My Bestie's Ex

by Piper Rayne

  “And why is that?” Sierra asks, her fork clattering onto the table before she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “This is Blanca’s first Sunday with us. She brought this great food to share with us. Do we really have to do this?” Seth asks, widening his arms around the table like he’s ready to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. I’m guessing he’s not a fan of confrontation.

  “You went from a date to datttinngg,” Dylan stretches out the word. “I mean, who does that?” He looks at me and I hold my hands up, not about to get in the middle of this.

  “People who like each other do. Normal people, Dylan.” Sierra’s gaze ventures over to Rian and back to him. I think I’m the only one who notices.

  Seth looks like he wants to crawl under the table and tell Mom and Dad to stop fighting while Dylan lays his fork down calmly and crosses his arms, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge out from under his tattoos.

  “Dylan introduced them,” Seth whispers over the table to me.

  I nod.

  “You always took his side on everything. This is why…” Sierra’s face matches her vibrant red hair now.

  “Why what?”

  “Why we didn’t work out. Maybe if one of you would’ve told him that the way he was acting was wrong—”

  “SHHH!!!” Rian says and instead of breaking the tension, it does the opposite. Both Sierra and Dylan lean over the table in each other’s direction.

  “I’m not gonna get into this,” Dylan says.

  “Thank you.” Seth picks up his fork, his posture relaxing a bit.

  “You’re just blaming me because I’m the woman. You’re such a womanizer and commitment-phobe you don’t know what a real relationship is supposed to look like.”

  Seth places his fork down. “I guess they’re not finished.”

  “Me?” Dylan points to himself, eyebrows raised.

  His outer appearance says he would be. I mean, he screams bad boy from any angle you look at him. The black jeans, the white T-shirt, the tattoos. Even the natural edge he gives off.

  “We all know Sigmund’s name has been banned from the apartment, so why are we even discussing this?” Seth says, but they both ignore him.

  Dylan leans back, grabs a twenty from his pocket and hands it to Seth. Seth takes it and stares at it like it’s foreign currency. Standing, Dylan tucks in his chair and leans over the table again. “Sigmund, Sigmund, Sigmund, Sigmund…”

  Sierra narrows her eyes into small slits. She stands and tucks her chair in, mimicking Dylan’s moves, leaning so she’s right in front of his face. “Whore, Whore, Whore, Whore…”

  Dylan’s jaw grows rigid and it’s obvious he’s holding back. When his gaze moves to me, I widen my eyes. “Thanks for the food, Blanca.”

  “Um… you’re… welcome,” I stutter out.

  He turns to leave and seconds later, the apartment door slams behind him.

  “He drives me crazy!” Sierra stomps into the family room.

  “Excuse me,” Rian says, swaying her hand in the air to tell Sierra to move along. She’s completely oblivious to what just happened because she starts a conversation with Knox about what’s going on in the show.

  I wonder how many seasons I’ll need to catch up on in order to join in with them.

  Sierra huffs and stomps down the hall to her bedroom.

  “So that’s a touchy subject.” Seth picks his fork up and slides the cake closer to him.

  “I can see that Dylan was friends with him, but why’s it such a big deal?” I ask. Sierra hasn’t mentioned anything about a bad break-up since we’ve rekindled our friendship.

  Seth stares over at me. “Dylan took Sigmund’s side when they broke up. I think that’s why she was so quick to find a roommate because Dylan moved in here just so Sigmund could move in with Knox and me. Their promise to be friends didn’t pan out, so he moved out a month ago.”

  I hate that I’m getting all this information from Seth, when it should be coming from Sierra.

  I drop my feet from the chair beside then stand and push in my chair. “I’m going to go check on her.”

  “It’s a touchy subject. It sucked for everyone when they split. We were all friends.” Seth looks like tears could fall from his eyes as he continues to pile the cake into his mouth. Amazing how much I’ve found out about him from this one interaction—he hates confrontation and eats when he’s upset.

