Filed to story: Kissing the Wrong Brother
I choke on a chip.
“Anyway, you get the idea,” she says, her voice a little wistful. “We were friends. Real friends, you know? He didn’t care that I was fat, and I didn’t care that he had cystic acne and sometimes got Oreos in his braces.”
I drop the chip I was about to eat back in the bag.
“Where was Kylie in all of this?” I ask.
“She was pretty much a mini version of what you see now. Tiny, refined, athletic.”
“Did Ben have a thing for her?”
She reaches her hand into the chip bag, pulls out a too-big handful, and munches. “Not at first. But by eighth grade or so, it was obvious that he was no longer coming over to our house to hang out with me. It was to catch a glimpse of Kylie’s newfound love for bikinis.”
Aria’s voice never loses its peppy enthusiasm, but I’ve spent enough time with her to notice that her tone has taken on a slightly brittle edge. The girl’s not as immune to her sister’s superstar status as she wants to be.
“So what happened?” I ask. “When did you lose your Harry Potter BFF?”
“I didn’t really lose him, technically,” she says, probably trying to convince herself more than me. “It was just a slow transition. First his braces came off. Then he got contacts. Then his skin cleared up…. He started working out.”
“He became popular,” I conclude.
She nods. “High school was a fresh start for him. For all of us, really, but Ben’s the only one who managed to switch teams. Kylie was on the popular side and stayed there. I was on the dorky side and stayed there. But Ben … he left dorky for popular.”
And he left you for Kylie, I silently finish for her.
“His loss,” I say automatically, because it’s what polite people say, and manners were drilled into me as a kid.
But once the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re truer than I realized. Aria is …
I don’t know what Aria is. But I hate that she sees herself as second-rate.
Aria lets out a thoroughly entertained laugh. “Don’t even, Beefcake. You’re no different. You’re going to try and tell me you don’t know exactly what Ben sees in Kylie?”
I roll up the chip bag and put it back in its place, feeling irrationally irritated that she’s clumped me in with my superficial half brother.
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“Sure, Beefcake. But as a friend. Not even a friend. As a carpool buddy, to help your nefarious plan of … what exactly?”
“How do you know I have a nefarious plan?”
She shrugs. “I just do. I thought it was as simple as you trying to break up Kylie and Ben, but I can’t quite figure out your approach.”
I pull two water bottles out of the cooler, twisting the cap off hers and handing it to her. “You know your sister better than anyone. You think she hasn’t had guys hit on her in the time she’s been with Ben? You think she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing every time she winks and wiggles around me?”
Aria glances at me with a little look of surprise. “So you know she’s playing games with you.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m just playing them right back.”
She hands me back the water bottle after taking a sip, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “I knew it. On that first day I met you, I totally thought you had her number, but since then you’ve been acting just like the rest of her whipped dogs.”
I wince.
“Sorry,” she says. “But it’s true. Either shit or get off the pot, man.”
I can’t help my laugh.
“I’m serious!” she says. “You’ve got to make your move or move on.”
“What do you think this weekend’s about?” I ask, even though until this moment, I hadn’t really given much thought to the Kylie-Ben thing. I’ve been too focused on my father.
She looks at me wide-eyed. “You decided to come along to play home wrecker?”
I take a sip of water. “Don’t act so scandalized. Isn’t that exactly what you’re up to? I’ve seen you and Ben chatting it up whenever Kylie’s not around. Looking awfully chummy these past two weeks.”
“We’re friends. He wants to talk about law school.”
“Uh-huh. With you, but not with Kylie?”
“She’s mad at him,” Aria mumbles.
Is she now? That’s interesting. Trouble in paradise could work very well to my advantage.
“I’m not a home wrecker,” she says very deliberately, as though trying to convince herself. “Even if I wanted to be, it wouldn’t work. He doesn’t see me. Not like that.”
I start to tell her that she just needs to give it time-that maybe Ben will see the light and revert to his nerdy, Harry Potter-loving self.
But then reality hits, and I remember exactly how that works out.
How long did I wait for Olivia to see me? To realize that she laughed with me in a way that she never did with Ethan? That I saw her in a way Ethan never would?
Too long.
I told myself that when she and Ethan broke up that she’d get it. That she’d see someone besides him.
And she did.
But that someone wasn’t me. I’d been right there waiting for her the whole damn time, but she didn’t come to me. Instead, she ran to fucking Maine and fell hard for the injured marine she’d been hired to care for. Best I could tell, the guy was a complete asshole, but Olivia was … in love. Or some shit.
Discovering that she’d found a new guy would have been shitty enough, but, incredibly, that wasn’t the worst part of that weekend. No, the real shit went down when I came home feeling like there was a hole in my chest and discovered that my “father” was, in fact, not my father.
I figure that was about the time I stopped feeling. Because, really, why bother?
I grit my teeth. I don’t know why I keep picking that scab, but I do, and because the thought of Olivia makes me feel the fool, I let anger roll over me because it’s easier than hurt.
“You’re an idiot,” I say gruffly. It’s not what I mean to say. I don’t know what I mean to say. I just can’t stand the thought of this cheerful, good person going through what I went through.
Instead of being offended, she laughs. “Good pep talk, Beefcake.”
She laughs again, and it’s genuine and bold, and suddenly it hits me: Aria Walsh deserves better. She deserves better than what I got.
Maybe she just needs what I never had.
A little help.
Aria’s POV
Okay, fine, I’ll confess: When I invited Beefcake to my family’s Fourth of July party, my motives weren’t entirely pure.
Like, we’re talking half-wanting to distract him from my workout, half pity invite because I was worried the guy would spend the holiday alone in his hovel making homemade fireworks.
But I’m oddly glad that he said yes.
It’s not the first time I’ve brought along one of what my parents call my “projects.” They didn’t even blink when I told them I was bringing an employee from the club.
Unorthodox, sure, but they’re used to it.
Last year it was a barista at Starbucks who put extra whipped cream on my caramel Frappuccino every morning, and had confided that she’d just moved to the area with no friends.
The year before that, it was a girl from Hungary I met at the mall who’d never seen freaking fireworks.
In high school, it was exchange students, tutors, and whomever else I worried didn’t have anyone to hang out with.
What can I say? I’m a connector.
But with Miles, it’s a little different. He’s a project invite, yes.
But he’s also the first of my projects that feels a little bit like … a friend.
Not that I’d ever tell him that. The guy’s about 84 percent scowl, and I think words like friendship would up that percentage to 90-something.
The car ride goes surprisingly quickly. Usually I ride with Kylie and Ben, but three hours trapped in the car with two guys ogling Kylie?
Just no. Hell no.
Plus, I very intentionally hadn’t told Kylie that I’d invited her tennis crush, and I’m guessing my parents hadn’t bothered to mention it to her.
How do I know?
Because I’m still alive.
