Never Have I Ever

by Blakely, Lauren

  And yet . . .

  “Dina! I want to take a picture.” Heather waves from the other side, and Dina pops up, joining Heather and her husband, Freddie, as our real estate friend, Steven, takes a seat next to them.

  In a heartbeat, Zach grabs Dina’s vacated chair. “Hey. Did you notice that?”

  “The way Dina went after you for the dating mill?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. Who cares about that?”

  “I thought you did. Isn’t that why you just asked me?”

  He shakes his head. “When I said, ‘Did you notice that?’ I was referring to the way you and I had a mind-meld.”

  “We did?” I laugh lightly.

  “Hell yeah. Like you and Sloane talking through your crazy-powerful female minds.” He grips his skull dramatically, like a telepathic superhero. Or super villain for that matter.

  I laugh. “I guess we did.”

  “See? We did too.”

  “We communicated with our female brains? Zach, is there something you want to tell me? Are you transitioning?”

  “Yes, from jaguar to cheetah.” He holds up two fingers, pointing from my eyes to his. “We spoke with our eyes, Piper. We spoke with our goddamn eyes. That was brilliant.”

  “Well, don’t start getting any ideas that we’re suddenly going to have a secret language.”

  He snaps his fingers aw-shucks-style, then lowers his voice to a deep and smoky rasp. “A man can dream.”

  His voice sends tingles along my arms. Reflexively, I tug at my sleeves like I can hide the effect, the goose bumps. I hope he doesn’t notice the flush traveling along my skin either. But mostly I hope I can figure out what to do about this strange attraction to the enemy, because it’s incredibly inconvenient.

  Fortunately, Charlie rises, clears his throat, and shoves his wire-rimmed glasses higher up his nose, providing the perfect distraction. He’s a handsome man, a Michael Fassbender once removed, with his ginger hair and chiseled face.

  His smile is stitched with secret glee. “You’re probably all wondering why I asked you here tonight.”

  “Ya think?” Zach calls out.

  Charlie smiles devilishly. He’s good at smiling that way.

  He holds his arms out wide. “I won’t keep you waiting much longer. But I wanted all my closest friends gathered round to hear my news at the same time. I’ve been friends with you turkeys for several years.”

  “Try a decade and a half, math genius,” Freddie calls out.

  “Yeah, have you forgotten we’re all pushing thirty-five?” Zach barks.

  “Speak for yourself,” I say. “I was acquired by your crew when I was two years younger than most of you.” I point a thumb at myself. “Pushing only thirty-three.”

  “Thirty-three, and even hotter than when you were twenty,” Steven adds with a salacious grin.

  I laugh, adopting a husky tone. “And so are you.”

  Zach shoots me a steely look.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “You think Stevie’s a babe?”

  “What if I did?” I ask, challenging him.

  “But you don’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  He shakes his head. “You just don’t.”

  Charlie resumes his speech. “In any case, I suppose the only thing that would make tonight a more fitting one to share my big news would be if Jessica were here. But our good friend has taken to life across the pond, which makes it harder to convince her to join group activities.”

  I miss that witch. I wish she were here.

  Heels click across the floor. Loud and purposeful.

  My eyes bulge.

  Am I seeing things?

  10

  Piper

  If this is a mirage, my new hallucination is fabulous, and it’s delivering one of my good friends.

  That witch is marching toward the table like Lucy Liu striding onto a movie set, silky black hair flying like a flag, a determined stride in her step, a glint in her big brown eyes.

  “You’re here,” I shout, a smile sweeping across my face.

  “I’m here,” she declares.

  I bet she just stepped off a plane. I bet she always planned to crash Charlie’s party and surprise the hell out of him. Charlie does love surprises.

  He jerks back, then nearly stumbles against the table. Yup. He’s shocked, and this is the pièce de résistance of tonight: Jessica catching wind of the dinner and showing up unannounced.

  “Holy shit. You’re here,” he utters in disbelief, and my grin grows the size of a continent.

