My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,80
myself to do anything but put on the brakes. I can’t bring myself to do anything but end this before it goes too far.
I want Maybe more than my next fucking breath, but I can’t make her mine; I can’t slide my cock inside her unless it’s for the right reasons.
Unless real feelings are involved.
More like, unless she feels the way you feel…
Holy shit. I am in way deeper with her than I even realized…
Yeah, you bastard. You’re pretty much in as deep as one person can go at this point.
Ah fuck. I shut my eyes briefly and look away from her, and when I open them, the very last thing I would ever want to see stares back at me from across the room.
A picture of Maybe with Evan.
My best friend. Her brother.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Something that feels a lot like freaking out starts to take over, and I try to breathe through it. But when I move my eyes back to Maybe, I can’t stop myself from feeling like the biggest asshole that’s ever lived.
I am in love with her. My best friend’s sister.
And I am the only one who knows it.
Even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I press one final kiss to Maybe’s lips and stand up from the bed.
“W-what are you doing?” she asks, her eyes searching mine in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t,” I whisper back. “I just can’t.”
Immediately, I start to doubt myself. I start to wonder if it’s all in my head.
“You can’t what?” Maybe pushes herself up on her elbows. “You can’t have s-sex with me? You can’t fuck me?”
I cringe at her last question, and it solidifies my decision.
Her first time shouldn’t involve the word fuck at all.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, and I feel my lips turn down at the corners. “I can’t.”
You could never be a simple fuck. You mean too much to me for that.
I open my mouth to try to verbalize how I’m feeling, but I don’t have a fucking clue what to say. How can I tell her how I’m feeling when I’m just now starting to understand it?
“Wow. Okay,” she mutters. “Well, then, I guess you can just go.”
Shit. Say something. “Maybe, it’s not—” I start to say, but she cuts me off at the fucking legs.
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Maybe—”
“I said, leave!”
Fuck, this isn’t how I pictured this night ending.
Maybe
Something is ringing, and I hate it.
I groan and pull the comforter back over my head and shut my eyes tighter.
But it’s no use. Someone is calling me, and they evidently don’t know I’ve decided to spend the rest of my life in bed. Well, not the rest of my life, but more like until I have to wake up and head to Wendy’s Bridal to meet my mom and Sadie and the rest of the bridesmaids for our final fittings.
Another stupid ring fills my ears, and I blink open my eyes and reach out from beneath my blankets to snag my phone from the nightstand.
Still under the covers, I squint to check the caller, but my vision is too damn blurry to make out what’s on the screen. From what I can see, it’s just a bunch of damn numbers.
I make a mental note to change my ring tone because it’s quite possibly the most annoying sound that’s ever existed and hit accept on the caller, fully expecting some asshole telemarketer to be on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” I grumble and shut my eyes again.
“Hi, is this Maybe Willis?”
“Yep. You got her.” And I guarantee I don’t want whatever shit you’re peddling.
“Oh hello, Maybe,” the man greets in a friendly voice. “This is Taylor McHough.”
That name has me sitting straight up in my bed.
“Taylor McHough?” I question and blink my eyes several times. “With Beacon House?”
“That’s me. Did I interrupt something?”
“Uh…no…no, not all,” I stammer.
“Well, I apologize for calling you on a Saturday, but I didn’t want to wait until Monday,” he continues. “I really enjoyed our chat yesterday, and after speaking with a few of the editors on my team, we’ve all come to the conclusion that you would be a fantastic asset at Beacon House.”
“I would?”
“You definitely would,” he responds, and I can hear a hint of a smile in his voice. “So, Maybe Willis, consider this an official job offer.”