Loving My Best Friend Page 4

She’s adorably off-key. Like, can-not-sing-for-shit off-key. Eva’s singing voice generally starts somewhere near the melody, then shimmies off in the opposite direction.

  I love it.

  I dip her melodramatically, and she grins up at me, her eyes bright and laughing, as she finally surrenders and completely loses the thread of the song.

  I fell in love with your grandma, dancing in a room like this.

  I straighten abruptly, easing us apart. Eva looks at me funny.

  “See,” I joke, trying to cover up the moment. “This place totally needs to be a ballroom.”

  Eva rolls her eyes, exasperated like usual, but it feels like something is shifting between us.

  Don’t change. Don’t change. Don’t change. Don’t change.

  I lock up the hotel and drive us back to the city as fast as I can.

  5

  Eva

  I had the dream again. We’re at the party. He’s kissing me. Only this time, I rip off my mask, so he knows exactly who he’s kissing. He says, “Thank God,” and kisses me harder.

  And then Sr. Maurine shows up to tell me I didn’t put my name on my third-grade spelling test.

  —Eva Price, journal, her senior year at Columbia

  I don’t know if Jack’s too busy or if I’m finally getting into the swing of things, but we barely see each other over the next few days. It’s a relief to fall into the rhythm of work and not have to think about the fact that my thirtieth birthday is today.

  Back at my old company, I would have had a cake and champagne, since my birthday was also the company’s anniversary. Here, no one knows, so I pass through the day in blissful obscurity, happy to ignore all the Big Insecurities and Deep Thoughts the day brings up.

  I’ve almost made it out of the office for the day when Jack sticks his hand in the elevator to keep it from closing.

  “You can’t leave. I have your birthday present,” he says distractedly, shoving a flat black box at me. He stands in the elevator door, waiting for me to open it.

  The longer I take, the more likely it is that someone’s going to come around the corner and ask what the occasion is, and before I know it, I’ll have to endure dozens of birthday wishes from people who barely know me.

  The black box is smooth, luxurious cardboard with a gold foil logo stamped on the center. I open the lid, and there, nestled in black silk, is a gold jewelry set. There are no jewels, just three delicate, abstract gold shapes twisting like water, one hanging on a long gold chain that will rest between my breasts, and another two for earrings.

  “Jack,” I say, running a helpless hand over the flawless metal. “I got you whiskey for your thirtieth.”

  “Yeah, and you didn’t even come to my party,” he teases.

  I’m a little surprised he didn’t go for jewels until I see tiny writing etched on the back of the necklace pendant. I peer closer, then gasp.

  “It’s got all the awards you won in your twenties. The earrings are your teens and anything before ten. I know I missed stuff from the teens. I’m sure there was stuff I don’t remember. Also, the earrings are not very big.”

  “Jack,” I say again, because what else do you say when a man who can buy anything thinks that the most valuable thing he can give you is your own accomplishments on a silver platter? Or, in this case, on a golden chain.

  “Here, let me put them on for you.” Jack steps into the elevator. The doors close behind him, and he takes the necklace out of the box, stepping behind me. I am so aware of his heat, his scent, and his presence, and I shouldn’t be.

  The elevator feels too small as he finishes with the necklace. Then, he carefully removes my simple, fresh-water pearl earrings and gently slips the gold hooks into my lobes.

  He’s so close I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

  “There.” He steps back to look at me, then smiles in satisfaction. “Perfect.”

  The elevator door opens, and I quickly step out, expecting him to head back up to the office, but he gets off with me, walking me to the hotel doors. “So, what are you doing for your birthday? Drinks with Tracy? Or are your parents in town?”

  I shake my head. “Tracy’s still on assignment in Thailand. It didn’t work out with my parents’ schedule this year. I’ll just get takeout and stream something.”

  Jack stops dead in his tracks, stopping me with a strong, possessive hand on my arm. “You’re watching Netflix alone on your thirtieth birthday? Evvie. No.”

