Page 3 of The Boyfriend Effect (Frisky Business 1)
She chuckles and pats my forearm. “I have plans with Marge later. We’re going to the farmer’s market.”
“Be careful.” My grandmother still drives, and I have mixed feelings about that.
She chuckles again. “Don’t worry so much. Are you going to see that girl of yours today?”
I shake my head. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
Rosie raises one thin silver eyebrow at me. “You go through ’em fast. I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
Me? Not a fucking clue.
After I finish my coffee, I feel more human. You’d think Sam dumping me in such a spectacular fashion would have thrown me off, and it has a little. But it’s less about Sam and more about the fact that I’m starting to notice a pattern.
None of my relationships have lasted more than a few weeks, a few months at most. And the only common denominator is me. And Sam had a point—I am almost thirty, which isn’t exactly old, but it’s old enough.
Why can’t I ever seem to make things work? The answer to that question nags at me, but I’m not ready to hear it.
Inside my bedroom, I shut the door and head into the adjoining bathroom. I crank the faucet to hot and step under the spray of water. Soaping myself up, I wash the scent of Samantha from my skin.
After I’m dressed in a clean T-shirt and another pair of jeans, I grab my keys and phone. I press a kiss to my grandma’s cheek and head out.
Maren’s apartment is in a neat tidy row of older homes that were turned into duplexes in the eighties. The rent is reasonable, and street parking is plentiful. I park in front of the brick building and climb out.
I knock on her door, and after a moment, it opens. Maren is dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, her long dark hair tied up in a messy bun. She’s five foot five, but barely comes to my chin.
“Hayes.” She smiles when she sees me, lifting up on her toes to hug me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulls me close.
I touch the middle of her back, patting it once, and then release her, needing to put some distance between us.
If she knew all the dirty thoughts I have when she presses her soft tits to my chest like that, she wouldn’t come so willingly into my arms. But Maren’s always been affectionate. She’s like that with everyone. I don’t think she understands the meaning of personal space, so I try not to read into it.
Smiling at me, she asks, “What are you doing here?”
“Wolfie sent me. He said you’re sick.” But she doesn’t look sick. Her cheeks are rosy and she’s still smiling.
Maren’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush. “Um, no. I’m not.”
I shift my weight on her front porch. “He said you called into work sick today.”
She meets my eyes again. They’re the color of bright emeralds and golden autumn leaves with melted milk chocolate in the very center. Technically, the word is hazel, but it’s much too simple a word to describe all the life and depth I see when I look into her eyes.
There are a lot of things I feel about Maren. Confusion. Misplaced lust. And irritation—because I’ve never felt about this girl the way I should have.
“Well, that part’s true.”
“Care to fill me in?”
She groans. “You might as well come inside.”
I follow her into her one-bedroom apartment. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and always neat. A gray couch sits in the living room on top of a colorful rug. Plants in mismatched pots are lined on the windowsill, and her tiny kitchen is spotless.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“I’m good.”
When Maren heads into the living room, I think I detect a limp, but she lowers herself to the couch before I can be sure.
I sit down beside her. “Talk to me, dove.” It’s a nickname I gave her ages ago because she’s as beautiful and innocent as a white dove, and it stuck.
“It’s totally embarrassing.” She frowns, pulling her plump lower lip between her teeth.
Her mouth is literally perfect. I want to kiss it. And then fuck it.
See my problem?
If Wolfie knew the thoughts I have about his sister, he’d cut off my balls and shove them down my throat. And I’d deserve every second of it. Everyone knows that sisters are off-limits, and we live by a strict bro code. We have to—we’re not only friends, we’re best friends, and we run a business together. Keeping things appropriate and PG are my only options.
I smirk. “You want to hear embarrassing? I’ll tell you about my morning and why I was nearly naked on Halsted Street, if you tell me yours.”
Her eyes widen. “What the hell,” she says with a laugh.
“Want me to go first?”
