Chapter 1 #2
Trust me, if the man knew I wanted him—if he knew I dreamed about getting on my knees for him so often it felt more like a memory than a fantasy, if he had the smallest inkling how many romantic relationships I’d called time of death on because nobody could compete with him—he’d feel awful that he wasn’t giving me what I needed.
Some part of him would feel like he was failing me, even though it was entirely beyond his control.
And I’d be the shittiest friend ever if I let that happen, which is why it will not happen . He can never know .
“Fine. You’re the boss or whatever,” I grit out. “Now, let me go, asshole, before I ban you from my kitchen.”
Laughing, Robbie drops me to my feet.
I shoot him a glare, and he returns an easy smile that hits me at center mass.
It’s the same smile he’s been giving me since we were thirteen. I feel like if the world were fair, I should’ve built up a tolerance to it by now. Instead, it hits me harder with every passing year.
I whirl away, tossing my discarded spoon in the sink and making a big production of selecting a new one, while telling my dick to calm the fuck down.
“Amesie,” Robbie says hesitantly a moment later. “Are you really upset? If wedding talk pisses you off, I can?—”
“Hmm? Oh, god no. I’m not upset. Definitely not about the wedding,” I lie. “Although I will remind you, you deserve to want things and fight for them. Lissa should want that for you.”
“Ah.” Robbie’s expression relaxes. “You’re being protective.”
I roll my eyes because duh . Doesn’t matter that he’s half a foot taller than me and outweighs me by several dozen pounds. Doesn’t matter that he belongs to Lissa now, and the person I’m “protecting” him from is his soon-to-be wife.
“So, Lissa’s thinking August fourteenth,” Robbie says.
I shake off my other thoughts and blink at him. “For what?”
“Dude. Did I squeeze you so tight I broke your brain? My wedding.”
It takes a second for me to process this, but once I do, I panic. “August? As in… five months from now August? ”
“Yeah. Lissa’s dad pulled strings at the country club?—”
“But you always said you wanted a fall wedding, Robert. That was your one opinion.” I slam my pan again. “Now you’ve rolled over on that too? Lissa gets whatever the fuck Lissa wants?”
Her date, her cake, the man I love.
I’ve spent half my life memorizing every single thing about this man. Making him the center of my life. Pretending I’m the center of his. And it’s not enough.
It’s never been enough.
It can’t be enough.
“Ames.” Robbie’s tone holds a rare warning note that means I’ve crossed a line.
I know I have. I heard myself.
But fuck .
It’s not the date I care about—well, not so much. It’s the clock ticking. The timer counting down to the day Robbie chooses Lissa and not me, forever and ever amen.
I dart a look at Robbie’s face. He’s hurt and trying to hide it, and I mentally kick myself.
I’d do anything to keep Robbie safe and happy. Slaughter armies. Move mountains. Drain oceans. You name it.
Anything, apparently, except trying to be happy for him. Anything except getting over him.
I inhale and exhale as I plate the mushrooms, drizzling them with a balsamic reduction that took three days to make.
“I’m sorry, Rob,” I say finally. “I’m being an ass. I love you. And Lissa’s been nothing but nice to me.”
This is, unfortunately, true. My sworn enemy doesn’t seem to realize we’re enemies, which is galling.
She gave me a cashmere sweater at Christmas that’s so soft I worry it’ll fall apart when I wear it.
Robbie must’ve told her I have a thing for otters, and now she sends me one or two otter memes a week.
She once thanked me for helping Rob become the amazing man he is.
I sometimes even suspect she’s figured out my feelings for him are…
pathetically un-platonic… but she’s never said a word.
Just in case you had any remaining doubt about who’s the asshole here.
I set the plate and a fork next to Robbie as a lame peace offering. “Taste this mushroom ragout and tell me if it belongs on the menu?”
He hops off the counter just as his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then sets it facedown.
“Lissa?” I ask.
Robbie shrugs noncommittally and picks up the fork.
Part of me wants to think he’s ignoring her for me. Part of me worries that he thinks he can’t talk to her in front of me anymore without pissing me off… and he might be right.
“So, remember the rules—” I begin.
“Don’t say I like them if I don’t,” Robbie recites. “Give my honest, unbiased opinion.” He stabs a mushroom. “I solemnly swear I will rate this dish like we’re not even friends and this is just a random mushroom ragout I found on the street.” His eyes glint with humor.
I laugh and swat his arm. “That tracks, since I’d never be friends with someone who ate mushrooms off the street, anyway, dumbass.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, we’re just us again. A pair of bros. Two souls in harmony. Sharing food like we’ve done a thousand times .
