Grumpy Best Friend: A Second Chance Romance Read online

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Home,” I said.

  “I drove,” he said, following me to the steps.

  “I’ll get an Uber,” I said, and paused at the door. I looked back at him, and past him, into the main office space. “Rent this place. It’s fine. We’ll make it work. And you can have the corner office.”

  “Jude,” he said, like he was scolding a child.

  I pushed open the door and left. I stormed downstairs, and I didn’t care if I was being a baby, I didn’t care about anything at that moment. I had to get away before my emotions took over, and I really said things that I’d regret.

  There was no possible way we could work together. I didn’t know how we’d salvage this, or if there was something worth saving at all.

  He wasn’t the boy that left me all those years ago, and maybe I could find some way to move past what happened—but I’d never forgive him.

  4

  Bret

  That didn’t go great.

  I knew we’d have problems. It was practically a guarantee with the two of us. Even back when we were as close as two people could get, we still fought all the time—about where to get lunch, about what music to listen to, about who we wanted to hang out with on the weekends, about everything. We fought like animals, and sometimes even wrestled, and yeah, that sexual tension was always there, even when we were kids. We didn’t quite understand it, but by the time I hit high school, and she was starting to grow into a young woman—it became obvious that she was beautiful, and I wanted her way more than I realized.

  So we kept on fighting, up until the day I left. Then the fighting stopped, and I knew we were really fucked.

  I couldn’t let this go on. If I didn’t figure out a way to move past what happened, there was no way we could work together. As much as I wanted to make this project happen, we were stuck in the past, and we’d keep on staying stuck if something didn’t change. I wanted to shake things up—I wanted to break us out the muck and mire of our fucked-up failings.

  Or at least I wanted to call a truce and move forward.

  I called her that night, after the blow-up at the office complex, which was partially my fault. I needled her—I couldn’t help it. Sometimes I was like that, and she was too damn easy, and I knew her too well. She made it obvious when something bothered her, and I could keep on going, keep on pushing, until she finally got upset.

  I needed to stop doing that, obviously.

  She answered her phone. “Hello?” She sounded chipper. She didn’t know it was me yet.

  “Hello, Jude,” I said. “It’s Bret.”

  Silence. That was the reaction I expected. Then: “What do you want?”

  “I was hoping you’d come out to dinner with me tonight.”

  She let out a harsh, surprised laughed. I wandered around my living room, past the secondhand coffee table piled with Car and Driver magazines that I never bothered reading, but did love the pictures, past the framed vintage ‘80s movie posters, and the shelves with old books piled on top of each other in a mish-mash of titles and authors, and the big TV I hung on the wall, which took two attempts and currently hid an enormous chunk of missing paint from the hole I made on the original try. I paused in the kitchen where I leaned on the granite countertop, staring at my life, scattered near the sink, dishes and plates, none of them matching. It didn’t matter how much money I made, I could never make this place feel like a home—it was always an apartment I was renting temporarily, always one step away from leaving and going somewhere else.

  “I’m not sure why I’d do that,” she said, “and anyway, it’s almost seven. Sort of last minute.”

  “Did you eat yet?” I asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Then come to dinner with me,” I said. “I’ll take you wherever you want and I’ll buy, okay? Consider this a peace offering. I want to make this biscuit thing work, and we’ve got to get along if we’re going to do it.”

  Another silence, but this one was less fraught. I could picture her, pacing back and forth, tugging at her hair in that cute nervous gesture she had. I remembered that gesture well, remembered a lot of her gestures, like the way she rocked slightly when she was bored and stuck in class, or the way she smiled with her eyes all scrunched up, or the way she laughed, head thrown back, barking up at the sky.

  “If you’re buying, I want to go somewhere expensive,” she said, sounding suspicious.

  I grinned at the bare white refrigerator. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Pick me up at the same spot you got me this morning,” she said. “How’s a half hour sound?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  She hung up and I stared at my phone for a few seconds before tossing it down onto my couch. The apartment felt so empty and quiet, and I was happy to get out of it for a while.

  Even if it was to go to dinner with a woman that still despised me for a very stupid mistake I made back when I was a dumb, desperate kid trying to get out of a very bad situation.

  Alpen Rose was packed, even on a weeknight, and I was lucky to get us a table near the bar. We were jammed in between a group of older women that were apparently discussing some thriller book they’d all read, each of them wearing glasses with flowing floral blouses and short haircuts and very serious expressions on their faces, and a couple of young men taking shots and laughing loudly. The contrast between the groups wasn’t lost on me, and Jude did her best to ignore them both.

  She looked fantastic. She wore a simple navy button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone to show a hint of her chest, her hair down and thick and curly around her shoulders. I felt comparatively underdressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. The restaurant had the feel of some rich man’s library: everything was wood paneling, and the silverware felt very home-style. A large bookshelf built into one wall was lit from beneath and ancient leather-bound books were jammed together. Two enormous crystal chandeliers hung above it all. The bartender had a thick, long beard, and looked like he chopped wood for fun.

