Mr. Popular: A Falling For My Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Nicole London

  Then he shakes his head and steps back. “The girl from all those summers was Ryah this whole time?”

  I nod.

  He looks as if he can’t believe he’s just now realizing this. “I don’t know what to think anymore ... You went with me on diary raids, you helped me beat up guys who tried to get with her, too, and ...You were just looking out for yourself, so you could have her.”

  “Zach ...”

  “No.” He looks like he’s about to lose it, but then he laughs. “That is fucking brilliant. Fucked up, but brilliant.”

  “We were going to tell you tonight after we won the game. We were going to sit you down over dinner and lay out everything. She was the one who wanted to wait to tell you because she knew how you’d react.”

  He stares at me, nodding his head for several seconds. “Even if I do believe the whole ‘Ashley hacked my phone’ story — which I don’t —”

  “You should.”

  “Fine. Even if I do accept that, I’m not sure I can deal with the fact that my best friend since second grade has fucked my sister.”

  “It sounds so much worse when you put it like that.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “I messed up by not telling you about us because I should’ve done it anyway, even though Ryah wanted to wait, but I love Ryah. It’s not just about sex and photos that no one else should’ve seen but me. What we have is real. Or it was real ...”

  “Have you two pussies kissed and made up yet?” Coach steps out in the hallway. “Have you decided that you’re ready to win this goddamn game?”

  The two of us look at each other.

  “Temporary truce until the end of the game when you’ll answer every goddamn question I have?” Zach extends his hand to me.

  “Temporary truce until the end of the game when I tell you that if you ever attempt to fight me like you did before, I won’t go easy on you.

  He rolls his eyes, but he smiles and we shake hands. And just like that, at least temporarily, we can agree to focus on what’s most important at the moment. Chasing a perfect end to the season ...

  33

  Liam

  I’m pretty sure we aren’t the first team in high school history to come back from a twenty-five-point deficit, but I’m willing to bet we’re the first to come back and end up winning the game by thirty.

  The second we returned to the court, the very second the clock began, everything about the way we’d previously played this season locked into place. We collectively shot at eighty-five percent, and after I spotted Mariah in the crowd, I didn’t miss a single shot.

  As Zach hoists the championship trophy in the air, Coach tries his hardest to address everyone who came down from our school without cursing. I try to focus on the moment and soak it all in, but all I can do is stare at Mariah.

  She’s wearing my letterman jacket and she looks stunning. I wave at her, to see if she’ll wave back, but she blushes and turns away.

  I’ll take that as a good sign ...

  I pull out my phone and start to text her, to ask if I can formally apologize for everything and explain what happened, but I catch Ashley cheering with her friends on the sidelines and I can’t let her think she’s completely off the hook yet.

  I make my way through my teammates and the crowd and clear my throat once I’m behind her.

  “Yes?” She turns around, her lips twisting into a frown once her eyes meet mine. “Ugh, god! What now, Liam? I already took down all of the dumbass pictures and apologized to you. What more do you want? My soul?”

  “You don’t have a soul.” I roll my eyes. “You need to tell Mariah what you did and personally apologize.”

  “I’ve done enough to atone for my joke. I’ve admitted it was my doing on my Facebook page just like you asked, I wrote Mariah a letter which she clearly hasn’t opened, and I’ve personally gotten everyone to take down the shared picture of her in her lingerie.”

  “We both know that’s not really enough to make up for what you did. I need her to completely trust me again, and unfortunately, I need you to do your part.”

  “Do you really like her that much?”

  “No, I love her that much.”

  “Oh ...” She looks like I’ve just ripped her heart in two. “Well, getting her to trust you again sounds like a personal problem and I can’t fix that. And once again, for the umpteenth time, everything I did was a joke. It. Was. A. Joke.”

  “You can’t call something a joke if you’re the only person laughing.” I glare at her. “And did we not agree that I would leak the pictures you’ve sent to one of my teammates — pictures which are far worse, if you didn’t agree to do everything I said?”

  “Yes.” She sucks in a breath. “Yes, we did.”

  “Then go fucking apologize to my girlfriend. Now.”

  She drops her pom-poms to the ground and I watch as she makes her way over to Mariah, as Mariah literally recoils once Ashley touches her shoulder.

  Mariah crosses her arms, looking increasingly upset and frustrated with each word that leaves Ashley’s lips, and by the time she finishes, Mariah looks as if she’s tempted to slap her. Kelsey lifts her hand, as if she’s about to do it in Mariah’s honor, but Mariah grabs her arm and pulls her away.

  I make my way back into the crowd, hoping to find Mariah so we can finally make up, but Zach steps in front of me.

  “You still owe me answers to a shit ton of questions,” he says. “But I need to ask Mariah some first.”

  “She’s riding with you?”