Then he puts the mushroom in his mouth and chews, and I catch myself noticing the way his throat works as he swallows. A deep, happy groan emerges from his mouth, and I wonder if he makes that noise when he?—
“Holy shit.” He opens his eyes, and I deep dive into the soft, spring green I associate with happiness. “You’re gonna put every other restaurant in Vermont out of business. These are amazing, Ames.”
I feel myself blush.
Robbie’s praise is outrageous. Over-the-top. But when he says shit like this, I know he truly means it, and I feel myself blooming like a goddamn flower in the sun.
I have an amazing, supportive family. I have a ton of friends. And I don’t have a confidence problem—in fact, if you listen to my shit-talking brothers, it’s precisely the opposite.
I can’t say exactly why Robbie’s praise hits different. Why his support means so much. But it’s my favorite thing. I don’t know how to live without it. I don’t want to have to give this up.
“So.” He sets down the fork carefully. “Is it gonna piss you off if I bring up the bachelor party?”
“Ha. Only if you tell me Lissa says you can’t have one. Because as best man, I’m going to plan you an epic, blockbuster bash…” I take pity on him and add, “…by which I mean a quiet gathering of no more than five people.”
He beams. “You get me. I was thinking maybe a fishing trip? You, me… Hugh and James from the crew…?”
“Sure.” I taste the mushrooms myself and lick my lips. “More rosemary, I think.”
“Anyone else?” Robbie presses.
“Hmm? I dunno, man. Like who? ”
“Like Erick?”
I sprinkle more herbs on the mushrooms and taste again. “Your second cousin?”
“Ames, I meant your Erick. Your… boyfriend?” A crease appears between his eyebrows like he’s worried about my mental acuity.
As well he should be.
Fuck.
“Oh! That Erick! My Erick.” My chest constricts—which is a natural consequence of me spending the last month lying to the most important person in my world. “Yeah, nah. I don’t think that’s Erick’s thing.”
Robbie’s frown deepens. “Why do you get that face every time we talk about him, Ames? You’ve been acting strange for weeks, you’ve barely let me hang out with the guy… What aren’t you telling me?”
“What? I tell you everything,” I say, but the lie tastes like ash in my mouth, and I rephrase. “Everything important .”
After all, importance is a relative thing, right?
And how important is it really that when Robbie and Lissa announced their engagement on Valentine’s Day, I panic-flailed and press-ganged an acquaintance into pretending he was my secret boyfriend— surprise !—just so Robbie wouldn’t notice my heartbreak?
How important is it that, a month later, all of Winsome still thinks we’re happily coupled up, thanks to our occasional public appearances at town events and the fact that Erick and I have been hanging out enough to become good friends?
To Erick, I admit, it’s pretty damn important, though the man went along with it because he’s a great sport .
To Erick’s actual boyfriend, Carlos—the guy Erick moved to Winsome for—who’s spent the past month sneaking into Erick’s window to hide from the town gossip squad, it’s very fucking important.
To my family—my three older brothers, my older sister, and my parents—who are being hands-off for the first time in my life and haven’t confronted me about the relationship they’ve probably guessed is fake or the hopeless crush on Robbie that prompted it, it’s somewhat important.
To Robbie, who thinks I omitted a whole-ass relationship from our communication when we usually text about what we ate for breakfast, it would be fucking important indeed.
But I keep telling myself it’s merely the cost of doing business, when that business is protecting your best friendship from your tragic, chronic love.
“Ames.” Robbie steps closer, all heat and golden skin. His brown hair’s fallen across his forehead, and he’s so close I can smell the clean-laundry-and-musk scent of the Abercrombie cologne I first gave him in high school.
I think, inanely, that he must be on his fifth bottle now. He liked it because I gave it to him, and he just keeps buying it.
“Remember you’re not the only protective guy in this friendship,” he says in a soft growl.
He sets his hands on my shoulders and shakes lightly, like he’s trying to make me hear him.
His thumbs brush my collarbone through the thick cotton of my shirt, and that simple nothing of a touch rockets through my nerves and fries my synapses.
“How many times have I told you that the man who ends up with Ames Axford will be the luckiest man alive? You deserve to be loved by someone who’s all in.
Someone who loves every single thing about you.
Someone who knows beyond a doubt that you’re the most precious human on Earth.
If a guy’s not giving you that, don’t waste your time. ”
“Rob.” I shake my head helplessly.