  I head down the hallway and knock softly on Sierra’s door. After she says a quiet ‘come in,’ I enter, shutting the door behind me.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with a pillow across her middle, bent over flipping through her phone.

  “Want to talk?” I ask.

  She clicks off the screen. “It’s fine. I’m over him. I really am. It’s just still a little raw.”

  I sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulders, drawing her in closer to me. “You can tell me anything. I know we’ve been separated for a few years, but I’m still a great secret keeper.” I do the whole locking my lips and throwing away the key like I used to when we were younger.

  “Honestly, there’s not much to tell. We just argued all the time. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. God, he was so aggravating though.” She sits straighter and shifts to face me. “You know that he punched Ben in the nose?”

  I can feel my jaw slacken. “He punched your brother?”

  She nods. “He was so ultra-competitive. Like a game of football on Thanksgiving morning was that important.” She rolls her eyes.

  I refrain from mentioning that I’ve witnessed those Thanksgiving family football games and how heated they can become. My brothers have returned with someone needing an ice pack on more than one occasion. But punching someone in the nose seems a little over the top.

  “I’m sorry,” I say with a frown.

  She nods. “If only one of your brothers were still available.” A smile tips her lips.

  “So gross,” I mutter.

  “Or Prince Adrian from Sandsal. I’d take him in a heartbeat.”

  “Who?” My forehead wrinkles.

  She looks at me with her mouth hanging open. “Seriously, Blanc?” She swipes her phone off the mattress and opens up some royal gossip site on Sandsal to show me picture after picture of Prince Adrian Marx from Sandsal. I feign interest because it’s clear talking about this is making her much happier than when she was talking about her ex. By the time I leave, she’s much happier, as am I because I feel like I’ve fulfilled my duty as a friend. Talking shit about an ex and ogling the guy you’re using to distract yourself from said ex, is practically in the handbook.

  I shut her door to find only Rian, cleaning up all the takeout and leftovers I returned with. The boys are gone, and the television is off.

  “You go to bed. I got this,” Rian says. “You have a big day tomorrow at your new job.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She laughs. “One thing you’ll figure out about me is that I like everything just so. I’m more than happy to do this. Go.”

  “Thanks so much.” What a sweetheart she is. I could use a really good night’s sleep before I start at my new job tomorrow.

  Twenty minutes after my bedtime routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth, I lay down in my bed, the nerves about tomorrow already flaring to life. As my eyes close, a face pops into my head—Ethan. Not a bad vision to fall asleep to at all.

  Sweet dreams to me.

  Chapter Four

  Ethan

  *

  I stop in at Andrews Bagel Co. on my way to work and Mrs. Andrews’ smile grows when she spots me.

  “Good morning, Ethan.” She reaches into the display case, grabbing my Asiago bagel and handing it to one of the employees, telling her sliced, cream cheese, not toasted. Then she pulls an empty coffee cup out. I bypass the line to meet her at the cash register. I’m here often and Mrs. Andrews gives me preferential treatment since I used to live across
the hall from her son, Seth, back when Sierra and I were still a thing.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Andrews.” I pull out my wallet, handing her over a twenty. “How are you?”

  “Monday is a good day. Busy day. All you kids don’t want to cook for yourselves.” She hands me my change and I glimpse behind me to the line. Sure enough, mostly everyone waiting are young professionals probably trying to work their way up the corporate ladder. Most are dressed similar to me in business casual attire, computer messenger bags swung over their shoulders. “So what are you up to these days? Still freelancing?”

  I tuck my change in my pocket, picking up my bag and cup. “Yep, writing here and there.”

  Once I stopped in here after Mr. Andrews read my article about sex toys and Mrs. Andrews pulled me aside and asked where she could find some. She even pulled out the folded sheet from the magazine and everything. It was mortifying. Now I try not to let her know where I’m writing by keeping it vague. It helps avoid those awkward conversations.

