I get out of the car and take the elevator one floor up to the lobby, checking the weather forecast for tomorrow on my phone: 21 degrees with a chance of snow.

  Oof.

  Gym it is. Chicago’s winters and outdoor training don’t mix.

  Before I can put the phone back in my pocket, it pings with a text.

  From Zoe:

  Want to hang out tonight?

  The message is from Zoe. A woman I see occasionally. She’s often away for work, isn’t interested in a serious relationship, and doesn’t expect anything from me. In short, perfect. Still, the idea of another meaningless hookup feels as appealing as being stuck in traffic right now.

  I shoot her a short text as I exit the elevator.

  To Zoe:

  Sorry, I’m busy

  In the hall, Denzel, the night doorman, greets me with a polite, “Good evening, Dr. Barlow. I have your mail.”

  He hands me a stack of envelopes and I shuffle through them on the ride up to my apartment. Utility bill. Credit card offer. Medical insurance renewal notice. Wedding invitation.

  I low-whistle as I spot the fancy ivory envelope sealed with a pearly wax seal, the letters A and K monogrammed in the middle.

  If Lori has seen this, she will have blown a gasket.

  I enter my apartment, dropping my keys, wallet, and phone on the foyer console, then hang my coat in the small entrance closet. Next, I take off my shoes, stacking them in the built-in cabinet at the bottom of the closet—I hate to bring the dirt from outside into the house. I set down my unopened mail on the kitchen counter and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. I’ve just changed into basketball shorts and a T-shirt ready to hit the gym when my buzzer goes off.

  What now?

  With a groan, I throw my dirty clothes in the laundry basket and rush back toward the entrance to answer the intercom.

  “Yeah?”

  “Good evening again, Dr. Barlow.” Denzel’s voice comes distorted through the speaker. “Dr. Archibald is coming up to see you.”

  Ah.

  “Thank you, Denzel.”

  A heartbeat later, three quick knocks come from the other side of the door.

  When I open it, Lori storms into my apartment, cheeks red from the cold, chestnut hair tousled and falling in her face, beige coat billowing behind her. The scent of Chanel Coco Mademoiselle follows her, delivering the usual punch to my gut.

  “Lori.” I close the door with a sigh and turn to her. “What’s—”

  “Did you see this?” She brandishes an ivory envelope identical to the one lying unopened in my kitchen, flapping it back and forth.

  I jerk my chin toward the counter. “Got mine today, too.”

  Lori shoves one hand through her hair and huffs. “Why did he blindside us like this? We saw him, what, less than two hours ago at work, and he couldn’t have bothered telling us our invitations were coming in today, or that they’d picked a date?” Next, she points an accusing finger at me. “Did you know they’d set a date?”

  “No, Lola, I didn’t. Maybe Aiden didn’t tell us we’d get the save-the-date cards tonight because he wasn’t sure when they’d be delivered. And I wouldn’t call this being blindsided. You knew this wedding was happening. The proposal and engagement party should’ve been strong enough clues. Hasn’t Kirsten already picked a dress?”

  Lori waves me off dismissively as she paces around my living room. “Insignificant details. Twenty per cent of all engagements get called off—I checked the statistics.”

  I follow her into the living room. “Which means the other 80 per cent don’t.”

  Lori stops and faces me, her eyes wide as she throws up her arms in exasperation. “I always try to see the glass half full.”

  “The optimistic part being Aiden’s engagement falling apart?”

  “Or at least not being the shortest in history. Some engagements last for years. What’s the rush? I bet she’s the one pushing to move the date forward.” Lori grabs her chin as if pondering Kirsten being pushy, then she takes in my sporty clothes and asks, “Were you about to work out?”

  “No, just ready to chill at home,” I lie, pointing at the invitation in her hands. “Have you opened it yet?” I can’t see if the seal is torn.

  “No, have you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Should we do it together?”

  I nod.

  Lori drops her invitation and bag on the coffee table and takes off her coat, draping it on the backrest of the couch.

