Falling for Your Best Friend’s Twin Read online

  Falling for Your Best Friend’s Twin

  Emma St. Clair

  Copyright © 2020 by Emma St. Clair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contact [email protected] for more info.

  Cover illustrations by @melodyjeffriesdesign (find more of her work on Instagram or http://melodyjeffriesdesign.com)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Dear Dr. Love

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue: Love Cliché #1

  What to Read Next

  A Note From Emma

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Abby

  When I finally make it to the restaurant, I’m only ten minutes late. Three of my friends don't even blink as I slide into the last empty seat, panting slightly, but Zoey gives me the patented Abramson death glare. My best friend and her twin brother, Zane, probably came out of the womb throwing this look at the nurses in the hospital.

  I’ve learned to ignore it, but Zoey used to put the fear into me when we met our freshman year of college. The few times I’ve seen Zane do it, my body has an entirely different reaction. One I would never admit to Zoey, what with the whole twin thing and all.

  I’m less bothered by her dirty look than the fact that my friends have decimated the contents of the bread basket. There’s one lone breadstick, which I wave. “Hey, ladies! Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything? Besides the bread, obviously.”

  And the butter. The little silver butter dish has been totally cleaned out too, I realize as Sam, Harper, and Delilah say their hellos. The waitress stops by and I scramble to choose a sandwich with ingredients I can recognize and pronounce.

  “Could I also get a coffee?” I ask, handing over my menu. “And more breadsticks and butter?”

  “You wouldn’t need to ask for more butter if you’d been on time.” Zoey raises one perfectly manicured blonde eyebrow.

  “Save your speech, Mom. I got caught up at work. Well. My extracurricular work.”

  “Lateness forgiven. Oh! That reminds me. I’ve got a potential job for you. I’ll tell you after lunch,” Zoey says.

  For the past six months I’ve been trying to build up a client base so I can quit my day job. I want to be a systems analyst or working in cyber-security, but I’m stuck doing basic IT work in a soul-sucking office. Tech geeks like me are almost as common in Austin as singers trying to catch a big break. There are lots of jobs, but even more people trying to fill them.

  Today I was helping my brother, Jason, who founded a company that has been massively successful designing video games. Every time I talk to him, he offers me a full-time job. One that would be a dream compared to my current situation. So tempting.

  But I was never into gaming the way Jason always has been. Sure, it would beat this stupid IT position, but I’d have to move back to Katy, just outside of Houston, because Jason wants me on site. As much as I miss my parents and love Jason, Jessa, and my nephews, no way am I leaving Austin unless I’m being dragged.

  Sam lightly taps on her water glass to get our attention. When we are finally quiet, she clears her throat, then smiles in a way that makes me nervous. “The reason I called you all here today—”

  A collective groan rises from the table, drowning Sam out. We all know what a Sam lunch means. Usually something to do with her alter ego, Dr. Love, needing us to do her a favor.

  Zoey pokes me in the shoulder. “Abby, I thought you planned this lunch!”

  “Me?” I shake my head. “I mean, I told you about it, but—”

  Harper cuts me off, glaring in my direction. “Abby invited me too.”

  Zoey’s evil eye might not work on me anymore, but Harper, with her dark hair, intense eyes, and muscular physique, still terrifies me. She looks like a beautiful but evil queen from a fairy tale. One who does CrossFit and could toss a giant tire at your face one-handed.

  “Same,” Delilah says, her honey-sweet Alabama accent somehow extending that one syllable into four. She pats my hand and gives me a bless-your-heart look.

  I narrow my eyes at Sam. “You tricked me into inviting everyone for you?”

  She has the audacity to wink. I remember now—Sam made it sound like I was reminding everyone of a lunch that had already been planned. Normally, I would have seen right through her. But Sam took advantage of the fact that I’ve been distracted lately with all the extra freelance work. I’m pretty much running on fumes and caffeine.

  Sam grins, looking purely Machiavellian. “What do they call it in computer-speak … I used a back door?”

  Everyone is still directing their dark looks toward me. I hold up my hands. “Hey, I’m a victim too!”

  “You should know better,” Harper says.

  I should. After all, the five of us have been roommates in various configurations for the past five years, since we all met freshman year at the University of Texas. I know Sam is tricksy, as Gollum would say. Tricksy hobbit. And now, thanks to my unwitting help, she suckered us into a lunch with an agenda. Fantastic.

  Sam raises her voice and continues. “As I was saying, I called you all here today because I’ve got a big opportunity and—”

  “You need our help,” Delilah, Harper, and I all chorus. We know this script by heart.

  “Guys, if you’d just listen!” Sam starts speaking faster now, as though she knows we’re about to mutiny. “I got a book deal. Which means lunch is on me!”

