That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(26)

Just enough to have a wild affair with your best friend.

“I find time.” I yawn and try to smother it, but Eric is too quick.

“Man, I should have waited to call. I’m sorry, but I had to get something off my chest.”

Oh boy. Here it is. The reason. I brace myself, waiting for him to call me out on hooking up with Reid.

“Uh, what’s that?” I ask, holding my voice still, trying to hide my nerves.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Huh? Wasn’t expecting that.

“Apologize for what?”

“For not coming back to Port Snow on Dad’s death anniversary.”

Oh.

A wave of emotion hits me all at once. Sadness, appreciation, awkwardness. It’s all there.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine, Eve. It’s unacceptable. Ever since we lost Bar 79, I haven’t been the brother you deserve; I’ve dropped the ball on many things, especially when it comes to our parents. I shouldn’t let you be by yourself on those days.”

“I wasn’t. Reid was with me.”

Why did I just say that? Maybe because he’s on my brain. Maybe because I feel a little guilty about keeping Eric in the dark. Or maybe because Reid was truly there for me, and I want Eric to know that.

“Reid was there?” Confusion laces his question. “Wow, that’s really nice of him.”

“Yeah, well, he knew it was a tough day.” And then we totally did it later that night, but I’ll keep that to myself. “It was nice to have someone to lean on, but I know you were busy. You didn’t need to call to apologize.”

He’s silent for a few breaths, heightening the tension between us. It didn’t used to be like this; we weren’t always so awkward and clumsy with each other, but a lot of time and space have settled between us, almost too much. I wish he would move back, live out the dream we once shared, but after Bar 79 went under, so did the rest of our plans.

“I’m still sorry,” he finally says. “Really fucking sorry, Eve.”

I sigh and close my eyes, hating the pain I hear in his voice. “I know, Eric. I know.”



I’ve been to Reid’s houseboat a few times. It’s simple. A house on floats, seafoam green on the outside, and two stories tall, with a loft upstairs and a rooftop deck. Refurbished and the perfect bachelor pad for a guy who is trying to hide from the world. It’s just another place, and yet a wave of nerves hits me all at once as I step up onto the deck that leads to the entrance. The outside lights illuminate a path where the snow has been knocked away into the harbor, and salt has been dusted over the slick surface, giving me a straight shot to his home, like a shining invitation.

I make my way to the front door, and before I can knock, the door swings open, revealing Reid standing on the other side, wearing a pair of sweats and a Port Snow, Maine shirt that clings to every contour of his chest. His hair is damp, and there is a light in his eyes I haven’t seen in a long time.

“Took you long enough—get in here.”

He pulls me by the hand and slams the door shut before tipping up my chin and kissing me.

It’s been a week. One week of us “seeing” each other, and every time he goes to kiss me, it’s like he doesn’t even have to think about it. His kisses still startle me—but in the best way.

When he pulls away, he loops our hands together and walks me farther into his quaint little home. “I’m starving. Sit. Take your shoes off.”

He ushers me to his two-person dining table, which bears a small bud vase with one fresh daisy flower sticking out of it.

Oh my God, how cute. That’s when I take the time to glance around the houseboat. It’s different—fresher, more grown up than the last time I saw it, as if he gave it a quick makeover before I came for our date. There are curtains—mind you, they’re plain navy blue, but he still hung some—there are rugs and dish towels. No more posters, and . . . is that a coaster on his coffee table?

“Did you spruce the place up?” I ask, trying and failing to hide a smile.

He shrugs. “A little. Didn’t want you to think you were dating someone who doesn’t even know how to hang curtains.” He pulls a pizza box out of his oven.

“Reid, you adulted your place.”

“Yeah, so? Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He places two slices of pizza on each plate and then brings them over to the table, where there is also a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses.

“But it’s so cute. You got matching dish towels.”

“I liked the stripes,” he answers nonchalantly while pouring us each a glass of wine.

He’s trying not to make it a big deal, and I shouldn’t either, but this is a side of Reid that’s still so new—and almost as surprising as his dirty side. This is his sweet side, the same man who came out and comforted me on the anniversary of the day my dad died.

I’m so used to his sarcastic wit and joking jabs that I need to realize there’s more to Reid than just the friend I grew up with; there’s a depth that I’m going to guess most people don’t know about.

“It looks good in here,” I say before taking a bite of my pizza.

He glances up from his pizza and smiles. “Thanks, Eve.”