  I grab the coat and make to hang it in the closet by the door. An unforgivable move, apparently.

  “Can you pause your neat-freak habits for a second?” Lori scolds me. “I’m dying here.”

  I put the coat away all the same and come back into the living room. “Sorry, Lola, not all of us thrive among clutter.”

  And I must’ve said the wrong thing because her brown eyes widen and her lower lip trembles. “Do you think that’s why Aiden never liked me that way? Because I’m such a mess?”

  Before she can start to full-on cry, I pull her into one of the rare hugs I allow myself to give her. “You’re not a mess, Lola, just a little messy.”

  She hangs on to me like a stranded baby koala. I drop a kiss on top of her head and hate myself when I can’t resist smelling her hair. Coconut and shea butter. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  Lori pulls back with a glint in her eyes and a little smirk. “Even neat freaks like you?”

  “Totally,” I say.

  “So you wouldn’t mind me hogging the bathroom counter, or leaving dirty dishes in the sink to wash later, or forgetting food in the fridge until it rots?”

  I struggle not to shiver at the list of capital offenses. “Nope, not a problem.” For her, I could overlook anything.

  With a flash of challenge in her eyes, Lori leans into me, whispering in my ear, “Not even if I left wet towels on the bathroom floor?”

  It’s been years since she’s been so close. Years since I’ve wanted to kiss her so badly. I push her back and turn her around, gently shoving her toward the couch. “Come on, Bridget Jones… enough with the smart talk.”

  Lori sags on the cushions, pouting. “I prefer to picture myself as Julia Roberts in My Best Friend’s Wedding.”

  I raise my eyebrows at that and drop down next to her—but at a safe distance. “Didn’t she lose the guy in the movie?”

  “At least she fought with honor. Me? I haven’t done a single thing to stop this dreadful wedding from happening.”

  “Would you really want to jeopardize Aiden’s happiness?”

  She unzips one boot, kicks it under the coffee table, and moves on to the other one. “You want the honest answer or the politically correct one?”

  The second boot joins the first, and she sits on the couch in a butterfly pose.

  “You know you can be your horrible self around me, Lola.”

  Lori throws me a pillow and exhales a long, hard breath. “Honestly, I don’t know, Jace. I have nothing against Kirsten personally, but she’s so… I don’t know… shiny?”

  I scowl at her. “What’s wrong with shiny?”

  She laughs. “Nothing, I’m just saying she’s like a shiny new toy. Come on, did you see her shoes the other night?”

  I can’t help but laugh, too. “Her high heels are the least of Aiden’s problems, Lola.”

  I hate how eager her face becomes. “Why? You have some dirt on her?”

  “Nope, just agreeing she errs on the high-maintenance side.”

  “So why does he put up with her?”

  “Because he loves her?”

  Lori hurls the remaining pillow at my head. “Now you’re just being vile.”

  I shrug. “Oh, you know me. I’m always the villain in every fairy tale.”

  Lori rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why we get along so well.”

  I glance over at her and recognize the sadness in her eyes that she tries to hide with humor.

  Lori smiles. She’s even more beautiful when she does. But the smile doesn’t reach her eyes, she’s only putting on a brave face. And I wish I could be the one to make that beautiful smile reach her eyes, the one to make her happy. That’s when I realize how badly I want to kiss her—again. Proximity isn’t good for me.

  I want to press my lips on her neck and wipe that heartache away forever. I want to drag my mouth up along the curve of her jaw to whisper in her ear how special she is, how badly I want to kiss her, but there’s no way she’d reciprocate.

  Struggling to keep my impulses in check, I scoot further down to my side of the couch. Lori steals back one of the pillows and settles down, a hand on her chest as she hugs it for comfort.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, looking at me with Bambi eyes.

  “What for?”

  “You’re the only person in the world who could’ve made me smile today.” I want to tell her I can see through her fake smiles, that I know I’m not who she needs but wish with everything I have that I could be.

