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

I start with the dinner—how Carter kissed me in front of everyone and kept his hand on my thigh the whole time. I kick my shoes off as I relive the foot massage with her, sit on the couch as I tell her about letting Carter’s fingers do the walking right up to my center, and then mindlessly bounce my knees as I reveal how we had sex.

I look up to judge her reaction, but she’s wearing the blank, non-judgmental therapist’s face she’s been working to perfect, not her bestie face. “What?”

She blinks patiently, letting the quiet grow. “What else?”

“Huh? That’s everything.”

She tilts her head curiously, still silent. I sigh and confess, “It was so damn good, Sam. Better than I ever dreamed. Carter’s got a filthy mouth, and I loved it. He made me ask to co—”

Sam holds up a finger to stop me and asks tightly, “He denied you pleasure?”

My eyes drop to where I’m fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “No, definitely not. It was . . . to show I was a good girl.”

“Ooh, I like where this is going!” When I risk glancing up, Samantha’s therapist face is completely gone and she’s smiling widely. “And were you a good girl?” she teases.

I giggle and nod. “A very good one.”

“Then I’m confused. So, why are you here?”

And poof, there goes my good mood again.

“He, uhm . . .” I swallow, not wanting to say it aloud because it’ll make it real. Right now, I can pretend it was a nightmare. Why not? It’s no different than pretending I’m Carter’s wife.

Except the way I felt with Carter inside me. That was real.

“Luna?” Sam says gently as she scoots next to me on the couch.

“Afterward, he flipped out.”

She flinches. “Flipped out how, exactly? Are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Not like that,” I say quickly. Sam’s ride or die, and if I don’t call her off, she’d be busting down Carter’s door. With a kitchen knife and the Taser she carries on campus.

“Okay.” She sighs in relief.

I’ve told Samantha a lot, nearly everything. We’ve talked about sex for hours . . . in theory. I’ve helped her study for countless tests, read her research papers, and we’ve talked about past partners. Hers, obviously, though I’ve shared my paltry experiences. I’ve just never explicitly told her . . .

“I haven’t done it with an actual person before tonight. Well, other than oral,” I confess quietly.

“Hadn’t. You have now.” The correction is delivered with a waggle of her eyebrows. She doesn’t seem shocked in the slightest. When I look at her questioningly, she laughs. “Did you think I didn’t know that? It’s literally going to be my job to know the things people don’t tell me and lead them to discover themselves. For now, that’s easiest with people I know well—like my friends.”

That makes sense, but I still feel vulnerable that she knew. What else does she know about me that I haven’t figured out?

“I guess I thought it was kinda my secret,” I agree solemnly. Meeting her eyes, I confess, “It was amazing, Sam. But he regretted it. While he was still inside me.”

“Shit. Ouch.” She’s thoughtful for a moment and then asks, “What about you? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about Carter Harrington or his feelings. All I care about is you.”

I search my heart, my body, and my mind. “The only thing I regret is that I left my panties on his coffee table.”

She glances down at my legs, following them under my dress. “Alexa, remind me to clean my couch before class tomorrow,” she blurts to the room.

The automated voice repeats the message.

She laughs in shock, and then we’re both laughing. I flop back on the couch, and her eyes go wide as my legs flail.

“Quit acting like I have my bare business on your couch!”

She purses her lips, looking doubtful. “So you did take my advice and wax the wild jungle?”

I swat her leg as I gasp in offense. “It was not wild down there.”

“Well, obviously, not anymore.” She adopts a Steve Irwin documentary-style voice, “What was once natural bush has been tamed and civilized. Like a national park.”

“Thanks. I feel better,” I tell Sam sarcastically, still laughing a bit. “I think I’m going to go home. I want a shower, my tablet, and maybe a good night’s sleep.”

“You sure?”

I am. Tonight might’ve been nothing like I thought it would be, and Carter might be nothing like I thought either, but sex with him was good and I’m going to hold onto that.

“Let it gooooo . . . let it goooo . . .” I sing, holding my arms out wide. “I’m good.”

Stealing the tune, she suggests, “Maybe try . . . Carter’s a fuckin’ hoooo . . . oh noooo . . .”

About to walk out the door, I pause. “What’s the deal with Rebecca and the raccoon tail butt plug?”

Sam zips her lips. “Patient-therapist confidentiality.” She winks and adds, “Except it’s not a real patient or real group, just a client study where we role play. However, on a completely unrelated note, you know how I said people discover themselves? Have you ever heard of a furry? Because someone in my study group has some shit to learn . . . about themselves.”





CHAPTER

NINETEEN





CARTER





It’s time to deal with what I’ve done. At least in one way, which is why I’m back at my parents’ house. The other issue with Luna? I’m not sure what the hell to do about it.

I purposefully guide Dad to the living room for our talk, wanting to avoid his office and the power play inherent to it this time. Sitting on the couch, my hands clasped between my knees, I implore him to understand. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I told you the whole family dinner song and dance was overkill.”

“You think the family dinner was the issue? That’s what was overkill?” he barks, leaning forward in the chair with his eyes drilling into me. “Not the lie in the first place?” He presses his finger into the coffee table. “Or not telling us before dinner?” Another finger press.

He shakes his head, obviously frustrated. “What the fuck, Carter? We don’t do business this way. You know that.”

The disappointment in his eyes cuts deep. As much as I hate to admit it, on some level, I’m still the boy trying to garner his dad’s approval. I look down at my shoes, then study the rug between them. It’s Persian, with swirling designs in various shades of blue. I think Mom bought it the last time she redecorated, or maybe it was the time before that. But the answers aren’t in the fibers beneath me.

I look Dad in the eye, ready to take my lumps. “I wanted the deal. For Elena, for Blue Lake, and mostly, for me. I can bring in clients myself, manage my own accounts. I’ve been doing it for years. But this one? I knew it was a big deal and wanted it. I was . . . am willing to do whatever it takes. Including learning about art or taking in a ringer to seal the deal.”

Dad listens, though he huffs in exasperation before he answers snidely, “You think this is how to show me what you’re capable of?”

Throwing my arms wide, I shout, “It wasn’t just about that. But now that you mention it, well, nothing else was working!”