All Chapters of Secret Relationship with my Brother’s best friend : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

JADE"Bye, Amy."I push through the heavy glass doors of the film building and step outside. The parking lot is half empty now, most students already gone for the day. A few cars huddle under the dying afternoon light. The asphalt is cracked in places, weeds pushing through like they own the place. I spot the bench near the bike rack and walk toward it. My bag feels heavier than usual. My feet hurt. And I am seriously considering murdering my brother.Nina dropped me off this morning. Said she had a study group and couldn't wait. I didn't think much of it then. Now I'm standing here like an idiot, waiting for Marcus to show up, because apparently I'm incapable of planning ahead.Why didn't I just drive myself?Right. Because Nina said she'd buy me coffee if I rode with her. And I am weak for free caffeine.So here I am. Waiting.And Marcus is probably balls deep in some blonde right now.I don't mean that as an insult. I mean it as a fact. My brother is a man whore. Always has been.

JADEI run the hand dryer over my hair, but it’s useless. The thing barely blows warm air. My reflection in the bathroom mirror is a mess—flushed cheeks, wet strands sticking to my neck, and eyes still burning from the sight of Derek Yamanaka sitting in his fancy car like he owns the world.I stomp downstairs. Dry clothes. Damp hair. Bad mood.Marcus is on the couch, scrolling through his phone like nothing happened.“What did you want to tell me that couldn’t wait until I showered?” I ask, yanking the hand dryer cord toward an outlet.He looks up. “I’m going to med school.”I freeze for half a second, then smile. “That’s good news. When?”“Sunday, actually.”I stop trying to plug in the dryer. Turn to face him fully.“Sunday as in… the day after tomorrow?”He nods. “Yeah.”“Congratulations.” I mean it. I do. But something in his voice makes my stomach tighten.He sets his phone down. “I’ve been thinking about how you’ll be alone. And since our family is still in Europe, and I’m your o

JADEIt’s Monday. Marcus left yesterday. The house feels bigger now. Emptier.I walk home from class, phone pressed to my ear. Nina’s voice crackles through.“So he just asked you? Out of nowhere?”“Yeah.” I kick a pebble off the sidewalk. “Cole. From mycinematography class. The one with the good lighting notes.”“The tall one?”“No, the other one. Blond. Quiet.”“Oh, him.” Nina pauses. “What did you say?”“I said yes.” I stop at the crosswalk. Wait for the light. “Now I don’t know what to wear.”I glance across the street. At Derek’s building. The penthouse windows are dark. Curtains drawn.Too quiet.The light changes. I cross and head up the steps to my house. Unlock the door. Step inside.“Okay,” Nina says, “what about that green dress? The one with the low back?”I drop my bag by the door. “I forgot I had something like that.”“You’re welcome.”“Wish me luck.”“You don’t need luck.” Nina’s voice is firm. “You’ll do great. Just be yourself. And don’t mention Derek.”I laugh. “Wasn

JADEMy documentary professor assigns us a project in October follow a subject for six weeks, find the story underneath the surface of them, the thing they don’t say out loud. Everyone in class picks parents, siblings, roommates. I don’t decide to pick Derek. It just happens, the way most things with him happen, by accident and then suddenly not by accident at all.It starts small. I film him making coffee one morning, just to test a new lens, and something about the specific, focused way he does even mundane things — measuring grounds like the ratio matters more than it possibly could, watching the water like it owes him an explanation — makes me keep the camera running longer than I mean to.He notices, eventually, three weeks in, when I catch him on the balcony at sunset without asking first.“Are you filming me again?”“You’re an interesting subject.” I don’t lower the camera. “Cold billionaire, warm underneath. Very cinematic.”“I’m not warm.”“You made me tea last night because

JADEThree weeks into the world’s worst babysitting arrangement, Nina decides we need brunch. Not because we deserve it. Because, in her words, “you’ve been insufferable and I refuse to hear about Derek Yamanaka’s cheekbones one more time without a mimosa in my hand.”Lauren comes too, quiet as always, camera bag slung over one shoulder because she never goes anywhere without it. We pick a place on the Upper East Side with white tablecloths and a hostess who looks like she’s never once had carbs.We’re two bites into avocado toast when Nina goes still, eyes fixed on the door.“Don’t look,” she says. “Blond nightmare, twelve o’clock.”I look. Obviously I look.Vanessa is being seated three tables away, in sunglasses she doesn’t take off indoors, with two women who laugh at everything she says half a second before she finishes saying it. She spots me almost immediately of course she does, I’m wearing the loudest color in the room out of spite — and her mouth curves.“Jade Murphy.” She s