Make Me Hate You: A Best Friend's Brother Romance Page 3

  I didn’t fight her on it, didn’t try to talk her into waiting or taking her time to plan. I knew my best friend well enough to know there was no use in even trying.

  So, instead, I hopped a flight.

  And I came back to the town I swore I never would.

  After dinner, we all gathered in the backyard around their stone fire pit, and Morgan handed out binders about an inch thick with Wagner/Bradford Wedding Itinerary printed in perfect script on the cover.

  “Christ, sis,” Tyler said, shaking his head as he turned the binder over in one hand, inspecting.

  “Like you expected anything less from me,” she teased back. Tyler murmured something under his breath, and she bonked him on the head with her own binder before taking a seat next to him.

  He was directly across from where I sat, and his eyes lingered on me over the flames from the fire before they fell to the binder in his lap.

  “So, I know this is extra,” she admitted as we all flipped through the binder. There was a schedule of events for every single day leading up to the wedding, and an even more in-depth schedule for the day of. “But, I’ve been working with the wedding planner all week to get this set up. And we still have a LOT to do.” She shrugged. “Turns out it’s kind of hard to plan a wedding in two weeks.”

  “You don’t say,” her mom mused.

  Morgan ignored the jab, and I smiled as she ran through everything we’d be doing over the next fourteen days. When she stopped to take a breath somewhere around the day we’d be doing centerpiece design, I raised my hand like I was in class.

  “Yes, Jazzy?”

  “Um… I will have time to work during all of this, right? I’ve got two episodes to edit for And All That Jazz, and I’m doing a guest appearance on another big podcast based in New York.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Anything not on here is totally free time.”

  She answered so confidently, but when I looked at all the time that was planned out, I struggled to find where the off time was.

  “I’m sure your fans will survive if you go a week or two without an episode,” Tyler said, the first words he’d spoken directly to me since before dinner.

  I didn’t bother looking at him, just licked my thumb and flipped to the next page in the binder. “At least my fans aren’t all junior high girls.”

  Morgan laughed at that.

  “Sounds like someone’s jealous of my four-million YouTube subscribers,” he taunted back.

  I met his gaze then. “Do they count if they’re under the age of eighteen?”

  Tyler’s eyes burned fierce over the fire, but I held my cocky smirk as best I could.

  Tyler was a financial advisor — following his father’s footsteps just like we always knew he would. He’d had a fascination with money and investing ever since I first met him. But, where his dad made his fortune by working with the affluent in New England, Tyler was making a name for himself in more of the everyday common people realm. He’d started a YouTube channel in college, around the same time that I’d started my podcast, and in our own respects, we’d both taken off.

  Of course, my podcast grew from content.

  His channel grew because he quickly became known online as The Hot Money Guy.

  It started slowly, with him dressed in a suit in his dim-lit office rattling off advice on budgeting and managing credit card debt. But the more videos he did, the more the comments started shifting from should I do a Roth IRA or a Traditional IRA to Oh my God, this guy is so hot I don’t even care that I understand nothing he’s talking about.

  More and more, his videos got attention from the female crowd, and his videos got shared, and word spread that there was a hot money guy on YouTube taking the financial world by storm. He was invited to speak on other noteworthy channels, like one owned by a famous housewife from a reality TV show in the early 2000s, and though I was sure he really did help a lot of people struggling with finances, he was mostly famous for being sexy and rich — a double whammy.

  To his credit, he didn’t fight the name. In fact, he embraced it, changing the name of his channel to The Hot Money Guy and even doing some episodes shirtless or while working out.

  Not that I watched any, of course.

  “I love that you two still bicker,” Morgan said fondly, her eyes wide as she looked from her brother to me. “I swear, it feels like high school, the three of us being together again. The Wagner Kids — Plus One.”

  Tyler and I shared a somber look then, because we hadn’t been The Wagner Kids — Plus One since the night he and I crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

  Since he used me, then rejected me, and I left, and that was the end of that.

  I cleared my throat, drawing Morgan’s attention back to the schedule by asking a question about flowers, and she was sufficiently distracted.

  Somewhere around page six, I started to lose focus, my mind racing with how it felt to talk to Tyler after all these years. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but maybe that was because I never expected to ever see him again — period. And now, I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me the way he used to when we were younger, or if he hated me.

  If he did, I had no idea why.

  It was him who ignored me. It was him who said what happened between us was a mistake.

  It was him who broke my heart.

  He didn’t have a right to be pissed at me, and for some reason, it really bothered me that he seemed to think the opposite.

  It was me who should hate him forever, not the other way around.

  “… the cake tasting, which I’m not even sure I want a cake. I mean, yes, it’s tradition, but I love donuts. What if we did a donut truck, instead?” She gasped, snapping her fingers. “Could we do apple cider donuts?! I know that’s a fall thing but, I mean, it is a wedding. I think exceptions could be made. Oh,” Morgan continued, talking just as fast as she always had when we were growing up. “And we’ll head down to the Cape that Monday before the wedding, so we’ll have to wrap some of this up there… we can talk about who takes what regarding decorations and such. Oh, my God!”