  “It’s what I want,” I say defensively.

  “Yeah, because you’ve had a busy workday, but once you’re home and the tired wears off, you’ll be bored and lonely.”

  “Then I’ll go to my neighborhood bar, get my free birthday shot, and people watch for a while.”

  He closes his eyes like the thought of me alone at a bar is physically painful. “Please, do not pick tonight to go searching for that hot, quick fuck. The thirtieth birthday hook-up because you’re missing someone is not a good idea. Trust me.”

  “I’m not missing anyone,” I say, confused. “Who were you missing?”

  “Let me take you out,” Jack says. “Somewhere fancy. It’ll be fun.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “Jack, anyplace like that, we’ll run into someone you know or someone I’ve had a client, and I just don’t feel up to that tonight. I want to go home and eat greasy pizza.”

  I pluck his hand off my arm and keep walking.

  “What if I know a place no one will recognize us?” he asks, stepping in front of me to cut me off.

  “I don’t want to go to some crowded dive with no light,” I protest.

  Jack looks indignant that I’d even suggest such a thing. “Come on, Evvie,” he says, his voice low and coaxing. “Trust me to give you an amazing night.”

  His voice and those words are sending my mind places it shouldn’t go, so I cut him off. “Fine. But I’m not dealing with the subway. So, walking distance from my apartment. You can pick me up in an hour and a half.”

  Jack frowns but nods, determined to meet the challenge. He steps aside.

  I’m almost to the door when he calls, “And Eva? Wear the necklace.”

  Something about his authoritative tone sends shivers down my spine. Like he’s marking me as his.

  That’s ridiculous, I tell myself. He’s just proud of his present.

  I head out the door without answering.

  * * *

  By the time Jack picks me up, I’m in a better mood. Once I’ve taken a shower and washed the stress of the workday off me, the idea of a fun night out that I don’t have to plan actually sounds kind of great.

  Damn him for knowing me so well.

  I slick on a deep pink lip stain that will last through dinner and let my curls air dry. I keep Jack’s necklace and earrings on, partly because I like them, and partly because I realized I never actually said thank you, and I feel kind of bad about that.

  I pull on a great black, silk, long-sleeve wrap-dress that I haven’t worn in forever. The plunging neckline shows off the necklace perfectly. It also means I can’t wear a bra, and since my old plan was eating takeout braless at home, it seems like a good compromise. I’m hesitating between practical black flats and sky-high maroon velvet heels, when my phone lights up with a text from Jack, telling me he’s out front waiting for me.

  What the hell? It’s my birthday.

  I slip on the heels, grab my small, black going-out purse, and head out the door.

  I step outside in time to see a jogger run into a trash-can because she’s checking out Jack’s ass.

  Let me tell you, it is an ass worth checking out tonight. He’s swapped his work suit out for dark wool slacks and a deep green, almost black, cashmere sweater that makes his dark hair and fair skin even more dramatic. He’s wearing a black peacoat that’s a decade out of style, but it suits him.

  He glances up when he hears my door shut, already smiling. The smile fades as he takes me in, his eyes skimming over every inch of what I’
m wearing.

  And not wearing.

  “What?” I ask uncertainly. “Too much?”

  “What?” he asks, distracted, and then seems to get a hold of his thoughts. He flashes me a brilliant smile and offers me his arm as I meet him on the sidewalk. “You’re perfect. You’re always perfect. I just thought you’ll be cold without a coat.

  “Oh,” I say, trying not to feel distracted. He wasn’t checking you out, you idiot. He was just wondering where the fuck your coat was.

  He slips out of his own coat and drapes it over my shoulders, and I’m instantly enveloped in his warmth and that lemony, masculine scent that’s totally Jack.

  “Happy birthday, Eva,” he says softly, and for the second time today, he’s making me feel like I have too many emotions racing under my skin.

  Then he links his fingers through mine and leads me to the restaurant.

  It’s a stylish but not stuffy place a few blocks from me, run by an up and coming female chef who’s made enough waves with her fresh, creative take on American comfort food that it’s hard to get a table.