  “I have to ask.” She leans forward and we both glance to the line forming behind me. “Do you know of any publications that have a woman to write about more womanly things?”

  I smile. “As luck would have it, I heard a rumor that someone is starting at that Mars And Venus magazine this week.”

  “Really?” Her eyes light up.

  My eyes lit up on Friday when I found out that they were going to bring a woman on to write articles as counterpoints to mine. The difference is, my eyes lit up with anger. The last thing I need is someone coming in and trying to overshadow what I’m doing. To offer suggestions on something I’ve already perfected. Someone to win over my readers and potentially pull them away. I worked hard to gain the following I have in the short time I’ve been at Mars And Venus.

  “Yep, really. Maybe see if she’s in the next edition.”

  Mars And Venus is a bi-monthly magazine that’s a little like Maxim, Men’s Health, and Cosmopolitan all rolled into one and is geared toward men. Another reason I don’t understand the benefit of adding a woman’s perspective to the writing team.

  And no, that’s not me being a misogynist, it’s me being a realist. Would Working Woman have included men’s articles in their spreads?

  “Oh, I can’t wait!” Her shoulders wiggle side to side like I just promised her a Ferrari or something.

  “Well, have a good day.” I hold up my bagel and still empty cup. “Thanks.”

  “You too, Ethan.” She waves and starts to ring up the next customer.

  I fill up my coffee, secure the lid, and head out of the shop, walking the five blocks to my office.

  Something already feels different the minute I walk into the small reception area of Mars And Venus.

  “Hey, Mandy,” I say, breezing by the receptionist toward my cubicle.

  “Hey, Ethan. Nine o’clock office meeting,” she hollers down the hallway at me. I raise my coffee in the air.

  When I arrive at my cubicle, a feminine scent wafts over from the normally empty cubicle next to me. I glance over the cubicle wall and there’s no one seated in the chair, but there’s a bunch of personal artifacts overfilling the small space.

  I abandon my bagel and coffee on my desk, intrigued by who the new addition to the Mars And Venus crew might be. The minute I step into the small space, it feels like I’m in a foreign land. Decorative pink and purple paper cover the interior and a sign has been hung up that says ‘Welcome to my cubicle’ in a girly script. A collage picture frame sits on the desk and the standard pen holder has been replaced with a metal one covered in painted flowers. I pick up a candle sitting on the desktop and turn it over to figure out what the scent is I keep smelling.

  “Jasmine,” a woman says from behind me. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  The voice sounds familiar. When I turn around, I try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. “Blanca?”

  She takes the candle from me and places it back down on her desk, completely unfazed to see me. “Hello, Ethan.”

  Blanca positions a few things just so while I pick up her picture frame. The top photo is of an older couple, her parents I assume. The three pictures below are each of a man and a woman. “These are your brothers?”

  She takes it out of my hands and puts it back on the desk. “That’s them.”

  “Big guys.”

  Intimidating would be a better descriptor.

  “Yep.” She pops the P at the end.

  I lean on her desk. “So tell me why you’re not surprised to see me.”

  “I was when I showed up this morning and checked out your cubicle.”

  I tilt my head. “I have no pictures in there.”

  “Why is that? Maybe it’s time I analyze you.”

  I laugh. Maybe I should be more upset that she’s the woman I’ll be working next to since I’d already built it up in my head not to like this woman. “Seriously though? How did you know I worked here?”

  She sits in her chair and crosses her legs. I can’t help but study her movements. Her chair twirls and she taps a pen to her lips. “You seem so worried about how I found out.”

  I inhale through my nose, trying not to show my frustration.

  “Oh my gosh, relax. Your picture is on the board. Though I was surprised because the byline on the pieces in the magazine are always attributed to a Grant Sheffield.” She quirks a brow and motions with her hand to the large board on the wall behind us that has all the employee photos.

  Right.

  I blow out a breath. “Yeah, I use a pseudonym here.”

