Dream Guy: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

Chapter 1

EDEN

You sure you don’t need any money? I’m your big brother, Eden. It’s my job to look after you.

I stare at my phone screen, humiliated for the second time today.

I know I shouldn’t be. Cruz is just trying to be a good older brother, like always. He’s actually being incredibly generous right now, texting and offering to help his broke, college student sister make ends meet.

But I can’t help the shame that heats my face as I read my brother’s text message. Earlier today I rode the shame train when I checked my bank balance. A whopping $17.55 sits in my account to get me through the end of this week. Great.

My phone buzzes with another text from Cruz.

We all need help from time to time. Remember how Mom and Dad loaned me money to start my physical therapy business?

The tiniest pang of irritation pricks at me, and I kick my feet up onto the coffee table so hard that my water glass rattles. I call him.

“Your business was so successful that you paid them back after only a year. With interest,” I say instead of “hello.”

My well-meaning brother’s attempt at trying to console and relate to me only makes me feel worse. Even when overachieving Cruz needed help, he exceeded expectations.

“Come on, Eden. This isn’t a contest,” Cruz says in that soothing tone he’s perfected since childhood, the one where he manages to sound kind and matter-of-fact all at once. “I want to help you. You work so hard.”

“Tell that to Mom and Dad,” I say quietly.

He lets out a quiet sigh, his telltale trait that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place: trying to play peacemaker between me and our parents, like he has for most of our lives.

“They mean well. They just have a hard time looking past mistakes. It’s annoying as hell, I know.”

“Good to know that they think my lifestyle is a mistake,” I mutter.

“Sorry, Eden. I…I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”

I soften at the distress in Cruz’s voice. He’s only trying to help. It’s not his fault our parents refuse to see me as anything other than the frazzled, free-spirited, and flaky baby of the family—the one who failed at a dozen hobbies, clubs, and classes for every single activity that I excelled at. For two corporate lawyers who do everything by the book, they’ve always favored Cruz. He was a straight-A student who played baseball in high school and college before earning a physical therapy degree. Now at just twenty-eight, he’s the co-owner of one of the top sports medicine consulting firms in all of Portland.

It’s a stark contrast to me, a twenty-three-year-old college junior who bartends for a living after spending my “prime education years” (according to my parents) working service jobs to finance my travel habit, something they loathe. It’s pretty low on the “how disappointing can a human being be?” scale. But for my parents, who value success and image above all else, the lack of prestige in my professional life is akin to a slap in the face.

After they cut me off financially for years for not following the plan they had laid out for me—college right after high school, graduate with honors, get a prestigious job, all that—I finally gave in: I enrolled in college as a computer science major. They pay my tuition as long as I pass my classes and stay on track to graduate with a degree that will get me a “respectable” job.

“I don’t think of anything you’ve done as a mistake, Eden,” Cruz says. “I promise, deep down, Mom and Dad don’t either. They love you and are proud of you. I am too.”

I soften. “Thanks, big brother. I’m still not taking your money though.”

There’s a soft grumbling noise on his end. “Fine. You sure I can’t talk to Mom and Dad for you?”

A chuckle sound escapes my mouth despite the seriousness and determination coursing through me.

“And endure more of their disapproval and harsh judgment, only to accept more of their money with even more strings attached? No way. I’ll dig myself out of this hole.”

I can just hear them lecturing me for the millionth time about how lucky I am to have them as my safety net. Not this time though. This time I’m determined to earn money to cover my living expenses all on my own.

“I’m tired of being their biggest disappointment,” I say. “I want to show them that I can make it without their help.”

The sound of my roommate Kayla’s keys pulls my attention to our apartment door. She walks in, her dyed-purple hair soaking wet from the rain, cloth bag in hand. Her thick-rimmed glasses are fogged up and speckled with water droplets. She beams anyway, pulling a bottle of wine out of the cloth bag before setting it on the coffee table.

I tell Cruz thanks again for checking on me and promise to call him later, then hang up.

