I’m not surprised when there’s a knock on my door, even at seven o’clock on a Friday evening. There’s only one person it could be, and I both hate and love that she’s here.
I hate it because it means that Lizzie’s date likely didn’t end well. I love it because it means I get to pick up the pieces. There’s another soft knock. I shut my laptop, set it aside, and hop off the couch.
“Coming.”
When I open the door, Lizzie holds up a hand and waves. “Hi.”
The look on her face doesn’t match her easy tone. Her dark brown eyes are sad, and her nude heels dangle from her fingertips.
“I take it the blind date didn’t go well?”
She shakes her head, causing a chunk of dark hair to fall out of her fancy updo and into her face. “Not so much.”
I wish I weren’t familiar with this scenario. Unfortunately, I’ve seen it dozens of times. Another asshole disappointed her, shattering her hopes of finding a decent man. Another setback in her plan of building her future.
I open my arms, and she walks into them, enveloping me in her soft lavender scent. I press my lips to the side of her head, trying not to be affected by the way she feels in my arms.
Warm.
Soft.
Perfect.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie Lou.”
“You can say it,” she mumbles against my shirt.
“Say what?” I pull back so I can look her in the eye.
“I told you so.”
There’s nothing I want more than for Lizzie to be happy, just not with a man of Emily’s choosing. I told Lizzie that earlier today when we talked on the phone.
Emily is wonderful, and she means well and loves Lizzie dearly, but sometimes she forgets that even though they’re identical twins, they’re polar opposites in every other way, including their taste in men.
Emily is fancy dresses, expensive meals, and sparkling jewelry, and she has a husband who happily gives her all of those things. There’s nothing wrong with liking the things she does, it’s just not who Lizzie is.
Lizzie is down to Earth. She cares more about comfort and how something makes her feel rather than the name attached to it, and how it makes her look—which is probably why she shucked her heels on her way to my door. And, she doesn’t care so much about what a man does for a living, or how much he makes. What she’s looking for is stability, loyalty, and kindness—all things that I bring to her life, just not in the capacity she’s looking for.
Lizzie wants love. She wants the fairy tale, the happily ever after, and I’d give her that too if I thought for a second it’s what she wanted from me.
I’ve dropped a couple of hints here and there over the last year about the two of us being together, but she always blows me off, and I’m afraid to push it further because I don’t want to lose her.
Lizzie is one of the most important people in my life, and I’d rather have her as a friend than not have her at all. Even if it means watching her date these pathetic losers who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as she does, let alone take her on a date.
“Go on. I know you want to.”
I take the heels from her hand and toss them to the floor. “Nah. You look sad enough. You don’t need me rubbing it in. Plus, it’s his loss, and now I get to spend the evening with you. Maybe I should send him a thank you card.”
Lizzie’s smile lights up more than the room—it sparks something in my heart. “What would I do without you?”
“You’ll never have to find out.” I brush a stray hair from her face. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“Yes. But first, I have to get out of this God-awful dress.” She starts walking down the hall and then turns to look at me. “You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”
I shake my head no. She smiles and continues to my bedroom. I go to the kitchen, and when I hear my bedroom door shut, I slide my phone out of my pocket. I pull up my older brother’s number and shoot him a quick text.
Me: Change of plans. I can’t make it for dinner tonight.
Calvin’s reply is instant.
Calvin: No worries, bro. We still on for coffee Monday morning?
Me: Yep. See you then. Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry I can’t make it. Raincheck.
Calvin: Tell them yourself.
I almost feel guilty for canceling on our dinner plans because I canceled with Mom and Dad last week, but I’m sure they don’t care. Calvin is their favorite anyway. He can woo them over dinner with his fancy business talk.
Me: I’m busy.
I’m about to put my phone away when it vibrates with another text.
Calvin: Tell Liz I said hello.
He knows me too well. Smiling, I stuff my phone into my pocket again, pull a bottle of Lizzie’s favorite rosé from the cabinet, and pour each of us a glass.
“What can I help with?” Lizzie says a few minutes later as she walks into the kitchen.
I glance over my shoulder and nearly swallow my tongue. Jesus C, she’s too pretty for words. There’s nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt, and Lizzie in my shirt is my own slice of heaven. Her makeup is gone, and her hair is down from the knot she had it in, leaving loose, brown waves hanging around her shoulders.
She looks fresh and clean and so damn beautiful.
Lizzie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at the shirt she’s wearing. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing a shirt.”
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
“I might never give it back.” Gripping the front of it, she pulls it to her nose, closes her eyes and inhales. The movement causes the hem to ride up her bare thigh. “It smells like you,” she whispers.
Don’t do it, man, don’t look, I tell myself, because ogling my best friend after she had a shitty night isn’t cool, and all it’ll do is make me want her that much more.
Clearing my throat, I nod toward her glass of wine. “Take that into the living room and get comfy. I’ll be right there.”
I don’t have to tell her twice. Lizzie takes both glasses while I grab a few seconds to myself. Pushing my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and try to think of anything that’ll take my mind off of how it would feel to wrap my arms around her lush body and claim her sweet lips.