  To my surprise, we don’t go in the front door. Instead, we go around back, where a waiter greets us and leads us to a discrete table tucked out of the way in the kitchen itself. It’s a small, scratched wood table, but someone has placed a small bouquet of fresh white flowers in a wine bottle on it, and the place settings are gorgeous. Jack helps me out of my coat—his coat—and holds the chair for me.

  I sit down, stunned. He couldn’t have paid more attention to what I wanted if he tried. Then the waiter hands me the menu, and I see there’s a whole section devoted to artisanal pizza.

  “Jack,” I say, smiling so hard I feel like I’m glowing. I can’t believe he did this. First, the jewelry, now this.

  He raises an eyebrow cockily. “I told you you could trust me.”

  His voice slides through me like fine wine or dark chocolate, and I’m suddenly regretting not wearing a bra because I know this isn’t a date.

  Obviously, it’s not a date. It’s Jack.

  My body is having a hard time remembering that, though. I try and focus on the bustle of the kitchen, the dizzying rush of scents, the fun novelty of it all, but I can’t help being aware of the way the silk shifts over my breasts, the way his leg brushes mine under the table, and the way his necklace lies warm and heavy against my bare skin.

  Not a date. Not a date. Not a date.

  When the chef herself presents me a decadent slice of sea-salt chocolate cake, complete with a birthday candle to blow out, Jack watches me, his own eyes too dark as he says, “Make a wish.”

  Suddenly, I’m back in our senior year of college, wishing he knew I’d been the one kissing him that night, driving him wild. Wishing he’d see me the way I couldn’t help but see him.

  If that wish had come true, though, we wouldn’t be here now. Except, maybe we would.

  And maybe the lawyers will refund my legal bills, and I’ll get my company back.

  I shake the thought away, and when I bend to blow out the candle, I don’t wish for Jack.

  Instead, I wish to stop wishing.

  * * *

  Jack loans me his coat again for the walk home, and I feel bad about leaving him to face the dark cold in only a sweater, but I love that feeling of safety, of being wrapped up in him.

  The only time it doesn’t feel safe is when we stop on the sidewalk so he can bossily button up the coat and the back of his knuckles accidentally brushes the skin between my breasts. He’s so hot, and the night is so cold, and it feels like I’m being branded, and I forget to breathe while he freezes.

  Jack recovers first, buttoning me up to the top button. Then he steps back, putting his own hands firmly in his pockets as we walk back to my apartment in silence. My heels click on the sidewalk.

  Not a date. Not a date. Not a date.

  “Well, this is my stop,” I joke as we come to my apartment. “Thanks for a great night. Seriously. You can plan all my birthdays.”

  He shoots me a wry smile.

  “Not that I’m expecting that,” I say belatedly. I turn and go up the first step to my building, but he catches my hand, and when I look back, he’s smiling.

  “I would happily plan all your birthdays, Eva, if you’d just give me one thing.”

  I blink, completely confused about what he could possibly mean.

  I wish. I wish. I wish.

  “My coat,” he clarifies, and I blush as he laughs.

  Of course he means the coat. I’m shrugging out of the wool and twisting to hand it back to him as he ducks to kiss my cheek goodnight, but I’m moving too much, and his lips land on mine.

  It’s chaste and sweet—it was meant for my cheek after all—but Jack’s lips are on mine, and it sends sparks dancing on my skin and butterflies dancing in my stomach.

  It feels right, perfect, like a girl getting her first kiss.

  Only my first kiss wasn’t anything like this. Hell, that one time I kissed him wasn’t anything like this.

  It’s like Jack McBride’s been walking around with my first kiss for all these years, and only now did Time realize she screwed it up somehow. It’s like we’re stuck in this perfect moment, but it’s happening in the wrong timeline, and if one of us doesn’t pull back now, we’re going to ruin everything that’s amazing about this timeline.

  He pulls away, startled. Maybe a little dazed.