  Jessica smiles at him, then grabs his hand. “Oh, stop. You’re not surprised.”

  Charlie laughs wickedly, then yanks her close for a . . .

  My jaw drops. My breath ceases.

  Is this happening?

  Charlie brings Jessica in for a kiss.

  And there’s nothing friendly about it.

  He’s giving her the full Charlie McGrath tongue-treatment, and she’s giving him the Jessica Chen arms- wrapped-around-his-neck medicine.

  My eyes drift to her left hand, and I gasp.

  I’m nearly blinded. The diamond on her ring finger is the size of a dinosaur egg.

  They’re engaged. Holy smokes. Charlie and Jessica pulled off a surprise engagement.

  “Whoa,” Zach utters. “Someone’s going to be Mrs. Charlie McGrath.”

  I snap my gaze to him. “You didn’t predict this.”

  He smiles, shaking his head, holding up a hand. “I definitely did not predict this.”

  I smile back, enjoying that Zach Nolan wasn’t two steps ahead of this couple. Yes, he can still make predictions on their marriage, but right now, he’s not.

  Right now, he’s responding like the rest of us.

  As they kiss, we cheer and hoot. Zach whistles, and his mood is ebullient and genuine. It’s everything Zach’s reaction to Sasha’s wedding wasn’t, and the change delights me.

  When the couple separates, the man of the hour shrugs and smiles. “I guess things are better already,” Charlie says. “Because I convinced Jessica to be my wife. We’re getting married, and you’re all invited.”

  The table erupts into more cheers, more toasts, and more happiness. Because this is the good stuff. These are the joy-filled moments. The times when we aren’t thinking of who we’ve lost, who’s not here, and who didn’t make it through their unions.

  All I’m thinking is my good friend looks incandescently happy, and that’s precisely how you should feel when you’re promising to love someone for the rest of your life.

  Charlie cups Jessica’s cheeks, plants one more kiss to her lips, then turns to the table. He holds out his hand toward Zach. “Nolan, my man. You asked me to be the godparent for your children, and that was one of the most important moments of my life. Would you do me the honor of being my best man?”

  Zach blinks, straightening, like he wasn’t expecting that.

  “Absolutely.” His answer is swift, covering up any surprise. “Thank you for asking.”

  Jessica turns to me, and my heart speeds, my pulse spikes. No lie—I’ve been dying to do her wedding for years. The twinkle in her eyes tells me she’s about to ask me. I cross my fingers, wishing on a star. “And I would be so honored, Piper, if you’d be our wedding planner.” She pauses and takes a beat, even though I’m shouting yes internally. “And also my maid of honor.”

  I thrust my arms in the air. Double duty. “I’ve been waiting a decade for this. Yes. I’d love to. It’ll be my gift to you two.”

  Jessica kisses Charlie’s cheek, her smile reaching to the end of Manhattan and back.

  When they separate, she clasps her hands together. “And what we really want is to celebrate with our friends. We want you guys”—she gestures to the table—“to be a part of our new love, our happiness. And that’s why we want to have some pre-wedding parties at our favorite places, and all you have to do is come along for the ride. It’s all on us. Or Charlie Warbucks,” Jessica sa
ys, pointing a thumb at her fiancé.

  The table erupts into a wild rumpus of toasts and yeses.

  Charlie and Jessica grab seats across from Zach and me. “And you guys will help us with all the events? As best man and maid of honor?”

  “Of course,” I say, delighted as a friend and tickled pink as a professional that Jessica wants to have this kind of wedding fiesta.

  When Charlie and Jessica kiss again then head down the table to hug our other friends, I sneak a peek at Zach, and he flashes me that what can you do grin.

  I tilt my head to the side. “What was that for?”

  “What was what for?”

  “That little grin?”

  “Oh. You know. Just the realization that we’re going to be spending a whole lot of time together.”

  “I’m sure we can handle our best-man and maid-of-honor roles via text message,” I say coolly, returning to the familiar ice and fire that is us.

  “Because it’ll be easier that way?”

  I give him a curious look. “What’ll be easier?”

