Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

Carter leans back in his chair, completely unaffected by my denial. His eyes sparkle and his white teeth flash as he baits me. “Am I so repulsive that you won’t even hear me out?”


I’m quiet, my brain spitting piss and fire that my mouth would never say, even though I’ve been waiting for a chance to tell Carter what I think of him. Except this time, the words pour out in all their flat and dull honesty. “Physically, no. And you know it, which is part of the problem. Emotionally, I’m pretty sure you have the maturity of an eighteen-year-old boy on a Spring Break weekend, so despite your business success, I have no interest in helping you scam someone into signing their life and funds away to you.”

Whew! Guess I’ve been holding on to more than I thought about my brother’s best friend.

There’s a flash in Carter’s eyes, but I must’ve imagined it because he doesn’t have the emotional depth to feel hurt. Especially based on an insult from someone like me.

“Luna! That’s not what he does and not what we’re asking you to do!” Zack hisses.

Carter holds up a hand, and to my chagrin, Zack leans back and gives him the floor. “I’m hearing that you think I’m attractive and successful, but immature and immoral.” I’m actually surprised he could hear the negatives through the fog of his inflated ego. When I stay silent, he continues, “Give me the chance to prove you wrong. Please. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise you that.”

With that solemn vow, he stands, gives Zack a nod, and struts out of the café. I definitely don’t notice that his long legs eat up the ground toward the bookstore door. But Lydia must because she yells, “Come back anytime! Especially Mondays and Thursdays for the dinner shift!”

I glare at her, and she shrugs. “He’s cuter than Economics Alex, and definitely richer. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“She’s got a point.” Zack’s agreement only adds to my annoyance. “I don’t know why you’ve never liked Carter. He’s a good guy.”

I press my lips together, fighting the urge to argue with him. Zack depends on Carter to fund their real estate business, so he’s loyal. But when you get into bed with the devil, you’re going to get burned. No matter how many times I’ve warned Zack, he doesn’t see it.

“Agree to disagree.”

Zack sighs heavily. “Look, I’m asking as a personal favor, plus I’ll buy you all the books you could ever want, and Carter really will pay you. All he needs are a couple of tutoring sessions on art so he can approach this potential client. I know you don’t care, but he needs a win.”

My brother cannot be serious right now. But he seems to be. “Carter’s whole life is one big Powerball lottery prize.”

“I’m surprised at you,” Zack says with a judgmental frown. “You know better than anyone that money isn’t everything and doesn’t make you happy. Like you, you might struggle sometimes, but you stay strong on doing what you love because it’s what makes you happy. I’ve always admired that.”

That was actually . . . sweet, which is not something I’m used to hearing from my brother.

“For people like Carter and me, closing a solid deal is what makes us happy.”

There go any warm fuzzies I might’ve been developing. That’s part of the problem I have with Carter. He’s turned Zack into whoever this is sitting across from me.

“Do it for me, Moony,” he asks sweetly. “Please?”

Ugh. He pulled out the nickname only he has ever been allowed to use because he’s the one who gave it to me. Apparently, I went through a bit of a nudist phase as a toddler and liked to run around the house naked. That, coupled with my name, earned me the nickname ‘Full Moon’, which was shortened to Moony over time. And using that means he’s pulling out the big guns.

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Fine, but no promises. I can’t possibly make him an expert in a “couple” of tutoring sessions. Tell him to meet me at my place tomorrow at eight P.M. sharp. I’m only doing this for you, and I already regret it.”

“It’ll be fine. He just needs to be conversational. And thank you.”

Zack stands, probably trying to make a run for it before I change my mind, but I clear my throat. “Unless you’re leaving your card with me, we have some shopping to do before you go.”

He laughs and throws a twenty on the table for Lydia. Considering he only got a cup of coffee and she packed my salad and latte to-go, that’s generous. I hate to admit it, because I do live frugally to be able to chase my passions, but money is a necessity and Lydia will be grateful for the tip on a slow Monday night.

But my Mama didn’t raise a fool, and I’m still getting the new books Zack promised me. “Come on, the art history section is back here.”





CHAPTER

THREE





CARTER





I look up and down the hall as I wait for Luna to answer her door. The building isn’t what I expected for Zack’s little sister. He owns several rental properties, a couple of Airbnbs, a commercial strip mall that’s fully occupied, and his own home. Yet, his sister is living one step above a dorm. It’s clean, but bland and basic.

The door opens, and I forget all about the boring building. She’s . . . a vision.

“What’re you doing here? Our session isn’t till eight.”

Her hair is piled on top of her head, her black-rimmed glasses are slid down her nose, her pink sweatpants are slung around her hips, and her cropped gray T-shirt has fallen off her shoulder to reveal the straps of a white sports bra. For some reason, there’s also a black smudge on her right cheek.

And it’s cute as fuck.

“Huh?” I ask in confusion. She makes it sound like I’m interrupting something in her busy schedule. There’s only one issue with that. “It’s two minutes after.”

“What?” Her brows scrunch together in confusion as she looks over her shoulder. She must see a clock somewhere because she shrugs carelessly. “Oh. I was doing yoga, and then I got caught up with work, I guess. Come in.”

Inside, I’m greeted with a tiny studio filled with a hodge-podge of furniture that reminds me of a post-college dumpster diving collection. Not that I ever did that. My college experience was one of private apartments decorated by the designer my mother hired, and since then, my homes have been the same.

But where my homes have abstract, forgettable art to fill the walls, Luna’s apartment is filled with canvases in a myriad of styles. From here, I can see every wall of the small space, each of them covered floor to ceiling with colorful pops of eye candy. There’s so much to look at that I can’t even absorb it all at once. “Interesting place.”

“Interesting,” Luna says, though I’m not sure whether she’s echoing me or making her own comment on my judgment. She walks past me into the single room. “Have a seat.”