He looks flustered as he pushes his fingers through his hair and sits down.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “With what?” He reaches for his water, takes a big gulp, and sets the glass on the table.

  “Work?”

  “Oh, that. Yes. Everything is fine.”

  “Really? Because you were gone for a while. I thought maybe you had to go to the hospital or something.”

  “Sorry. This is why I don’t get a chance to date much. My job is demanding. I’m on call a lot. I’ve got four women in labor as we speak, and as soon as I hung up the phone with the nurse, another call came through.”

  “Wow. Are you sure you don’t need to go?”

  “Nah, they’re all still a good eight to ten hours away from delivering.”

  “You hope.”

  “You’re right, I do. Now, where were we?”

  Timothy reaches across the table and sets his hand on mine. My first instinct is to pull away. I mean, I barely know this guy, but his skin is warm and soft, and it’s been forever since I’ve been touched by a normal, smart, good-looking man, so I decide to leave it.

  Before I can respond, he spots my glass of wine and frowns.

  “The waiter was already here?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I would’ve ordered you a drink, but I wasn’t sure what you would want.”

  “It’s okay.”

  When I see Ethan at a nearby table, I raise my hand to flag him down. He smiles at me from across the room, finishes what he’s doing, and then comes over to us.

  “Good evening, sir. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  Timothy’s face pales when he looks at Ethan. His lips part, but nothing comes out as Ethan peers down at him.

  “A crown and coke, perhaps?” Ethan questions with a razor-sharp edge to his voice.

  The air around us thickens with an uncomfortable tension while we wait for Timothy to answer.

  “No.” Timothy clears his throat. He’s sweating bullets as he looks to me and then back at Ethan. “I’ll have the same as my date.”

  “Which one?” Ethan mumbles beneath his breath. The words are so soft that I almost don’t hear them.

  “Excuse me?” Timothy asks, his face going hard as stone.

  “I said, merlot. Good choice. I’ll be right back with your drink and to take your order.”

  “Thank you.”

  Timothy pulls his hand from mine. “I don’t like him.”

  “That was a little awkward.”

  “Forget about him. What are you going to order?”

  We both grab a menu, and I peruse the various entrée options. “It’s between the chicken Alfredo and the homemade lasagna.”

  Timothy closes his menu, takes mine, and sets them down. “How about you order one and I’ll order the other? That way, you can try both.”

  “Perfect.”

  Ethan brings Timothy’s drink, takes our order, and walks away, but not before giving my date another hard look.

  That’s weird. Ethan seemed so nice earlier.

  “Tell me about your family,” I say. “Are you from around here?”

  “I’m not. I’m from Tampa, which is where my parents and two brothers live.”

  “How on Earth did you end up in Bourbon, Illinois?” Nestled fifteen minutes outside of Chicago, it allows for easy access to the city, while maintaining a somewhat small-town life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my hometown, but it’s a far cry from Tampa. “I’d take palm trees and sand over the city any day.”

  “This is where the jobs were at the time. I got in with University hospital, and the rest is history.”

  “How long have—”

  Once again, our conversation is cut off by his cell phone, only this time, Timothy doesn’t say a word, he simply grabs his phone and walks away from the table.

  “Well, this is fun.” I take a sip of my wine, and then another and another. By the time the glass is empty, there’s still no Timothy, and Ethan is placing our food on the table.

  He sets a steaming hot plate in front of me and holds out another glass of merlot.

  “Oh, one is my limit, but thank you anyway.”

  “I didn’t bring it for you to drink,” he says, handing me the glass.

  I have no idea what’s going on, but for some reason, I’m compelled to take the glass.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Lizzie,” I answer, unsure of why he’s asking.

  “You’re beautiful, Lizzie.”

  “Thank you?” Normally, I’d love a nice compliment from a guy who looks like Ethan. Still, considering I’m on a date, it seems a bit inappropriate.

  “And you seem like a smart woman.”

  I nod. “I am.”

  “Then why are you here with that douchebag?”

  My eyes widen, and I immediately go to set the glass down and give him a piece of my mind. This might not be the best date I’ve ever been on, but it’s certainly not the worst. And I like Timothy. He’s nice, smart, and yes, he seems to work a lot, but I think a good work ethic is a great quality in a man.

  “He’s not a douchebag.”

  “Then why is he at a table on the opposite side of the restaurant with another woman?” he says, pointing toward the right.

  “What?”

  “I could be way off here, but he’s eating dinner, laughing, and carrying on with another woman. When I walked by a few minutes ago, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering God knows what into each other’s ears.”

  My blood boils. No wonder he’s been gone for so long; the asshole is on two dates.

  “Let me guess, he’s drinking crown and coke?”

  Ethan nods, and his face softens. “I wanted to say something while he was here, but I would’ve ended up punching the guy, and I really need this job.”

  “You would’ve punched him?”

  “In a heartbeat. It’s men like him that give the rest of us a bad name.”

  “But you don’t even know me.”

