sun’s rays warm my skin, and a weight is lifted off my shoulders.

  I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I’ve been through. I’m sick of hiding behind a hat and shrinking into corners. Making myself smaller. Avoiding friendships.

  I’ve been through hell, and I’m still here. I have a future! I don’t have to live with my mother for the rest of time. I’m growing into my own per
son, and if the past month is anything to go by, I’ll be fine.

  I can’t let my illness define me. It’s shaped me, sure, but I won’t let it hold me back. It’s like Kit said when he showed me his childhood house—we all have traumas that defined our childhood. We’ve all been through things that make us who we are.

  And this is who I am. Shaved head and all.

  “Here,” Willow says, pulling a little tube of sunscreen out of her purse. “You don’t want to burn.”

  In her eyes, I see a glimmer of pride. She smiles at me as I squeeze some sunscreen into my hands, rubbing it into the short hair on my head. I put it all over my forehead and neck, and everywhere that hasn’t seen the sun in ages.

  Jackson laughs triumphantly, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “You are the most badass, most gorgeous chick I have ever met in my life. I freaking love you.”

  I laugh, then, and I know I’m free. Free from fear. From insecurity. From letting my past hold me back.

  We walk toward the entrance of the Woodvale Fringe Fest, and latent insecurities well up inside me. I know Finn will see me like this—what if he doesn’t like the way I look with a bare head? What if no guy likes the way I look?

  But I push the thought away. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He didn’t want me with a hat on, either.

  14

  Finn

  I’m signing up our tenth customer to a skydive for next week when I see Esme for the first time.

  When I say that the whole world falls away, I mean it disappears. Vanishes. Just…gone. For just a moment, all that exists is her and me. She’s laughing at something Jackson is saying, her whole face radiating with happiness.

  She’s not wearing the beanie that has been stuck to her head since I met her. Instead, her head is bare. A thin wisp of hair covers her scalp, revealing every curve and angle that she’s been hiding. I didn’t think it was possible for this girl to be more attractive than she was before, but holy shit, that’s sexy.

  I guess I’m into shaved heads now. Add that to the long list of things I didn’t know I liked until Esme walked through the door.

  Her eyes are drawn to mine. Fiery whiskey stares at me across the distance, challenging me. Demanding something of me. My heart thumps. My ears ring.

  I need her. Desperately. Completely.

  Now.

  Screw Sweeney. Screw the fact that we work together. Screw it all, because Esme is everything to me. No woman has ever come close. No one has been able to make my heart stop dead the way she does. No one slays me with one look, leaving me broken on the floor—then makes me crawl back to her, begging for more.

  I’ve tried to resist. This past month has been the slowest, most grueling month I’ve ever been through. Every skydive has been a chore. I haven’t felt the rush of adrenaline that used to define my days—except every time Esme’s near.

  Whatever she gives me, I want to take it. Pain. Desire. Torture. Lust. I’ll take the scraps of her attention just to feel the jolt of electricity that accompanies her gaze.

  The customer at my booth clears his throat, and my eyes flick back to him. He stares at my hand, which is still holding his credit card in midair. The machine has already printed out two copies of the receipt, rolled up and ready to be ripped off.

  “Sorry, man. See you next week.” I hand him the card and rip off his receipt, glancing back toward Esme.

  “Whoa,” Sweeney says beside me, his gaze directed exactly where mine is. “My sister hasn’t taken her hat off outside in years.”

  “Woodvale suits her,” I manage to say. My voice is scratchy. My thoughts are betraying me. Betraying my friendship with Sweeney. Betraying everything that I thought I cared about.

  Their group—Jackson, Nadia, Willow, and Esme—change their course and head toward us.

  “Hey, Es,” Sweeney says to his sister.

  She glances at him. “Hey.”

  “You look good.”

  “Great,” I correct before I can stop myself. Esme’s eyes flick to me. I clear my throat. Am I blushing?

  “Got many signups?” Esme asks, her voice thick.

  I grunt. I can’t answer, because my eyes are stuck on Esme. She stares back. Waiting.

  “You look incredible,” I blurt out.

  Jackson clicks his tongue, arching an eyebrow. An amused smirk tugs at his lips as he stares at me, Esme, and Sweeney.

  Before anyone can respond, a girl walks up to our booth. She’s no older than thirteen or fourteen, with stringy brown hair and big, brown eyes. A man walks beside her—her father? I prepare myself to tell her that she’s too young to jump, but her eyes are glued to Sweeney.

  She clears her throat loud enough for Sweeney to glance at her.

  “Kit?” she asks, wringing her hands in front of her.

  He pauses. The rest of us watch in silence.

