Page 5 of Jilted
Brett followed the direction of her gaze to see a couple on the dance floor making out. The man had his hand on the woman’s ass, her skirt bunched beneath his fingers. Her leg was bent at his waist, making it clear that she wasn’t wearing any panties.
He downed one of his shots. “More power to ‘em,” Brett finally said, drinking a second shot. It had been months since his last breakup and just as long since he’d had sex.
“Why can’t we find significant others who are that hot for us?” Amy swirled her drink and then took a sip. “I mean, really, why are guys so intimidated by a strong, independent woman? Just because I have my life together and I know what I want doesn’t mean I don’t want a man to love me and take care of me.”
Brett nodded. He’d heard this same thing from her every single time she broke up with a guy. And he knew how she felt. Every woman he’d ever been serious about always left him for one reason or another. Usually, it was because of Amy. Women were threatened by his close friendship with her. But he always refused to give her up despite repeated requests from his girlfriends. No way in hell. Amy had always been there, and she always would be.
Plus, other than a sister and a brother she didn’t speak to, Amy didn’t have any family. He was her family, and there was no way he could ever turn his back on her. Amy meant too much to him to just dump her because some woman he was dating wanted him too. Nope. Brett was resolved to the fact that either he would be single for the rest of his life, or he’d just have to wait a long time to find that special woman who would accept his friendship with Amy.
“It’s because you go for the wrong type of guy,” Brett said matter-of-factly, pouring a third shot down his throat. “Those muscle-bound jocks are all bark and no bite. They look good on the outside, but they’re a mess on the inside.”
Amy threw a piece of ice at him and laughed. “And the goody two shoes, schoolteacher types you date are much better?”
“Nope.” He grinned. “Which is why we’re both still single.”
She sighed. “Yeah, so much for my dream of having kids.”
“You’re young. I’m sure you’ll find someone.” He drank his last shot and chased it with his beer.
“I’m thirty, Brett. By the time I find a man, date him, and get married, I’ll be an old hag with no viable eggs.”
The thought of Amy finding a man to marry and have kids with didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t stomach the thought of losing her.
“I’ll tell you what.” He leaned across the table and pointed at her. “Three years from now, if neither of us are married, I’ll marry you and give you as many babies as you want.” Brett’s words were slurred. Yup. He was definitely drunk. He wouldn’t have made that proposition otherwise.
“Yeah right.” Amy rolled her eyes. “You and me? That would be like fucking my brother. Thanks, but no thanks.”
He flinched at her words. “You think of me as your brother?” That bothered him a lot more than it should, especially considering he’d never once thought of her as a sister.
She shrugged. “We’re best friends. How else would I think of you?” Amy glanced away and then set her gaze on him again. “Why? How do you think of me?”
Oh shit! He hadn’t expected the conversation to backfire on him like that. What was he supposed to tell her? That he thought of her as a best friend that he wanted to fuck? No, he definitely couldn’t tell her that.
“As a friend, I guess. I don’t know. It’s not like I sit around and think about how I should think of you. You’re Amy.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“Maybe a little.” He grinned. “So, do we have a deal or what?”
“Yeah, whatever. You’re probably not going to remember this tomorrow anyway.”
“Yes, I will,” he insisted. “It’s not every day I throw out marriage proposals y’know?”
“Okay then, you’ve got a deal.” She smiled.
“You gotta shake on it.” Brett extended his hand to her. She took it and gave it a firm shake. He smiled. Amy would always be around.
Chapter Three
Tonight was Thursday, which meant tacos from the corner food stand and really bad horror movies at the old Kalet theatre. It was what they did every Thursday night, but this week was extra special because tonight was Brett’s last night at home. Tomorrow, he’d be boarding a plane to begin his work on Dancing Duel, and it would be months before they had a chance to hang out again. The thought really depressed her.
Amy sat across from him at the rickety, plastic table and watched as he licked taco sauce from the corner of his mouth. An unusually cool breeze blew over them, causing Amy’s hair to blow into her face. She brushed it back and pulled it into a ponytail with the scrunchie she always wore on her wrist.
“Don’t do that,” Brett said, taking a sip of his soda.
“Don’t do what?”
“Put your hair up like that.” He crumpled his napkin and tossed it on their tray, which was now full of garbage.
