Page 1 of The Brothers Next Door

Chapter 1

Layla

“This really isn’t me,” I said to my friend Misty, crinkling up my nose as I looked down at the red mini-dress I was wearing. It was a frivolous over-the-top purchase made due to the insistence of my friend. In my mind, the skirt was too short and the top was too low cut—it fell halfway down my chest. If the material shifted just a smidge, my breasts would be out for the world to see. I can’t say that I trusted the adhesive that was supposed to hold everything in place.

Why do women do this to themselves? I thought. Really, it wasn’t like men were going to such lengths as to be placing adhesive in intimate places just to entice women. They showered, rolled on some anti-perspirant, and away they went. Lucky bastards.

Misty rolled her eyes at me, flipping a strand of curly blonde hair over her shoulder. “Oh please. What happened to you over the past few years?”

“What do you mean?” We’d been at the nightclub for a mere twenty minutes and the ungodly high heels were already killing my feet, pinching at the toes and causing the ball of my foot to throb. Was four inch heels really necessary? I say nay nay. Misty on the other hand, had insisted.

Peer pressure. I groaned inwardly. I was twenty-six years old and still bowing to peer pressure? Pathetic. I was truly and completely pathetic.

Planting her hands on her hips, Misty pinned me with a ‘oh please’ stare. “Have you completely forgotten your time at college? Time in the sorority?”

Memories of my days partying in college made my cheeks burn as I gave her a little cringe. Okay, she had me there. I’d done a lot of things in my college years that I wasn’t so proud of now. However, once college was over, so were my wild party days, as they gave way to a settled, suburban life. “Let me rephrase, this isn’t me—now. I’ve grown up a lot since college.”

“Then, the ‘now’ you has become quite a prude. I’m actually glad you got away from that guy you were dating.”

“Engaged to,” I corrected, not that it mattered. I’m not engaged anymore, I silently added. As of three weeks ago, that was old news. That was why I’d moved back to New York City from Bangor, Maine.

“Yeah, whatever. That man was an accountant, how much more boring can you get.”

Slightly insulted, I pulled myself up to my full height of 5’5”, tilting up my chin and squaring my shoulders. “I’m also an accountant. Does that make me boring?” Sure, being an accountant hadn’t been my first choice in careers—not many girls grow up dreaming of being an accountant—but I was good at it and it paid well. There were worse jobs out there.

She grimaced. “You never used to be.” Tilting her head to the side, she eyed me for a moment. “Now, I’m not too sure. It’s been three years since you left and correct me if I’m wrong, but I doubt that Bangor is a hotbed of excitement. You’re not some middle-aged woman with a husband and five kids in tow. You’re a beautiful career woman in the prime of her life. Act like it.”

“Bangor is a nice city. Got lots of amenities.” I shrugged. “Yes, it’s not New York City, but then again, no place is.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick hug. “That’s why I’m glad you’re home. That dude you were with sucked the life out you.”

“No.” I pulled out of her embrace and frowned. “No. That’s not it. We just had a different lifestyle.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You moved away from the city for him. Your home, the best city in the world. And what did he do? He cheated on you and dumped you. You’re better off. And for his secretary no less! So now it’s time to unleash the woman I know you are and get rid of that librarian persona you came home with.”

While a part of me felt angry right now, there was another part of me that couldn’t be, because I knew she was right. Yes, I needed to grow up after college and act responsibly. Being an accountant required that you put on a front of professionalism and maturity; after all, you were overseeing and advising clients on their life savings which in many cases equalled millions. No one would take a loose cannon seriously, especially in a city as small as Bangor where it seemed like everyone knew everyone else.

Perhaps along the way my ambition to build a career for myself and my wanting to be the perfect woman for Craig had caused me to lose part of myself. That realization didn’t make me feel very good. One of the main laws of being a woman in a relationship was that you shouldn’t lose yourself for a man. I was embarrassed to say I did.

Misty was right and that thought was a hard pill to swallow.

“So, are you going to stop complaining and have some fun? You look hot and you know what they say.” She smiled, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“What do they say?”

“The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. And your body is rocking that dress.” She snapped her fingers with a wave of the hand for flair.

Laughing, I gave my head a shake as I redirected my gaze from Misty and out into the crowd. It was Friday night and the club was packed, hundreds of bodies entwined, bumping and grinding against each other to the dance music. They were happy and laughing, enjoying each other. I wanted to be one of those people. I hadn’t been in a nightclub since I graduated and moved with Craig to Maine. It felt strange, but also exhilarating. The night was filled with possibilities, at least that was what I was telling myself.

“So now what? I’m a little out of practice.”

She slid my drink to me. A double gin. “First you drink a couple of these. If we play our cards right those’ll be the last we’ll have to pay for ourselves for the rest of the night.”

Cocking a brow at her, I took the glass and downed the contents. It burned as the first gulp slid down my throat and I gagged a little as I set the glass back down. I almost immediately felt a little tingle of light-headedness. It had been a while since I’d drank anything heavier than the occasional glass of wine with dinner.

“You know, maybe I’ve changed more than I realized.” Though I really shouldn’t have put much weight into that conclusion, considering it was based on the amount of alcohol I could consume. Or lack thereof. I seriously doubted I could get more than two of those in me before I was faceplanting.

“But you’re back now.” She smiled, displaying a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. When we were in college Misty’s teeth had been a bit of a mess and she’d always been self-conscious about smiling wide enough to display her teeth, which featured a gap between the front two and a crooked canine. It was evident she’d had some serious work done. It paid off—she looked stunning.

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