  “I’d do it for any woman.”

  “Right. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

  I scoot out my chair, nudging Ethan back in the process, and stand from the table. With the full wine glass in my hand and a whole lot of courage, I march across the dining room.

  Sure enough, there he is. Handsome, smart, two-timing jerk. His date notices me before he does. In fact, the asshole doesn’t notice me until I lift the glass of wine and dump it over his head.

  He coughs and flails while his date screeches. Everyone in the room is staring, but I don’t give a damn.

  “Lizzie, I can explain.” With wine dripping from his hair, Timothy stands up. “I told you, it’s hard to date in my line of work and—”

  “Save it.”

  I turn, but he grabs my arm. The next thing I know, Ethan is towering behind me. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let her arm go.”

  Timothy’s lips pinch together in a tight line. He’s probably not used to taking orders from anyone, but Doctor Douchebag follows Ethan’s command.

  I ignore the stares and murmurs as Ethan leads me back to my table. “I’m sorry about the mess,” I say, dropping onto the chair. The food is still steaming hot and looks yummy. It’s a shame I won’t be eating it.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ethan pushes a bundle of silverware toward me and smiles. “Eat. It’s on the house.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Lizzie.”

  I eat in silence. Ethan refills my water three more times, and when I’m stuffed full, he approaches my table and sits down, sans the grey vest he had been wearing earlier.

  “Officially off the clock, huh?”

  “How’d you know?”

  I nod toward the vest in his hand. “I used to be a server.”

  He smiles knowingly. “How was the food?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Next time, you should come here by yourself and let me buy you dinner.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Absolutely not. That would be rude after what happened to you tonight. Plus, asking you out gives you the chance to say no.”

  I grin. “You’re smooth…”

  Ethan smiles and hands me a piece of paper. “Just in case you decide to take me up on the offer,” he whispers before standing and walking away.

  I look down at the yellow Post-it Note.

  Not every guy is a dick. Let me prove it to you.

  Below the scribbled handwriting is his number.

  Smiling, I shove the note into my purse and then pull out my phone and text my sister.

  Me: It’s time to find a new OBGYN.

  Her reply is instant.

  Emily: Damn. That bad?

  Me: Worse.

  Emily: Men suck. I’m on my way to get you.

  Me: Nah. It’s pretty out. I think I’ll walk.

  2

  Aiden

  Relationship status: maybe one day –Liz

  I’m not surprised when there’s a knock on my door, even at seven o’clock on a Friday evening. There’s only one person it could be, and I both hate and love that she’s here.

  I hate it because it means that Lizzie’s date likely didn’t end well. I love it because it means I get to pick up the pieces. There’s another soft knock. I shut my laptop, set it aside, and hop off the couch.

  “Coming.”

  When I open the door, Lizzie holds up a hand and waves. “Hi.”

  The look on her face doesn’t match her easy tone. Her dark brown eyes are sad, and her nude heels dangle from her fingertips.

  “I take it the blind date didn’t go well?”

  She shakes her head, causing a chunk of dark hair to fall out of her fancy updo and into her face. “Not so much.”

  I wish I weren’t familiar with this scenario. Unfortunately, I’ve seen it dozens of times. Another asshole disappointed her, shattering her hopes of finding a decent man. Another setback in her plan of building her future.

  I open my arms, and she walks into them, enveloping me in her soft lavender scent. I press my lips to the side of her head, trying not to be affected by the way she feels in my arms.

  Warm.

  Soft.

  Perfect.

  “I’m sorry, Lizzie Lou.”

  “You can say it,” she mumbles against my shirt.

  “Say what?” I pull back so I can look her in the eye.

  “I told you so.”

  There’s nothing I want more than for Lizzie to be happy, just not with a man of Emily’s choosing. I told Lizzie that earlier today when we talked on the phone.

  Emily is wonderful, and she means well and loves Lizzie dearly, but sometimes she forgets that even though they’re identical twins, they’re polar opposites in every other way, including their taste in men.

  Emily is fancy dresses, expensive meals, and sparkling jewelry, and she has a husband who happily gives her all of those things. There’s nothing wrong with liking the things she does, it’s just not who Lizzie is.

  Lizzie is down to Earth. She cares more about comfort and how something makes her feel rather than the name attached to it, and how it makes her look—which is probably why she shucked her heels on her way to my door. And, she doesn’t care so much about what a man does for a living, or how much he makes. What she’s looking for is stability, loyalty, and kindness—all things that I bring to her life, just not in the capacity she’s looking for.

  Lizzie wants love. She wants the fairy tale, the happily ever after, and I’d give her that too if I thought for a second it’s what she wanted from me.

  I’ve dropped a couple of hints here and there over the last year about the two of us being together, but she always blows me off, and I’m afraid to push it further because I don’t want to lose her.

  Lizzie is one of the most important people in my life, and I’d rather have her as a friend than not have her at all. Even if it means watching her date these pathetic losers who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as she does, let alone take her on a date.

  “Go on. I know you want to.”