“You coming?” she hollers.
Shit. Here goes nothing. I grab the ice cream and a spoon and walk into the living room. Lizzie is curled up in the middle of the couch, my University of Illinois t-shirt stretched across her tan legs, and her feet tucked under her butt. She pats the cushion, and I sink into the spot beside her. She takes the spoon and digs in for her first bite.
“You spoil me,” she mumbles around the ice cream in her mouth.
“Someone has to.”
She moans, scoops out another spoonful, and holds it up for me. I take the offer and watch her go in for more.
“You know,” she says, licking the spoon clean. “One of these days, you won’t have to spoil me anymore.”
I don’t like that thought at all. Because if I’m not spoiling Lizzie, it means that some other asshole will be. Spoiling Lizzie is my favorite pastime and something I’ve been doing since her parents moved next door to mine when we were six.
“I’ll always spoil you.”
“My future husband might get jealous.”
I give her a look that says he can go fuck himself. The asshole doesn’t exist, and I already hate him. I don’t care if she ends up marrying a prince, no one will take her from me.
Most people think that a man and woman can’t be friends, but I call bullshit, and our relationship proves it.
Sure, there are times when I have to remind myself not to stare at the swells of her breasts, or the soft curve of her hip, and every once in a while, I have to force myself to think of pink bunnies or some other froufrou shit to keep from daydreaming about her naked body, but who can blame me? I’m only human, and she’s beautiful. But I can control my feelings; I’ve done it for this long. What’s another sixty or seventy years?
My gaze falls to her left hand resting on my leg. I try to picture a ring sitting there—one given to her by a nameless, faceless guy—and I frown. When that day comes, it’ll obliterate me.
Maybe I’m the one who should be dating more.
“Aiden?”
“Hmm?” I take the spoon from Lizzie, grab a bite for myself, and hand it back.
“I know we said we’d talk about my date tonight, but I kind of just want to forget that it happened.”
“Did he hurt you?” Because if he laid a finger on her, I would kill him.
“No, nothing like that. But I just…” Her words hang in the air, the dejected tone of her voice has me wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Thank you.”
We sit for several minutes, eating ice cream and just existing. These are the moments I want in life. Quiet nights with my girl—a far cry from the things I wanted a few short years ago.
“Lizzie?”
“Yes?” She blinks and looks up.
My mouth goes dry. Do it, Aiden. “Let me take you out.”
“Right now?” She frowns at her shirt and bare legs. “I’m not wearing pants.”
“No, not right now,” I say, laughing. “Next weekend.”
“Like…on a date?”
“Yeah, on a date.”
Her breath hitches, and for a split second, a light flickers in her eyes.
That, right there. It’s the same spark I’ve seen each time I’ve asked her out or made a comment about the two of us dating. I know she wants to say “yes,” but like every other time, the light fades as quickly as it appears.
“Aiden…” Lizzie’s gaze falls to the floor, and ever so gently, she shakes her head. “You’re my best friend…” Her soft-spoken words trail off, but the meaning of what she’s saying hangs heavily in the air.
She doesn’t think of me like that.
She doesn’t want to lose our friendship.
Fuck, this hurts.
Seconds tick by. Eventually, she looks up at me, a sheen of moisture in her eyes. “One of these days, you’re going to make someone very happy, and she’ll be a lucky woman.”
You, I blurt in my head. I want that woman to be you. But I keep the words locked in tight because I’ve already pushed the boundaries of our friendship far enough for one night. Instead, I do what I do best and try to lighten the mood.
“Well, the offer stands,” I say flippantly, even though I’m feeling anything but. “And I promise I won’t try to stick your fist into my mouth until at least the second date.”
Lizzie laughs and slaps my chest. “First Sarah, and now you. You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Hell, no. It’ll always be funny. We should add it to one of those worst first date websites.”
“No, we shouldn’t.” Laughing, she grabs the remote and drops it on my lap. “How about we stop making fun of my dating life and watch a movie?”
And just like that, we’re back to normal—well, as normal as we can be after the awkwardness I initiated.
“I guess.” I flick on the TV and start flipping through channels.
“Stop. No, go back one more.” I flick back one, and she wiggles against me. “This one. I love this movie. I haven’t seen it in years.”
“Is that Harry Connick, Jr.?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s called Hope Floats. Have you seen it?”
I shake my head.
“Well, you’re in for a treat because it’s one of my favorite movies.”
I’m not one for romantic comedies or sappy love stories, but I’ll gladly sit through millions of them if it means keeping Lizzie by my side.
By the time the credits roll, Lizzie is fast asleep, her head resting in my lap. I should scoop her up and take her home, but it’s late, and she looks so peaceful.
I brush my fingers across her forehead, sweeping a stray hair from her face, admiring the way her eyelashes rest against her silky skin. She stirs against me and flings an arm over my hips but doesn’t wake up. I burrow further into the couch, pull a blanket over the top of us, and close my eyes, intent on enjoying these stolen moments with Lizzie while I still can.