Page 2 of Never Kiss Your Brother's Best Friend

I was ten, so don't judge.

No matter how much she disapproves, she is kind and supportive in every situation I get myself into.

And the Dean situation is no exception.

As my mom fluffs my hair, I catch a glimpse of Sterling outside, pacing the hallway. I can't help but chuckle. "Nervous, Sterling?" I call out.

He stops in the doorway and looks up, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Me? Never."

"He's been practicing his best man speech since last night," Mom says, giggling. "You know how he hates public speaking. Dean, you should help him. You're a lawyer. You spend all day putting on a show for people. Give him some tips."

Dean makes a face, as if my mother just suggested that he walk around nude for all to see. "Best keep things simple, buddy. Short and sweet. That's about it. And maybe crack a joke or two."

Sterling gives him a short nod and an anxious-looking smile and says, "Yeah, thanks. I think I've got it."

I smirk, catching a glimpse of the dimple in Sterling's right cheek—he’s definitely nervous. Did I mention that dimples are my Kryptonite?

I flash back to when I was eleven, sitting on the roof of our woodshed in the middle of the night with Sterling, eating marshmallows he raided from his pantry. I said something stupid, and he laughed, and those dimples peeked out.

I remember thinking how cute he was and feeling butterflies flitting around in my stomach.

Gosh, we really do have a long history... that was almost twenty years ago.

Now, as an adult, the idea of walking down the aisle with the grown-up version of my childhood crush has me tongue-tied and flustered.

So, I guess he still has the same effect on me. Though it’s almost seems stronger now. Not that I'd ever admit it to anyone. We're not kids anymore, and I should have gotten over my infatuation years ago.

But those coffee-colored eyes are as captivating as ever. And they crinkle in the same adorable way when he smiles. His wavy brown hair is shorter than he used to wear it, and he has way more muscles than he has any business having. You'd think he spent his time bench pressing cows instead of as a veterinarian.

"Everybody ready?" The wedding planner mercifully interrupts my thoughts, clapping her hands together in front of her at us as if we're badly behaved children she desperately wants to wrangle into straight lines.

One last look in the mirror confirms that this dress is still ugly as sin, but what can I do? At least it will provide excellent camouflage in the woods if there is a sudden need to hide.

With a resigned sigh, I head outside. My mother and Dean follow. I take Sterling's arm.

"See you at the reception," I tell Dean with a half-hearted smile. But he doesn’t seem to hear me. He's already strolling down the hallway to the hotel's outdoor garden area where the wedding will be held, grumbling to himself about having to sit through a long-winded ceremony.

Sterling catches my hand as we follow behind at a slower pace to give room for all the guests to take their seats. His touch is warm and sure, and when his thumb traces a gentle pattern across the back of my hand, I suddenly feel like an awkward teenager all over again.

As soon as we enter the crowd of guests, my dress hem catches under the heel of my shoe. Unable to stop the forward momentum, my ankle twists and I go flying. Right into Sterling, of course.

He throws one arm around me, mashing me against his chest and holding my head to protect it. With the other, he presses the base of my spine to keep me steady, cradling me in the nook of his elbow as we tumble to the ground, the air whooshing out of me.

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, I lie half on Sterling, half on the ground for a moment, completely disoriented. Well, not disoriented enough to miss the very taut muscles I'm balancing on. Muscles begging for my attention.

Ok, I guess muscles don't beg, so maybe it's my brain doing the begging. Thankfully, my hands aren't listening because we are at a wedding after all, and my boyfriend is seated a few rows away.

Sterling cocks his head and looks down at me, raising his eyebrows slightly before he does the last thing I expect him to—he laughs. Hard. It's a rich sound that rolls out of his chest like summer thunder, and it makes me follow suit. Pretty soon, the two of us are doubled up, sprawled out in the middle of the aisle runner with my dress spilling around me like a massive, fluffy, swamp creature.

The whole crowd bursts out laughing too, and I just can't bring myself to get upset over the fact that I probably just flashed my backside to everybody when I went down. Who cares, honestly?

Sterling is still chuckling, his eyes bright and his dimples in full effect, when he stands and helps me to my feet.

"That happy to see me, Emma?" he teases.

I give him a light punch in the arm. "You wish. Blame the dress, not the girl, Dr. Cole."

"Nice deflection," he replies. He takes my hand, wraps it around his forearm, and starts us down the aisle again. “Just like old times, huh? You always seemed to have some balance issues. If you wanted to wrestle, though, you could have just asked. I would've say yes."

---