  “How come?” She tilts her head to the side.

  Because I don’t want anyone to know I work here. “I like to keep my privacy and I’m hoping this isn’t the high point of my career. I’d rather save my real name for when I’m where I really want to be. What’s the big deal?”

  “Are you this high-strung all the time?” she asks.

  “No,” I say maybe a little too defensively.

  “Ethan, I see you met Blanca.” I turn to see Phil Copeland, our boss, standing at the opening of her cubicle. “Show her around and we’ll do the company introduction at nine.” He smiles wide at Blanca.

  Who wouldn’t? She’s so sweet looking she’s probably never been told no.

  She hops up from her chair when Phil leaves.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “You were told to show me around.”

  Right. I nod, needing to get my crap together. This lovesick puppy act isn’t going to be good for my career. I’m still redeeming myself from my second article here four months ago when I wrote about break-ups and a lot of our female readership didn’t take kindly to my remarks.

  “Come on.”

  I allow Blanca to walk in front of me, which is a bad idea. Her ass fits snug in her grey pants and her blouse shows off her olive-colored skin and toned arms. The heels make her taller than that night on the train. Not that she’s near my height at all. I still have more than a few inches on her.

  “This is the art department.” I motion to the door on my right as we pass, but don’t slow down.

  “This is—” I look back and find her stopped at the door and talking with Clara. The two of them are carrying on about what Clara does here at the magazine.

  Taking a few steps back, I wait off to the side. Clara glances at me and back to Blanca. “I love your name,” she says.

  I did too until I found out it was going to be printed opposite mine in the magazine.

  “Thanks. Clara is great too.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “We’ll have to do lunch sometime,” Clara says.

  I wave my hand in the air in a wrap it up motion. I do have a bagel to get to before the nine o’clock meeting.

  “Definitely.” Blanca smiles at her and I try to ignore how beautiful it makes her look.

  “Okay, see you at nine.” Clara looks my way. “Good morning, Ethan.”

  “Clara.” I nod.

  She l
aughs and I swivel on my heel to continue our tour through the office.

  “Why didn’t you stop to introduce me?” Blanca asks.

  “You seem to be doing great all on your own.”

  “I make friends easily. I’m thinking that’s not the case with you though?”

  “I’m friendly.” I shrug.

  “But friends?” She looks to her side at me, but I continue staring straight ahead as I walk down the hall.

  “I have friends.” I signal to the next batch of cubicles. “This is the accounting department. No need to introduce yourself, you probably won’t ever talk to them.”

  Two seconds after I tell her that she’s over beside the cubicles and I hear, “Hi, I’m Blanca Mancini. I’m new here.”

  Mancini? That sounds familiar?

  “Carl.” He stands from his chair, towering over Blanca’s small frame. He could be the proverbial company water cooler because he’s tall enough to see into everyone’s cubicle and know what everyone is up to. “Welcome to the team.”

  She makes polite chitchat for a minute but doesn’t linger or suggest that they do lunch sometime. Relief shouldn’t be the first thing to hit me, but it is.

  “See you around.” She waves.

  “Ethan.” Carl nods in my direction.

  “Carl.”

  Blanca and I fall in line again. “Hmm. You were friendly last night.”

  I look to my side at her. “I told you, I’m friendly.”

  She shrugs her shoulders and a sound falls from her mouth to suggest that, no I am not. I’m friendly… enough. I don’t need to be best friends with everyone I work with.

  I lead us into the kitchen area. There’s two small tables, a fridge, and two microwaves because Carl complained that Clara took over the microwave every lunch hour. Opening the fridge, I point to the five shelves. “Each department has their own shelf.”

  “Great. I’ll probably start bringing my lunch.” She nudges me out of the way and peers in.

  “It goes without saying that you don’t take someone else’s stuff.”

  She squints her chocolate-colored eyes at me. “I’m not an asshole.” She walks out of the kitchen.