  “I’ve never been here before,” Jude said, looking around with a tight smile. “I heard it’s good.”

  “I hope so,” I said, and the guys one table over took a shot of something, then laughed at each other, and one called the other a big fucking bitch, and they all started pounding the table. The bartender shot them a look and they stopped, but they kept on laughing loudly. I wondered if I was ever that obnoxious, and knew that I probably was at one point in my life.

  “Honestly, Bret, I don’t know what you expect out of this,” she said, frowning at me a little as she brought her glass of wine to her lips. I watched her drink, and wondered why I’d never kissed her before, even back then. We were supposedly just friends—but we were more than friends, and the tension between us was almost unbearable.

  “I was hoping we could find common ground,” I said, shrugging. I had a glass of whiskey, and it burned on the way down, which was good. I needed the alcohol. The frat bros and the book club were both putting me on edge.

  “Okay then,” she said, leaning toward me, lips pressed together. “Here’s my common ground: I want to get through this with as little contact with you as possible. How’s that sound?”

  I shook my head and watched her carefully. “That’s unacceptable.”

  “I’m not sure you have much say in this.”

  “We’re going to work together, whether you want it or not,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. I couldn’t have a repeat of earlier today. “I know you despise me, but—”

  “I don’t despise you,” she said, interrupting me. I leaned back, a little surprised.

  “You sure as hell seem like you do,” I said.

  “I don’t,” she said, shaking her head, and touched her fingers to her glass, but didn’t lift it to drink. “I’m angry still. I’m resentful. But I don’t hate you.”

  “That’s a good start then,” I said, nodding a little to myself. “So you don’t hate me. We can work with that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get excited. Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you.”

  “We can help each other,” I said, and another frat dude let out a cheer. I didn’t catch what for. “We’re both getting in deep right now, and we’ll need allies if we’re going to make it through.”

  “I have an ally already,” she said. “Lady Fluke likes me. I’m not so sure how she feels about you.”

  I smiled ruefully. Lady Fluke probably didn’t think much about me, if I had to guess. She liked my money, and liked that I was willing to manage construction and renovation, and very much liked that I was going to help get Jude up to speed—even if that was beyond my capabilities—but I had a feeling she didn’t think about me at all past that. Once my part in this was over, I had a feeling she’d keep my money, let me retain a financial stake, and send me packing.

  “Let’s say that doesn’t matter,” I said. “Since whether she likes me or not, I’m sticking around.”

  “Why do you want to be involved in this so badly anyway?” she asked, cocking her head. “It seems like a lot of trouble for someone with a company that’s already very successful.”

  “I’m expanding my horizons,” I said, swirling my drink, and kept the real reason I’d gotten involved to myself.

  “Expand them somewhere else,” she said, almost grumbling to herself, and the waitress returned with our food. A big, bloody steak for me, and a much more ladylike, slightly less bloody steak for her. The frat guys laughed loudly together, and one of the old book club ladies glared at them. I could tell there was tension brewing, but I did my best to ignore it.

  The steak was good, and the whiskey was delicious, and Jude seemed like she was enjoying herself. That was a positive, at least, and I kept conversation to a minimum and stuck to neutral topics. I asked her about working with Lady Fluke, about college, about what she’d been up to in the last decade. She gave mostly short answers, but warmed up a little when I got her going on the topic of managing some of Lady Fluke’s stranger demands.

  “When she’s in town, she demands this certain kind of tea,” Jude said. “Which is, like, the most English thing in the world. But of course that tea’s not available in the States, so I have to pay a stupid amount of money to have some shipped over here, and it just sits in my closet at home, waiting for her to decide to take a trip. At this point, it’s probably stale.”

  “Why don’t you drink it?” I asked. “It’s probably pretty good.”

  “I don’t like tea,” she said with a laugh. “It’s like some horror story. All that delicious tea, and I don’t even like it.”

  “Bring it into the office,” I said. “I’m sure our new employees will appreciate it.”

  She nodded a little to herself as one of the frat boys, this guy with a buzzed head, glassy eyes, and a polo shirt, jerked back in his chair and bumped into her. He apologized right away, but he was clearly drunk, and she seemed shaken a little bit.

  “Want me to handle them?” I asked her, leaning close.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t need you getting in a fight on my behalf.”

  “Not again, at least. I seem to recall a boy named Colin that took a very intense beating because of you.”

  She laughed and took a sip of wine. “That was all your choice. I never asked for that.”

  “He slapped your ass,” I said, shrugging. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Slap my ass instead,” she said, grinning, and as soon as I laughed, her grin slowly faded away, as if she were remembering who she was talking to. I sipped my whiskey to try to cover over the awkward moment, but it hung between us.

  The past was off limits. I had to keep reminding myself of that. Even if I wanted to talk about our lives when we were kids and still best friends, it would only make things more awkward.

