Page 151 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

I groan. “I've got two weeks left until my thesis defence. And I'm seriously behind.”

Betty's hanging off the other end of the couch, upside down, plaiting her hair by the handful. “Please. Unless someone's invented some huge new thing in poli sci in the last forty-eight hours nobody's told you about, you're going to smash it. You know this shit inside out, upside down, reverse cowgirl riding a pogo stick.”

Aria shakes her head, clearly wondering how she ended up with this feisty woman as her best friend in the whole world.

“So, what time's your thing tonight?” Betty asks, still upside down.

I sit up, feeling my bones crack. Okay, maybe Aria had a point about how long I've been in the chair. “Seven. And I still don't know if Undertow's the right call.”

Aria waves my words away. “Obviously it is. It's home turf.”

I scrunch my nose up. “I'm not sure I should be thinking about it that way any more. You know, since the guys and I aren't...” I can't even say it out loud. Over. We're over.

Betty swears as she over-rolls and ends up on the floor with a thump. “Fine, but Hunter's also part owner, and Aria owns Hunter outright...”

“I do not own Hunter,” Aria says, still not looking up.

Betty does an eyeroll of inhuman proportions.

“Fine, Alexia, you're living in Elliot's house, and Elliot's hers too, so that makes it home turf by association. Fuck those guys!”

“I think,” I say, “fucking those guys is exactly what caused this whole problem.”

All three of us laugh, and it's the first time for me in days.

Aria closes the sketchpad and comes over, hauling me off the couch with more strength than her tiny frame would suggest she has. “Come on. You need a break. Let's get you ready — the more prepared you feel, the better this goes.”

“Do I even have to go?” I let her pull me up but plant my feet a second longer than necessary. “I sort of feel like I'm cheating.”

Betty's up and pointing a finger before I've finished the sentence. “You are not cheating. You're doing something for you, and anyway, you need a reminder of how in demand you are, because you've apparently forgotten.”

Aria tucks a piece of hair behind my ear like she's about to say something wise, and what comes out instead is, “I mean, it's up to you, but if you want some support, let me just say this, I've seen a photo of him and he has those forearms”—she waggles her eyebrows—“you know. Those types of arms.”

I blink. “That's not the supportive thing I thought you were building to.”

Betty grabs my arm and drags me upstairs. “Well, it's supportive of my personal interests. Come on, I've got the perfect outfit.”

At seven, I'm sitting on a stool at Undertow, wearing an outfit I may not have chosen but would like credit for somehow almost pulling off, a black a-line skirt, a burgundy silk shirt Aria says makes my collarbones look like they've been chiselled out of marble, a simple gold chain, and a pair of heels I'm fairly sure cost more than my last car. I've checked my reflection in the mirrored wall four times in ten minutes, and every time I've looked away feeling good. I am, for tonight at least, playing the role of a functional adult woman with her life in order.

Until the clock ticks midnight, probably. Then back to chaotic heartbroken stress troll it is.

“What time did he say he'd be here?” Aria asks between stolen sips of my mocktail.

“Seven. Five minutes ago he texted saying he's looking for a park.”

“That's nice of him,” Aria says, absentmindedly, “to let you know.”

We're both watching Betty climb over the bar, as she tries to grab the shaker from the bartender on shift, yelling something about how “it's all in the wrist, sheesh, anybody would think you don't get enough wrist action, which I refuse to believe for someone your age.” He's trying to shoo her off with a bar towel and losing.

“Oh, there he is,” Aria hisses, grabbing my arm excitedly as she cranes past my shoulder towards the door. “Oh, he's cute.”

I look. “He's fine, I guess.”

She looks at me, incredulous. “Fine? Alexia, no he's not 'fine'. Unless you mean, that man is fooooiiiiiiiiine. That man is tall, and handsome, and fills out a pair of trousers like it's an Olympic sport.”

A pair of arms comes around her from behind, and Hunter's mouth is suddenly at the back of her neck. “Sorry, what was that, baby?”

Aria whips around so fast her stool nearly goes with her. “Oh, it's nothing. I was talking about my type. Tall. Handsome. And...” She pats his cheek, entirely unbothered. “Oh, so Hunter-y.”