  When I’m in my heels and standing on the steps like this, he’s the one looking up at me. God, he looks like an angel. He looks like a dazed, turned-on angel, and it’s freaking me out.

  “Here.” I shove his coat at him in a bundle, and he takes it reflexively. “See you tomorrow.”

  I turn and rush up the steps, trying not to think about what just happened.

  6

  Jack

  I love u Evvie. You are my best friend.

  —Jack McBride, Ninja Turtle valentine, age six

  “I don’t get it,” Eva says a few days after that accidental kiss.

  She’s slouched back, her feet propped up on my desk. It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and we’re both done for the day. We could have left hours ago, but after that kiss, it feels safer to hang out in my office and takeout than to venture back into the outside world where I might give in to madness and give up a lifelong friendship just to have Eva’s lips on mine again.

  The ideal solution would be a friends with benefits thing to get whatever this thing between us is out of our system without ruining the friendship. Eva’s not built like that, though, so I’m planning on keeping our relationship squarely within the hotel’s offices until this thing between us blows over.

  It’s always blown over before. I just need to wait it out.

  I need to get laid, I think, but it’s half-hearted at best. The horrible, terrible, selfish truth is, I’m not interested in anyone but Eva right now.

  “The rehearsal dinner was two weeks ago,” Eva continues, plucking the last piece of kung pao shrimp from the takeout container with a pair of wooden chopsticks. “Why is the wedding this weekend?”

  “Because it’s very hard to coordinate my family’s schedules,” I answer absently, scrolling through my text.

  “And your date just canceled.”

  “A work thing came up. It happens. I just need to find someone who wants to spend their Saturday hanging out with my family for six hours.” I sigh. “I’d just go stag, but Ally’s got the tables planned perfectly, and she might kill me if I mess it up with less than twenty-four hours notice.”

  My phone buzzes, and I check it hopefully, but it’s just another woman telling me she can’t make it. At least this one didn’t tell me to go fuck myself. Apparently, I’ve broken more hearts than I knew.

  Oops.

  “Face it. You’re screwed,” Eva says cheerfully.

  I groan and drop my head on the desk.

  “Ally’s going to kill me. Is it sexist that I thought a lesbian would be less of a bridezilla?”


  “Yes,” Eva says. “And she’s not a bridezilla. Place settings matter, Jack.”

  “I don’t see you volunteering to help,” I say bitterly.

  She blinks, surprised. “Do you want me to come?”

  I hesitate. On the one hand, there’s that accidental kiss, and I’m trying to put more distance between us and it. On the other hand, I can’t think of a less-sexy situation than all of my family at a horrendously sappy wedding.

  Plus, Eva actually knows my family. My mom’s been asking about her since she stopped coming to Thanksgiving a few years ago, which let me tell you, is awkward when I’ve actually brought a date, Mom.

  Also, I’m clearly desperate.

  “Would you?” I grimace. “I swear, I’ll owe you a huge favor.”

  Eva waves off my offer as she stands. “You don’t owe me anything. But I should head out now since I’m apparently going to be back here tomorrow. Two in the afternoon in the Tea Rose ballroom, right?”

  “One-thirty for pictures,” I correct. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  As soon as she walks out the door, I wonder if I should have told her the dress code. Which makes me think of that black silky thing she was wearing on her birthday. The neckline was bad enough, but there was that loose, floppy tie at her hip, and I spent the whole night wondering if the whole dress would fall open if I just reached over and tugged.

  Aw hell.

  I hope this wasn’t a horrible idea.

  * * *

  The wedding itself is sweet if a little over the top since the bride’s grandpa gave her an unlimited wedding budget. As Ally and her new bride dance back down the aisle, I catch Eva tearing up a little.

  Eva’s dressed perfectly modestly in a high-necked pastel pink and white dress that fits her curves like a glove before flaring out at the waist. She’s got pink pearls at her ears, and her curls are loose and long, pinned back just enough to keep them from falling in her face.