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“I’m not.”
“Sure you are. It’s just a fantasy, anyway.” And I’m getting defensive, because I want this too badly, and if this is the only way I’ll get it… I mean, I don’t know these guys, apart from their appearance and the fact they live together. As friends. Apparently.
They may be assholes. Arrogant dicks, as Joel’s comment at the store seems to indicate— sadly.
Big dicks. Big, hard, thick—
“Getting a guy, babe, needs work,” Brylee mutters, and I duck before she pats my head again like I’m her poodle. “Hard work. Hours at the gym. Hours agonizing on what to wear. Relentless pursuit. Imagine chasing after two. Unless you want this story to remain fiction.”
I shake my head.
“You know there’s no way this could become reality,” I mutter. “You know it, Bry. Even if they were interested in me, which they’re not, they would never…” Never do a threesome, never touch and kiss each other, never want… What I want. “They’re like brothers!”
Everyone knows that. My friends use it as a running expression at college, and that’s long after Joel graduated and left to get a job: Friends like J & J. The Twins. The Bros. Best friends, practically family. It’s the way they are together, that closeness and familiarity you can’t fake.
And although finding out stuff about Joel was pretty easy—good family, a sister who works for the National Runaway Safeline, bunch of friends at a local gym he apparently spars with—his other half, so to say, Jethro, is a total mystery.
A sexy, badass mystery with spiky black hair and a wide grin and scruff and tattoos and…
“You need a makeover!” Brylee declares as she marches out to prepare for another night out, while I open my laptop again and stare at my unfinished post. “And then pursuit!”
A makeover. Yeah… so I may be somewhat nerdy. So what? Is that so bad?
I wish my buddy, Connie, were online, to tell her all about what happened and fangirl and rant and sigh together. Connie gets me, unlike Brylee, who mostly wants to fix me.
Brylee doesn’t know me.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
Pushing my glasses up my nose, I type two words in my post, delete them, and finally smile as I launch into my steamy, improved encounter with J-One. On screen, he can be whatever I want him to be—do whatever I want him to do. He can be loving and wild and forceful and into me, and into J-Two, and make us both come and then spoon us in bed while a fire burns in the fireplace and a storm rages outside.
Yeah, perfect, I think, sitting back and surveying my post before I hit “publish.” Hey, what can I say? Can’t beat fictional boyfriends. They’re the best.
***
“Good night,” Brylee mutters right behind me, almost giving me a frigging heart attack, and giggles. “Don’t overdo it with the boyfriends. Don’t want you worn out tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s tomorrow?” I’m still trying to catch my breath while glaring at her perfectly made-up face, perfect dress, perfect—well, you get the picture.
I mean, I do like Brylee, don’t get me wrong. I really, really do, even if she drives me nuts. She’s an amazing friend. But sometimes, when I’m being honest with myself in the dark hours of night, I wish she were a little bit less perfect, know what I mean?
“You forgot. I knew you would.” Brylee wags a finger in my face. “Tomorrow. Park. Concert. With Ryan. Ring any bells?”
Yep. Ringing all over the place. “I don’t know, Bry.”
“It will be great. You need to get out more. Get over Liam.”
“What? I don’t need to get over Liam.” Why are we even speaking about my ex-boyfriend? “There’s nothing to get over from.”
Except I miss sex. I really do. This nerdy girl had some pretty wild times before Liam, but since him I seem to have… given up? Maybe. Given up on finding someone who can make me feel as good as my own fantasy can.
“You’re coming to the concert with me,” Brylee says, cocky as you please—as cocky as Joel Kingsley. “And you will let me make you pretty,” she adds.
“Yeah.” I blink. “What? No.”
I turn to look at myself in the mirror nevertheless, in sudden doubt. With my hair caught in two braids, a long Indian dress and a T-shirt on top that says, “I Heart Vader,” don’t I look, I dunno, okay? I mean, this is my I’m-at-home-relaxing attire. Am I supposed to be in a dress and heels for that?
“You will let me prettify you. If not for me, then for you. You will meet actual real guys. Living and breathing ones. Let go of your fantasy. Become the fantasy.”
