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

  We were only alone at that lunch table a few minutes before his sister swept in, taking a seat next to me at the cafeteria table and inspecting me so closely that I’d laughed nervously and tried to back away. But she wasn’t shy — not at all. She looked me over, smiled, and said, “Hi! I’m Morgan Wagner. This is my brother, Tyler.” I hadn’t even been able to tell her that we’d already introduced ourselves. “And we’re going to be best friends.”

  She literally said those words — we’re going to be best friends.

  And just like that, it was so.

  I learned over the years that that was how Morgan worked. She didn’t make decisions based off logic or research or science. She believed, wholeheartedly and unfailingly, in feelings. She trusted her gut when it said not to do something, and trusted it even more when it said to do something. She decided who she was friends with and who she was not in a matter of minutes, and once her mind was made up, there was no changing it.

  Which was why it was no surprise to me that the morning after my day of rest, with just ten days to go to the wedding, we had a completely packed schedule that was mostly comprised of planning the seating chart.

  Because for Morgan, it wasn’t as simple as seat this family together, and seat that group of friends there, and make sure the grandparents can see the dance floor.

  For Morgan, there was a synergy that would be created with that seating chart, a mood — one that would last all night and be the difference between a perfect wedding and a complete disaster.

  Thankfully, I’d woken up with a voice that was still a little croaky, but much better than the day before. Therefore, I was prepped and ready to talk through all the reasons why someone should or shouldn’t sit somewhere.

  Or rather, I was prepared to pose questions to Morgan, who would answer them and make up her own mind without input from me.

  “What about Laurie and Chuck,” I suggested. “They’re so sweet, and not as rowdy as the others. They could carry conversation easy with people they don’t know without scaring them off.”

  Morgan tapped her pencil to her lips, thinking. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” She penciled them into the table with Oliver’s cousins, and then sighed. “Now, what about the Brad and Olivia situation? They’re both such a huge part of the high school friend group, but since their break-up… I can’t put them together.”

  “Separate the group in half. Give Brad half and Olivia half, and then fill the table with other odds and ends.”

  “But Olivia will throw a fit that she’s not sitting with everyone.”

  I grabbed Morgan’s arm in earnest. “Babe, everyone will be dancing. Aunt Laura and I will make sure of it. So, it’s only for dinner. She’ll survive.”

  Morgan pouted, unsure.

  “It’s your wedding day, remember?”

  At that, she smiled and nodded, penciling in the new suggestions. “God, I’ve missed you. I swear, no one knows how to calm me and make me see reason the way you do.”

  “Except Oliver.”

  She smiled at that. “Yes. Except him.”

  “You are one smitten kitten.”

  “I really am. I disgust myself sometimes,” she admitted on a laugh. Then, her eyes were curious, and she bit her lip watching me. “How was hanging with my brother yesterday?”

  I hadn’t expected the question, and I hoped like hell my face didn’t give anything away — like the fact that I’d spent half the night wondering what the hell had transpired between us. Here we hadn’t talked in seven years, we’d bickered nonstop for my first few days here, and then we’d somehow spent a day being… civil. I’d enjoyed talking to him, hearing a little about who he was now, the man instead of the boy.

  But then he’d touched me, and he’d held me, and he’d whispered those same words he’d said all those years ago…

  And I had no idea how I felt about it.

  I shrugged. “It was alright. We didn’t really hang out, more like just existed in the same room. Watched some movies. Worked. You know,” I said, waving it off. “Just whatever.”

  Morgan frowned, nodding. “Oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I just… oh, never mind. Anyway, I can’t wait to meet Jacob! Is he as dreamy to look at in person as he is on Instagram and video chat?”

  I chuckled, though I couldn’t help but be a little suspicious at the subject change. Had Tyler said something to her?

  “Even more dreamy.”

  She sighed, balancing her chin on her palm. “His abs should have their own Instagram. I mean, really. I’d follow.”

  I shoved her playfully. “I bet you would, perv.”

  We giggled, getting back to the pressing matter at hand of the seating chart as we continued catching up, talking about a little of this and that between making decisions.

  Around lunch time, I skipped out to record my podcast, which went off without a hitch and had me grinning from ear to ear when I rejoined Morgan and her mom at the dining room table where we had the seating chart spread out like it was the architectural design for a mansion. Perhaps the best part about my job was that I loved it — truly enjoyed it with every fiber of my being. And wasn’t that the goal, to do something you loved so much for a living that it didn’t feel like work at all?

  Morgan still didn’t feel great about the seating chart, though, not even when her mother and I forced her to set it aside and let it breathe for a day before she revisited it. She was a little pouty when we moved on to our next task, which was finalizing the design for the ceremony programs and making sure each guest had a room at the three beach houses, and I say houses lightly because they were more like mansions, on the Cape where the wedding would take place.

  Then, there was the hair and makeup trial, which Morgan insisted I join her for. She wanted to get an idea of not only her look for the day, but mine, too. I didn’t mind, of course, because my aunt was the one doing our hair and one of Oliver’s cousin’s was doing our makeup. I was all jazzed after my podcast, anyway, so we all laughed and talked and carried on throughout the entire thing.

