My Best Friend's Sister: A Forbidden Romance (The Masons Book 1) Read online

  M Y B E S T F R I E N D ’ S

  S I S T E R

  A F O R B I D D E N R O M A N C E

  Hazel Kelly

  © 2019 Hazel Kelly

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, organizations, and settings is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Artwork – © 2019 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  P R O L O G U E

  O N E

  T W O

  T H R E E

  F O U R

  F I V E

  S I X

  S E V E N

  E I G H T

  N I N E

  T E N

  E L E V E N

  T W E L V E

  T H I R T E E N

  F O U R T E E N

  F I F T E E N

  S I X T E E N

  S E V E N T E E N

  E I G H T E E N

  N I N E T E E N

  T W E N T Y

  T W E N T Y O N E

  T W E N T Y T W O

  T W E N T Y T H R E E

  T W E N T Y F O U R

  T W E N T Y F I V E

  T W E N T Y S I X

  T W E N T Y S E V E N

  T W E N T Y E I G H T

  T W E N T Y N I N E

  T H I R T Y

  T H I R T Y O N E

  T H I R T Y T W O

  T H I R T Y T H R E E

  T H I R T Y F O U R

  T H I R T Y F I V E

  T H I R T Y S I X

  T H I R T Y S E V E N

  T H I R T Y E I G H T

  T H I R T Y N I N E

  F O R T Y

  F O R T Y O N E

  F O R T Y T W O

  F O R T Y T H R E E

  F O R T Y F O U R

  F O R T Y F I V E

  F O R T Y S I X

  F O R T Y S E V E N

  F O R T Y E I G H T

  F O R T Y N I N E

  F I F T Y

  F I F T Y O N E

  F I F T Y T W O

  F I F T Y T H R E E

  F I F T Y F O U R

  F I F T Y F I V E

  F I F T Y S I X

  F I F T Y S E V E N

  E P I L O G U E

  N O T E F R O M T H E A U T H O R

  O T H E R S E R I E S

  B Y H A Z E L K E L L Y

  P R O L O G U E

  I’m not an anxious person, but Quinn Draper has always made me nervous.

  Okay, so that’s a lie. I am an anxious person. Have been as long as I can remember. Fortunately, I’m also good at hiding my true feelings.

  I have my siblings to thank for that. My older sister with her intimidating academic prowess and my older brother with his showstopping charisma. It’s always been easy to hide in their shadows.

  When I tell people I’m the youngest in my family, they roll their eyes like they know the type. Spoiled. Coddled. The kind of person who always has to be the center of attention. But they’re wrong about me. I’m an introvert. I prefer the fringes. Flying under the radar.

  It’s not as easy as it used to be, though. Now that I’m an adult, I can’t count on my siblings to constantly retrain the spotlight on them, allowing me to tread undetected through the unpredictable waters of the real world. If only my confidence weren’t so fake. Everything would be so much easier.

  And no one reminds me of that more than Quinn Draper. He’s the walking, talking opposite of my comfort zone, and he sees through my bullshit. My insecurities. That’s why I feel so vulnerable when he’s around. So…under-clothed.

  Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t even know me.

  Still, every bone in my body senses danger when he’s around. Because he’s one of those bullies who intuitively knows just what to say to break your heart, ruin your reputation, and force you under a hot spotlight you weren’t ready to step into, a spotlight that will expose you for the nervous, unprepared imposter that you are.

  Yet he never says more than two words to me. As if he knows that’s the surest way to drive me crazy.

  And I hate him for it. Always have.

  Always will.

  O N E

  - Madeline-

  Ever since I started using Uber, I’d been conducting unofficial research about whether drivers were happy working for the company. I didn’t know why. Maybe it’s because I didn’t trust headlines anymore or maybe it’s because asking people about their flexible work hours was a handy way to get them in a good mood and talking about themselves.

  Whatever compelled the urge, I couldn’t seem to stop it. But that was fine by me. Beat awkward silences any day. Or worse, having the driver ask me questions. If I wanted that kind of hassle, I’d run errands with my mother.

  Truthfully, though, their responses were irrelevant. If every Uber driver on the planet told me that the company paid them minimum wage and whipped them every time they showed up to collect it, I probably wouldn’t stop using the app. It’s too damn convenient, and it’s saved me a buttload of cash.

  Maybe that makes me a terrible person. Or God forbid, a millennial. But taking cabs wasn’t a vintage experience worth paying for like listening to vinyl records, for example. Otherwise, all the hipsters in Chicago would insist on paying more for the privilege. Instead, they’d rather bike around rain or shine. Because as everyone knows, there’s nothing hip about overpaying for transportation.

  The same went for dating sites, which reminded me, I hadn’t swiped in hours. God forbid there was a sufferable suitor out there bursting to send me an obscene message. Frankly, the more obscene the better, since I desperately needed a distraction from the fact that I couldn’t afford to take the internship offer I just got. Not that I’d broken the news yet.

