Make Me Hate You: A Best Friend's Brother Romance Read online

  I smiled then, too. “I’m happy for you, Morgan.”

  “Thanks, bestie.” Her eyes watered a bit, but she sat upright before the emotions could take over, dragging me off the bed with her and popping my ass with a loud slap. “Now, take a shower. It’s time for manis and pedis and blow outs and new clothes!”

  I was still laughing and rubbing my ass when she skipped out of my room, telling me to meet her downstairs in twenty.

  And then I frowned, wondering who the other voice was outside my door before she flew through it only moments ago.

  Wondering if the shadow that disappeared down the hall was the same one that had haunted me for years.

  The best thing about Oliver? He loved karaoke just as much as my best friend.

  Which was almost as much as me.

  Morgan wasn’t like other brides I’d known in the sense that she didn’t want to be surprised with a weekend-long epic getaway for her bachelorette party. No, she told me she wanted me to plan something low-key and casual.

  And by saying that she wanted me to plan it, she meant she wanted me to give suggestions and then she would sign off on them and take the reins because she couldn’t bear to not be involved in every part of the process.

  So, when I’d mentioned over the phone last week that we should go to her favorite karaoke bar and then have a bonfire in the woods behind her house, she’d screamed with glee and called me a genius.

  And now, here we were, already drunk at nine o’clock and giggling as we flipped through the karaoke song log at Lobster Larry’s.

  “Let’s do ‘Spice Up Your Life’,” Morgan slurred, clinging to my arm as she pressed her freshly manicured fingertip on the song title.

  “Too obvious,” I said, flipping the page. “What about Fleetwood Mac?”

  “Too sad.” Morgan touched her finger to her lip, thinking. “I want a crowd pleaser, something everyone will sing with us.”

  I wrinkled my nose, taking a sip from my martini, which was shitty compared to the ones I was used to being served in Oakland, but not bad for Lobster Larry’s. “Please don’t say Journey.”

  “What about… Shania?”

  At that, we locked drunk eyes, devious smiles spreading on our painted lips.

  And ten minutes later, we were on the makeshift stage that was barely any higher than the floor, singing “Man! I Feel Like A Woman” at the top of our lungs to a surprisingly packed bar.

  Lobster Larry’s was a classic New England dive, complete with a full menu of fried seafood and a plethora of sea captain photos hanging on every inch of every wood-paneled wall. Around the photos hung fishing net, old broken ship helms, star fishes and seashells, and antique Moxie soda signs and memorabilia. The lighting was dim, the bar filled with smoke, and you had to squat over the toilet when you went to pee, because trust me when I say you did not want your ass on that porcelain.

  As far as we’d known, there had never been a Larry who owned or managed the bar, but it was famous for its lobster rolls — that and the fact that you could get a pitcher of any domestic beer for five dollars Monday through Friday.

  And since it was a Monday, there was no better place to be.

  There were three microphones available on stage, but Morgan and I shared one, both of us wrapping our hands around the handle and leaning in to giggle our way through the song. It was our first one together, but it wouldn’t be our last.

  We were just warming up.

  In the bar, it was mostly the bridal party — Morgan’s parents were there, along with my Aunt Laura, then there was Oliver, of course, and three of his friends from Boston who had driven up for the party. His parents weren’t in town yet, but from what he’d told us, they weren’t the kind of parents who would hang out at Lobster Larry’s, anyway.

  And where Oliver had just a few close friends, Morgan filled the rest of the bar with hers, extending an invite to the girls we used to hang out with in high school, a good amount of her sorority sisters from college, and the girlfriends she’d made through intermingling with Oliver’s friends.

  There were other people there, too — long-time family friends of the Wagners, along with some locals who just happened to be around on the night our party took over. They seemed to enjoy the free entertainment as much as we enjoyed providing it.

  And in the very back of the bar, at the seat farthest from the karaoke stage, was Tyler.

  It’d been easy to avoid him today after our interaction last night, since I’d spent most of the day with Morgan shopping and getting dolled up for the night. I hadn’t even seen him until we loaded onto the giant party bus Morgan’s mom had rented for the occasion, and even then, I saw him for only a split second before he climbed onto the bus and took his place in the back, talking primarily to Oliver and watching everyone else with quiet amusement.

  I was perfectly fine with his distance from the stage, from me.

  But it didn’t stop me from glancing at him from time to time.

  And every time I did, he was watching me, too.

  The bar roared with applause when we finished singing, and Morgan and I laughed and hugged before handing our mic to the next singers — Oliver’s friends — and carefully making our way off the stage. Morgan was out of my arms and sprinting into Oliver’s in the next instant, and I chuckled, flipping through the karaoke book to put my name in for a solo song.

  Oliver’s friends, who I learned on the bus ride over were roommates from college, belted out Queen as we all screamed along in the bar chorus. And then, three things happened very quickly.

  One, Morgan demanded that we chug what was left of our drinks and get refills.

  Two, one of Morgan’s sorority sisters ordered three rounds of back-to-back shots for the whole bridal party.

  And three, I climbed up on the bar and started shaking my ass to Oliver’s drunken-karaoke version of “Hip Hop Hooray” by Naughty by Nature.