  But by the time I was freed for the evening and Morgan headed upstairs to shower before dinner, I was completely exhausted, and completely amazed by the Energizer Bunny that was my best friend.

  I hadn’t had time to check my phone, had barely even plopped down onto the beautiful, plush, white sofa in the Wagner’s sitting room and leaned my head back to close my eyes on a sigh when I heard a distant chuckle.

  My eyes fluttered open, finding Tyler leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.

  He looked different from last night — his hair styled, jaw freshly-shaven, arms clad in the white button-up that I imagined had a tie fastened at the top of it for most of the day. He’d gone into the office with Robert to meet with a new client.

  And we hadn’t spoken since last night.

  My stomach wriggled uncomfortably, but for some reason his smile soothed me, and I crooked a grin in return. “What’s so funny, Wagner?”

  “Just the aftermath of my sister,” he observed. “I thought her energy would run out as she got older, that she’d slow down. You know, the way cats or dogs do as they age.”

  “I guess she proved you wrong.”

  “She does that often,” he agreed. His eyes watched me, something heavy in the air between us now.

  A flash of last night hit me — my face in his hands, his forehead touching mine.

  His phone ringing.

  Azra’s beautiful face.

  “How did the podcast recording go?”

  I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter on the sofa. “It was amazing, actually,” I said, beaming. “I’m really excited to hear the full episode once Marni edits it, and even more excited to see if we get some crossover listeners. We’re both in the lifestyle realm, but she’s got her shit together way more than I do,” I admitted on a laugh. “I could see my listeners flocki
ng to her, but not entirely sure if her listeners would find benefit in listening to me — a twenty-something trying to figure shit out.”

  Tyler’s mouth hitched up in a way that told me he thought differently.

  “Hey, at least they’ll be able to hear you,” he pointed out. “All thanks to a certain someone who somehow managed to get you to shut up for a full day.”

  I flicked him off, and he laughed, pushing off the wall to stand straight.

  “Did you run this morning?”

  “No, I wanted to rest a little while longer, make sure I was good to go for Morgan and for the podcast.”

  “Do you want to run now?”

  I frowned, not understanding. “Uh… I mean, I do, but it’s six o’clock. Dinner will be soon.”

  “Not for another couple hours. Mom is picking up from her favorite Thai food place, and they always take forever to get our order ready.” He paused. “Mostly because mom orders one of practically everything on the menu.”

  I chuckled.

  “If you want to go for a run, I was thinking I would join you.”

  My heart stopped for a long, yet somehow fleeting moment. And when it kicked back to life, I cleared my throat. “Oh?”

  Tyler nodded. “But not your usual route.”

  “Oh,” I said again.

  At that, Tyler shook his head, grinning. “Go get changed and meet me down here in ten.” His eyes wandered over me then — slowly, purposefully, and in a way that made heat rush to the back of my neck.

  “What?” I asked, flushing even deeper at the fact that I was calling him out on staring.

  He swallowed. “You look beautiful.”

  My lips parted, and distantly I realized it was my own hand reaching up to touch the curls in my hair, the foundation covering my skin. “Oh,” I said, embarrassed as I looked at my lap before meeting his gaze again. “Hair and makeup trial.”

  He nodded, watching me with a lazy smile a little longer before he turned toward the stairs. “See you in ten.”

  As tired as the day had made me, I came alive in the evening glow breaking through the trees on the quiet forest trail Tyler took me to. It happened quickly, automatically, with a welcome sigh from my chest. It was as if my body had been waiting all day for this moment, and the longer we ran, the more my sneakers carried me through the muddy trail, the faster the breeze swept over my face and the more my chest ached with the familiar tightness of a good run — the more I felt at home.

  It hadn’t rained since I’d been in town, but the shade from the forest somehow kept the trail damp, and the wet dirt made everything feel fresh and new somehow, like childhood in a scent. Birds and insects sang their evening songs all around us as Tyler and I ran, weaving in and out of trees, hopping over exposed branches and logs, crossing a bridge over a creek and alternating patches of steep incline with comfortable, steady stretches of flat meadow.

  Every step, every minute that passed, every mile under our feet stripped away another layer of tension until I was smiling and feeling the unique ecstasy that only a good run ever provided. It was still burning through me when we made it back to where we’d started, the head of the trail with an impressive vantage point over a valley and creek, with the White Mountains as a backdrop against the setting sun.

  Tyler stopped by the car long enough to grab us the bottles of water he’d packed, and he handed one to me, draining half of his before he plopped down on the dark rock that extended out past the edge of the cliff. His feet dangled under him just like they had the other night on the dock, and I lowered myself down next to him, folding my legs underneath me as our eyes danced over the scenery around us.

  “That was amazing,” I said once I caught my breath.

  Tyler smiled. “I’m no runner like you, but every now and then, I get the itch. And I always come out here.”

  “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

  “Most people don’t. It’s a sort of hidden gem, and I do my best to keep it off all the trail sites so tourists don’t change that.”

  I chuckled, sipping my water before I stretched my legs out in front of me and bent forward, hugging my chest to my knees and pulling back on the toes of my sneakers for a stretch.

