Signed Copy - Falling For Your Best Friend by Emma St. Clair

CHAPTER ONE SAMPLE

Harper

No kid ever imagines that when they’re an adult, filling out spreadsheets could bring as much joy as climbing a tree. Actually, I still love climbing trees. And rock walls and hills—anything really. As for being an adult, sometimes that only feels technically and legally true. 

But watching the numbers—which I calculate first in my head—fill this color-coded Excel sheet brings with it a sense of satisfaction that I would never admit out loud. The sounds of weights clanging and bass thumping from the gym downstairs are blocked by my noise-canceling headphones, and I’m in a little bubble of happiness and peace. 

Which, of course, can’t last long. Movement drags my eyes from the screen, and I look up to see my brother Collin. In lieu of simply waving to get my attention, he’s doing some kind of dorky dance—the funky chicken? Or the sprinkler? Dancing isn’t my thing. It’s not his either. Clearly. 

If he wasn’t my brother, I might laugh, but since we’re related, I’m deeply embarrassed for and by him. Good thing we’re alone in his office. The only window is a two-way mirror, so he can look down on the gym floor, but no one can see him. He likes to imagine himself like the Godfather up here. 

I pull off my headphones and set them on the desk. They’re a ridiculously expensive pair of baby-blue Beats, an early Christmas gift from my best friend, Chase. I really shouldn’t have accepted them, since I know exactly how much they cost. But I couldn’t say no. Not when I saw them in the box, and not when I saw the grin on Chase’s face at my reaction. It was that rare smile, the one he saves just for me. 

I’m not usually into material stuff. But they’re functional, so pretty, and, as they say, it’s the thought that counts. And every time I see them, I think of him. I got him the super-fancy mountain bike he’s been drooling over, and I can’t wait to give it to him Christmas morning. 

“These are new,” Collin says, picking them up and examining them. “Nice.” 

I fight back the urge to snatch them out of his hands. “Thanks.” 

His brows shoot up as he notices the logo. “Beats? Wow, sis. I didn’t know you were so fancy.” 

“You know me. So fancy,” I say, flipping my dark braid over one shoulder with an eye roll. He snorts. 

I’m hoping Collin won’t ask any more questions. I don’t want him to know that Chase bought them for me. He’ll take that totally the wrong way, then get that goofy, hopeful expression he and my two other brothers and even my dad get when it comes to my best guy friend. I’m constantly thwarting their hopes because Chase and I are, and will always be, just friends. 

Their matchmaking schemes are irrelevant. Just like my actual feelings. 

I retrieve my headphones and put them in their case before zipping them up in my gym bag. “So, what’s up?” 

“I wanted to check on the status of the spreadsheets,” Collin says. “And remind you that you’ve got Kyle in ten minutes.” 

Just like that, all my spreadsheet-happy goes poof. Kyle. I hadn’t forgotten my next training session, even if I kind of wanted to. Maybe I was using the number-crunching as a way of mentally preparing. 

“Your financials are up to date for now,” I tell Collin, sliding my palms up and down my thighs a few times, wishing the fabric could wick away my stress. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Aw, I’m not getting a real present?” Collin sticks out his lip and blinks his big brown eyes at me. From an objective standpoint, all my brothers are stupidly good-looking. This puppy-dog face could slay about any woman in the Austin area. Doesn’t work on sisters, though. 

“I figured free accounting for your gym is a pretty solid present.” When he opens his mouth, I hold up both hands. “Kidding. You know I like doing it.”

“But I could pay you extra—”

“Nope.” 

And I’m not just saying it because I know how close his profit margins are. Sure, Grit charges a premium for collegiate athletes like Kyle and even some pros. Our family name carries weight, even long after my dad and two of my three brothers retired from football. But the gym costs a premium to run as well. High-end clients require high-end equipment and trainers. Grit is only in its second year, a baby business that’s just moving into the black. The last thing Collin would want is to have to ask Dad for a bailout. Dad’s already done enough by investing and endorsing the gym. 

Before the knee injury that finally took him out, my dad was a defensive end, playing for Tennessee and Dallas. He and Mom loved Texas and decided to settle in Austin to raise my three brothers and me once he retired. A year later, Mom died of cancer, so Dad raised the four of us alone. 

Which explains some of why I am the way I am. The only girl in a house full of testosterone-fueled guys? I was bound to be a little wonky. 

Anyway, even if I weren’t personally invested in wanting to see Collin succeed, I actually like doing the spreadsheets, almost as much and sometimes more than I do training. Especially when it comes to guys like Kyle. 

Not that he’s done anything bad … yet. Today is our second session, and during our first, I got a vibe. Nothing I could pinpoint exactly. Like a lot of athletes who spend time in the spotlight, he’s got an ego that stretches on for miles. One I’d personally like to knock down a peg or ten. 

Maybe in our first session he stood a little too close and seemed to look a little too long. I don’t think he was flirty, though I sometimes miss innuendo and jokes. My roommate, Abby, is forever having to explain things to me, laughing at what she likes to call my virginal ears. 

Kyle is probably fine. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m the issue if things are weird, in and out of the gym. Whenever I start with new clients, I’m a bit stiff. I have an adjustable script in my head, and I focus as completely as possible on the tasks, the reps, the weights. Not so much the person. Once I’m used to a person, it’s fine. More than fine, considering the fact that my schedule rarely opens up for new clients.

“So, you’re good with Kyle?” Collin asks, and I realize my worry must have shown on my face. “It could be a big deal if he endorses us. A few social media posts could do us good. But it’s not worth it if he’s—”

“Fine,” I say, hoping to convince myself as well. Kyle is what Collin would call a whale—a great athlete with a solid social media presence. He basically is the University of Texas defense, at least until he gets snapped up by some pro team.

“Are you sure?”

Collin gives me a look that I don’t like, but one I’m used to getting from any one of my three older brothers. I use the same one on my best friends, who are much more scared of my bark than I am of Collin’s bite. I meet and hold his dark gaze that mirrors my own. 

Once, Chase told me that my eyes are the color of the sun shining through a bottle of Dr Pepper. I don’t even drink soda, but the specificity of that comparison made my chest tight. In a good way, not like the current stressful pinch I’m trying to hide from my brother.

“I can handle Kyle,” I tell Collin, my voice sounding more confident than I feel. “And I know you’ll be watching from your ivory tower, princess.” I point to the window. 

Collin rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you. When I’m up here, looking down on y’all, think of me as the Godfather.” 

He makes a face that I think is supposed to resemble Marlon Brando. Really, he just looks constipated. 

I laugh and head for the door. “Sure thing, princess.” 

“You and Chase are coming to dinner, right?” he calls as I start down the stairs, my bag on my shoulder. 

“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” I call back. Ever since I basically forced my family to adopt Chase, he’s only missed a handful of our Tuesday dinners. 

Collin snorts some kind of response and slams his office door. I make my way to the bank of treadmills and pull my headphones out of my bag. I have a few minutes before Kyle shows up. A few sprints should give me a nice buzz of endorphins and a clearer head. 

The best thing about Chase’s gift is that the headphones can play music or simply cancel background noise. Right now, I need to borrow someone else’s strength, so I locate Chase’s Pump Up the Jam playlist, an upbeat mix of ’80s, ’90s, and early 2000s pop and rock. As MC Hammer starts in on being too legit, I begin a set of quick sprints. 

You’ll handle Kyle. The session will be fine. You’ll be professional, not awkward or weird, and he’ll tell all his friends about Grit, and Collin’s profit margins will get a little more wiggle room. 

As my feet pound on the belt, legs pumping, I repeat these things over and over again until the words are as familiar as my heartbeat: You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

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