  It was just me at first, with my hands in the air and little hips rocking to every beat of the song that I could make out over Oliver’s loud scream-singing slash rapping. The bar filled with hoots and hollers, along with my Aunt Laura screaming for me to be careful, and I just laughed and dropped down low, circling my hips before I popped back up again and body-rolled.

  Soon, more and more girls climbed onto the bar with me, including Morgan and her mom, who was blushing so furiously I thought she might combust. Morgan grabbed her hands and turned them side to side, urging her mom to dance, and then they both threw their hands up and moved to another round of cheers — the loudest from Mr. Wagner.

  I came alive in that moment.

  The crowd and the noise of the bar faded, until it was only a sort of buzzing hum that filled me from the inside out. I raised my hands overhead, feeling the music, the energy, smiling as the alcohol swam in my bloodstream.

  This was exactly what I needed.

  I’d been wound so uncharacteristically tight since I’d stepped foot back in New Hampshire, and for the first time in two days, I was loose, care-free, and happy.

  I was me.

  My smile bloomed even more at the realization, and I closed my eyes, giggling to myself as I danced and danced. Every now and then, Morgan would bump into me and I’d stumble, but I’d just laugh and hold onto her while we both found our balance again.

  It reminded me of high school, sneaking wine coolers from her mom’s stash and dancing in her backyard or out on the dock by the lake. It reminded me of long, hot summer nights in the pool with her and Ty, staying up until the sun rose again, the days blurring together.

  And it made my chest hurt with the longing to go back to those days, to that specific day, and to never cross the line with Ty.

  I wondered what it would have been like if Morgan would have been in her room that day my mom left, if I would have found her instead of Tyler, if nothing would have ever changed between us.

  I stopped dancing, my arms falling to my sides, eyes fluttering open as the bar came into focus again.
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  I’d missed so much with Morgan.

  I didn’t know why it hit me at that moment, but it did.

  Sure, she’d visited me in California, and we’d met up on girls’ trips, but we hadn’t gone to the same college like we’d always dreamed of. After what happened between me and Tyler, I’d fished out an acceptance letter for the summer session at San Francisco State University that I hadn’t thought twice about once I got accepted into BU. Lucky for me, they accepted, and though Morgan begged and pleaded with me to reconsider, she said she understood when I told her I wanted to get out of this town, out of this state, out of this area of the country and start anew.

  But because of that choice, we hadn’t been in the same sorority like we always thought we would be, or danced at the same parties, or stumbled home from the same college bars. We hadn’t come home to New Hampshire to visit her parents and my aunt for the holidays. Tyler was a year ahead of us, already a sophomore at Boston when Morgan was a freshman.

  I was supposed to be with her.

  With both of them.

  What would have happened in that alternate life? Would Tyler have shown us around, gotten us into the best parties, warned us about the worst professors? Would it have been just like it had been in high school — the Wagner Kids —Plus One?

  Would we have been us?

  It was like that day had severed my life, sending me down a completely different path than the one I’d always seen laid out. The future I’d envisioned where my mom came back for me, where she got a house in Bridgechester and I went to college in Boston with my two best friends… it was all gone overnight.

  In the blink of an eye.

  And now, here I was on the other side of the path I never saw coming, the one I surely never imagined taking.

  Maybe it was the alcohol that made it all hit me at once.

  Maybe it was being back home, back at Lobster Larry’s, the bar we used to come to back when we were underage and couldn’t even try to drink on a fake ID because nearly everyone in town knew us. Back then, all we did was eat the lobster rolls and watch her parents get drunk while we sang karaoke. And my stomach curled again at that realization, that we missed out on coming here once we turned twenty-one.

  Together.

  So, maybe it was that. Or maybe it was dancing with my best friend, singing our favorite karaoke songs and celebrating the fact that she was getting married.

  Maybe it was that on this day seven years ago, my mother left me for her new boyfriend, and I hadn’t seen her since.

  Maybe it was all of it, all at once.

  Whatever it was, it was too much, and I closed my eyes, forcing a long breath to try to clear my head. This was not the place to be sad.

  I started moving again slowly, shaking it off, my hands floating up above me once more as I moved my hips and plastered on a smile.

  Then Morgan bumped into me again — hard this time — and my eyes shot open.

  But not before my foot slid off the edge of the bar, and the rest of me went down before I could even scream.

  My entire body tensed, eyes squeezed shut as I prepared myself for the impact. I heard the distant gasps of those who saw what happened, and I knew any second now, those gasps would turn into ooh’s once my body slammed into the floor.

  Except it didn’t.

  I hit something hard — hard enough that I knew I’d wake up with a few bruises and I grunted at the impact — but not hard enough for a fall off of a bar and onto the floor. I winced, opening my eyes and holding fast to the thing that broke my crash, trying to orient myself.

  And when my vision came into focus, so did Tyler’s furrowed brows.

  He didn’t ask me if I was okay. He didn’t say a single word. Instead, he held me in his arms, righting me until I was standing okay. But even then, his hands didn’t move from where they held me.

  And his eyes didn’t leave me either.

