Nice Guys Still Finish: The Ladies Who Brunch Book 5, page 1
NICE GUYS STILL FINISH
The Ladies Who Brunch Book Five
HARLOW JAMES
Copyright © 2023 by Harlow James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Paperback ISBN: 9798367504941
Special Edition Paperback ISBN: 9798369613009
Cover Designer: Abigail Davies, Pink Elephant Designs
Editor: Melissa Frey
This one is for my readers. Without your desire for Jeffrey’s story, there wouldn’t be one.
Thank you for loving him just as much as I do. And for loving this entire series.
And to the ladies who haven’t found their man yet…
Marry the funny one. The nice one.
Show them that they can finish.
And I promise—they can make you finish too 😉
“There’s a difference between a boy who kinda likes you, and a man who needs your soul next to his. Learn the difference.”
Unknown Author
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Connect with Harlow James
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More Books by Harlow James
Prologue
Jeffrey
Senior Year of High School
“Oh my God, Jeffrey! You always make me laugh!” Jessica snorts and then smacks me playfully.
And inside, I feel like a million bucks.
Make girls laugh. That’s the key to getting them to like you, right?
“What can I say? I’m a funny guy. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be a comedian one day.”
She props her chin in her hand and smiles at me. “A famous comedian? Because then I could say, ‘I know him! That’s Jeffrey Davis. I went to high school with him.’”
“Or you could say, ‘That’s Jeffrey Davis. He’s my boyfriend.’”
The laugh she lets out this time puts the last one to shame. “Oh, that’s a good one!”
My stomach plummets, but I try so hard to keep a passive face. “Why’s that so funny?” I ask instead, wondering if I’ve been reading this situation all wrong.
After months of crushing on Jessica from afar, I finally got the courage to talk to her during one of our classes together. After laying some groundwork, we realized we had a lot in common and worked well together. She even suggested that we team up on the project that’s due at the end of the grading period.
And luckily, she was as amazing as I thought she would be—funny, smart, and gorgeous—although that was already a given. Every guy in our grade recognized how beautiful she was, and it was no secret that only a moron wouldn’t jump at the chance to date her.
So here I was, months of laying the foundation of being her friend, offering a shoulder to cry on when she lost her volleyball games or got in a fight with her parents, and assuring her that her hair and outfits looked great every single day.
And now I was finally ready to ask her out.
But apparently the idea was hilarious.
“Because it’s you, Jeffrey,” she replied as if her answer just made sense. But I was still baffled.
“Okay . . .”
She punched my shoulder like a dude would do to one of his buddies. “You’re my friend. One of my only guy friends, in fact. I love that I don’t have to worry about you and I dating. It makes me feel like I can be myself around you.”
Somebody come hand me a box of tissues because I legitimately think I might start crying. “But friends can turn into more sometimes . . .” I stab at one last glimmer of hope. Maybe she just hasn’t envisioned the two of us together like that yet.
Because I have—every day for months. At night, when I masturbate until my dick might fall off. And even during class when we’re working and I can’t help but stare at her longingly.
“But that would ruin it. I don’t want to destroy our friendship.” Placing her hand over the top of mine, she says, “You’re a nice guy, Jeffrey. The best. But I just don’t think of you that way.”
“Hey, Jessica!” one of the football players, Clayton Thompson, calls out across the cafeteria, catching Jessica’s attention. “Come over here, sexy!”
She giggles and then turns back to me. “I’ve got to go. Rumor has it that Clayton is going to ask me to homecoming. He’s so dreamy.” With a kiss to my cheek, she stands. “I’ll talk to you later, Jeff.” And then I watch the girl of my dreams walk away toward another guy, a guy that I know for a fact won’t treat her the way I could.
My heart feels like someone put it through a meat grinder. My stomach is churning to the point that I feel like I might get sick. But my confidence? That’s what’s truly shaken.
I must have read the entire situation wrong. The flirtatious banter and friendship we developed must have all been in my head. I swear she was feeling the same way I was.
But I guess I was mistaken.
Little did I know that this experience would become a broken record that continued to play all throughout college and even later into my adult life.
Because you know how the saying goes: Nice guys finish last.
And now I’m beginning to wonder if they even finish at all.
Chapter 1
Jeffrey
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I slap my palm to my face right after I feel moisture hit my skin. I pull my hand back to find a milky-white substance laced through my fingers. My other hand clutches the handle on the plastic bag I’m carrying, and I’m thankful that what I’m pretty sure is bird shit didn’t hit its contents as well.