  Instead, I do what I always do. Keep quiet. Keep my feelings to myself. Play aloof. Always the villain never the hero. “Careful there, or my reputation will get a hit.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell any of the ladies you’re not really the dangerous bad boy they want you so hard to be.”

  I chuckle, but the sound is bitter. It grates on my throat. None of the women I’ve been with have ever meant anything.

  She tilts her head. “So, has Aiden ever complained about Kirsten’s excess primness?”

  And we’re back at it. “Aiden’s a grown man, Lola,” I say, doing my best not to lose my shit completely. “He can make his own decisions.”

  Her smile dies. Lori bites her lower lip as if to stop a retort from coming out of her mouth. Her eyes fleet back to the coffee table and the ivory envelope resting on the dark wooden surface. She reaches for it and cradles the missive in her lap. Lori looks down at the letter and hands it to me, whispering, “You open it, I can’t.”

  I take it from her and carefully tear the seal.

  A single piece of ivory cardstock rests inside.

  “With great pleasure,” I read aloud, “Dr. Aiden Jackson Collymore and Kirsten Ann Cunningham invite you to join them in the celebration of their marriage…”

  I turn to Lori, who’s staring out the window.

  She scoffs. “I bet Kirsten insisted on putting the doctor in. Come on, rip the Band-Aid. When is it?” Her voice cracks over the question.

  “Soon.”

  Lori turns to me, eyes teary. “How soon?”

  I make to put the card away. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

  Showing the reflexes of a panther, Lori snatches the invitation from me and reads it.

  “WHAT?!”

  Here we go…

  “They’re getting married in a month? That must be the shortest engagement ever. And the wedding is on Valentine’s Day no less? Who gets married on Valentine’s Day? It’s so cheesy. They’re clearly compensating for lack of real romance in the relationship.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Are you making fun of my misery?”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Listen, did you have dinner? Because I’m starving. How about I make us something?”

  I stand up, my gaze landing on the boots scattered onto the rug.

  Lori tracks my stare. “Those discarded shoes are killing you, aren’t they?”

  “Nope.”

  Lori picks them up and stands. “I’ll put them away if you promise to make your mac and cheese. I need comfort food. And wine, plenty of wine.” She walks toward the hall.

  I move into the kitchen and search the cabinets for the ingredients. “You’re the worst doctor—I hope a bowl of cholesterol and plenty of wine isn’t the dietary advice you give my patients when I’m away.”

  “Don’t worry, most of your patients don’t come to the practice when you’re away. My face isn’t pretty enough.”

  I’m already at the stove when she hugs me from behind, pressing her cheek between my shoulder blades. “Jace?”

  I try my best to stay relaxed. “Yes?”

  “Can I sleep here?”

  “Won’t all your pets die if you abandon them?”

  “No, I’ve already fed them and the girls must already be in bed by now.”

  “Sure, then.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.” She squeezes me harder for a second and then lets go. “You’re the best friend in the world.”

  Kill.

  Me.

  Now.

  3

  LORI

  The next morning I wake up sprawled in the middle of Jace’s California King bed in a starfish pose while my best friend is relegated to a tiny corner of the mattress curled up in the fetal position—keeping as far away from me as he always does when we share a bed.

  I never understood if he’s afraid I might try to cuddle him—Jace doesn’t exactly strike me as a cuddler, or if he just values his personal space too much.

  I search the room with my eyes, not exactly sure what woke me until his buzzer goes off again.

  “Jace.”

  No answer.

  “Jace, someone’s at your door.”

  He sleep-mumbles something unintelligible and turns onto his back, his head lolling toward me on the pillow. He looks cute with the hair falling on his forehead and the stubble darkening his square jaw. Jace lets out a loud snore, making me giggle.

  “All right, buddy, I’ll go see who it is.”

  I throw the blankets away from my body and shuffle barefooted to the entrance hall.

  I press the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Oh, good morning, miss, are you a guest of Dr. Barlow?”