  “Yeah?”

  The girl glances at Sweeney, then at me, and then at the man standing beside her. He gives her a slight nod. We all stare back. A slight flush creeps over her cheek, and she squeezes her hands together so hard her knuckles turn white. She obviously wasn’t expecting an audience.

  “I was wondering…” She trails off, then sucks in a deep breath. “Can I have a word?”

  Sweeney frowns. “Do I know you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I steal a glance at Esme, who catches my eye. She lifts her shoulder up a fraction of an inch as if to say, I don’t know, either.

  The girl sighs, glancing at everyone again. “Can we speak in private?”

  “Not until you tell me who you are.” Sweeney’s voice is harsh, and the girl flinches. Her father bristles, but says nothing. He puts his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  To her credit, the girl takes a deep breath and stands up straighter. She looks my best friend in the eye and speaks with a clear voice.

  “I’m your sister.”

  Esme’s eyes bug. Sweeney freezes. Willow and Nadia stare at the girl, jaws hanging open. Jackson looks like he’s having the time of his life.

  Sweeney gulps, shaking his head. “No you’re not. That’s my sister.” He jerks his chin at Esme, who lifts her hand in a tiny wave.

  The girl takes a breath, lifting her fingers to the neckline of her shirt. She tugs the fabric nervously.

  “I’m your half-sister,” she explains. “We have the same mother. This is my dad.”

  The man nods. “Your mother and I met when she left Woodvale,” he says.

  Sweeney’s face goes pale. He glances at me, then at Esme. When he drags his eyes back to the two people on the other side of the booth, the girl arches her eyebrows.

  “Will you take a walk with me?” Her voice is small, and she stares at him with the same big, brown eyes as his.

  Sweeney’s shoulders drop, and his chin dips down in a quick nod. “Sure.” He walks around the booth.

  We watch them walk away, and Jackson whistles. “Well, I was not expecting an estranged half-sister to show up at the Woodvale Fringe Fest.”

  “I hope he’s okay,” Esme says, glancing after her brother.

  I clear my throat, turning to Esme. “Would you mind starting your shift a bit early?”

  “I guess I’ve got no choice.”

  Jackson, Nadia, and Willow exchange a glance, then mumble something about checking out the other booths. The three of them start walking away, and Esme and I are alone.

  Her cheeks flush. Being near her makes me feel warm and cold all at once. I suck in a breath and force a smile.

  “Your family could star in a soap opera.”

  Esme laughs. Without her hat on, her whole face seems to brighten more than it did before. She catches me watching and runs her fingers over her shorn head.

  Just like that, I’ve forgotten all about Sweeney and the appearance of his half-sister. My heart is thumping. My palms are sweaty. I adjust and readjust flyers on our table, stealing glances at Esme as I do it. She moves behind the table, running her fingers over her sca
lp again. My palms tingle, and I wish it was my hand touching her head.

  She stands close to me. Close enough for her arm to brush up against mine. Heat sparks over my skin and I suck in a deep breath.

  Being near Esme is almost unbearable, in the best possible way. A couple walks up to the booth, and Esme smiles at them. She answers their questions and sells them a skydive as I stand there like a dolt, unable to do anything except think about how badly I want her.

  Need her.

  Crave her.

  When the couple makes their booking and walks away, Esme glances at me. “Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you actually going to do something?”

  “You seem to be holding your own.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  I grin. “Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Sharp-tongued. Angry. Pretending to be mean.”

  Esme takes a step toward me, tilting her head. She leans into me, her little, angry face angled up to mine. My heart palpitates at her closeness, and it’s all I can do to stay upright.

  She grins, patting a finger on my chest. “Only with you.”

  Without hair or a hat to hide her, I can see the curve of her neck. The sweep of her jaw. The perfect shape of her features. If I wanted to kiss her that night on the roof, it’s nothing compared to what I feel now. Desire roars inside me like a gale force wind. It whips through my body and mind, drowning out every other thought and emotion.

  All that exists is a pulsating need.

  I’m only pulled from my stupor when I hear a gruff voice behind us. I turn to see Racer standing at the booth, his eyes glued to Esme’s head.

  “Hey, Es,” he says, and I hate the familiarity of his tone.

  She nods to him. “What’s up?”

  “Hope Finn isn’t working you too hard.” He glances at me, his gaze challenging. “Have you got a minute to take a break? We could grab some lunch.”

  White-hot anger sparks in my chest. My hands ball up into fists, and I resist the urge to punch Racer in his stupid, smirking face.

  “I just started,” Esme says. Her eyes flick to me, a hint of mirth dancing in them. “But thanks.”