“What the fuck?” Looking up, I see a line of three seagulls perched on a telephone wire hanging over the path I’m walking on, pretending to mind their own business, but they aren’t fooling me. “Did you seriously just shit on my head, you guys?”
A loud squawk echoes around me as their reply, but before I come back with my own retort, I consider two things: One, that I’d be arguing with birds at eight in the morning, and I don’t need that kind of random negativity in my life today. And two, is having a bird poop on you lucky or unlucky?
Groaning, I lift the bottom of my shirt to wipe the bird shit from my face as I finish the walk up to the front gate of Greenlight Studios, a local television and movie production studio tucked up in the hills of San Diego, California. After the guard checks me in, I head to my right toward stage twenty-four, hoping that my sister at least has a spare shirt in her wardrobe that I can change into.
It’s not every day that I get to visit Joselyn, no less on the set of her morning talk show. But today is her birthday, and I always make it a point to see her on that day no matter what. So we can celebrate together.
Yup, it’s my birthday, too. That’s how it works when you’re a twin.
Bet you didn’t see that little morsel about me coming, did you?
As soon as I get cleared at the door, the hustle and bustle of television production is all around me. People run past, yelling into microphones attached to their ears, giant lights and cameras are being maneuvered around the stage, and several people that look like they’re in charge are huddled in front of the set, speaking to each other.
“Hey, Jeffrey.” Melissa, one of the many employees here, greets me as I pass by. “Happy birthday!” It’s well known around the studio that Joselyn has a twin, and she often talks about me on the show as well, so I feel like part celebrity when I’m here. And I have to admit, it’s kind of fucking cool.
“Thanks.” I shuffle down the hall farther until I come to the door of my sister’s dressing room and hear her shouting on the other side. Well, that’s not a good sign.
“I can’t believe this!” Her angry voice echoes through the door just as I raise my hand to knock. “They can’t just blindside me with this change and expect things to go smoothly.”
A soft female voice replies, “Unfortunately, there’s nothing in your contract that says you have a say in your cohost. I’m sorry, Jos.”
“Ugh! This is just great. And did you see him and his smug smile?” I can imagine the narrow slit in her eyes as she speaks. “He has a punchable face, Ariel. I can’t share a show with a man who has a punchable face!”
Ariel? Is my sister having a conversation with the Little Mermaid?
I decide now is just as good a time as any to knock and make my presence known.
“Come in!” My sister shouts as I turn the knob and see her pacing around her dressing room. Her long blonde hair is down around her shoulders, minus the few piece s on the top of her head that are tucked up in hot rollers. Her makeup is completely done, but she’s walking around barefoot. She’s wearing a beige pencil skirt with a white blouse, looking ever the morning talk show host that she portrays on television, but her frazzled state is impossible to miss.
“Jos! You okay?”
Her shoulders deflate as soon as she sees me, and she rushes toward me. She tries to launch herself into my arms, but I stop her just in time with a hand in the air.
“Might not want to hug me.” I point to the bottom of my shirt where the bird shit resides. “A bird crapped on my head on the way in, and I don’t want it to get on your outfit.”
She giggles and then tears cloud her eyes as one falls slowly down her cheek. “That would only happen to you.” Clutching her hands to her chest, she continues, “Oh my God, Jeffrey. It’s so good to see you.” Her body starts shaking like she’s about to sob.
“Don’t cry, sis. I missed you, too,” I tease her.
Quieting, she swipes under her eye. “Sorry, it’s just been a morning.”
“I overheard a little bit outside. What’s going on? You definitely shouldn’t be crying on your birthday.”
“Happy birthday to you, too,” she replies, now smiling while reaching up to pinch my cheek.
I swat her hand away. “Enough of that. What’s got you so flustered?”
She lets out a growl and begins to pace again. “The station has brought in a replacement for Tiffany, and let’s just say, he’s not making a great impression.”
“Wait. Tiffany isn’t coming back?”
“Nope!” She pops the p and lifts a finger in the air as she paces back and forth in a straight line, sliding right back into her rant. “I mean, I get it. She had a baby, but she said she was returning. Then last week, we got the news that she terminated her contract. For the past three years, it’s been Joselyn and Tiffany in the Morning on channel thirteen. Our viewers have gotten used to seeing two female hosts as we discuss everything happening in San Diego and societal issues we deem important. And now, they’ve replaced her with this . . . this . . .”
“He’s a dick,” the girl standing in the corner chimes in, drawing my attention over to her. And fuck me sideways, why didn’t I see her standing there before?