  “Alright,” Tyler said from above me as I exhaled to deepen the stretch. “Let’s talk finances.”

  I groaned. “Do we have to?”

  “We don’t have to. But, you said you needed help. And I just so happen to be a financial advisor, in case you forgot.”

  I glared at him over my shoulder before taking one last moment in the stretch and releasing. Then, I pulled an arm across my chest, getting a tricep stretch in as I sighed in concession. “Fine. But… no judgment, okay? I told you, I’m not exactly the most responsible.”

  “You really think I would ever judge you?” he asked, and it was so sincere, so… hurt, as if he were truly offended I ever thought he could pass judgment on me.

  But I knew the him who looked me in the eyes and said the word mistake like it was nothing.

  I knew the him who shattered my already broken heart just seven years ago.

  I decided not to answer his question, or to dwell on the past. Somehow, Tyler and I had found ourselves in a sort of truce, in a white flag area, and for some reason, I didn’t want to lose it.

  So I just switched arms and smiled. “Alright. Where do we start?”

  Tyler talked me through, asking me questions about my average monthly income, my business account versus my personal account, my debt, my future financial goals. He asked if I’d be comfortable with him looking over my statements, if I wanted to save aggressively for retirement or go for a more stable and slow growth. He teased me about my addiction to athleisure, but also assured me that he wasn’t going to tell me how to spend my money, rather just help me with whatever my financial goals were — even if one of them was to have more sneakers than I knew what to do with.

  Question after question, he dug into every corner of my finances while I tried not to crawl out of my own skin. I hated talking about money just as much as I hated talking about my parents, or lack thereof. By the time Tyler decided he’d asked enough, and that until he took a look at my statements, we had nothing left to discuss, I felt even more drained than I had on the sofa in his parents’ house.

  “I’m sorry if that exhausted you,” he said, noting the crease between my brows, no doubt.

  I shook my head, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes before letting out a long sigh and letting them flop back onto my legs. I was glad I’d taken off the makeup, now. “It’s okay. I just prefer to talk about fun things, things that aren’t so serious and scary.”

  “Money isn’t scary,” Tyler argued. “Money is quite fun.”

  “Not when you’re scared of losing every penny you have and being a worthless worm in society.”

  Tyler frowned.

  “I’m kidding,” I added. “Sort of.”

  “Why do you think that could happen?”

  I frowned, because I wasn’t really sure of the answer, myself. “I don’t know. I mean… maybe part of it is that this isn’t exactly a stable industry. I mean, I never looked at my future as a kid and thought I’d make my living off of a podcast show. Hell, podcasts weren’t even really a thing when we were in high school, you know? I thought I’d be in the public relations realm, or working with the media. And if this fails…”

  “Then you could easily do one of those things, or something completely different.”

  “Could I?”

  Tyler chuckled. “Jasmine, you’re not boxed in just because you started here. Also, you love it. I know you do — anyone can tell just by listening to one episode. In my opinion, there’s no way it could ever fail, because you’d never let it. It may transform as the years go on, but it won’t fail.”

  I smirked, my heart warming at his sentiment. “You’ve listened to my podcast, huh?”

  At that, Tyler’s smile fell, and he cleared his throat, looking out over
the mountains ahead of us. “What else?”

  “Nice subject change,” I said on a laugh, but then I sighed, thinking. “Well, aside from that, I’d say a big part of it is how I was brought up. My mom never had much, obviously. And Aunt Laura, while she has her salon, it took a long time to make it successful the way it is now. She’s always lived modestly.”

  Because of me, a guilty voice whispered, knowing any penny she could have saved was spent keeping me in Bridgechester Prep, but I didn’t say that part out loud.

  Tyler seemed to know anyway, though, the way he was looking at me. “That makes sense, actually. A lot of people feel that way. If they grow up with nothing but then come into money, they feel like it’s fake, or like it will disappear, like it’s too good to be true.”

  I swallowed. “Yeah.” But we were getting into uncomfortable territory for me, and now I was thinking about my mom, and about my ghost of a dad, and I shook my head. “Anyway. New subject.”

  “What would you rather talk about?”

  Tyler kicked his legs where they hung beneath him, his lime green and dark gray Nikes catching the glow of the setting sun. His legs were tan and lean, muscular, dusted with hair. I looked at them longer than I should have before answering.

  “Do you remember the summer after my junior year, after you graduated, when you threw that epic party at your house?”

  Tyler smirked, watching his shoes before his gaze lifted to the mountains in the distance. “How could I forget? Mom and Dad grounded me for the rest of the summer.”

  “It was worth it, though. People still talk about that party. Julie Sanders brings it up almost every time I catch up with her.”

  “That’s because Julie Sanders lost her virginity in the Palms Suite.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “To Joey Farchione. Yuck.”

  “And then he jumped in the pool stark ass naked screaming, ‘I got laid! I got laid!’”

  “Oh, my gosh. And remember, Byron got so drunk he let Morgan put makeup on him and braid his hair.”

  “She even put fake lashes on.”

  I snorted, remembering the image as if it just happened.