“I thought you were going out for Gavin’s birthday party?” I ask as she darts into our kitchen, which is just a few steps away from the living room in our microscopic two-bedroom apartment in north Portland, Oregon.

She returns with two wine glasses—the only pieces of nice-ish stemware we own—sets them on the table and yanks the twist-off cap from the wine bottle.

“Brendan was there.” She makes a sour face when she says her ex’s name. “I didn’t want to stick around. I said hi to Gavin and bought him a shot, so I’m good.” She pours white wine all the way up to the rim of my glass. “Besides, I’d rather hang out with you at home. You’re way more fun than Gavin’s drunk rock-climbing buddies. I ordered some Uber Eats from that Thai place you love too. Should be here in half an hour.”

For the second time this Saturday night, I go gooey on the inside. I’ve got the best friend and the best brother in the world.

I pull her into a hug before accepting the overflowing wine glass. She makes a motion to toast, but I interrupt her.

“To Kayla, the best friend in the world who would give up an epic birthday party to hang out with her broke bestie.”

Her doe-like, light-brown eyes practically sparkle. We clink glasses and take dual sips of the cheap wine I’m certain she nabbed from the convenience store down the block from our apartment.

She swipes the remote and turns on Netflix. “How about a wholesome-filthy movie marathon? We’ll start with the one where that kid in high school designs a dating app to earn money to go to an Ivy League school. Then filth things up real good with some male stripper movies.”

“Sounds perfect.”

We crawl under a fuzzy faux-fur blanket with our glasses of wine.

Kayla points to the TV, wine bottle in hand. “You should do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use your computer science brain to design an app that magically makes you a ton of money so don’t have to ask your parents for money or be broke.”

I laugh into my glass. “If only it were that easy.”

“Design one like his then.”

“One where I go on dates with random dudes for money?”

Kayla shrugs. “Why not?”

I laugh so hard this time, I cough mid-sip. “Um, maybe because I’m the most awkward human who ever lived and I’m certain very few people would pay to go out with me.”

“Come on. You’ve got that cute-sexy look going. Like a grown-up Nicole Gale Anderson with edge. And way thicker hair.” She gestures to my septum piercing. “Plenty of dudes love a nose ring. And tattoos.”

She pokes her index finger at the elaborate wildflower tattoo on my right upper arm peeking out from under my t-shirt sleeve.

I pull away, laughing. “Your brain is a dangerous place.”

There’s a knock on our door. When I hop up to answer it, my jaw lands at my feet. There’s Danny Darden, my older brother’s best friend…and the guy I crushed on during my adolescent years.

I have to tilt my head back at his six-foot-three frame to get a proper view of him. Same broad shoulders, same hazel-green eyes, same leanly-muscled build, same impossibly square jawline, only now he’s grown a thick sheet of golden stubble over it. Good lord, does facial hair suit him. He’s still ridiculously handsome.

He flashes a polite smile and starts to hand me the bag of food. Cleary he doesn’t remember me. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other, so I can’t blame him.

“Danny?”

“Sorry, do I…” He squints his hazel eyes at me before they go wide. “Holy shit. Eden?”

I nod and laugh before hugging him, his tall and broad frame dwarfing all five-foot-five-inches of me.

“Wow. It’s been forever.” He laughs when we break apart, then runs a hand through his dark blonde hair, which looks more brown now that it’s wet from the rain. “What are you up to these days?”

“Oh, you know, just living that broke college student life with my best friend Kayla after a few years of backpacking.” I gesture to my cramped and cluttered apartment. My cheeks heat. God, that was such a lame thing to say.

I gesture to Kayla sitting on the couch, who offers a wave and a “hello.” Danny waves at her and introduces himself.

He turns back to me. “What are you studying?” He smiles, showing off that perfect set of white teeth.

Actually, it’s more like a half-smile. And God, is it sexy, like he’s being playful and dangerous all at once. Did he always smile like that, like some charming half-angel, half-demon? Why don’t I remember that?

I blink, quietly telling my brain to behave.