  “It’s Lori, Peter, good morning.”

  I greet the day-shift doorman.

  “Ah, Dr. Archibald, hello. Just a heads up, Dr. Collymore is on his way over.”

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  Aiden is coming over? Shoot. What do I do? How do I look?

  I check my reflection in the hallway mirror and it’s not good. My hair is a bird’s nest. I’m wearing one of Jace’s oversized T-shirts, and icky, crusty mascara is smeared all over my face. A knock on the door makes me jolt, then panic. I lick a finger and furiously try to remove the worst black stains.

  I’m not ready.

  I put a hand in front of my mouth and exhale. Eww. I need to brush my teeth. But I can’t, not enough time.

  Aiden knocks again. “Jace? Are you there?”

  Crikey, crappity, crikes.

  I’ve almost resigned myself to welcome Aiden into the house with morning breath when my eyes land on a tin of mints resting on Jace’s hall console. I grasp the metal box to get one, but of course, in my clumsiness, the lid pops free and all the breath mints tumble to the ground, except for one.

  Yeah, score! I pop the white candy in my mouth and fling the door open, leaning against it sideways in what I hope is a sexy-casual pose.

  “Aidenberry.”

  My other best friend and love of my life is standing on the other side, fist raised, primed for another knock, looking painfully handsome in a stylish blue coat.

  “Lori?” For a moment he frowns as if unsure he’s got the right house. Then he looks past my shoulder at the world-class city view of Chicago and his brain must compute that he didn’t come to my back-alley-facing industrial loft. The scowl deepens. “What are you doing here?”

  Aiden’s gaze drops to the floor. “Are those breath mints?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I knocked them off on my way to the door. I was still sleepy.”

  I step aside to let him in and before he can notice I’m sucking the last mint, I swallow it whole. Except, the treacherous piece of menthol confectionery gets stuck in my throat and I have to rush to the kitchen in a coughing fit.

  And now I can’t breathe.

  I turn on the faucet and try to gulp down some water, but the liquid doesn’t make it past the mint and dribbles down my chin.

  The short-winded rasps I’m making force Aiden to catch up. “Gosh, Lori, are you choking?”

  My wannabe negative, nonchalant reply comes out as a strangled death rattle.

  The doctor in him takes over. Aiden is behind me in a few quick strides and lowers me down toward the sink to administer five blows to my back with the heel of his hand. And I swear, whenever I imagined Aiden bending me over fixtures, this wasn’t what I had in mind.

  When the gentle approach still doesn’t work, he goes full Heimlich on me. He wraps his arms around my waist, makes a fist just above my navel, and, grabbing the fist with his other hand, he pushes it inward and upward at the same time. At the second abdominal thrust, the mint flies out of my mouth and goes to decorate Jace’s kitchen wall.

  I’m still sputtering and spattering when Aiden lets me go.

  I’m fine, I want to say, only the phrase comes out still wheezy and as if I was talking in a monster voice, “I’m fhhhooine.”

  Aiden opens the fridge and pours me a glass of water.

  I sip it while I try to regain some dignity.

  When I feel like I can talk in a normal tone again, I ask, “Hey, what are you doing here this early?”

  Aiden’s brows shoot high in his forehead. “Are you all right?”

  I wave him off. “Sure, I’m fine. Crisis averted. We’re all doctors here, no need to worry. I’m great.” Except for the humiliation, maybe. My reddish-blue, mascara-streaked, almost-just-choked-on-a-mint face must look especially attractive. “So, why are you here?”

  Aiden is flabbergasted. “Why am I here? Why are you at Jace’s place?”

  “Oh, I slept here last night.”

  His jaw tightens. “With Jace?”

  “Yeah, with Jace, it’s a one-bedroom apartment last I checked. You’re acting weird this morning, Aidenberry.”

  “I’m acting weird?”

  “Yep.” I turn to the coffee maker and grab a new filter. “You want coffee?”

  “No, I want an explanation.”