  “She is.” He says it in a way that lets me know not to keep chasing her. “Me and you can talk tomorrow.” He steps back. “By the way, congratulations, Mr. M.V.P.”

  “What?” I cross my arms. “I didn’t win MVP, Zach. You did.”

  “I know.” He laughs. “I just wanted to hear you say it. It feels really good, you know?”

  I honestly can’t help but laugh at him, and he pulls me in for a half-hug.

  “Official truce?” he asks. “Me beating your ass never happened and we can move on?”

  “No, you beating my ass definitely did happen, and if you ever do some shit like that again, I’m not holding back.” I smile. “But official truce? That I can say yes to ...”

  34

  Mariah

  I trail my fingers against the trophy’s “M.V.P.” letters as Zach hugs our mom and Kelsey in the parking lot. I hear the three of them laughing about something, but I don’t quite catch the joke.

  All I can think about is the fact that Ashely Jordan walked right up to me and admitted that she was a bitch of the first degree. I can’t believe that my past few weeks of misery were all due to her being jealous of me and Liam, and I feel awful for not giving Liam a chance to explain his side of the story.

  “Kelsey, please text me when you make it home,” Zach says. “Sorry I have to take your riding buddy with me this time. It has nothing to do with the fact that you still can’t drive for shit.”

  She rolls her eyes at him, but waves bye to me. My mom gives Zach one last hug before getting into her mini van.

  Zach loops his arm in mine and walks me to his car, opening the door for me, so I know there’s something up his sleeve.

  As he pulls out of the parking lot, I look over at him. “I’m happy you and your team got it together in the second half. I was scared you were going to lose for a minute. Weren’t you?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “And I’m really proud of you for winning MVP. I’m sure everyone will be shocked when you announce you’re going to play for Duke tomorrow. And, um —”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Liam, Ryah?” He glances over at me.

  “Several reasons.”

  “Give me the top two.”

  “Well for one, you probably would’ve gotten pissed off and ruined a perfectly good friendship with him over nothing. And two, you would’ve beaten him up for no reason. Funny how point two actually came true, isn’t it?”

  “I
thought he was behind all those pictures. It was justified at the time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure. But it’s been happening for a long time. We just thought it was nothing at first, and then ...” I don’t finish my sentence and he doesn’t ask me to. I’m not even sure what to say about us anymore.

  When we pull into our driveway, he taps his hand against the wheel and looks over at me. “So, for the record, and from what he told me ... You two have practically been together since you started going to Camp Briar?”

  “Well, not that first summer, but — Okay, yes. Pretty much.”

  “Hmmm.” He continues tapping the wheel. “I still need to think on this for a while. I need to decide if I’ll give him my permission to continue dating you or not. It’ll depend on the quality of his apology to you and if I accept it or not.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kidding.” He laughs. “Get out of my car.”

  I look at him in complete confusion.

  “Ryah ...” he leans over my lap and opens my door for me. “Out of the car.”

  “I thought you said you wanted to talk to me tonight and make sure I was okay.”

  “You’re in love with my best friend,” he says in the most casual tone ever. “That’s as okay as you can possibly be. As much as I’m not thrilled about you dating anyone, if it has to be someone, I can deal with it being Liam. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe I just won the championship game and notched my second MVP trophy in a row.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, unlike you, I’m not in love with anyone right now, but I have another notch I need to put on my belt with a girl who’s waiting to do some pretty disgusting things with me.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” I laugh and get out of his car. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Talk later.” He winks at me before speeding down the street. I watch as he drives away, and start to head inside. The second I turn the key in the door, I hear the familiar sound of Liam’s car pulling into the driveway.

  Turning around, I watch him as he steps out and walks toward me.

  “Ryah ...” He holds up his hands in a sweet surrender as he steps onto my porch. “Ryah, I just need you to listen to me for five minutes. Can you do that?”

  I don’t answer him. I just stare because I honestly can’t get my mouth to say a single thing. It’s been weeks since I’ve been this close to him and my heart is practically beating outside of my chest.

  “Is that a yes?” he asks.

  I nod and he grabs my hand, sending my heart rate up even higher.

  “Mariah, I would never, ever hurt you,” he says. “And I’m sorry I didn’t have my phone locked, but I didn’t leak those pictures. Ashley did, and I hope she told you the whole truth about that. But if she didn’t, I need you to believe me. And I need you to take me back.”

  He slowly pulls me close to him, so we’re nearly chest to chest. “Please take me back so we can pick up where we left off.” He kisses my forehead and I nearly melt. “I really do love you and I’m not sure if you understood just how true my words were in that letter I wrote you, but I really can’t go too much longer without you talking to me. At least talk to me ...”

  I still stand speechless, feeling his hand caress mine.

  “What do you say, Ryah?” He presses his head against mine, and there’s a hint of hurt in his eyes. As if he’s assuming that I’m about to turn him down. “Can we at least be friends, then?”

