A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(61)

“It was. Very awkward, but Birdy turned out to be really cool and funny, and we’ve hung out a few times since.”

“Okay, any chemistry there?”

“That’s the problem.” I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my beer. “I’ve kissed her twice now, and although the thought of being intimate with someone was appealing, each time I kissed her, it wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. It just felt normal. Like every other woman I’ve ever kissed, and I don’t know, I feel like there should be a feeling that’s more than normal, right?”

“If you want to get down to it, yeah. When you kiss someone, someone you think you could date or be with, there should be a spark. Especially that first kiss. The first kiss tells you everything you need to know.”

“There wasn’t any spark. Not even a blip.” I sigh heavily. “And then . . . today.”

“Now we’re getting to the good stuff,” Banner jokes. I don’t mind because he’s keeping it really light, which I appreciate.

“Lia and I got in a fight two nights ago, and today was wedding dress shopping day. She told me not to come because of the fight, and there was no way I’d let her do that alone, so I showed up, and the relief on her face was something I wasn’t expecting. And she clung to me like I was her lifesaver.”

“Uh-huh . . .” Banner drags out.

I press my lips together and finally say, “Well, when I saw her in her dress . . .” I shake my head. “Dude, I swear to God it was an out-of-body experience. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it. My mouth went dry, I started to sweat, but I was cold at the same time. I couldn’t breathe, but my heart was beating so hard that I thought my chest would explode. And then . . .” I look away. “When she made eye contact with me, it was like a million butterflies took flight in my stomach, and I swear to you, at that moment, I had this overwhelming need to kiss her. Like, it was pulling me to the point that I almost did it. I’ve never felt that way, ever, besides the first day I ever met her, and now, well, I’m totally fucked in the head, and I don’t know what’s going on.”

Banner slowly nods his head, taking it all in. He sips his beer and then sets the glass bottle on the table. “I’ll tell you what’s going on.” He looks me in the eyes. “You’re in love with your best friend, and you just finally realized it.”

“Come on, dude,” I say, groaning. “That’s what my brothers would have said.”

“Because they’re right, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but why do you feel like you don’t have a spark when you kiss other women? It’s because deep down, you know they’re not Lia. These weird out-of-body feelings you’re having are because the woman you love is getting married in four weeks, and you’re panicking about it.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, man. Face the facts, you love her, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the better.”

I drag my hand over my forehead, his words stabbing me in the stomach, in the chest, racking up my anxiety.

Is he right?

Do I love her, and I’m just realizing it now?

My mind conjures up the image of her in her dress and how I felt, how I wanted to be the man who kissed her in it, how I couldn’t take my eyes off her, how I felt absolutely sick knowing that dress wasn’t meant for me but for Brian instead.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say as I look up at Banner. “Fuck, I think I like her.”

Banner shakes his head. “Nah, man. You love her. End of discussion.”





I pace my living room, Banner’s words on replay in my head.

I try to tell myself he’s not right.

That it’s conjecture that seems like it could be spot on, but really isn’t.

That maybe I’m just reading all these feelings wrong.

But every time I hear her move around in her apartment, my skin breaks out into a clammy sweat, because I’m pretty sure . . . Banner is right.

After I left his place, I came back to mine, where I opened another beer, and I’ve walked circles around my apartment. Never stopping, just pacing, trying to get a grip on these feelings, trying to convince myself that Banner is wrong, that I’m wrong, that all of this is fucking wrong.

Panic.

Nausea.

Worry.

It’s swirling around, making me feel crazy. Making me uncomfortable. Making me think things I shouldn’t be thinking like . . .

What if I had kissed her in the dressing room? What would she have done?

What if I marched over to her apartment right now and told her how I’m feeling?

What if I pathetically asked her to reconsider the wedding?

Knock. Knock.

Oh fuck.

That has to be her. No one else visits me.

Unsure of what to do, I clench my sweaty palms and say, “Uh, yeah?”

“Breaker? It’s me. Open up.”

“Oh, uh . . . Lia, is that you?” I even roll my eyes at myself.

“Yes, Breaker. What are you doing? Open up.”

“Ha, sorry,” I call out, even though I don’t move. “Um, just give me a second.” I spin around in a circle, trying to figure out what to do as if something can be done.

Nothing, you dipshit, nothing can be done. It’s not like you can take a washcloth and soap to your feelings and scrub them away quickly. Doesn’t work like that.