His Best Friend's Sister: A Secret Baby Romance Read online

  “Thank you for smuggling us in,” she said to Tyler.

  He reached for a glass and grinned at me. “Perks of knowing an owner.”

  He gave me another smile before turning his attention back to making us drinks. I watched him, noticing how well time had treated him. Tyler had always been attractive. I’d known him since I was far too young to notice guys, but as the years passed, I noticed him more and more. I was still a young teenager when it really clicked how much the girls ogled him and that I was ogling right along with them.

  He had always been Nick’s best friend. But then he became something more. It had been a while since I saw him, and now I could see he was just going to get better with age. Six feet tall with a fit, muscled physique, dark hair, and big, chocolate brown eyes, he was more than enough to keep me entertained for a long time, even if the bar stayed between us. He was so sexy I would be happy just to watch him like a TV show.

  When he was done with the drinks, he slid one in front of each of us. I looked down into my glass suspiciously.

  “What is this?” Melissa asked, likewise staring into her glass beside me.

  “We brought the nineties theme behind the bar tonight, as well,” Tyler said. “All about old-school cocktails. So, for you, a Slippery Nipple. And for Becca, Sex on the Beach.”

  “Ah,” I said. “The nineties. The years when all drinks became about sex.”

  “Everything was about sex,” Tyler said, winking at me before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Holy shit,” Melissa said, laughing.

  “What?” I asked. “Is it strong?” I took a sip of my drink and shrugged. “I mean, there’s definitely some alcohol in there, but I’ve had stronger.”

  “I’m not talking about the drink,” she said. She took a sip of hers. “Holy shit.” She nodded and pointed at her glass. “Alright, that one was for the drink. I don’t know what’s going on in your glass, but this one might need an octane rating.”

  I reached for her drink and took a sip. It made me cringe, and I fought the urge to cough at the burn of the alcohol ripping down my throat. “Wow. This one makes mine look like Hawaiian Punch someone poured in a glass that used to have liquor in it. Maybe he’s trying to get you drunk.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s just so he can have you all to himself,” Melissa teased.

  “What?”

  She looked at me incredulously. “You can’t seriously not have noticed. He is flirting with you.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes and gestured to the kitchen. “Tyler. Tyler is flirting with you.”

  I shook my head and took another sip of my drink. “No, he’s not. We’re just old friends.”

  “I don’t have any old friends who would wink at me like that after giving me a drink called Sex on the Beach,” she said.

  “I’d hate to hear what you think he’s trying to tell you by giving you a Slippery Nipple,” I shot back.

  “Me too,” a voice said from behind the bar.

  I looked up and saw a familiar face smiling at me.

  “Ava,” I said, smiling back.

  “Hey, Becca. I heard you were back in town.”

  I knew Ava in a tangential sort of way. She was a little older than me, but we sometimes ended up at the same parties and gatherings in high school.

  We spent the next little while talking with Ava and catching up on her life. With help from Melissa, I checked in about most of the people I remembered from high school to find out what they were up to now. Some of their relationships and the events in their lives sounded like much more of a soap opera than I would think boring little Astoria, Oregon, warranted. But it made for good conversation.

  Soon the cocktails kicked in with the help of a second round, and Becca and I hit the dance floor. We laughed and sang as we danced, not caring what anyone else thought or what they were doing. Tyler kept our stools at the bar reserved so we could go back whenever we wanted to for gulps of water or snacks from the baskets and platters he kept putting at our places.

  “The man can’t get enough of you,” Melissa said a while later. It was the fifth time she’d pointed out something along those lines.

  And the fifth time I shook my head, brushing it off. “He’s not flirting with me, Melissa.”

  I knew it was a lie. As much as I knew it would have been a lie if I said I wasn’t flirting right back.

  “You go right on ahead and tell yourself that,” she said. “But I think you should go for it.”

  “Nothing to go for, but even if there was, I don’t know if I would. I’m starting to think single life is perfect for me,” I said.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking that if everything worked out the way I thought it was going to, I would be scuba diving with Steven right now. And the first thought that went through my mind was that I’m glad I was here instead. What does that tell you?”

  “That does kind of say a lot,” she agreed.

  I nodded. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a month. I hate that I wasted so much of that time staying there. It would have been so much better to just come back to Astoria with you that day. Rumpled bridal gown, streaked mascara, and all. I’m just glad to finally be away from there.”

  “And from Steven?” she asked.

  “And from Steven.”

  We clinked our glasses, downed another drink, and headed back into the fray to dance.

  5

  Tyler

  Stopping at the local sub and sandwich shop was a routine for Sundays that never failed me. The after-church crowd was usually out at the buffet places or the sit-down spots, leaving my favorite deli open and mostly empty. I was starving after skipping breakfast.

