How (Not) to Date Your Brother's Best Friend

SAMANTHA

Stephen. His name glared at her in stark white on the phone screen. Her big brother—with a knack for timing. At least, unlike their parents, he made an effort.

The heir, the golden child, the boy. She used to pity him. Restricted from stepping out of line, perfect grades, competitive programs, and involvement in everything. Stephen never complained, never a word out of place.

Now, his behavior had its flaws. In high school and university, he got into a bit of trouble—with Chase. Stephen wasn’t allowed many friends, but Chase was an exception. Something about their mother knowing Chase’s parents…who passed away when he was a kid. He had ended up being raised by his aunt and uncle.

So, his pedigree checked out, and Stephen and Chase became best friends. Samantha, on the other hand, had been allowed limited friends…aka…~girls~. At least until she was eighteen.

Chase had been the only boy she knew. Hence the little crush. Tiny crush.

When she had walked out, and they had let her, Stephen hadn’t spoken a word. He hadn’t come to her defense, he hadn’t told their father he had been irrational with his demands. No, he had remained a loyal son.

She should pick it up.

Samantha glanced up, confirming no customers were roaming around, and then she picked up the call.

“Stephen.”

“Is that how you greet your loving older brother?”

“Sir Hastings?”

“Ha. Ha. Funny girl.”

Ding-ding.

Great, a customer had walked in.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m at work.”

“Work being?”

“~None of your beeswax.”

“Polite as always.”

“I could have said none of your fucking business.”

“Sam.”

“Stephen.”

He sighed into the phone. “Are you…fine? Safe?”

“You ask me the same question every time. My answer is always the same.”

“Is this better than home?”

“I don’t know, is it better than being someone’s Stepford wife? I think so.”

“Sam…”

“Are we doing this again? Look, if you called to know if I’m miserable… I’m not.”

“No…that’s not why I called.”

“~Then out with it, I’m at work. I can’t be on the phone the whole time.”

“Dad has been talking about you.”

“Let me guess, he’s been talking about what a disappointment I am. Or maybe, he’s been telling everybody I’m in rehab? Overseas to study? What’s his little story so he can save the family the embarrassment of having me as a daughter?”

Silence.

“Stephen?”

There was a squeezing in her stomach, fear flooding her bloodstream. Why wasn’t he replying?

“I-I… I don’t know if Dad will let you do your thing forever.”

Sam flicked her tongue against the top of her palate. Control freak. “Sucks to be Dad, then. I’m an adult. I don’t need his permission to do anything.”

“Samantha…Dad…he gets… Dad is Dad.”

“I know how he gets. That’s why I left. So, sorry to burst his bubble, but I’m never coming back. I’d rather live in the streets.”

“I would never let my sister live in the streets.”

“And we both know you’ll never go against Dad, so. Here we are.”

“Sammy… I worry about you.”

“I’m fine, dummy. Now, bye. Before you cost me my job. ”

She hung up, cutting off any chance for her brother to drop more nuggets of wisdom. Slamming her phone on the glass counter, Sam felt her heart racing. No backing down—she was an adult, after all. They would have to drag her back kicking and screaming.

Except, kicking and screaming was daddy dearest’s special move. He could turn her life into a living sitcom of horror, making her return against her will. The man had a PhD in manipulating situations, after all. He could have her declared insane, unfit…

Sam lived by one ironclad rule: do not make waves. As long as she didn’t turn into the family’s black sheep or do anything to dent her father’s picture-perfect reputation, she was safe.

Sure, she did as she pleased, but she tiptoed through life, ensuring her antics didn’t become anything attention-grabbing. The motto was clear—have fun, but make sure it’s not fun enough for the spotlight.

Samantha smoothened her bangs, running her fingers until she reached the blue hair tie keeping her ponytail up. Only fifteen more minutes of this torture, and then she could go home, open a bottle of wine, and pass out on the couch.

Piece of cake.

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Sam leaned on the marble counter, her elbow pressing into its cool surface. The store was as lively as a ghost town, leaving her utterly alone.

Stephen’s calls, her dad’s constant control-freak mode—it kind of ticked her off even more, especially considering what had happened with Chase.

Who did he think he was?

Her protective older brother? The very idea of having a crush on him made her despise herself. Sure, Chase Bennett was undeniably attractive—irresistible even. With his dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a physique carved like a Greek god, he embodied perfection. She hadn’t seen his bare chest or abs yesterday, but she didn’t need to in order to know that he was chiseled to perfection.

Chase Bennett was all muscles.

SLAM!

The sudden sound of something slamming onto the counter jolted Samantha, causing her to jump in surprise and let out a startled yelp. Her hand instinctively covered her racing heart as her eyes widened, fixing on the source of her abrupt awakening.

Motherfreaking Chase.

Seriously?

She had been grinding away at this job for ages, right next to his shop, and she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him once. Now, he had appeared twice in two days? It didn’t seem fair.

She did struggle to hold down a job—not the point, Sam.

“Sam?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he leaned closer as if verifying that it was indeed her. Yeah, who else would find themselves in this embarrassing situation? It’s Sam! TA-DA! After a nice snappy, I’m a big girl talk…here she was.

“Anything else?”

“W-what?”

“Do you want anything else?” she said, before pointing at the chocolate bar with her chin. No small talk, no backing down. Part of her wasn’t convinced this was a complete accident. After all this time? Nuh-uh.

“Hm, no?”

Sam swiftly grabbed the chocolate from the counter, scanning it with a beep that broke the heavy silence between them. “A dollar forty-four,” she declared.

He looked at her, making no move to retrieve any money as if he were processing the situation. Seriously? He had seen where she lived, seen her beat-up car. Did he expect her to have a fancy job?