  The table erupts into cheers and hugs and basically chaos. For now, the irritation with Sam is forgotten. We give each other a hard time, but the five of us will always have each other’s backs. This book deal has been Sam’s dream for as long as I’ve known her.

  Our waitress appears, waving her hands as though wanting to shush us. Zoey, who’s standing at her full Amazonian height to hug Sam, glares. The waitress scurries back to the kitchen like she’s being chased by a pack of Dementors from Harry Potter. I hope she’s not too scared to bring back my butter.

  When we’re finally all seated and somewhat quiet again, Harper pins Sam with a look. “We’re all super happy for you. But the question is: what do you need from us?”

  Sam fidgets with her silverware. “I need to bolster my online presence leading up to the launch. Longer blog posts with relationship advice. Plus, stories I can use when writing the actual book.”

  “So, you need us to write more fake advice emails for you-know-who?” Zoey asks.

  Sam gets tons of emails as Dr. Love, but they don’t all make for good entertainment, which is what sets her column apart: solid advice in a snarky package. For years now, she’s asked us to send in emails under anonymous usernames with fake relationship issues. She doesn’t know which ones are real and which ones are from us—though if she guesses correctly, we owe her dinner.

  “Keep it down,” Sam says, glancing around the restaurant.

  Abby started Dear Dr. Love as a local column on an Austin news site but grew so wildly popular that it’s syndicated in big cities all over the United States. The more successful she becomes, the more scared Sam is of her identity being revealed. She says that Dr. Love gets as much hate mail as requests for advice, probably because of all the breakups she’s instigated.

  “Definitely keep the emails coming, though some of you are getting sloppy at hiding your identities.” Sam gives me a pointed look.

  I shrug. “The DC-versus-Marvel rivalry is a potentially real issue in a relationship.”

  That earns me eye rolls around the table.

  “For the book, I’ll need bigger, more substantial stories, not just questions. Preferably real love stories.” Sam plays with the end of her dark braid.

  Harper raises an eyebrow. “And you’re asking us?”

  Sam is the only one in a relationship, so I totally understand Harper’s skepticism. Overall, we seem pretty unsuccessful as far as love goes. Cursed, if I’m being honest. Especially considering the fact that we’re all attractive in our own ways and no one has a mustache, a tail, or some kind of weird habit like collecting dryer lint.

  Zoey is totally career driven and swears she doesn’t have time to date. Harper is beautiful but terrifying. I haven’t made it past the second date with a guy in years. And I’m not sure about Delilah. The former beauty queen has no lack of guys chasing her down. I’ve seen two trying to get her attention just at this lunch. But other than one long-distance relations
hip while we were in college, she hasn’t dated seriously.

  If Sam is counting on us, she might be in trouble.

  The waitress arrives with our food, careful to avoid eye contact with Zoey. She wins bonus points from me by bringing out two containers of butter and coffee that smells amazing.

  “What’s the angle?” Zoey says, as we start eating. I half expect her to pull out her phone and start taking detailed notes. “Is there a theme to the book?”

  “Love clichés. You know, like common tropes.”

  I raise my hand. “You lost me at tropes.”

  I can speak fluent computer code, but the only way I passed my English classes in college was with Sam’s intense tutoring. Which involved late nights and chocolate truffles as rewards for correct answers, like I’m a dog. I didn’t even care, because: chocolate. And I passed with a flying C.

  “Tropes are like the core story in a rom-com or a Hallmark movie.”

  “Like the Christmas one y’all forced me to watch?” I ask. “The one where the girl doesn’t know the guy she meets online is actually also the Santa at the mall where she works?”

  “And a billionaire,” Delilah points out. “Handsome to boot. Who knew Santa could be hot?”

  “Yes!” When Sam laughs, I feel like I’ve earned a chocolate truffle. “That movie had a secret identity trope. Mixed with the online dating trope and the billionaire trope, which can be a lot like a rags-to-riches story.”

  “Those plots are all so fake,” Zoey says. “You expect us to date secret Santas or find billionaires?”

  Sam holds up a finger. “The tropes are exaggerated, sure. But there’s a reason they’re popular. They’re common. Almost universal. Think about it. How many of you know someone who’s fallen for their best friend?”

  We all look at Harper. Her olive skin flushes, but she pretends not to notice us all staring. We’ve been trying to tell her for years that her best friend, Chase, is in love with her, but she won’t hear of it. I think she’s in love with him too, but she most definitely isn’t ready to face that truth.

  “Or their boss?” Sam asks.

  We all try not to look at Zoey, who for sure will strike us all dead with her laser eyes if we even bring up her hot but much older and very off-limits boss, Gavin.

  “There are tons of these things.” Sam begins counting them off on one hand. “Fake relationship, second chance romance, cowboy, enemies to lovers—you get the picture.”

  Harper rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but how about a fake relationship? That’s ridiculous. Just like most of those storylines. They’re predictable and totally not real.”

