Page 3 of Irresistibly Us
“Your parents might sell this house.”
At that, Tyler just laughs. “We’re literally sitting on the spot where my dad proposed to my mom. They got married in this backyard, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad figures out a way for them to be buried here when they die. He is the most sentimental human on the planet, and the way he loves my mom is bananas. They’re never selling this house.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “One day we might be married to other people. You don’t think it’s weird for a married person todrop everything to celebrate their birthday with a person of the opposite gender who they aren’t married to?”
He blows a raspberry and then scrunches up his nose as if the thought is positively outlandish. “I would never be married to anyone who doesn’t understand that you’re my number one.”
That seems farfetched to me and not at all how marriage works, but I stay quiet because the thought of Tyler not being my best friend one day—of losing what we have—is too painful for words. Instead, I just nod.
He beams at me, blue eyes sparkling under the night sky. “So, it’s settled. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, we always meet back here for birthday night. Every year, no matter what.”
My analytical brain—the one that made me valedictorian of the senior class and got me admitted early to MIT—whirls with a thousand different reasons why this plan won’t work, but not for the first time, I tell it to shut the fuck up. Because I want it to be exactly as easy as Tyler makes it out to be. The two of us against the world. Best friends. The way it’s always been and the way I hope it always will be. So, I push every other thought away and say the thing I know will make him smile.
I always want Tyler to smile.
“Forevs, Harry?” At my words, a dazzling grin spreads over his face, just like I predicted it would. It fills my chest with warmth and also, for some reason, makes it ache.
“Forevs, Sal.”
CHAPTER ONE
SOPHIE
“Sophie Jane Sullivan, you get your shit together right the fuck now,” I mumble to myself, trying, and failing, to tear my eyes away from the crowded dance floor where a very drunk Tyler Hansley and a bunch of his even drunker teammates are currently surrounded by a veritable gaggle of women with big boobs and very tiny clothes. Evidently, being the best quarterback in Pittsburgh Renegades franchise history mere hours removed from winning a Super Bowl has every cleat chaser in New Orleans shooting her shot.
I have regrets.
Chief among them, agreeing to come out with the entire team tonight for the post-Super Bowl win festivities instead of forcing my friends to come with me toHamiltonnight at a karaoke bar in the French Quarter. There is literally nothing that singing “My Shot” at the top of your lungs won’t cure.
Once a theater kid, always a theater kid.
“You know, if you just told him how you feel, you wouldn’t have to try so hard to kill those women with your eyes.”
I whip around and look right into the grinning face of myfriend Maddy Wright. My first instinct is to say I don’t have anything to tell him because I don’t feel any kind of way, but there are five people in the world who know that’s a complete and total lie, and one of those people is standing in front of me right now. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to make out with or something?” I grumble, grabbing the drink she holds out to me and taking a long sip.
Tequila. Excellent.
The perfect alcohol to pair with the fact that, for the past three years, I’ve been stupidly, annoyingly in love with my best friend. Probably longer than three years if I’m being honest with myself, but this is not the moment for that particular brand of introspection. The feelings I can usually shove down and cover in caffeine, junk food, and my love of all things pink and sparkly are exponentially more stubborn when a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Margot Robbie is hanging off Tyler’s arm, an Emma Stone inCrazy, Stupid, Lovelookalike is grabbing his ass, and he’s grinning his uninhibited, slightly lopsided grin that fills the dark club with light.
Fuck, I love that grin.
And speaking of grins, Maddy’s just grows wider. “Where do you think I’ve been for the last twenty minutes?”
“Can confirm.” Maya Casey slides up to us followed by our other friends, cousins Emmy and Sarah Wyles, and Caitlin Parker, each of them with a drink in hand. My mom, Caitlin’s mom, and Maddy’s mom, along with Tyler’s mom, have been best friends since they all met in law school almost thirty years ago. Sarah’s and Caitlin’s moms are sisters, and Emmy’s and Sarah’s dads are brothers, and we’ve all known Maya and her family for most of our lives. It’s a big, complicated, family by blood and friends-who-might-as-well-be-family situation. It was a wild way to grow up, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Tyler may be my best friend since birth, but these five women—the aforementioned knowers of my big, fat feelings for Tyler—make up my own little girl gang. They’re the best friendsin the world and I love them madly, even if they did want to come hang out with football players instead of having a girls’ night out.
“Caught her and Cam practically fucking against the wall by the bathroom,” Maya finishes with a smirk.
Emmy grins. “It was so hot. Like, I almost had a tiny orgasm just watching.”
“What’s it like, dating a football player who just won a Super Bowl?” Sarah asks.
“It absolutely does not suck.” Maddy’s eyes gleam at the mention of her newly minted boyfriend, single dad of two, and veteran Pittsburgh Renegades offensive lineman Cam Lowry. “Winning a Super Bowl makes my man horny. And watching him win a Super Bowl? Forget it. I’m weak. I may never recover.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, then immediately wishing I could grab the words and shove them back into my mouth.
Emmy cackles. “Get a little hot and bothered watching Tyler throw all those touchdowns?”