  I take the heels from her hand and toss them to the floor. “Nah. You look sad enough. You don’t need me rubbing it in. Plus, it’s his loss, and now I get to spend the evening with you. Maybe I should send him a thank you card.”

  Lizzie’s smile lights up more than the room—it sparks something in my heart. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’ll never have to find out.” I brush a stray hair from her face. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “Yes. But first, I have to get out of this God-awful dress.” She starts walking down the hall and then turns to look at me. “You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”

  I shake my head no. She smiles and continues to my bedroom. I go to the kitchen, and when I hear my bedroom door shut, I slide my phone out of my pocket. I pull up my older brother’s number and shoot him a quick text.

  Me: Change of plans. I can’t make it for dinner tonight.

  Calvin’s reply is instant.

  Calvin: No worries, bro. We still on for coffee Monday morning?

  Me: Yep. See you then. Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry I can’t make it. Raincheck.

  Calvin: Tell them yourself.

  I almost feel guilty for canceling on our dinner plans because I canceled with Mom and Dad last week, but I’m sure they don’t care. Calvin is their favorite anyway. He can woo them over dinner with his fancy business talk.

  Me: I’m busy.

  I’m about to put my phone away when it vibrates with another text.

  Calvin: Tell Liz I said hello.

  He knows me too well. Smiling, I stuff my phone into my pocket again, pull a bottle of Lizzie’s favorite rosé from the cabinet, and pour each of us a glass.

  “What can I help with?” Lizzie says a few minutes later as she walks into the kitchen.

  I glance over my shoulder and nearly swallow my tongue. Jesus C, she’s too pretty for words. There’s nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt, and Lizzie in my shirt is my own slice of heaven. Her makeup is gone, and her hair is down from the knot she had it in, leaving loose, brown waves hanging around her shoulders.

  She looks fresh and clean and so damn beautiful.

  Lizzie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at the shirt she’s wearing. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing a shirt.”

  I shake my head. “Not at all.”

  “I might never give it back.” Gripping the front of it, she pulls it to her nose, closes her eyes and inhales. The movement causes the hem to ride up her bare thigh. “It smells like you,” she whispers.

  Don’t do it, man, don’t look, I tell myself, because ogling my best friend after she had a shitty night isn’t cool, and all it’ll do is make me want her that much more.

  Clearing my throat, I nod toward her glass of wine. “Take that into the living room and get comfy. I’ll be right there.”

  I don’t have to tell her twice. Lizzie takes both glasses while I grab a few seconds to myself. Pushing my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and try to think of anything that’ll take my mind off of how it would feel to wrap my arms around her lush body and claim her sweet lips.

  “You coming?” she hollers.

  Shit. Here goes nothing. I grab the ice cream and a spoon and walk into the living room. Lizzie is curled up in the middle of the couch, my University of Illinois t-shirt stretched across her tan legs, and her feet tucked under her butt. She pats the cushion, and I sink into the spot beside her. She takes the spoon and digs in for her first bite.

  “You spoil me,” she mumbles around the ice cream in her mouth.

  “Someone has to.”

  She moans, scoops out another spoonful, and holds it up for me. I take the offer and watch her go in for more.

  “You know,” she says, licking the spoon clean. “One of these days, you won’t have to spoil me anymore.”

  I don’t like that thought at all. Because if I’m not spoiling Lizzie, it means that some other asshole will be. Spoiling Lizzie is my favorite pastime and something I’ve been doing since her parents moved next door to mine when we were six.

  “I’ll always spoil you.”

  “My future husband might get jealous.”

  I give her a look that says he can go fuck himself. The asshole doesn’t exist, and I already hate him. I don’t care if she ends up marrying a prince, no one will take her from me.

  Most people think that a man and woman can’t be friends, but I call bullshit, and our relationship proves it.

  Sure, there are times when I have to remind myself not to stare at the swells of her breasts, or the soft curve of her hip, and every once in a while, I have to force myself to think of pink bunnies or some other froufrou shit to keep from daydreaming about her naked body, but who can blame me? I’m only human, and she’s beautiful. But I can control my feelings; I’ve done it for this long. What’s another sixty or seventy years?

  My gaze falls to her left hand resting on my leg. I try to picture a ring sitting there—one given to her by a nameless, faceless guy—and I frown. When that day comes, it’ll obliterate me.

  Maybe I’m the one who should be dating more.

  “Aiden?”

  “Hmm?” I take the spoon from Lizzie, grab a bite for myself, and hand it back.

  “I know we said we’d talk about my date tonight, but I kind of just want to forget that it happened.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Because if he laid a finger on her, I would kill him.

  “No, nothing like that. But I just…” Her words hang in the air, the dejected tone of her voice has me wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

  “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “Thank you.”

  We sit for several minutes, eating ice cream and just existing. These are the moments I want in life. Quiet nights with my girl—a far cry from the things I wanted a few short years ago.

  “Lizzie?”

  “Yes?” She blinks and looks up.