Yanking his pants back up with a curse, Andrew struck a fist against the wall, then pushed away from it. He fell onto the edge of his bed, head buried in clammy hands. Most of his life was spent working. Creating the lifeguarding roster, scheduling bar shifts, counting money. Organizing. Paying off his father’s debts. Working, working, working.
He would have nothing to distract him over the next two days while they celebrated Marcus and Jamie’s marriage.
And Jiya would be right there. Having taken her shirt off for him.
How the hell was he going to survive?
CHAPTER THREE
Jiya slipped on her new, nude high heels, walked in a circle around her bedroom and took them off, setting them at the perfect angle by the door. It was too early to put on the uncomfortable shoes. She only had a four-hour window before the pain reared its ugly head, so best to wait until the last possible second to subject her feet to the abuse.
She checked the time on her cell phone again. Five fifty.
There was only ten seconds of travel time between her house and the Prince residence, so she had nine minutes and fifty seconds to kill. Put the shoes on? Walk another circle? The distraction might be worth shortening her shoe pain window.
Jiya started to cover her face with both hands, but stopped short, remembering how long it had taken to apply her makeup. “Oh my God, I took my shirt off in front of Andrew.” She locked eyes with herself in the small mirror above her bureau. “Are you insane?”
She walked another circle, minus the shoes this time.
A full day later, Jiya still couldn’t believe she’d done it. What had possessed her?
While she was a fairly confident woman, she’d never considered herself vain. That being said, when she’d stripped off her shirt last night, there’d definitely been an element of take a good look at what you let slip away, sucker. Maybe even a slightly self-destructive sentiment that she should not be entertaining. One that wanted to jolt Andrew into seeing her as more.
Even though he clearly didn’t see her as anything more than his best friend.
Even though it was too late.
Bottom line, she should not be playing games with Andrew. She should be focusing on a realistic future, that unfortunately wouldn’t involve him. Not as more than anything but a friend.
Still. Guilt trickled into her belly and she frowned at her reflection. It was ridiculous to feel unfaithful toward Andrew. They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. Some days, she wasn’t sure what they were. But he’d never kissed her, touched her, asked her out or behaved in any way that didn’t scream, “We’re platonic, everyone! She might as well be my sister.”
At age twenty-nine, she wasn’t just being encouraged by her parents to marry…she wanted that life for herself. A committed relationship. Love. Messes and laundry and back to school shopping. Waking up tired on Sunday mornings and complaining with someone over coffee about the youth they took for granted. Instead, she was a single waitress with a communications degree from the University of Rochester that she’d never utilized, living with her parents and waiting around for…what? What was she waiting for?
A flash from last night caught Jiya off guard and made her belly swim with warmth. Andrew without a shirt, those black pants hanging low on his hips. Hair mussed. Shoulder muscles bunched, twin dimples shifting at the base of his spine.
Some days, she could forget her best friend was an insane, stupefying kind of hot.
Today wasn’t one of them. Yes, at the moment, she was all too aware of Andrew resembling a sun-kissed Richard Madden, minus the Scottish accent, but with the addition of sturdier calves. Not that she’d put a lot of thought into it or anything.
Jiya picked up her hairbrush and dragged it through her thick, ink black hair. She didn’t have a full-length mirror, so she stepped back and rose on her tiptoes, trying to judge her appearance from the awkward angle. Her dress wasn’t exactly a daring coral color—she tended to favor bright oranges and yellows, especially during weddings or special occasions at temple. But it was a pretty damn daring color for a dress this tight. Low cut, too. The fallbacks of ordering a dress online at the last second and assuming it would accommodate her prodigious rack.
It didn’t not look good, though. Hopefully she’d sneak out of the house without running into her mother, though. That could get dicey.
Lips pursed, Jiya eyeballed the window and considered climbing out.
Right. She couldn’t climb over a garden gnome in this dress, let alone attempt a jailbreak. With a sigh, she checked her cell phone again. Five more minutes? Was time moving backwards? She should be grateful for the impossibly slow grind of seconds, because she had no idea how to look Andrew in the face.