Barely over five feet tall, the short blonde stares at me as our eyes meet for the first time, her fiercely mocha-colored ones fixed on my blues. My heart races, and my eyes drift down to her pink lips, lips twisted in a purse that screams she’s plotting a murder right now, and I’m not sure if it’s for me or my sister’s new colleague. She’s wearing dark-wash jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and an olive-green army jacket, casual but also perhaps like she’s trying to blend in. But now that I’ve seen her, I don’t think I could ignore her presence if I tried.
As I continue to appreciate her beauty and forget that my sister is also in the room, the clipboard that she’s clutching to her chest is screaming under the pressure she puts on it, and that makes me both terrified and intrigued by her passion, bringing me back to reality.
“A flaccid one or a hard one?” I ask the petite woman who arches a brow at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I think that matters. A flaccid dick is worse than a hard one, you know? At least with an erection, there’s promise of some pleasure at the end. But if he’s soft, spongy, a little sad-looking, and hanging to the left . . . well, then that definitely makes him less appealing—a less appealing and unsatisfactory dick, if you will.”
The girl shifts her eyes to my sister. “This is your brother?”
Joselyn comes up behind me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder even though I have a good five inches on her. “Yes. Jeffrey suffers from this condition called verbal diarrhea. The good news is that it’s not contagious, but the bad news is that there is no cure.”
“Charming,” the woman replies, dropping her eyes down my body. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s checking me out. But since I still feel she looks a little bit murdery, I’d say she’s searching for my weak spots or deciding where to plunge a knife into me first.
“I can be . . .”
My sister snorts. “Sure, Jeffrey. You must be selling your own kind of charm then.” She moves across the room. “By the way, this is Ariel, my new assistant.”
Aw, so no Little Mermaid. “Nice to meet you, Ariel.” I reach out to shake her hand, and she actually reciprocates, but her pinched face seems to indicate that doing so physically hurts her.
“Pleasure,” she replies sarcastically. I can’t figure out if her annoyance is endearing or scary at this point.
Instead, I turn back to my sister. “What happened to Heather?”
“She got promoted.”
“And so now she’s stuck with me,” Ariel interjects, straightening her spine and changing the subject, drawing my attention back to her. “Jos, I know it’s your birthday, your brother is here”—she darts her eyes over to me for a split second and then shifts back to my sister—“and you’re in the middle of a meltdown, but we go to camera in thirty minutes, and Serena needs to finish your hair and probably touch up your makeup after the few tears you just shed.”
Joselyn sighs. “Fine.”
Ariel closes the distance between her and my sister, tossing her clipboard to the couch on the side of the room and then placing her hands on Joselyn’s shoulders despite their considerable height difference. “Look, you’re a professional. San Diego loves you. It doesn’t matter who you have sitting in that chair next to you, you can do this job with your eyes closed. Just go out there, put on that brilliant fake smile, and show the network that you are what makes this show special, not the idiot of a man they chose to replace Tiffany, okay?”
“That’s a pretty decent pep talk if I ever heard one,” I say to my sister as Ariel glares at me, making my asshole pucker. Jesus, this woman is wound tight. “But she’s right. You’ve got this. And after the show, we’ll go to lunch like we planned.” It’s then I remember the bag I’m holding. “Plus, I brought you your favorite cupcakes from Grady’s Bakery.”
Jos’s eyes light up. “The red velvet with cream cheese frosting?”
“Is there any other option?”
Taking a deep breath, my sister squares her shoulders. “You’re right. Both of you. This ogre of a man has no idea who Joselyn Davis is.” With renewed confidence, she marches to the door and leaves me and Ariel alone, staring at each other once we realize my sister is no longer here as a buffer.
Silence unnerves me. I can’t handle it. It’s why, most of the time, I let my mouth take over and just say whatever is on my mind to fill the void. More often than not, my mouth gets me in more trouble than I can handle, but my sister was right. I suffer from quote, unquote, “verbal diarrhea,” and at this point in my life, I’m just as curious about what’s going to come out of my mouth as everyone else is.
“So Ariel, huh? Your mom must have been obsessed with The Little Mermaid movie.”
Rolling her eyes, Ariel reaches for her clipboard and flips one of the papers over before writing something down. “How original of you. Not like I’ve ever heard that one before. Although, most of the time, men just ask if I’m wearing a seashell bra under my clothing or blatantly point out that my hair isn’t red.”
That’s actually pretty funny, but I don’t dare say that out loud. “Nah, I always thought it was the tail that made her hot.”
Ariel stops writing and stares up at me. “I’m sorry . . . what?”
“Her tail, you know . . . her fin?” I blow out a breath and then bite my lip. “Talk about hot. You just didn’t know what that thing was capable of or what she was hiding underneath it. It was the mystery for me.”
