My Best Friend's Sister Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Title Page

  Thank you!

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A sneak peek on my next upcoming novel

  Copyright © Q.B Tyler

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing: Krista Mountains Wanted Publishing

  Cover and Formatting: Erica Marselas

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Thank you!

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A sneak peek on my next upcoming novel

  Thank you!

  Katherine- To the first person that knew about my writing and being so supportive of my dreams to publish. For reading everything I’ve written, in all of its stages. Above all, thanks for always being quiet while I was typing away at our table. Best roomie award.

  Carmel and Erica- There aren’t enough thank yous. Thank you for everything. For being my number one fans, for the constant encouragement and the kick in the ass when I need it. For helping my ideas come to life. You’re my inspirations. Squad. Always.

  Liz and Alex- My girls, thank you for the fresh eyes and for being so supportive of my dreams. All the love, for life.

  Meli, Alexis, Helen, Carol (x2), Jos, Pat, Kelly, Kerri, Amber, Kris, Suzan, Harlipen, Karen (x2), Gloria, Julie (x2), Connie, Paula, Tatiane, Tonya, Maricel, Kirsty, Lori, Shannon, Samantha, Rachel and SO many more (especially everyone that signed a certain petition). Thank you for you making me laugh on the regular and your constant feedback. You have no idea how much your enthusiasm keeps me going.

  To everyone in The Bee Hive- They say that sometimes “family” is the one you’re born into, and sometimes it’s the one you make for yourself. Thank you, for joining the gang. You’re the best.

  To the readers- thank you for going on this ride with me. I hope you enjoy it!

  Prologue

  * * *

  My hands reach down to stroke her hair; it’s soft and silky under my fingers as I guide her toward my cock. I run my knuckles down the side of her face and rub my thumb across her soft lips. I look down at her sweet face, and for a brief second, I’m flooded with memories of the past.

  It's hard to believe the woman before me is the same girl that used to follow me around like my shadow when we were kids. Now she’s an adult—a beautiful, smart, passionate woman with eyes I’ve spent the last two weeks trying not to stare into for fear that she could see everything I’d been trying to suppress.

  I wanted her.

  I was supposed to watch out for her, not sleep with her.

  Not... fall for her.

  One

  * * *

  Two weeks prior

  My phone rings, breaking my gaze away from the spreadsheets in front of me. My eyes are starting to hurt, but I need to get through these numbers tonight. At twenty-eight, I’m one of the youngest software developers in the market, creating an application that was essentially TaskRabbit meets LinkedIn. The idea had come to me in my Entrepreneurial Ethics class my second year of grad school. It was initially developed to provide businesses the fluidity of finding and hiring candidates for one-time jobs. Although it seemed there were one hundred and ten apps that offered similar services, WalshWork exploded.

  I frown when I see the unknown number flash across the screen, and I put it to my ear. “Jackson Walsh.”

  I hear a sniffle. “Ja--Jackson?”

  My eyebrows furrow together as I wonder which one of the broken-hearted woman I’ve left in my wake is calling me, begging me to come back.

  Not happening. One month and then it’s on to the next. Sometimes not even that long.

  “Yes?” I ask, the irritation laced in my voice. My eyes look to the ceiling.

  I don’t have time for whatever woman is on the phone, unless she can suck my dick while I continue working

  “It’s A--Ava” she stammers, and my cock immediately retreats back down as a voice from my childhood rings through the phone.

  But why is she crying? I knew this was going to become a problem when my best friend, Tucker, told me his little sister had just graduated from college and was moving to New York to go to NYU Law.

  He’d asked me to look out for her just in case she needed anything, but to be honest, I just haven’t had the time. I guess that fact is evident considering I didn’t even have her number saved in my phone.

  When we were all younger, she used to follow us around relentlessly, and I’ll admit she was a fearless child, even at six years old, following two twelve-year-olds into creeks, creepy basements, and rickety tree-houses. But as we all got older, and all of our interests changed, I spent less and less time with her. I ended up leaving for college at sixteen, and it wasn’t like we stayed in touch. The idea of chasing around a twenty-two-year-old who may or may not still be in the party phase of her life didn’t exactly appeal to me.

  I’m not a fucking babysitter, and she’s 22; she can’t take care of herself? What does she need me for?

  “J-Jackson?” She stammers again, breaking me from my thoughts. “I know you’re busy, and I’m sorry to bother you...” She sniffles, and I don’t miss the sounds in the background causing me to wonder if she’s near the subway.

  “What can I do for you, Ava?” I lean back in my chair as I try to come up with the best reason as to why I can’t do whatever it is she’s about to ask.

  This already sounds like a goddamn favor.

