Don't Date Your Brother's Best Friend

Seeing Sarah Jo bothered me more. I had wanted to walk around the bar and give her a hug, but my physical reaction to her made me withdraw. The way she leaned on the gleaming bar, the way she looked at me—I’d gone hard for her instantly. Just like old times. I had tried to keep my distance then and failed. I’d do better as a grown man. I’d leave her the hell alone.

I’d known her all my life, since we were children together climbing up to Ryan’s treehouse. She’d been an exuberant kid, always with skinned knees, and always muddy because she spent her time digging in the yard. She didn’t have muddy knees now, sitting at the table laughing with her friends. She looked all grown up in a way she hadn’t a few years ago at Ryan’s wedding, the last time I’d seen her. I’d made a mess of things that night. I was surprised she even spoke to me now.

I had missed seeing her around, but mainly I had liked being able to think of her off at college learning more about plants and all the stuff she was meant to do. Even as a kid, she beat all at bringing things back to life. A fuzzy, broken leaf from my grandma’s African violet or some poinsettia that got thrown out after the holidays, and she picked it out of the trash and made it grow. I smiled at the memory of boosting her up to dumpster dive for that damn thing when we were in high school, and Ryan wouldn’t help her because he said digging through the trash was disgusting. He wasn’t wrong, but that day, the way my body reacted to holding Sarah Jo’s hips steady as she got into the dumpster, changed the way I would look at her forever.

When she came up to the bar and complimented my renovation and talked to me just like we’d seen each other last week instead of three years ago, I was thrown. Polite speaking acquaintances I could do, but friends? Sarah Jo and I weren’t friends, and probably never would be. We had a brief and bumpy past together, but that was all. She was nicer to me than I deserved, which proved my point about her loyalty. I served other customers, kept drinks refilled, and kept the place running, but I had one eye on Sarah Jo the whole time.

I couldn’t look away from her. Her hair was long again, dark and tumbling over her shoulders. She was curvier than I remembered, but it had been three years since I’d seen her, three years since I’d had my hands on her and stupidly let her go. I had regrets when it came to her, but I wasn’t sure which one was the worst. Did I wish I’d never gone near her? Or did I wish I’d never let her go? Knowing my life and my friendship with Ryan, it had to be the first option, wishing I’d left her alone. All I could do now was let her know that I wouldn’t be a problem for her, wouldn’t do anything to make her uncomfortable while she was in town helping out her dad.

I delivered another plate of loaded nachos to her group. I was careful to greet them all, kind and friendly, and not take too good of a look at her. As it was, I could see her long legs crossed beneath the table, her dark skinny jeans, the curve of her ankle. Part of me felt a tug toward her. I wanted to worship her, wanted to put my hands on her, and put my mouth on hers and make everyone go away for an hour. Because that would make me feel a lot better. And worse at the same time, because then we’d have another secret from Ryan, something else that complicated things beyond endurance.

Layla asked about my truck, and I told her the hitch was good as new thanks to her repairs. My gaze lingered on Sarah Jo, no matter what I did to avoid it. I looked at the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw that told me she was tired and determined. I said her name.

“Hey, is your dad doing all right? Really?” I asked, trying to telegraph to her that I wanted the real answer, not the pat answer she gave everyone.

“He is doing okay, thanks,” she said. “Ryan’s hanging out with him tonight so I could go out. It was really nice of him to do that.”

I saw her eyes flick to mine and then away. I saw a split second of the real story, her tired eyes, the worry she pushed out of her voice to make it cheerful. I wanted to say, I’ve got you, it’s okay. But I had no right to do that. Maybe her label of protector was right on about me, or perhaps this was an impulse specific to her. Either way, I said, “Well, that’s good then. You girls have a nice time, and let me know if you need anything.”