  It was the first time I’d been close to him since last night, when I’d kept my eyes away from him and refused to look at his bare, glistening body after he’d lifted himself out of the pool. But now, I was in his arms, chest to chest, close enough to smell the faint scent of beer on his breath as he stared down his nose at me.

  And when I looked at him, every thought I’d been trying to shake off came back full force.

  I looked into the eyes of the man I didn’t know, of the boy I used to know better than anyone, of the friend I’d lost.

  Of the friend who’d hurt me.

  Emotion warped my face, and Tyler frowned more, his hands gripping me a little tighter. His eyes were like lasers jumping back and forth between mine, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something.

  But he stopped himself.

  Instead, he released his grip once I was standing on my own, and then he grabbed his beer off the bar and turned his back on me, making his way to the corner where he’d been sitting before.

  “Oh! I love this song!” Morgan said, jumping down from the bar when one of our friends from high school started singing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” by Whitney Houston.

  My eyes were still on Tyler’s back, my heart still in my throat.

  But Morgan grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the stage, ripping one of the microphones off the stand for herself and thrusting the other unoccupied one into my hand.

  By the chorus, I was singing and dancing again.

  And Tyler was nowhere to be found.

  The hot, white flames of the bonfire licked at the cool night sky as I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, trying to sip on the beer in my hand, but grimacing every time I managed a gulp. I’d gone too hard, too fast at the karaoke bar, and now I was dancing between being too drunk or being hungover way too early — depending on how the rest of this night went.

  I’d had a blast at the bar, but once we’d loaded back on the party bus to head back to the Wagner’s for the afterparty, I’d started slipping.

  And I kept going back to my earlier thoughts about me and Morgan and Tyler and the day that everything changed.

  I sighed, taking a sip of the bitter beer in my hand as I stared at the fire like it held all the answers. Only about half of the people who’d been at the bar made it to the fire, the other half surrendering early because they were too tired or too drunk or a combination of both. Aunt Laura had been the latter, which was a sight for me to see since she’d always been so careful and restrained while I was growing up. She was so young when she took me in, and I wondered if she felt like she had to grow up faster to be a good example for me.

  She was asleep upstairs in one of the many guest rooms, along with the others who couldn’t drive. Morgan’s parents had turned in after one beer around the fire, and now it was just a small group of us, mostly Morgan’s friends from college and Oliver’s handful of buddies who’d shown up early for the pre-wedding shenanigans.

  Morgan was telling an animated story about the first time she and Oliver got into an argument — over which jelly was better, strawberry or grape — when a yawn stretched my mouth open wide. I covered it with my hand, shaking my head against the growing fatigue, and then there was a chuckle behind me.

  I turned and looked over my shoulder, finding a body I knew all too well.

  We’d all dressed up for the occasion, and seeing Tyler in dark, slim-fitting slacks and a black turtleneck paired with a charcoal sports jacket that cut him at all the right angles was enough to make my mouth go dry. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand, and the other was in his pocket. I followed the lean lines of his body up until our eyes met, his highlighted by the fire, and a smirk bloomed on his face.

  “It’s only midnight,” he said simply, but I heard the insinuation in his voice. He was making fun of me for yawning, just like he’d given me a hard time for going to bed early the first night I got here.

  If only he knew he was the reason I had needed to get away…

  I frowned. “Thanks for the time check.”

  Before I could ful
ly roll my eyes and turn around to face the fire again, the hand he had in his pockets slipped out and gently gripped my shoulder, stopping me.

  I glanced up at his face, studying the unreadable expression there.

  “Walk with me?”

  He nodded toward the lake, and I looked at it briefly before I looked up at him again. Tyler must have read the uncertainty in my gaze, because he relaxed his stance, taking his hand from my shoulder and slipping it into his pocket again. “You’re falling asleep sitting here,” he pointed out. “Take a walk, get the blood moving. I’ll grab you a new beer.”

  “Actually,” I said, standing to join him. I pointed to the glass in his hand. “Can I get one of those?”

  His grin climbed, and he nodded with a salute, making his way over to the drinks table Morgan’s parents had set up for the party.

  I turned, listening to the last bit of Morgan’s story before Oliver started chiming in with his side. I smiled at their playful banter, glancing around the fire at all the people who loved them enough to take two weeks off from their lives and fly or drive to Bridgechester, New Hampshire. A few minutes later, Tyler returned with a glass of whiskey for me and a new one for him.

  And against logic, I walked with him.

  We were both quiet, sipping our whiskey and watching the lake before us get closer and closer as we left the bonfire behind. The voices and laughter faded steadily, and then it was just the grass and leaves crunching softly under our feet, the gentle waves of the lake hitting the shore, the calmness of our breaths.

  The farther we got from the fire, the more I began to shiver, hugging my jacket around me even tighter.

  Tyler cut me a glance with a cocked brow. “That little dress isn’t exactly built for New Hampshire summer nights.”

  When I met his gaze, it was heated — even in the dark of the night. I felt those eyes on my calves, my thighs, tracing my lean, curve-less body until they locked on mine again.

  “It was built for karaoke,” I defended, putting my hood up. “But maybe I should have changed when we got back here.”