  She clears her throat in the attempt to be brave, I guess. “I think I got on the wrong train. And… I’m still a little confused about the subway. I’ve tried to call an Uber twice, but they keep cancelling on me, and I haven’t seen a taxi in a while. Do you think--” I am not trying to come get you. “You can walk me through it?” she asks. “I can take a picture of the map, and I can point out where I am.”

  Okay, so she’s somewhat self-sufficient.

  “Go for it.”

  “Hold on.” I can still hear the sound of the train and voices echoing through the phone. My phone vibrates, indicating a picture has come through, and the first thing I see is her perfectly manicured light pink fingernail pointing to her location. I’m immediately out of my seat, looking at her current location in horror. Even under the offensive graffiti I can see exactly where she is, and it’s nowhere for a woman to be during the day, let alone this late at night.

  “What the fuck, Ava? I’m coming to get you. DO NOT MOVE. Unless you feel that you absolutely have to. Do you have pepper spray?”

  “No?”

  “Your father and your brother sent you to New York alone without pepper spray?”

  What the fuck have Sam and Tucker Remington beco
me?

  “I have pepper spray, but I left it at home by accident.” She takes a deep breath. “Do you think I need it?” She asks, her voice suddenly much quieter, and I wonder if I’ve made her nervous, but that area is definitely the furthest from safe.

  And I’m sure sweet little Ava Remington is sticking out like a sore thumb.

  “Stupid!” I growl at her, as I make my way out into the December air. I hail a cab with one hand as my other cradles the phone. “And what are you doing out this late all by yourself?”

  “I was at the library and… I lost track of time. I have a huge paper due at the end of the week.”

  “And no one could walk home with you?” I was going for condescension, and I think I succeeded. “This isn’t where we grew up, Ava. New York is dangerous.”

  “I know! I was studying with friends, but they left earlier and I just—lost track of time. Besides, I’ve been in New York for quite some time, and I don’t exactly get the chivalrous vibe from men here.”

  “You’re hanging out with the wrong men.”

  “Says the man who was practically considered family at one point, and yet, you’ve not called to check on me once.” I cringe at her reprimanding. “You know I lie to my brother and my father when they ask if I’ve talked to you.”

  I wince. So do I. I guess I should have at least made sure she was keeping my cover. “Well, now you can say we’ve spoken with a clear conscience.”

  “Okay, then. Well, I’ll just sit here quietly and try not to get killed, I guess,” she jokes, and I frown. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Ava and I may not exactly be the best of friends, but it would break my heart if something happens to her. Not to mention, Sam and Tucker would break every bone in my body. “Don’t say that. And we’re staying on the phone until I get to you. Just don’t draw any attention to yourself.”

  “I’m fine. No one is even down here. Oh, I see a homeless person.” She’s quiet, and I immediately get nervous. “Never mind, he’s not homeless; he’s just peeing. God, how do you stand it? Everywhere you look, someone is peeing. It literally smells like urine everywhere.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” I tell her, remembering my first few months in New York. “Just keep talking, Ava. Tell me about school.”

  I’m listening to Ava's mindless chatter about work as I'm moving down the stairs two at a time. I hear her voice getting softer as I descend further to the subway underneath the ground.

  “Ava, I might lose you as I go through the turnstile; just hang tight.” Her words are choppy as I can tell the service is fading.

  I swipe my subway card and push through the gate at lightning speed. Not that I didn't think Ava could take care of herself; she's certainly been doing a good job of it without any help from me. But this part of New York is no place for a young woman.

  I hadn't seen Ava in almost twelve years, not since I went away to college when she was a mere ten years old. I wonder if she's still the same pale, scrawny Ava with stringy hair that was always pulled back in a ponytail. She had a mouth full of metal, and coupled with her phase of bright blue eye shadow and hot pink lipstick, it made Ava Remington living, breathing proof of awkward pre-teen years.

  I wonder if she grew out of that.

  I round the corner and see the usual suspects: homeless people, junkies, prostitutes. I'm walking through the platform when I hear my name from behind me.

  How did I miss her?

  I turn around, and the wind is almost knocked out of me when I see the woman standing in front of me. I rake my eyes from her feet to the top of her head, noting the several differences between teenage Ava and the knockout before me.

  She's wearing black leggings tucked into snow boots. A fitted maroon sweater that hits her about mid-thigh makes her waist look small and dainty. She's wearing a long wool open cardigan, allowing me to see that Ava had most definitely filled out and was sporting some womanly curves. A scarf is wrapped around her petite neck, allowing her shiny chestnut locks to fall around her neck and down her back and shoulders. She flashes me a smile and a wave, and I can see from here that the braces worked wonders for her.

  “Ava?” I say as I approach her.