  Her sudden exclamation made me jump.

  “Ty, is Azra flying in tomorrow?”

  Morgan’s excitement at the mention of whoever the hell Azra was might as well have been a living, breathing thing for how it wafted off of her.

  Tyler cleared his throat. “Um, not tomorrow. She’s got two back-to-back shoots this week, and a philanthropy event next weekend. I think she’s going to meet us on the Cape.”

  Morgan pouted. “Aw, I was really hoping she’d be here for the bachelor and bachelorette party.”

  Tyler swallowed, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Well, it’ll make getting down to the Cape even more exciting,” Morgan decided. Then, she reached toward me with spirit fingers dancing. “Oh my God, Jaz. You will love Azra. She’s so much fun.”

  I smiled, but already my chest was tight, a warning sign I should have heeded. “Who’s Azra?”

  “Tyler’s super secret, super gorgeous girlfriend,” Mrs. Wagner answered.

  She and Morgan giggled as Mr. Wagner chimed in with something, but I couldn’t recall a word of it.

  Because my eyes were locked on Tyler’s, and his were watching mine, and there wasn’t a single breath of oxygen to be had in that wide backyard.

  “Oh,” I breathed.

  Morgan went on about how lovely Azra was, about how she was a model and a huge Instagram influencer, how she was from Turkey, how she was “an absolute blast,” but I barely heard a word. My chest was so tight now I thought my lungs would evacuate my body for fear of being completely crushed by my rib cage.

  He has a girlfriend?

  Why didn’t I know that?

  Why do I care?

  Tyler just watched me, like he was waiting for me to react as my mind raced and whirled, my palms dampening, heart beating loud in my ears.

  And with every ounce of willpower I had, I held my expression c
ompletely neutral.

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” I finally managed, my gaze still holding his.

  He blinked, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge that he’d even heard me.

  And just like that, Morgan moved on.

  I ripped my eyes from Tyler’s, but I felt him watch me for the longest time as Morgan continued going through the schedule. I managed to stay quiet and calm until she’d made it through, and then I stood, making an excuse about being jet-lagged to excuse myself for the night.

  “You’re three hours behind us,” Morgan pointed out with a pout. “I thought you’d have loads of energy. I want to stay up all night and gab!”

  I squeezed her arm. “I know, I think I’m just tired from the long flight. But we have tomorrow. And I promise, I won’t go to bed before midnight.”

  “Pshhh, two in the morning if you’re lucky,” she said, giving me a big hug. “And, you’ll get to meet Oliver!”

  I squeezed her back. “I can’t wait,” I said, genuinely.

  Amanda and Robert gave me a hug, too, and Tyler stood, staring at me from across the fire.

  “Goodnight, Jasmine,” he said simply, his hands in his pockets, the light from the flames dancing with the shadows on his face.

  “Goodnight,” I croaked.

  And then I made my way upstairs for my first sleepless night back in New Hampshire.

  Inhale. Three steps. Exhale. Three steps. Inhale. Three steps. Exhale. Three steps.

  The familiar pattern was music to my ears, my sneakers hitting the paved and winding road that led down from the Wagner’s house and toward the center of Bridgechester. My arms moved in time at my sides, my breaths quick but comfortable, not labored even after three miles.

  Running had always been my escape, my comfort, my answer to dealing with stress and my celebration when everything felt right and good. Whether I was in the deepest pit of my life, or standing on the highest mountain, and every day in-between, running was always there.

  Constant. Reliable. Necessary.

  After a night of tossing and turning, I needed the release.

  I told myself it was the jitters setting in, the nerves I felt from being the maid of honor in a wedding less than two weeks away now. I had a lot to do, a lot to plan, a lot to help with, and I had to do it all while still balancing work. That had to be the reason I couldn’t sleep, the reason I had laid awake staring at the ceiling in the Hibiscus suite, the reason my chest had been so tight I thought it would reduce my lungs to coal with the pressure.

  It had absolutely nothing to do with Tyler.

  I assured myself of that, as well.

  The scenery change from California was welcome, and I felt all the stress and anxiety leaving me with each new breath as I ran the old familiar loop I used to run when I’d stay the night at Morgan’s. My feet carried me without my brain telling them where to go, guiding me down hidden drives and back roads and right up to the edge of town before I turned to make my way back.

  It was strange how familiar everything still felt after years of being away, and yet, how it all felt somehow new, too.

  The fresh air and cool New England morning was invigorating. It was still technically spring, though summer was just a couple weeks away, and I loved the smell of the damp grass in the morning, the feel of the breeze sweeping in from the mountains, the breathtaking sights of the first rays of sun making their way through the spruces and pines.

  Seven miles and an hour later, and all the anxiety I’d felt the night before was completely gone.

  At least, until I rounded the foyer into the kitchen and saw I wasn’t the only one up early on Sunday morning.

  Tyler sat at the kitchen island, still in his navy blue sweatpants and simple white t-shirt, with one foot planted on the ground and the other hooked casually on the lower bar of his stool. His hair was an absolute disaster, the boyish waves sticking up this way and that. He had both hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, his eyes focused on the iPad he had propped up in front of him, and Bluetooth headphones in his ears.

