Page 39 of Messing With My Brother's Best Friends

I now understood men’s irrational fear of the phrase, ‘we need to talk,’ because nothing good could ever come from it. That same irrational fear ripped through me the moment Connor said the words, which had me ringing Barbie.

“Biiiitch, how did the glitter bomb go? I gotta admit I am feeling a tiny bit of sympathy for those boys right now, because damn. I have an arse crack that looks like it was made of molten gold and—”

“Connor said we need to talk.”

“He did what?” Her shriek had me jerking the phone away from my ear. “The fuck he did. Doesn’t he know that is a female-only prerogative?”

“What’s going on now?” I heard Alan’s muffled voice in the background.

“One of Kendall’s himbo flatmates told her ‘we need to talk.’”

“Right…”

“Girls tell boys they need to talk, not the other way around.” Her focus returned to me. “So what does that bitch want to talk about, and how much TP are we going to lob at his very nice house?”

“I don’t know.” I paced back and forth across the floor. All the feel-good stuff I was experiencing before mucking around in the kitchen was well and truly gone. ‘We need to talk’ was like the nuclear option a woman used when the relationship was almost beyond repair, and Connor and I didn’t have a relationship to speak of. “We were mucking around in the kitchen flicking tea towels at each other.”

“Uh huh. Did you get any of them in the ’nads? Maybe they want you to kiss it better.”

“No, I did not hit them in the gonads,” I shot back. “They made dinner and asked me to join them.”

“Uh huh.”

“And when I came home I found them in the shed, working on Daisy and building me…” I stopped myself, wincing as I realised what would come out of Barbie’s mouth the moment she heard the news. “So how did the photoshoot go? You had that nice female photographer, right?”

“Always. My agent knows I pretty much will only work with Dianne now, but get to the damn point, Ken. What were the three extremely hot housemates of yours building?”

“So you work exclusively with Dianne? Doesn’t that restrict you overly? Like what happens if someone booking you—”

“Nope, nah, no fucking way.” My heart sank as I caught her sharp reply. “You don’t give a fuck about modelling, like I would start yawning if you started talking to me about the differences between Arabica or Robusta coffee.”

I sucked in a breath.

“They—”

“Nope. Spill the fucking beans, Kendall, or I’ll just have to jump into an Uber and head out to the suburbs to find out myself, and you know how I hate leaving the city.”

My teeth ground against each other as I kicked my own arse for opening my mouth in the first place.

“They’remakingmeabedframe.”

“What? Unclench your damn jaw, bitch, and take a breath. As I tell you all the time, mewing is for boys, not girls.”

“Mewing?”

I knew what the viral trend for working your jaw muscles was, but I was ready to grasp at any straw here.

“Don’t you play dumb with me, Kendall Motherfucking Kennedy.”

“It’s Kendall Marie—”

“I’m calling an Uber.”

There it was, the iron will that lay beneath my best friend’s doll-like exterior. She would too, and then I’d be forced to confront a whole lot of other things I didn’t want to.

“They’re making me a bed frame.” I let out a sigh. “And they’ve already made some bedside tables.”

“Oh my fucking god! Alan. Alan! You owe me twenty bucks.”

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