Page 1 of Count On Me

1

EDIE

Jaxy

I got it! London, here I come baby xxx

I read the text a million times. And each time I do, my eyes stutter over the word ‘baby’. I know Jaxson Brady, my very best friend in the whole wide world, didn’t mean it in the way that makes my heart flutter. He meant it in a platonic, talking to his little sister kind of way. But seeing that word still makes my heart thump, my mouth dry, and other places damp.

Yes, folks, I have the hots for my best friend. I can’t help it. I’ve been in love with him since I was a moody eight-year-old girl who had her summer of reading Harry Potter ambushed by the annoying Americans my mum had befriended online. I was so mad I had to spend my summer being a tour guide, and made my mum's life hell by moaning constantly about it.

Until I saw him.

All dark blonde curls and dimples when he grinned at me. I had never seen anything so beautiful before. A red tint cursed my pale skin as he’d stepped closer to me, and I’d scowled inembarrassment. Jaxson just laughed, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hey, Red, I’m Jax.”

A lot has changed since then, but there hasn’t been a day or night in the past fourteen years that I haven’t spoken to Jaxy. And now he’s coming to London. To live in my house with me and my mum whilst he gets his football career on track.

I’ll be on the same continent as him. I’ll be under the same roof as him. Panic starts to take over and I struggle to catch my breath. I know he’s waiting on a reply, and if I don't send something back soon he’ll phone me, but I can’t breathe properly.

I can hide the fact I’m cuckoo over him when he’s in America. I can pretend to date other people when we speak on a computer screen. And I can definitely make up fantasies about him and let them play out whilst enjoying a little Edie on Edie time when he lives over four thousand miles away. But I can’t do any of that with him here. In the UK. In my house and down the hall from my bedroom. He’d find out and our friendship will be ruined.

Shit! I waited too long. My phone starts to vibrate in my hand and play “Count on Me” by Bruno Mars—our song. And a glaring reminder that I’m his friend and nothing else.

2

JAXSON

Man, that flight was brutal. I am not built for ten hours cramped into a tiny chair. These legs need room. I stand and stretch, taking the cap off my head and running my hands through my hair, as the bags from my flight finally start to come around on the carousel thing at Heathrow Airport.

Checking out the boring surroundings, all white walls and blurred faces of people whizzing here and there, I turn to the right and spot a girl about my age clearly checking me out. I grin to myself, roll my eyes, and place my cap back on my head. London girls don’t play around. I spot my bag, grab it and turn to head out of the airport, but stop when I spot her walking toward me.

“Hi, I’m Estelle. Do I know you? You look really familiar.” She reaches up and plays with a loose piece of her red hair, pushing her tits up and out as she crosses her arms underneath them. The grin falls from my face and I shake my head at her and walk away. I hear her mumbled complaints, but I don’t look back. I’m not interested in standing in the airport talking to a redhead who tries a little too hard to get my attention.

Not when there’s a redhead I’m desperate to see already. One that I actually want and can’t have. I groan inwardly when I think of her curvy ass, her full tits, her creamy skin glittered with freckles. Her pouty lips, pursed and ready to say something quick witted and clever. Or waiting to wrap around my…

Fuck, I have got to rein this in. It was okay to lust over her when she was thousands of miles away, or through a screen, but not now that I’ll be living in her house with her. I can’t be walking around my best friend’s place with a raging boner. Not when I can’t give her what she deserves. She needs to be with a guy who’s dedicated to her, not his career. Who wants the same things as her. She deserves the happily ever after, and I can’t give her that.

Not yet, anyway. I need to focus on my career. Prove to my pops I was right to drop out of college to play pro in America. And then to uproot my entire life to move over here. When I make it big in the UK, playing in the country that invented soccer, I will personally slice that humble pie and spoon-feed it to Pops myself. And I’ll make sure it’s my mama who makes it for him, seeing as she’s been my biggest cheerleader since birth. Plus she’s the world's worst cook so it’ll be a double blow for him.

So while I’m here, at least for a while, it’s all about soccer. Football. Keeping a friendship over pursuing a relationship. Because I can’t lose Eddie’s friendship. Mama would kill me for destroying something that special. And it would likely piss off Mama’s bestie too seeing as how she’ll have to deal with the fallout. But even more, I would hate myself too damn much if I lost her. She’s too important to me to risk.

As we pull up to Eddie’s drive, I can’t fight the grin from my face and the nerves from my belly. This is it. I haven't seen her in the flesh for two years. Between soccer for me and ‘university’ for her, we’ve both been too busy to travel.

Grabbing my bags, I open the door with the key Eddie’s mom, Erin, sent to me. Silence hits me and a little doubt creeps in.

I creep past the living room and peer inside. There she is—snuggled on the sofa, with a book in her hand. I smile as I watch her turn the page, so engrossed in the words scattered across it, she’s completely clueless that I’m here. I quickly grab my phone from my pocket and silently snap a picture of her. She looks fucking beautiful with her red hair piled on top of her head and her glasses falling down her nose. I wish I could go over there, pick her up, place her on my lap, and just hold her while she reads.

But that’s a boyfriend move, not a best friend one.

Instead, I clear my throat, “Knock, knock. Special delivery from the U.S of A for Eddie Bishop.”

She jumps at my voice and then lunges over the back of the sofa and into my arms.

“Jaxy. You weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow,” she screeches into my ear and buries her face into the crook of my neck.

When her legs wrap around my waist, my hands instinctively land on her ass, pulling her even closer, and I can’t help enjoying the feel of her cheeks in my palms. Or the way her tits are smashed against my chest. Or how her hair smells like a tropical holiday, coconuts and the beach. The thin sweater she’s wearing slides down her shoulder, and I’d give anything to run my tongue along the exposed skin. I can feel my breathing becoming erratic the longer she's in my arms, but I don’t want to put herdown. I love being this close to her. And while she’s in my arms, I’m going to do everything I can to take her all in.

She’s definitely changed since the last time I saw her. Still as beautiful, but more confident. She never would’ve thrown herself at me like this two years ago. And believe me, I’m not complaining. I’ve spent my entire life trying to touch her, but only ever allowing myself a little push or a friendly hug. This is so much more than that. And I don’t want it to end.

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