  At first, he didn’t notice me, and I slowed my steps, standing silently at the entry of the kitchen and watching him. I’d done everything I could last night to avoid his gaze, to not look at him, and now that I had a stolen moment to observe, I found my chest tightening again, my mouth dry and sticky.

  His brown eyes were hidden beneath bent brows, expression serious as he watched whatever was on the screen. Small lines creased the edges of his eyes — lines that weren’t there when we were kids. He’d grown into a man somehow, overnight, it seemed. Then again, it had been years.

  I’d seen him on social media, watched from afar as his YouTube channel took off. I’d seen pictures of him on Instagram — traveling through Europe, hiking in Australia, swimming in hot pools in Iceland. I didn’t follow him, of course, but his profile was public, which allowed me to flip through picture after picture on the nights when I was a pathetic mess.

  But, pictures and videos didn’t do justice to the actual man who sat studiously at that kitchen island.

  He was something between the boy I used to love and the man I’d never know, familiar and unreachable all at once.

  Tyler shook his head at something, letting out a frustrated sigh and kicking back the bar stool a little before taking a sip of his tea. His eyes flicked to me then, back to the screen, and then, he did a doubletake, this time fixing his gaze on me and leaving it there.

  Something changed in his eyes when he looked at me, like a shadow passed over them and held him captive. I was dressed in jogger shorts and a modest tank top, but from the way he watched me, I might as well have been completely naked.

  That’s what his gaze did to me, what it always had done.

  It stripped me bare.

  I sniffed, breaking our eye contact and walking into the kitchen like he wasn’t even there. I reached into the cabinet that I knew housed the glassware, and then dipped inside the fridge for the filtered pitcher of water, filling my glass to the top.

  “Morning run completed by seven a.m.,” Tyler mused, and I turned to face him as he plucked the headphones from his ears. “That’s impressive, even by your standards.”

  I shrugged. “I’m up at five almost every morning.”

  “Five, huh? Used to be more around nine, if I remember right.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot has changed since I was eighteen.”

  “Trust me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse from the morning. “I’m aware.”

  The way he said the words was almost as if they tasted bad, as if they were poison he was spitting out and onto the floor between us. Still, there was a heat in his gaze, and blood rushed to my face as I lifted the glass of water to my lips and took my first sip.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  “Not the best.”

  “The jet lag?”

  I pulled my long ponytail off my neck and over my shoulder, wiping at the sweat there as I avoided his eyes. “Must be.”

  A silent moment passed between us, and I watched the floor while Tyler watched me.

  “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

  The words came out of nowhere, and I finally met his gaze, my heart beating in my throat. It shouldn’t have been a big deal that he’d pointed out that he didn’t know about Jacob, except that there were photos of us on my Instagram — which told me that Tyler didn’t ever look me up.

  I didn’t matter at all to him.

  And if his actions seven years ago didn’t prove that, the simple statement he just made hammered it home.

  “We don’t exactly talk,” I reminded him, shoving down the urge to say you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, either.

  “I know. Why is that?”

  His eyes watched me carefully, but we both knew he knew the answer to that question. And while I didn’t love when he was acting like he had a right to be mad at me last night, I really didn’t like this whole pretending like nothing happened between us charade.r />
  I shoved off the counter where I’d been leaning. “I’m not doing this with you.”

  “Doing what? Talking?”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I said, avoiding his eyes as I made my way out of the kitchen. “Have fun watching your morning porn.”

  Tyler chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will. It was just getting to the good part. You know, balls in mouths and stuff.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Guess that answers my curiosity about whether you’re still a prude or not.”

  I flicked him off over my shoulder as I made my way out of the kitchen, and I still heard his laughter even when I was halfway up the stairs. I knew he was joking, I knew he was just trying to get under my skin, to ruffle my feathers.

  I also knew that it was working.

  And I hated that fact most.

  An hour later, I was showered and dressed and crushed in a hug from my Aunt Laura in the middle of Bridgechester’s most popular diner.

  “Oh, you beautiful brat,” she cooed as she held me, her hand still on my arms when she pulled back. “It’s been too long.”

  “I saw you six months ago when you came to Oakland for Christmas, Al.”

  She smiled genuinely at the nickname, just as she always did. It was a shortening of Aunt Laura that I’d given her when I was younger, before I’d even moved in with her.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

  “Six months is too long. Especially when you’re growing into a woman the way you are.”

  I smiled, shaking my head at her as we took a seat in the booth she’d gotten for us. She already had coffee steaming from her cup and an orange juice waiting for me. “You’ll have to come see me again soon,” I offered.

  “Or, you could come here more often,” she rebutted, opening her menu. “If I’d have known it would take a wedding to get you back in Bridgechester, I would have set Morgan up with some poor sap a long time ago.”

  We placed our order when the waitress came over — Aunt Laura getting pancakes as usual, while I opted for an egg white omelet. My phone buzzed with a text from Jacob just as our menus were taken away.