Page 1 of Because of Me

NOAH

Three months ago

Music thumps in my ears and with each heavy pounding of the bass I wonder a little more what exactly I thought I would achieve by coming here. Amira is not my friend, no matter how much I want her to be. No matter how much I want her to be something more. And honestly, this infatuation has gone on far longer than it probably should.

I’ve been pining over the woman for years, mostly from as far away as Sydney, but lately, knowing I now reside in the same state as her, this juvenile crush is evolving into something far, far, more. I can’t help but crave her presence.

So, naturally, when my cousin asked if I wanted to tag along to Amira’s thirtieth birthday celebration, I jumped at the chance. Literally. I’d been sitting at my desk, eyes blurry from staring at output spreadsheets and wine orders all day, but when Cassidy had said those magic words I leapt out of my chair and started pacing the room.

I couldn’t help but imagine all the ways tonight might have worked in my favour. A slow dance—at a club? Seriously?—a cab ride home, maybe even a little protective shoving if some random guy got too close.

Now I’m here, though, I’m hyper-aware those were all silly little fantasies and the truth is far different. Amira doesn’t need my help shucking off guys any more than she wants to wrap her arms around my neck while we sway to the beat. And any time I try to move a little closer or slip into a conversation with her, she shucksmeoff. I couldn’t even wish her a happy birthday without her shoving into me, huffing and turning away.

Anyone would think the woman hated me, but some tiny part of me refuses to accept that as the truth. I see the way she looks at me sometimes. Through the corner of her deep brown eyes like she’s desperate for more than the casual banter we always share, despite whatever it is holding her back. Turns out tonight wasn’t the night to find out what the glances mean after all, because it’s been one sarcastic comment—from both of us—after another, and I’m no closer to letting her know how I feel than I was four days ago.

Our dinner plates have all been cleared from the long table. Cassidy and I sit at one end, in near silence. Amira sits on Cassidy’s other side, cheering and conversing with her work friends, oblivious to my presence. My thumb traces wavy lines through the condensation on my pint of beer, and I drop my head forward as I realise it is, well and truly, time to let go of this hopeful crush. If I wanted to do something about it, I should have by now. Maybe all the looks I thought were casual flirting were actually just side eyes. Maybe all she sees me as is her roommate’s annoying cousin after all. I’m wallowing in self-reflection when Amira orders a round of shots for the table.

One shot, and then I’m done. Cassidy looks like she’s ready to call it a night too, so at least I won’t feel bad about leaving her here.

“Here’s to thirty,” Amira chimes, holding up her shot. “And to being forced into marriage.”

There’s an odd silence at the table as we all down our shots and cringe at the burn of cheap tequila. It scalds my throat and rolls through my stomach like a storm before I realise the sensation is not from the alcohol. It’s a possessive kind of jealousy that has no place in the barely there friendship have with Amira but finds its feet regardless. It claws at the back of my neck until I’m fighting to keep my breaths steady. I’d never thought it before, never realised I felt so strongly, but I don’t want Amira marrying anyone other than me. Especially not if she’s being forced into it.

Dropping my shot glass onto the table, I gulp at the last of my beer to drown the feeling. I pull my lips into my mouth, biting down to stop myself from saying something stupid. Twisting my ankles around the legs of my chair, I fight the urge to stand up and declare my love as my way of somehow saving her from this fate.

What kind of parent forces their thirty-year-old daughter into marriage anyway?

“If I’m not in a serious relationship before my cousin’s wedding, he’s going to find one for me.” Amira looks around the table, but her voice trails off as she accepts her inconceivable truth. I turn to see her scrunching up her face, tiny lines spreading across the bridge of her nose. It’s cute.

“When’s the wedding?” I ask, a distinct plan is forming in my head even as I tell myself it’s stupid.This is not a movie, I try to remind myself. But even so, I’m leaning in front of Cassidy, stretching toward Amira like I might be the solution to all her worries.

“Three months.” Amira drops her face into her hands and over her margarita. Her tongue pokes out as she pulls the straw into her mouth. After a long sip, she sighs, “If only my life was a romance novel.”

Nudging me back with her shoulder, Cassidy’s voice is gentle as she asks, “How so?”

“Some man could come in and pretend to be my boyfriend just to shut my father up.” Amira finishes her drink and leans back in her chair. “Who knows, maybe we’d even fall in love.”

My upper body goes stiff at the words, but my knees bounce under the table. This could be my chance. It’s exactly the plan I was going to offer Amira and now she is practically begging the universe for it. Maybe I’m not who she had in mind when she threw out the wish, but I’m here. And I’ll do anything for her.

I reach in front of Cassidy to place my hand lightly on Amira’s arm. My fingertips tingle as they coast along the thin sleeve of her sparkly black top.

“I’ll do it.” The words quiver past my lips and as soon as they are out, I hold my breath.

Amira sits straighter in her chair. Her lips curl up in a grin, but hesitation lines her eyes. “Really?”

I shrug, holding back my enthusiasm for the idea. “Yeah, can’t promise the falling in love bit,” I say, even though it’s a lie. I’m already halfway to loving Amira and there’s no way I’m coming out of this without ending up madly in love with her. But I can’t exactly drop that bomb right now. “I’ll go to the wedding with you though, and you can tell him we’re together.”

AMIRA

Staring at my face in the foggy bathroom mirror, I stifle a yawn. In theory, there are worse to spend my Saturday morning, but I have zero desire to pull my hair out from under my shower cap and start primping and curling and make-upping. My cousin Kaya is lovely, and I’m thrilled for her, honestly, but the light brown satin dress clings to my hips. The floaty chiffon cardigan I begged for is hardly any better. The cheap fabric is rough and irritating but covers my shoulders and arms. So, at least I won’t have to put up with disapproving stares from my father just for daring to show a hint of shoulder.

If I start doing my hair and makeup now, I’ll be finished getting ready long before Noah is due to pick me up. Another beef I have against the bride. What kind of bridal party gets ready alone? In some twist of tradition, Kaya told all seven of us—seriously, who needs seven bridesmaids? Who’s that close to so many other women?—she would be spending the morning with her husband-to-be. We have our dresses and are expected to arrive at the venue a solid two hours before the rest of the guests, for a long list of posed and ‘candid’ bridal party photos.

Poor Noah will have to hang around and wait for us.

I really should shake off my sour mood. My roommate’s cousin is doing me a huge favour by attending this wedding as my ‘boyfriend’—emphasis on the quotation marks—and the least I could do is be friendly. It’s not his fault my father is stuck in the 1800s and finds it absolutely abhorrent that his daughter is thirty, flirty, and very single.

With a sigh, I remove the shower cap. My long dark hair floats down my bare back, tickling the sensitive skin along my spine. I shiver as I grab my robe from the floor.

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