  Better to move on. Better to bury it.

  We kept on eating. She finished her wine, got another glass. I drank a second whiskey, then a third. The frat boys moved on to beer, and the book club continued their discussion. About halfway through my steak, as I was beginning to slow down, one of the frat guys told a very loud, and very filthy, joke that made his compatriots laugh with scandalized glee.

  One of the book club ladies stood up. She was shrouded in purple and her face was bright red with rage. She pulled her black cat-eye glasses off and stomped over toward the frat boys, the book clutched in her hand like a weapon.

  “Excuse me,” she said, staring down at them. “But you all have been so rude tonight. We’re trying to have a discussion, and all you seem to be doing is drinking and yelling, and it’s disturbing everyone.” She looked down at Jude, who cringed away from her, and seemed like she wanted to disappear into the tablecloth.

  “Sorry, lady,” the buzz-headed guy said. “We’re celebrating, is all. Rick here got a big promotion at work. Gonna be a head analyst. Gonna make a lot of fucking money, right, Rick?”

  “Right,” Rick said, who looked like a pale baseball bat with a mouth and nose.

  “I don’t care if he’s the president of Zimbabwe,” Bookclub said. “Please tone it down. You’ve been so rude all evening.”

  “Whatever,” Buzzed said. “Keep it in your pants, you old bitch.” He grinned at his friends, who had the good sense to seem mortified.

  Bookclub’s face got even redder, and she stepped forward, arm cocked back. Buzzed didn’t see it coming. Bookclub brought her paperback down on his head hard, thwacking him over the skull with a loud, resounding thud. He pulled away with a yelp, and his friends instantly began to laugh loudly. The bartender looked amazed, and the whole restaurant stared in pure shock.

  Buzzed did not react well. He stood, and Bookclub backed off, her eyes wide and frightened, likely shocked that she’d actually hit him. “You fucking bitch,” he said.

  I’d seen enough. Buzzed had that empty look to his face, the sort of expression asshole guys got when they were sufficiently drunk to do something very, very bad. He advanced on her, and she backed up against the table, almost trembling with fear.

  “Hey, leave her alone,” the bartender said, but he was too slow.

  I reached Buzzed just as his fist cocked back. I didn’t know if he planned on punching the old woman or what he was thinking, but spittle flew from his lips as he called her a bitch again. I caught his arm just as he threw it forward, and wrenched him backward, knocking him off balance. He staggered and ran into the bar.

  “You’ve had enough,” I said as he stared up at me, mouth hanging open.

  “What the fuck?” he said. “Fuck off, man.”

  The bartender joined me then, and another man in a black jacket appeared. The two of them grabbed Buzzed and hauled him to his feet, and though he struggled, the guy was clearly too drunk to do much damage.

  I checked on Bookclub before returning to my seat. “Thank you,” she said, blinking rapidly as he friends tried to comfort her. “I think he planned on hitting me.”

  I sat down and threw back the rest of my whiskey. The murmur of conversation began to resume, and Bookclub rejoined her group, looking very shaken. I felt bad for her, and hated that dumb drunk asshole for scaring her like that. His friends paid their bill and left as fast as they could, looking embarrassed as hell. I hoped Rick had the good sense not to be friends with Buzzed anymore after this.

  “Holy shit,” Jude said, gaping at me like I’d just won the lottery and did a backflip off a waterfall.

  I frowned at her. “What?”

  “You saved that lady,” she said, leaning forward. “That guy—he was going to hit her.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I mean, I just got to him first.”

  “You’re unreal,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, and I chose to take that as a compliment.

  The rest of dinner went well. Our drinks were comped by the manager, which was nice, and Bookclub thanked me on her way out, and went so far as to give me her email address—if I wanted to meet her niece, who was very pretty, and very single. I thanked her, and promptly purged the thought from my mind.

  We finished the meal, paid the bill, and stepped out into the comfortable summer evening air. The streets were crowded, and Jude walked close to me as we headed back to my car. We didn’t talk, and I wished I could get inside her head. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved with that drunk asshole, and pushing him into the bar might’ve been too much—but then again, I couldn’t sit there and let him actually hit a woman, even if she had instigated it. The whole thing was a mess, and I hated dumb drunk egotistical fuckwads, especially when they let their shit ruin everything around them.

  “Maybe it’s the adrenaline speaking,” Jude said, looking up at me, “but maybe we can make this work.”

  I smirked a little and moved closer to her as we squeezed past a group of young men and women laughing loudly with each other. “Yeah? Is it because you find me very attractive and masculine now that I saved a damsel in distress?”

  Jude made a face. “She wasn’t exactly a damsel. I don’t know any damsels that beat guys with books.”

  I laughed and nudged against her. “That’s fair.”

  “I’m just saying, I have a lot of resentment toward you for what happened back then, but we’ve both changed, right?” She looked up at me, her eyes looking for something. “Maybe I can give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said.