  I opened the app as my driver, a middle-aged woman with middle-sized dreads, started complaining about her son’s gaming addiction. But before I could start swiping, my sister’s face popped up on my phone. I apologized to the driver as a courtesy before answering the call. “Please don’t tell me you’re not going.”

  “You know I’m not going,” she said. “I told you the second James invited us.”

  My blood pressure spiked. Maeve was supposed to be my lifeline at this thing. Standing by the appetizers and talking shit about James’s obnoxiously fancy friends was literally plan A through C. “He’s our brother! He’s going away for six months!”

  “I know,” she said, making a sound like she’d just finished chewing something. “To London.”

  “It’s across the ocean!”

  “I’m morally opposed to going away parties if you’re going somewhere cooler than here,” she said. “How about someone throws me a staying-put party? Like, surprise, Maeve, we all got together today to say how awesome it is that you haven’t jumped off your building on your lunch break at any point in the last five years.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not like I would actually do it,” she said. “I’m just trying to make a point. Apparently, it is a thing in Japan, though. People are so overworked they have nets at the top of skyscrapers to catch them when they fall.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Not enou gh staying-put parties happening there either, if you ask me.”

  I sighed. “What are you going to do instead?”

  “I’m staying in to swipe.”

  I laughed. “Since when do you use Tinder?”

  “Since never, but I got a binder from a sperm bank today full of potential—”

  “What?!” I asked, my eyes doubling in size.

  “Don’t freak out,” she said. “I haven’t agreed to anything besides swiping through the booklet to learn more about the swimmers on offer.”

  I hugged my small purse to my stomach. “I thought you were joking when you said you were going to look into that. You’re not even old.”

  “I’m no spring chicken, either.”

  “I take it back. Anyone who uses the phrase spring chicken is ancient.”

  “Maybe I’ll find someone for you, too.”

  I scoffed. “The last blind date you sent me on was a disaster. You seriously think I’d let you set me up with a sperm donor?” I glanced at the rearview mirror and appreciated that the driver didn’t meet my eye. “If you want a baby so bad, why don’t you just get a boyfriend?”

  The woman bit back a smile as she made a left-hand turn.

  “It’ll be the same, I promise. It’ll fart and burp and insist on being half naked most of the time, and it’ll get cranky if you don’t let it play with your boobs.” Thank God the driver was a woman. I never would’ve been so blunt in front of a man.

  “A boyfriend can’t give me the unconditional love I deserve.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Neither can a teenager.”

  “I’d have years to prepare for that.”

  “Can we discuss this later?” I asked. “I’m in an Uber.”

  “Sure,” she said, like we’d been talking about something as inconsequential as where we might go for brunch this weekend. “I wasn’t calling about that anyway. I wanted to know if you’d heard back from BELLE about the Look Book you sent in.”

  My heart grew heavy. “I did, yeah.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, even though she was clearly chewing. Probably on those dehydrated sugar snap peas she was addicted to. Which was the problem with Maeve—her only problem, really. She was an intense, all-or-nothing kind of girl. Part of me feared she’d be inseminated by the end of the week now that she’d decided having a baby was the next landmark on her personal ladder of achievement.

  “They offered me an internship.”

  “That’s awesome!”

  “It’s unpaid, though,” I said. “Apart from reimbursement for basic travel expenses.”

  “So? Surely you have savings.”

  I groaned inside. “No. That’s you.”

  She responded with a muted grunt of disapproval that she definitely picked up from my mother.

  “And since I can barely pay my half of the rent as it is—”

  “Why doesn’t Kiki’s boyfriend start chipping in?” she asked. “Didn’t you say he practically lives with you guys now?”

  “As a matter of fact, he does absolutely nothing but that, far as I can tell.” I thought back to this morning when I walked in on him smiling at the Calvin & Hobbes book he kept beside the toilet. It must’ve been the twentieth time he’d failed to lock the door, and I was starting to think he wanted me to catch him taking a shit. “Unfortunately, I think Kiki would be more likely to kick me out than ask him for money. She’s too intoxicated by his infatuation with her.”

  “Maybe a boyfriend is all I need.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’d offer to let you move in with me, but I don’t have the space.”

  Or the patience, I wanted to say. “That’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Why don’t you move in to James’s place while he’s away?”

  “Doesn’t he live with Quinn?” I asked, as if I wasn’t sure.

  “Last I checked.”

  I grunted my disapproval, just as she had. Perhaps my mother’s ticks were more contagious than I thought.

  “Does that matter?” she asked. “It sounds like you already live with someone you hate.”

  “You have a point there.”

  “I know. And BELLE won’t wait for you forever,” she said, popping a cork on her end, since her screw-top days ended with her last promotion. “Mention it to James tonight once he’s good and sauced. He’ll say yes. He’d do anything to help you out.”

  “True,” I said… But would Quinn?

