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Between her outfit and Kasey grilling me about my brother’s relationship, it had Mia on edge. She’s never said she’s interested in my brother, but if anyone knows what a crush looks like, it’s me.
“I thought your other dress was perfect.” I walk into the closet.
“So, you don’t like this one?”
I peek my head out. “I absolutely love this one. You managed to keep your style, but sex it up a tad. I think my brother will love it.”
“You think?” She stands to look herself over in the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the closet door.
“I knew it!” I holler out, unzipping my garment bag. “You like my brother.”
“Dammit, Chloe. It’s embarrassing for me to talk about.”
“Just spit it out. You like Colton Prescott.”
Mia lets out a big sigh. “I have for a while now, but talking about it would be weird.” She covers her face with her hands, peeking out through her fingers. “You’re his sister.”
I reach over and tug her hands away from her face. “And you’re my best friend. It would be awesome if you guys would get together.”
She distracts me by pulling out my cobalt blue pleated wrap mini dress. “Oh—em—gee! This dress—” Mia holds it up to her small frame. “It’s just as short as mine, but this dip could give Kasey’s cleavage a run for her money.”
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” I say slipping into the slinky fabric. “Does it scream desperate?”
“Hell no!” She whistles out. “If Jake didn’t notice you before, he will tonight.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
Please be right.
Jake
Fuck, it feels good to be home. I fall back into my bed and let my backpack fall to the floor.
Today was a bitch. Spotlight is one of the fastest growing hot spots in NYC and I’m a fucking idiot for thinking the lunch rush would be a piece of cake. Instead of tits and ass crowding the bar, the suits barked out drink orders left and right, running up their company tab.
I thought switching shifts would give me enough time to study for my finals without losing out on any tips, but when Colton informed me Chloe and her friends were flying in, studying simply consisted of me trying to come with excuses because taking the girls out isn’t an option.
Not after what happened last Christmas.
We were on break getting ready to leave to meet up with a few of our old friends, but Colton had to run back into the house for something, and I followed, finding Chloe, then seventeen, crying on the sofa. I hadn’t seen her in a year, and man did that make a difference. Colton’s sweet and innocent sister had been replaced with a woman who obviously wasn’t crying over something stupid an immature boy said or did. This was more.
So, I sat down to comfort her. It’s what I did. It was our thing.
I should have walked right back out when her ocean blue eyes peered up as if I could make everything go away. I couldn’t.
I didn’t.
I made it worse even when I thought I was making it better.
Fuck better!
It was wrong to bring my hand up to swipe away the tears.
It was wrong to promise her everything would be okay.
It was wrong to pull her in for a hug and kiss her on the forehead.