  “Hi, Jackson!” She chirps as she reaches around me and hugs me. I’m caught slightly off-guard feeling a woman wrap her arms around me so casually, and I’m stunned at how relaxed it makes me feel. She pulls away as we begin to walk toward the exit. “Thank you for coming. That guy over there told me twice that I had great legs, and they should be around his ears.” She laughs as we take the stairs two at a time back out into the New York night.

  I press my hand to the small of her back as I guide her out into the night air. “You look…”

  I can’t believe this is Ava Remington. Wow.

  “It's been a long time.” I continue as we make our way to the cab I’d paid triple the fare just to wait for us.

  “About twelve years? In which time you've become this big-time app developer.” She pulls her phone out and holds it up in front of my face. “It’s so badass. See, I downloaded!” She tucks her phone back into her purse. “Not that I really need it for anything, but I just wanted to be able to tell my friends I knew the creator of WalshWork.” She begins to bounce up and down in the seat. “Is it always this cold here? Good God,” she says before I have the chance to thank her for the praise.

  “Well, you're certainly under-dressed. What is this?” I ask as I pull at the lapel of her sweater. “This is not heavy enough.”

  “It's warm! And I have a blanket scarf,” she says, pulling at the material around her neck.

  “You need a coat.”

  “A coat doesn't really go with this outfit, daddy.” She rolls her eyes, and mine snap to hers in response.

  “Excuse me?” I am certainly no one's father, and the only time I've ever been called daddy has been when I've been inside a woman.

  She interrupts my train of thoughts that were barreling toward visions of her riding my dick. “It's a Clueless reference?” She shakes her head. “Never mind. How much did it cost to get the cab to wait?” she whispers, as if the cab driver really gives a shit.

  I turn my gaze to the driver, trying to will my dick down after hearing the word “Daddy” leave those plump crimson-colored lips of hers. “A lot.”

  “Why Jackson Walsh, maybe you are a bit chivalrous after all.” She giggles. “Thank you.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No… but I have something at home.” She shrugs.

  “Well, I'm hungry. I would have eaten if I wasn't out rescuing you.”

  “I didn't ask you to come,” she bites back. “You took it upon yourself. You could have just told me what train I needed to take.”

  “Before or after you were forced to ride some homeless man’s face?”

  Despite the dark, I see her cheeks turn pink immediately, and I wonder if I've embarrassed her. She turns away from me, her eyes finding the window and watching the buildings pass with every street back toward Midtown.

  “Hey, I was just worried,” I tell her as I find her hand. “Your parents and Tucker would kill me if something happened to you.”

  “Well, thank you for coming,” she whispers. “I know you're very busy.” Her teeth find her bottom lip, and she grazes it before she bites down hard. It's like my world is momentarily turned upside down at the vision of her pearly whites sinking into her bottom lip.

  My mouth goes dry and I feel my heart start to race.

  What is happening to me? What the fuck?

  “Don't sweat it,” I tell her. “How do you like New York so far?”

  “We’re going to do this? Small talk?”

  “I'm being polite.”

  “You aren't, though.”

  “What?”

  “Polite. Small talk isn't really your thing.”

  “Oh? And what is my thing, Ava? Please enlighten me.”

  “I don't know.” She shrugs. “All of your press releases and
interviews you're always so terse… cold and clipped. Short answers. Cut, dry and no bullshit. I've been following you for a little while now.”

  Following me? I feel a source of pride blooming in my chest that Ava may or may not look up to me in a way. But I hate that she thinks I'm this cold, ego-maniacal asshole. Even though I am. “Yes, in business, but this isn't a business meeting. You're my best friend’s little sister.”

  “Is that why I've heard from you since I moved here?”

  I sigh, the guilt washing over me. “Look, Ava, I hadn't seen you in years. I just figured you had everything under control. It's been a busy three months. I'm sorry I didn't have a welcome wagon prepared for your arrival.”

  “Six.”

  “What?”

  “I've been here six months, not three,” she says quietly as her gaze finds her lap. “Jackson, it's fine. New York is fine. I actually really like it here. I like NYU and…the people there are decent.”

  “Aren’t you studying to be a lawyer?” I ask her, raising an eyebrow.

  “Hey!” She smacks my arm. “Not all lawyers are direct descendants of Satan, you know.”

  “Uh huh. Come talk to me when you graduate.”

  “It'll probably be the next time we speak, so noted.” She giggles.

  My attention is pulled away from the spreadsheets in front of me by the buzz of my intercom. My assistant Michelle’s voice fills the room, and I wish she’d heeded my instructions to not interrupt me.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Walsh?”

  “Yes, Michelle?” I don’t even bother to hide the exasperation in my voice.

  “There’s an Ava Remington here to see you? She said she’s a… friend of yours?” I narrow my eyes at the phone as I can almost hear the humor. Jackson Walsh has a… friend?

  “Just send her in, Michelle,” I bark, the volume of my voice reverberating off the walls of my all-white office.

 
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