“Computer science.”

“Here in Portland?”

I nod. “Portland State College. I like it a lot. Just not the early classes.”

“Ha, same. I’m an adjunct there in the art department. I started teaching there at the beginning of this school year when I moved here from Seattle.”

“What brought you back?”

His smile turns into a slight wince. “A breakup, actually. My fiancée and I called it quits.”

I suddenly feel like the biggest jerk. “Crap. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He waves a hand. “It’s okay. Really.”

“You’re an artist?” I say quickly in an awkward attempt to change the subject.

He nods, shoving his free hand in the pocket of his jeans. “Kind of. More like a starving artist. I can definitely relate to the broke college student thing, except instead of college student, it’s college professor.” His expression turns sheepish before he smiles it away. “That’s why I’ve got this weekend gig to help with bills. A lot of my grad school friends are doing the same.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yeah. Academia just doesn’t pay all that great, sadly. Oh hey, I just saw Cruz the other week too. Man, he’s pretty much kicking ass at life, isn’t he?”

I laugh. “Yeah, he’s the textbook overachieving older sibling with his thriving business and newly purchased townhouse.”

“He’s always worked hard and done well for himself, that’s for sure.” Danny flashes a soft smile, like he’s truly happy for him. “I should probably get going. My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket with delivery notifications.”

“Oh, of course.”

He steps back, flashing that half-smile once more, only this time it’s lips-only. He says bye to Kayla before looking back at me. “Good to see you, Eden. We should meet up for coffee or something and catch up properly.”

“I’d love that.”

He heads down the stairs. When I shut the door and spin around, I’m greeted with Kayla open-mouth smiling at me, her eyebrows at her hairline.

“Eden! Do not tell me you just missed that!”

“Missed what?”

She jumps up from the couch. “First of all, holy crap is Danny hot. Second, he’s gonna be your ticket to financial stability.”

“Um, what?” I laugh, utterly confused.

She gestures to the TV, then to the door. “Hot Danny is broke. Hot Danny needs a side gig. So do you…”

The way she trails off, it’s clear she expects me to connect the dots, but I’m still lost.

“Kayla, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She throws up her hands. “This is the perfect opportunity to create your very own dating app, just like in the movie we just watched! You could hire Danny to go out on dates with people! You could probably even hire some of our friends too, they’re always broke. It’s genius! You’d make a ton of money and be putting your computer science skills to good use. You’d be a badass woman entrepreneur. You wouldn’t have to work those godawful bartending shifts anymore. Think of how freaking awesome that would be!”

I stand there, mouth open, brow furrowed in confusion because I’m certain she must be joking.

She stands up straight and steps to me, grabbing me gently by the shoulders. “I’m serious, Eden. This could work. How many times have we heard the women around us complaining about going on bad dates with lackluster men? Constantly! I bet they’d be thrilled to use an app where they could pick out some hot, smart, cultured guy—their actual dream guy—to go on dates with. And hey, it doesn’t even have to be romantic either! Maybe some of them just need dates for work events or for some annoying family event they’ve got coming up and they’re tired of going to things single and enduring annoying questions from everyone.”

Her eyes possess a familiar wild look: they’re wide and unblinking and a dead giveaway that the gears in her problem-solving brain are grinding at lightning speed.

She gives my shoulders a slight shake. “At least think about it.”

I’m quiet as we chow down and continue our Netflix marathon. The longer I think about it, the more I realize this could actually work. I have the computer skills. And if I pull this off, I wouldn’t need money from my parents anymore…

I just need a dream guy.

I pause halfway through the movie and turn to Kayla.

“I think…I think I can do this.”

She does a little shimmy from under the blanket.

“I just need to get Danny on board.” I grab my phone and pull up his name in my contacts, surprised and happy his number is still there after all these years.

I quickly text him before I lose my nerve.

Hey, Danny! Great seeing you tonight! Are you up for that coffee, maybe tomorrow? I have a kind of a wild idea I’d like to run by you.