The Change Up (The Brentwood Boys, #5)

by Meghan Quinn

Think about it, what REAL person is okay with all their regrets? No one. There is always that one thing you did, that one time, that you will always, always, always think . . . “What if I’d done that differently?”

Before I knew it, I was staring into my fridge at dairy products not made from a cow, but rather from oat. What the fuck is that? Oat milk? Explain to me where an oat has a goddamn nipple.

When she’s angry, her voice becomes shaky. She’s the type of person who reverts to crying because it’s the only way her body knows how to react when angry.

“Take the job and stay with me for a bit.” But the moment the words fall past my lips, I realize what a huge mistake I just made. Shit.

“Fuck, could you imagine if you two fall in love? Friends to lovers, God that makes my little romantic heart beat faster.”

“Oh my God, did you make more muscles?” Make more muscles. Only Kinsley would phrase it that way.

I don’t need love or a relationship with some other girl. I have Kinsley. She’s my person.

He chuckles and says, “I love you, Kinny. Good night.” And for some reason, those three little words that we’ve been saying to each other for years feel more weighted, as if there’s a hidden meaning behind them.

I have a mouthful of ice cream when he asks, triggering a wave of fresh tears, because I’m that person who cries harder when someone asks what’s wrong.

Same

“She was there, holding me tightly, when Jamie broke my heart. She’s been a part of every milestone in my life that’s carved and shaped me into the person I am today. I can’t jeopardize losing her over some weird feeling that’s in the pit of my stomach.”

I slam my bedroom door and stand in the middle of my room, unsure what to really do . . . or say. You remind me of your father. What a fucking brutal comment.

I’m pretty sure in this moment, both of us crying over a troubled childhood, I’m falling for my best friend.

I love this girl more than just a friend. I think I always have but never let myself consider it until the other night, when I thought I could lose her. That I could scare her so much with my anger, with my temper, that she’d walk out the door. Leave me.

I watch as the girl I’m madly in love with talks to a dog she only recently met.

“Never in a million years would I have guessed that Maddox Paige, the bad boy of baseball, is a fucking softy with a heart. Nor would I have ever bet that you would come to me for girl advice.”

Rules. I set rules for a goddamn reason, and it seems like she doesn’t care about stepping over all of them. “You out of anyone should know what a safe place means to me,” I say, softly.

I could only imagine what I would do if Kinsley walked out of the bathroom in lingerie and started stroking my thigh. Pretty sure my head would pop off my neck while I aggressively shouted “Awooooga.”

He sets his coffee down, lifts me by the waist and sits me on the counter, only to straddle me with his arms, staring at me. That was heavenly, being handled by him like that. I just want to make that known.

Oh. Lord. As he squats down and scratches Herman behind the ears while saying, “Hey old man,” I think an ovary popped.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, do you know that?” he says, stealing every ounce of air from my lungs. “Even when you cry, you’re gorgeous. It makes it difficult to keep my hands off you, to keep my body away from yours. To hold back any longer.”

Trust me when I say the day you get thoroughly fucked by a Rebel, is the day sex will never be the same.”

But despite the loopy cursive, there is something I can read clear as day . . . You are cordially invited to the wedding of Manny Paige and Jamie Woodard.

I fell in love with that smile and thankfully, that smile has fallen in love with me.

“Are you saying you want a baby with me?” Her arms wrap around my neck, bringing me closer. “Kinsley, I want everything with you,”

And that’s when I see it: the closed off-expressions from the guys, the brick walls being built to not only protect them, but to probably protect Maddox.

‘No, she was my courage. How could I possibly call her . . . without her?’”