  Opening the door, however, my plans changed almost immediately. In a corner, sitting by herself with a laptop in front of her, was Becca. She had a plate with an untouched salad and half sandwich sitting on it, meaning she was just settling in. I walked up to her, but she didn’t raise her eyes from the laptop, so I made a coughing noise to get her attention.

  “Oh, Tyler,” she said, her face immediately breaking into a smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked, gesturing at the other side of the table.

  “Not at all, come sit down,” she said.

  “I was just planning on grabbing a to-go order, and then I’ll be out of your hair,” I said, noticing that she shut the laptop when I sat down.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I was just sitting here ramming my head into brick walls anyway.”

  “Don’t do that,” I teased. “Whatever the problem is, having a concussion won’t help.”

  She flashed me a smile that made my stomach clench. “I’ve just been going down dead ends, looking for a job.”

  “Oh?”

  “I went to school for psychology and was hoping I could open my own office one day, but for right now, that’s not an option.”

  “Have you come across anything interesting?” I asked.

  “Not yet, no. It’s frustrating because the only places around that I could actually make use of my degree are predatory,” she said.

  “How so?”

  “They all want me to shadow someone or do an unpaid internship for like a year,” she said, frustration built up in her voice. “I can’t live with my parents that long.”

  “Hah,” I said, “I knew you’d get tired of that quick enough.”

  “Hush you,” she said.

  My order came up, and I grabbed my lunch, taking it back to the table with Becca. She moved her laptop over to the side, and the two of us began eating as our conversation continued casually and smoothly. I was struck by how easily we fell into a comfortable rhythm, like we had been friends for years. While I supposed it was technically true in the sense that we had been friendly for most of our lives, we had never really sat down and talked much.

  While eating her sandwich, Becca pulled her purse out and opened it u
p, taking out a bottle of acetaminophen and popping two of them back with her tea. I watched her with an ever-expanding grin. When she got the pills down and moved on as if nothing happened, I took a sip of my drink and decided to tease her.

  “Had a little too much last night, didn’t you?” I asked.

  She shut her eyes briefly and nodded.

  “Everything hurts,” she said. “I don’t usually get hangovers, but this one kicked my ass.”

  “I bet,” I said. “You were knocking those drinks back at a good clip if I recall.”

  “Well, they were delicious,” she said. “So, I am blaming you. Or Ava. Whoever came up with them.”

  “Little bit of her, little bit of me,” I bragged.

  “I’ll just go with blaming you, then,” she said. “Melissa called me far earlier in the morning than I thought she would, all chipper and talkative. So, I didn’t even get much sleep.”

  “Did you try some hair of the dog?” I asked.

  “No, Mom and Dad don’t keep any liquor around, at least that I could see. Figured I’d just hydrate and take these,” she said, shaking the bottle and then tossing it back in her purse. “Seriously, though, it’s not that bad. I just have a headache and feel like someone ran me over with a truck.”

  I laughed. “I consider that to be pretty bad, actually.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t drink like that, ever, so I guess I forgot how bad that bad actually is.”

  “Any plans for the day?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood up a little.

  “Not particularly,” she said. “Just job hunting and staying out of the house so Mom doesn’t decide that my life being in shambles has resulted in drunken debauchery.”

  “I think you were due a little drunken debauchery,” I said, and she grinned. I wanted to add so much more to that sentence but held back. In my head, though, I was coming up with a lot more ways she could blow off steam and get over her recent troubles.

  I had to pull myself out of that thought, though, and fast. This was Nick’s kid sister. And she was going through one of the worst moments a person could go through. I should be supportive for my best friend and his family and not add to the problem. The betrayal Nick would feel at me hitting on his sister, especially right now, would be incredible. Whatever thoughts and desires I might have at seeing this gorgeous woman walking back into my life, I needed to tamp down and in a hurry.

  “Nick offered for me to live with him,” she said suddenly. “In lieu of finding a place of my own, which I can’t do until I’m making money. I think I might end up taking him up on it.”

  “You mentioned that. What’s stopping you?”

  “I’m still not completely convinced it would be a good idea. Didn’t you say living with Mason had been a bad plan?”

  “Well, yes, it was,” I laughed. “But that’s because Mason is a surly jackass when he gets upset, and I am also a surly jackass when I get upset, and we grew up wrestling each other over every little thing.”

  “Nothing changed?” she asked, taking a bite of her salad.

  “Not a whole lot did, no,” I said. “He and I were adults, but in age only. Both of us were already set in our ways, and it didn’t take long before his ways and my ways became completely incompatible.”

  “Like what? I would figure that after you all lived together in one house, going from five to just two would have been easy,” she asked.

  “We thought that, too, actually,” I said. “I know I always assumed it was Tom that I couldn’t live with, on account of him being so particular about everything.”

  “Didn’t he go for those crazy predawn runs every day?” she asked. “I remember you and Nick tried to go on a few of them with him when we were younger, and both of you bailed on it after a few weeks because it was so early.”