  “For you to resist me. What with your insane crush and all.”

  “Let me put it this way,” I fire back. His eyes dance with mischief, like he can’t wait to hear what I’m about to unleash. “It’ll be as hard for me to resist you”—I tap his chest—“as it is for you to resist me.”

  “Ah,” he says, nodding sagely, as if he’s taking in my comment and weighing it.

  He leans near, brushing my hair away from my shoulder, clearing his throat. I tense, because this has to be when he hits below the belt.

  Instead, his voice is low and dirty. “I guess we’ll have to place a bet, then, on whether it’ll be hard or easy.”

  I stare right back at him, refusing to give an inch. We might have had a moment earlier—fine, a few moments, a few wonderfully touching moments—but we’re back on familiar territory now. And here on this terrain, my job is to hold the hell out of my ground, heels dug in and unbudgeable. “You picked monk. I picked Ecuador. Seems our last bet was a draw.”

  “Indeed it was.”

  I cross my arms. “Maybe this will be too.”

  “Maybe it will be.” He lifts his chin, his gaze studying mine, like he’s looking for answers in my eyes. “So what’s your bet, Piper? Hard or easy?”

  I’m not sure if he’s asking if I think it’s hard for him to resist me, or for me to resist him. But now isn’t the time to parse out the language of this absurd bet. I choose the well-trodden path.

  “Resistance? It’ll be a piece of cake,” I add in a satisfied grin. “And you?”

  He twists the corner of his lips, like he’s considering the answer, then he nods crisply. “I’m going all in on my bet.”

  “And?”

  “I’m betting the answer will surprise both of us.” He inches closer once more, his tone disarmingly vulnerable. “Thanks again for earlier. For all of it. The things you said.”

  “Of course,” I say, as his whispered words spread warmth over my skin.

  He rises and walks around the table, clapping Charlie on the back, then embracing his good friend in a man hug.

  As for me?

  Like an archaeologist hunting for clues, I’m studying the last minute of our conversation, digging into my satchel for the right tools to excavate its meaning.

  Did he mean anything by it at all? Is he saying it’s hard to resist me? Or easy? Or that he wants to find out? That he wants to be surprised?

  Gah. Men. Why can’t they communicate through mind-melds that make sense?

  There’s no time to linger, though, because Jessica rushes over to me and flops down in Zach’s spot. “Musical chairs!”

  “It’s what we’ve always played,” I add, sliding right back into our routine. Whenever our group of friends gets together, it always goes like this—moving around the table, catching up with whoever we need to catch up with, snagging chairs and stealing moments.

  She throws her arms around me and sighs happily. “I’m a bad friend. Do you forgive me for not telling you in advance?”

  I laugh and pet her hair. “Hmm. Good question. Depends on when he proposed to you.”

  She pulls back and flashes me her monster-size ring. “Last night. At the Cloisters, since he knows it’s my favorite museum. But we had talked about it, so I sort of knew he was going to, and he really wanted this whole night with everyone to be a surprise. Charlie loves surprises, and parties and celebrations.”

  “He sure does,” I say, recalling both the impromptu fetes he threw in the dorms as well as the unplanned dinners and birthdays he spearheaded for friends. “But hello! How long have you been seeing him, and why did you keep it from me?” I give an exaggerated pout, all in fun, but honestly, there’s a part of me that wishes she’d told me.

  “It happened so quickly.” A touch of guilt curls through her tone.

  I blink. “It did?”

  “He came to London a few months ago. We had dinner, and before we knew it . . .”

  My jaw drops. “Dirty girl.”

  She bats her lashes. “It was one of those things. Everything sort of collided, and then we had this very whirlwind romance, and . . .”

  I raise my brow, staring at her belly, then meeting her eyes. “And does that mean you’ll have a whirlwind birth in nine months?”

  She swats my thigh. “Hey! I know how to use protection.”

  “Just making sure.”

  “Anyway, it’s been a magical sort of courtship in London. He took me to all my favorite museums. You know how I love museums.”