“A dollar forty-four,” she repeated, her patience waning.

Chase let out a breath and reached into his pocket, retrieving some change. Finally. He placed it silently on the counter, keeping his index finger on top of it.

“You have to give me the money. That’s how it works,” Sam reminded him, eyeing the coins intently.

“Yes, I know.”

He hadn’t called her so… “So it’s safe to assume my car is ~not~ good to go?”

He chuckled. “That’d be a good assumption.”

Sam groaned, throwing her head back. Wonderful. “Got a timeline for me?”

“Gimme two days. If I had the pieces…but you’ve got a really—really… Really old car.”

Yes, why not shove the knife a little deeper? Awesome. “It’s all I can afford.”

“A falling apart piece of junk is all Samantha Hastings can afford?”

Her full name coming out of his mouth felt wrong somehow.

“Guess my big bro hasn’t had any time for his best friend lately.”

There was a pause and she silently cursed. Hit a nerve, Sam. Great going. Though, maybe if he hadn’t been poking his nose where it did not belong, it wouldn’t have happened.

“Guess so,” Chase replied, the words clipped.

“Bus it is,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Did you need it to go to work? ”

“I can take the bus.”

“Sam, you’re not taking the bus in front of your place.”

“I’ve done it before Dad.”

“Oh nope, nope. Mission abort. Didn’t care for that.” What is wrong with you, Sam? Maybe she did need to have some ~alone~ time. Then she could screw her head on right. ~It would be fine~.

“I’m trying to help.”

“No, you’re trying to decide my life for me. I had that already. Didn’t care for it, and here we are.”

There was silence on the line, and for a second, she thought maybe he hung up. But then, he ~sighed~.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know you. It’s not my place to judge.”

I don’t know you… That one hurt more than it should.

Chase ran his fingers through his hair, flattening the mess of locks on top of his head. “I—Sam, can we talk?” he ventured.

Sam. He always used to call her Sam. Even now, after all this time, the nickname seemed to slip from his tongue so naturally.

“Talk about what?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, are you?”

She didn’t like the way he looked at her, with those eyes. Because she despised pity and didn’t want it.

It wasn’t fair because it wasn’t shameful. She had worked hard to attain what she had…

Plus why did he get to judge? He wasn’t fancy, his life wasn’t so much better than hers.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice tight. “Can we talk? ~Please~?”

She used to talk to him—when she was a dumb teenager and he had better things to do. But maybe he was asking for Stephen… But if he were, would he really look ~this~ shocked? Was Chase ~that good~ of an actor?

Come on Sam…

“Fifteen minutes. Then my shift is over.” Sam raised one finger. “I’ll give you one conversation. Then, you will leave me alone.”

She shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t.

But she was.

Because he was looking at her with that face, ~that~ smile, and those ~eyes~.

“I’ll wait outside,” he replied, beaming a smile of pearly whites.

Yeah, not fair.

Finally, ten o’clock came and she was done. She was.

Samantha dragged her feet all the way to the door, half-hoping he had decided to walk away or had an emergency. Her keys jingled as she opened the door, stepped out, and closed it. Damn it.

She had seen him. From the corner of her eye.

He was there, leaning on his motorcycle with his arms crossed. Which made his arms look bigger, and his chest more wide. Not that she noticed, because she did not. Sam took a deep breath, before turning around, fighting the tingle in her fingers that told her to smooth her hair.

Nope, didn’t care what stupid Chase Bennett thought.

This was a one-time conversation—to get rid of him and nothing more. So take that.

She marched toward him, more determined than ever, and stopped once she was in front of him, her shoulders pushed back and her chin up high.

But he was not the least bit intimidated. Instead, he smiled at her before reaching for the extra helmet and he handed it to her. ~Damn motorcycle ride again~.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Your place or mine?”

It was innocent.

A very innocent question.

With no disgusting, mind in the gutter, second meaning.

Yet, there was a little ~pull~ in her stomach, a little waver in her determination. For a second. Okay, okay, maybe like ~two~ seconds. Maybe teenage Sam would have lost her goddamn mind at hearing this proposition.

But she was grown up Sam. Who didn’t need anyone, or anything. And certainly not a fake, spy stand-in brother. So yeah. It didn’t do anything. No clenched legs, no little wave and flip-flops in her stomach. No sir no.

She was good.

“Mine,” she settled on answering as she yanked the helmet out of his hands.

If she said his place, he would keep badgering her. He would not believe she was fine. She would show Chase her place and he would see she didn’t need his help and she wasn’t some damsel in distress. It was the perfect opportunity since her roommate wasn’t around to get the wrong idea.

A very wrong idea. Because Sam didn’t bring men home.

And she didn’t need Chase to think there was something there.

There wasn’t.

Not that he would think that—because never in a million years would Chase see her as an actual real woman. Just a brat who couldn’t do anything by herself. ~But that was fine~.

“Need help hopping on?”

“No.”

He smirked, a burst of laughter escaping him as he nodded. “Okay then.”

Sam watched as Chase hopped on, holding the handles, and staring straight ahead, waiting for her to join him. Okay, so it was high. Not too high. A little high. She gripped the back, trying to avoid holding on to him, and grunted as she pulled herself up.

Not her most gracious moment, granted.

But after a few seconds—or was it minutes—of struggling, and feeling the vibration of Chase’s back as he held back laughter…she got on.

“I know how much you hate me, but if you don’t grab on, you might end up flying backward.”

Would it be so bad? Sounded like a good way to escape her shame.

Fine.

She reached for his sides, grabbing his jacket with her fingers and holding on to the fabric.

There, she was holding on to him.

“Okay, let’s head out Samantha.”