  “Yes, and not only was it predawn runs, it was like the sun rising energized him, and he was this methodical morning machine,” I said. “Nick and I were both much happier getting up thirty minutes before the bus came and eating cereal in front of the TV.”

  “That sounds like Nick,” she said, smiling and taking a sip of her drink.

  “Anyway, the place we moved into was small, and Mason is pretty particular, too, or at least he used to be. Ava hasn’t seemed to complain too much about him being difficult, so maybe he calmed down some,” I said.

  “He and Ava,” she said. “How did that come about again?”

  “She moved back because of her parents,” I said, recounting her story in more detail, including the bit about us hiring her before really knowing if Mason was going to be okay with it.

  “Sounds like I missed a lot,” she said, finishing up her sandwich. “I was too busy wasting my time with someone stupid.”

  I could sense the sadness in her voice, and bitterness too. I hated it and wanted to move the subject along to something more fun but couldn’t think of what.

  “Well, you said it,” I finally said. “He was stupid. But you aren’t.”

  She smiled a little and took a sip of her drink. “I could argue that.”

  “But you won’t because I won’t hear it,” I said. “You gave someone a chance, and they blew it. You have no reason to feel bad about that.”

  I was finished eating and looked down at my empty plate. Surreptitiously, I slid her receipt over to me and scooted out of the booth. I waved her receipt over my head.

  “I’ll be right back, just paying for lunch.”

  She nodded and worked on finishing her salad as I walked up to the pay window. I paid for both meals and left some cash in the tip jar before heading back to the booth. When I got there, I saw her lifting her laptop and looking around like she lost something.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I just lost the receipt,” she said. “It’s fine, I am sure they can make another one.”

  “I already took care of it.”

  “What?” she asked, seeming confused for a moment and then blushing. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “No, seriously, you didn’t need to do that,” she said, opening her purse. “How much was it again? Twelve dollars? I can pay you back.”

  I held my hand up to stop her and shook my head.

  “No, put your purse back down,” I said. “I got it because I wanted to give you something to smile about today.”

  She smiled and sat her purse down, and I thought I saw her eyes watering just a little at the edges.

  “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem,” I said. “Seriously. I have to look out for my best friend’s sister.”

  She smiled again, but it was different that time. I regretted saying that last bit, bringing Nick back into things. I didn’t want her to think I was taking pity on her because of her brother, or that I only paid attention to her because of our friendship. The truth was, I wanted to take care of her, period. Something was drawing me to her, and I wanted to put that smile back on her face by any means I could, and if buying her lunch would do it, then that’s what I would do.

  “Well, thank you,” she said. “It’s very sweet of you.”

  I nodded. “Alright,” I said. “I have to get back to the bar. But my invitation for you to come hang out there wasn’t limited to just last night. You come back whenever, and I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”

  “I appreciate that. Once I no longer feel like a giant is squeezing my head, I might pick another night to come out. You said the theme nights are every Saturday?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I’m always there.”

  I smiled, and she returned it.

  “I’ll remember that,” she said.

  I nodded and stood up, heading out and back out to the bar with a wave.

  6

  Becca

  “Did you rinse those potatoes before you cooked them?” Mom asked, peering over my shoulder at the potatoes I was trying to pour into a strainer.

  “Yes, Mom,” I said.
“Just like you taught me to. Twice.”

  “Are you sure? Because they look like they still have a lot of starch on them. You have to be careful when you’re cooking mashed potatoes to soak the potato slices and rinse them before they go into the pot or they will have too much starch on them and be gummy,” she said.

  “I know, Mom,” I said.

  “Maybe you didn’t soak them for long enough. There’s nothing worse than gummy mashed potatoes,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” I said under my breath. “Nothing worse in this entire world than having mashed potatoes that aren’t at the ideal texture.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I just wanted to know how you can tell they’re starchy. They don’t look any different than any other time they are made.”

  “I can tell. When you’ve made mashed potatoes for as long as I have, you can tell,” she said.

  It was said with the same sort of mystical ambiguity I imagined people involved in religious cults used when talking about their rituals.

  “They were rinsed,” I said, hoping it concluded the Great Potato Conversation.

  I shook the strainer to get the last of the water off the slices, then dumped them back into the pot to mash them.

  “Butter first,” Mom said quickly.

  I bit back a sarcastic comment.

  Instead, I nodded and dumped the cubes of butter into the pot so they could start melting. I reached for the potato masher, but Mom snatched it out of the antique porcelain crock that held utensils at the back of the counter and handed it to me. Something about that gesture made me bristle.

  I knew from the beginning coming back home might be challenging. I couldn’t really imagine it was easy for anyone who went out on their own and had their own life to move back in with their parents. Especially if those parents were anything like mine. But I’d hoped I would at least get a little bit of a buffer. I hoped Mom would give me a bit of space to breathe before clamping down on me.