  “I do. You dragged me to all the local museums in college.”

  “And you loved them as much as I did. And Charlie and I toured little bookshops, and smelled yummy old books, and then had afternoon tea.”

  “And did you eat fish and chips and roast beef in little pubs?” I ask in my best grand-old-dame English accent.

  “Please. I’m all about the curry. Love me some spice.”

  I laugh. “It sounds very you. And very you in London.”

  “And we loved every second of it. We wanted to tell everyone together. Like this.”

  “I couldn't be happier, although I’m going to require more details on the little bookshops. How did they smell? Wait. Don’t tell me yet. I might swoon, and I don’t want to do that at your party. And don’t you dare say a word about palaces or jewels, or I might faint from secondhand happiness. For now, tell me, how is being engaged?”

  “It’s a dream. And listen, in case it wasn’t clear, I’m paying you to plan the wedding. I know you said it was a gift, but I’ll have none of that.”

  “Don’t be silly. Your money is no good here.”

  “I insist.”

  “You don’t have to insist, and you don’t have to pay me.”

  She sighs and squeezes my arm. “Hey. I want to. Let me. Also . . .” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Have I mentioned my fiancé is rich? We are paying you, and that’s that.”

  Who am I to argue? I’m not hurting, but I do like the way money is useful—to pay bills, for instance, especially the unexpected ones that have been coming my sister’s way lately. “Thank you, Jessica.”

  She tucks a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. “Do you think you can tolerate Zach though? I know you never liked him.”

  I bristle at the question, oddly protective for some reason. But why would I feel protective of Zach?

  “I can handle him. He’s still the same old Zach,” I say with a shrug.

  And that’s true.

  Mostly he is the same.

  But it’s also untrue.

  Because lately, he’s a different Zach.

  A Zach who has a softer side, a kinder side, a thoughtful side. And a flirty side too, apparently. A Zach who shows those sides every now and then.

  A Zach I’m wildly attracted to.

  That’s the problem.

  I’ve managed working down the hall from him, no problem. Heck, I’ve hung out with
his kid, and that’s been fine. But now that I’m suddenly strangely drawn to him, how the hell am I going to handle being maid of honor to his best man in this let’s-make-it-an-ongoing-party type of wedding?

  My traitorous body is going to love this, but my too-smart heart is going to have to install a barbed wire fence.

  Oh wait. I have one. I only hope it holds.

  11

  Zach

  The next morning, I demolish Charlie in basketball at the local community center, while Lucy and Henry take an intro to tae kwon do class in the gymnasium.

  “It’s not even fair for me to play with you,” I say as I land another jump shot.

  He grabs the ball on the rebound and dribbles, then misses a dribble.

  I stare at him. “Just take a mulligan. I can’t keep destroying you this harshly.”

  He shoots me a steely stare as he stalks to the edge of the outdoor court. “I’m off my game, that’s all. Late night with the woman.”

  I roll my eyes as he retrieves the ball. “Please. I crush you often and easily, regardless of your late-night escapades.”

  He dribbles again and shoots. The ball flies through the net. “Oh yeah. Who’s the man?” Charlie gloats. “He shoots. He scores. Just like last night.”

  I snag the ball, stopping to scratch my jaw. “Please. I don’t need to hear about you getting lucky last night.”

  Charlie chuckles. “What can I say? I’m a happy bastard.”

  I clap him on the back. “Glad to hear it.”

  “And listen, thanks again for being my best man.”

  I arch a brow. “As if you were going to ask anyone else.”

  “Never. But I do appreciate it. And thanks for helping out with the pre-wedding activities. We want to make it fun.”

  I shoot, the ball whooshing effortlessly through the net. “It’s amazing I’m not in the NBA.” I turn to my buddy as he grabs the rebound. “And it’ll be fun. It’ll definitely be fun.”

  A ridge forms in his brow. “You sure you’re cool with all this?”

  “With you getting hitched? Yeah, I’m one hundred percent down with it.” I laugh. “What on earth would I have against it?”