  “You and me both know that we can’t be friends,” I say softly. “It never works.”

  “It did this time until someone jealous got in the way.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I can try to be your friend for the last few months of the school year, but you’ll have to agree to go to prom with me as my date. That’s the only thing I won’t accept a no on.”

  I blush. “That’s not how you ask someone to prom. And you’re a little late asking, don’t you think?”

  “I left notes asking about it in your locker.” He smiles. “You haven’t been back to school. Understandably so, might I say, but I did ask ...Can you be my friend?”

  “No.” I step back from him and his face falls. “Not your friend.” I walk over to my door and continue turning the key, then I look over my shoulder. “But I’d love nothing more than to be your girlfriend again.”

  He immediately pushes me against the door and presses his lips against mine, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before — making me regret all the weeks I’ve spent without him.

  We stumble into the house, our lips locked as we topple over a lamp, and I quickly tear away from him before we can do any more damage.

  “My mom will be back in about two hours,” I say, breathless. “And since it’s just the ‘three’ of us here ...You, me, and –”

  “I took your virginity weeks ago.” He laughs, completing my terrible ‘first-time’ sentence for me. “What are you getting at?”

  “That it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, and you really need to make it up to me. You need to make love to me?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Preferably right now.”

  He smiles and grabs my hand, leading me up to my bedroom. Then he whispers, “We’ll go to my house once we’re done, since my parents aren’t home. I have a month’s worth of making up to you to get through tonight ...”

  ** The End **

  Acknowledgments

  First, to my best friend, the one who knows when I’m in need of a funny text, an encouraging email, motivational article, and sometimes a phone call telling me "Don't cry, I got you." She's "my person," like they say on Grey's Anatomy :-) Without you, Whitney, this book nor this dream would have been realized. I thank God for bringing you into my life those 10 years ago and I'm so grateful to have a best friend that truly understands me and whole heartedly supports me. Your generosity and willingness to share the joy you've found, truly touches me. I love you and I don't know how to say thank you enough, for all that you do.

  Next, to my husband Chris for all his patience and support. He willingly spent many nights and weekends alone, as I navigated through this journey. He never once complained and offered continued words of encouragement, inspiration and often times, plot points (sorry, I just couldn't agree with your "someone has to get shot or die" suggestion :-)). I love you and I have faith that this all will pay off for us one day.

  Thank you to my amazing family for continuing to support me every day. Your encouragement and excitement really motivated my work. I love and appreciate you all.

  Also, to the many people who saw me through this book, to all those who provided love, support, read, offered comments, assisted in editing, proofreading and design. Thank you, Evelyn, Rosalind, Lakeetha, Tiffany, Max, Thang, Cordney, Najla, Nicole, Caroline and Carly.

  Last, but not least, to the readers, THANK YOU, so much for taking a chance on my very first novel! I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I wrote this book out of a love for writing and also writing a novel was an item on my bucket list :-) )

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  Resentment

  Nicole London

  PROLOGUE

  MIA

  Smalltown, USA

  2004

  Dean Collins is the most irresistible asshole at Central High School.

  He’s your typical cliché, Mr. Popular. The “guy’s guy” who’s been voted “Homecoming King” two times in a row (minus my v
ote); the sexy star quarterback who’s capable of making grown women swoon from the sidelines (it really is sad), and the guy who can charm the hell out of any admiring girl with a simple smile, and a “Hey...What’s up?” in five seconds flat.

  His face is the stuff of sculptures—hard and strong jawline, deep and piercing green eyes, and dimples that show even when he’s not smiling. And as if that wasn’t enough for the gods to endow him with, he has a six pack of abs that he always shows off, with full and defined lips that sometimes even make me wonder what they would feel like.

  Nonetheless, I always do my best to avoid Dean Collins like the plague: I leave the four classes we take together early, never go to pep rallies to cheer on the team (Dean is the team), and the few times that he’s attempted that “Hey...What’s up?” thing on me, I’ve offered a blank stare and walked away.

  Today, my usual avoidance routine seems to be getting tested, though. Especially since he’s currently standing five feet away from me.

  “Yes?” I look up from my canvas and stare at him from across the classroom. “May I help you with something, Dean? You’re not in the art club.”

  “I’m aware.” He smirks, looking around the empty classroom. “But it doesn’t look like anyone is in art club...”

  That part is true. There’s actually no such thing as “art club” at Central High. It’s just me taking over whatever classroom I can find after school to paint for a few hours.

  “We’re currently accepting applications for membership,” I say, setting down my paintbrush in the easel tray. “What can I help you with?”

  “You know, I did come here for something.” He steps into the room and closes the door. “But, now that you claim that you’re accepting applications for your club, can I fill one out?”

  “We don’t accept douchebags,” I say flatly. “Your application wouldn’t make it past round one.”