  T W O

  - Quinn -

  I was disappointed when James told me about his contract abroad. Not that I admitted that to him. Expressing private feelings wasn’t really my thing.

  Besides, he was obviously thrilled, so what could I do except insist it would be a great opportunity and wish him good luck? Regrettably, however, the high road made my neck hot, so I also added that I hoped he liked sloppy seconds because I was going to blow through every woman in the windy city while he was gone. God knows why. I guess I thought it would make me feel better.

  Not that we shared women. We weren’t those guys who compared notes and talked about women’s sexual quirks over Pabst. The way Amber’s thin lips never quite covered her teeth and the way Claudine would stick a finger in your ass if you weren’t paying attention. That type of behavior was so tacky it didn’t bear thinking about. And I’m not just talking about Amber and Claudine.

  Another unwritten rule was that sisters were off-limits, which, as an only child, I couldn’t help but take personally. Not that James ever looked my way when he reminded Pete and Tanner to keep their wandering eyes to themselves. Guess he trusted me.

  Too bad I didn’t trust me.

  That’s why I never said more than two words to his little sister. Because if I allowed myself three, I was afraid of what I might say, what I might reveal.

  Fortunately, after years of my dad telling me to “suck it up” and “show no weakness,” being cold came naturally to me. It was great for business, too. And poker. I didn’t have any tells, and that was the way I liked it. People knew what I told them and nothing more, which meant the ball was always in my court.

  Except, of course, when my best wingman fucked off on me. Not that I begrudged James the opportunity to chase English pussy and drink ale for six months, but he was the only down-to-earth person I saw day in and day out. And that worried me because I was afraid if I never saw anyone but the egomaniacal agents and athletes I worked with, I might become an even bigger asshole than I already was.

  “Why the long face?” James asked, slapping me on the back as he came to grab another beer from the fridge.

  “Thought your flight was today and just realized you’re still here.”

  The smile lines around his eyes deepened. “You’re going to miss me.”

  “Think you’re confusing me with Alicia.”

  He scrunched his nose, giving away the fact that he felt a little guilty about what a nice party she’d thrown him. Even her cocktail dress was trying too hard amidst a sea of dark-washed denim. Poor girl had been trying to turn their casual hookups into something more for almost a year and still couldn’t see that it was in vain.

  He didn’t love her and was never going to. He wasn’t a dick about it. It’s not like he led her on or made empty promises he had no intention of keeping. But he also never turned down a guys’ night to take her out or went out of his way to spend time with her outside the group. Why did women do this to themselves? If a guy was a dead end, going around the cul-de-sac a few more times wasn’t going to change anything. Move on. Have some fucking self-respect.

  “She outdid herself a bit, didn’t she?”

  I stared at him. “There’s a helium machine in her entryway closet.”

  His eyes scanned the balloon arches over the kitchen doorways. They were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the Union Jack print ones in her spacious sitting room that spelled out his name. “What were you d oing in her hall closet?”

  “Hanging my coat,” I said, biting my tongue before adding that any coat that could be thrown in a haphazard coat pile probably wasn’t worth owning.

  “At least she didn’t blow them up herself,” he said, his face twisting with regret. “That would be worse.”

  “Saving her energy for you no doubt. Bet the one she gives you for the road will be a good one.” I raised my eyebrows and tilted my Peroni against my lips.

  “You can’t break up with someone you’re not going out with.”

  “Don’t feel you have to explain yourself to me,” I said. “I’m not here to judge.”

  “What are you here to do?” he asked, cocking his head my way.

  “See you off in style,” I said, clinking my bottle against his. “While scouting out potential guests for the orgies I plan to host while you’re away.”

  A scoff escaped his mouth as his little sister peeked her head through the open doorway. Her face lit up when she saw him, and I only registered how buzzed he was when he shouted her name too loud and threw his hands up in an enthusiastic V.

  He gave her a big hug, and my jaw clenched as he squeezed her tighter and lifted her slight frame off the ground.

  When he lowered her back to the floor, her hands smoothed down the fabric of her flower-print dress, which had a flirty ruffle at the bottom that I wished I could tear off so it would be a few inches shorter. Her doe eyes met mine as she tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

  “Hey Maddy.”

  A shy smile pulled at her lips. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  I didn’t even want to blink when she was in the room. “Did you?”

  “Of course,” she said as James went to grab a Smirnoff Ice for her. “That’s all you ever say.”

  “What would you like me to say?” I asked, holding her gaze. That you look beautiful tonight? That if you weren’t my best friend’s little sister, I’d give you a lot more than words? That every time I see you, I’m convinced Helen of Troy must’ve really existed because I would cross an ocean and fight in a war just to see you smile, just to see you yawn? That the night I held your hair back when you visited James at school was the most I’ve ever laughed with a woman? That I wished you remembered that? That I wished you knew how hard I fell for you when you insisted on going back to the party having forgotten you’d used your thong to tie your hair back? That you’re my fucking dream girl?