  “I had a fake relationship,” Delilah says, biting her lip to hold back a smile.

  “You would,” Harper says with a laugh.

  “Actually,” I say. “So did I.”

  Now everyone’s laughing. If they weren’t my friends, they’d all be dead to me. Dead.

  “You did? We need details,” Zoey says.

  “It was at coding camp the summer before seventh grade. There was major beef between the two teams about our source code, and so to distract the other team’s best programmer—”

  Zoey holds up a hand. “Enough said. I should have known it would have to do with computers.”

  “Most of my life has to do with computers. Don’t forget who fixed your laptop when you got a virus from opening that attachment with—”

  “Anyway! Back to Sam’s big book news!” Zoey shouts.

  I smile, loving this tiny bit of leverage over Zoey. No one would think less of her for trying to open an attachment showing secret photos of a certain Hemsworth brother in a Speedo at a private beach. If I had a nickel for every person who got that virus, I’d retire and buy my own island.

  It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but Zoey doesn’t want to admit that underneath her all-business front, she’s got another side. She’s like a mullet, business up front but a lot of fun hidden out back. Wayyyyy out back, behind a chain-link fence with razor wire. I’ve seen the out-back side of Zoey only a handful of times, and it’s like a unicorn sighting. I’ve often wondered if Zane, equally as uptight and all-business, has the same fun side hidden somewhere. I’d pay good money to see it.

  “Why don’t you use your own relationship,” Harper suggests.

  “That would be perfect!” Delilah says. “Y’all are adorable.”

  “They’re too perfect,” Zoey grumbles.

  She isn’t wrong. Matt, Sam’s boyfriend, is about three seconds from being her fiancé, and they do have one of those perfect relationships. While we’re all happy for her inevitable proposal, the first one of us to get married will be like the first domino to fall. It’s going to disrupt the delicate roommate and friend balance we’ve kept up for years.

  More importantly, because of the cutthroat Austin housing market, without all five of us, we can’t afford the rent for the house we’ve lived in for the two years since graduation. It’s an amazing location in the trendy South Congress area. The historic craftsman-style home has been updated and renovated, so we each have our own room, even if they’re tiny. Until our circumstances change, or unless the older woman who owns it dies and her kids hike up the rent, it’s the perfect home.

  “I know I’m asking for a lot,” Sam says, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not trying to force you guys into something. Just do what you’re already doing, and if you happen to run into one of these love clichés or tropes, let me write about it. Your names will be changed, obviously. I won’t share things that make you uncomfortable.”

  “What’s in it for us?” Zoey asks.

  I nudge her shoulder. “Besides helping our good friend, you mean.”

  Zoey nods. “Right.”

  Sam leans over the table and lowers her voice. “My advance was pretty high. Like, six-figures high.”

  This takes a minute to sink in. Aside from Delilah, who has tried everything from dog walking to modeling, we’re all doing pretty well. But not six-figure-advance well.

  “I need this to work,” Sam says. “I need my book to sell to earn back the advance and secure me another deal. So, I have an idea for a thank-you to my amazing roommates who helped me get here. If Matt proposes—”

  “When Matt proposes,” Harper interrupts.

  Sam grins and crosses her fingers. “When Matt proposes, I’ll keep contributing to rent for the first year after our wedding.”

  We’re all stunned into silence. That’s a huge gift. Shocking, especially coming from Sam. Not that she’s selfish, exactly, but she’s not the first of my friends I’d go to for help. This is a bad deal for her, but it’s great for us. I, for one, am not about to say no.

  “Sold,” I say. “Do we need to shake or sign something in blood?”

  Zoey touches my hand. “This is a big deal. Maybe we should slow down and think about it.”

  Sam shakes her head. “I’ve thought about it. I wouldn’t have been as successful without your support. I want to do this.”

  “Sam wants to,” I say.

  Harper smirks at me. “Are you sure about this? It might mean you have to go on more than one date with a guy, Abs.”

  “Ha ha.”

  I try to stuff down the hurt. Because it does bother me. I simply haven’t been interested in any of the guys I’ve dated. Still, what I call my first-date curse (really, a first-and-second date curse) feels like my fault somehow. I’m like the girl who gets sent home the first night on the Bachelor, who doesn’t even get a write-up on a recap blog.

  Under the table, Zoey grabs my hand. She knows how much it secretly bothers me. And how, ever since my older brother started having kids, I’ve dreamed of having a family of my own. Somehow, people get the idea that because I’m sarcastic, a total computer geek, and dye my hair (it’s currently blonde with the bottom half pink), that I don’t hear my biological clock ticking like a time bomb. Even in a city like Austin, which has a much more artsy vibe, people carry a subconscious idea of what a mom should look or act like. And that idea is definitely not me.