MY BESTIE'S EX (The Rooftop Crew #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Blanca

I trudge up the steps of the train, smile at the conductor and walk through the doors to the seating area. With an ‘oomph’ I fall into the last seat of the last car on the last train from New York City. Destination: my new home, Cliffton Heights.

With me is a container of meatballs from my family’s Sunday night dinner and I place my jacket over the container to try and stop the smell from leaking throughout the train car—an impossible feat.

My phone dings so I pull it out of my bag. Of course it’s from my oldest brother in the thread we share with our other two brothers.

Dom: You on the train?

Me: Yeah.

Carm: Don’t talk to strangers.

Me: Okay. *eye roll emoji*

Enzo: Text us as soon as you get into your apartment.

Me: Sure thing. *military salute emoji*

You’d think they’d trust me more than they do, what with me being twenty-eight and all. To them, I’ll always be the baby sister.

Enzo: I have no idea why you wouldn’t let us just pay for an Uber.

Enzo is the second born and probably the most paranoid about safety. I’m out of the big city now, but moving an hour and a half train ride away is apparently more nerve-wracking than when I was smack dab in the middle of New York City. I even gave them the stats on crime in Cliffton Heights compared to New York. But to them, Cliffton Heights is a foreign land and until they come and see how beautiful it is, and most importantly how safe, I should expect nothing less from them.

Me: Because I’m an adult and I enjoy the train.

Carm: Don’t pick anyone up.

Me: Oh, and here I was unbuttoning my blouse to entice the slumped over gentleman three rows in front of me.

Carm is the youngest of my brothers but still older than me. He’s probably laughing right now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t share the same form of overprotectiveness as the other two.

My only saving grace lately is they all have women in their lives now who they need to worry about more than me.

Me: I’m going to rest. Dinner was great. Catch you guys next week. Love you.

Dom: Don’t shut your eyes on a train full of strangers!

I shake my head, looking at the only other man riding in the car with me. He’s either passed out or dead. Not much of a threat.

Me: I won’t. Someone might steal Mama’s meatballs.

Enzo: Those are hot commodities.

Carm: I’m snacking on them right now.

Dom: We just ate.

Carm: Like an hour ago.

Me: I’m putting my phone in my purse, so no one tries to steal it.

Enzo: Good idea but keep it within reach just in case.

Me: Bye guys.

Carm: See you.

Dom: Love you, sis.

Enzo: Remember to text us when you’re in your apartment.

Me: Aye, aye captain.

I click the button on my screen and toss my phone into my purse.

The conductor comes on the speaker to announce the name of the train line and route we’re on before the train jolts to a start. I close my eyes and lean my head against the vinyl seat. Even with the ladies in my brothers’ lives helping me in the kitchen on Sundays, I’m still tired. My hands are dry from the dish soap like they always are. Doesn’t seem to matter how thick I lather the lotion on afterward. My stomach is bloated from all the salt in Mama’s food.

My family is the typical Italian family. Big dinners, big personalities—big everything. Mama is over the moon about my brothers finding the love of their lives. Dom and his wife, Valentina, are expecting my parent’s first grandchild. Annie and Enzo are planning their wedding. And I’d bet Carm has a ring for Bella already hidden, ready for an impromptu proposal.

All three of my brothers are successful. We’re talking advertising executive, high-end real estate broker, and a Wall Street trader. They have more money in their bank accounts than I’ll probably ever see in my lifetime.

“HOLD UP!” I hear someone yell and my eyes pop open. There’s a man running alongside the train like in one of those romance movies where the guy has to get on the train to declare his love for the woman of his dreams.

He has a backpack secured on and carrying a plastic bag similar to mine filled with Tupperware. Inching toward the glass, I watch him grab the metal handle of the train, running along like he’s trying to rev up more energy to make the final jump. Oh s**t, he’s going to hit the steel beam. His feet move faster and just before, he jumps on the step and the train breezes by the steel beam.

I mentally hope he decides to come on this car instead of the one in front of me. I’d like to see the type of guy who can pull off that stunt like he’s filming a movie.

Sliding to the edge of my bench seat, I tip my head to see him and the conductor talking through the residue covered glass window. He hands him a plastic container and the two do some type of handshake before he mindlessly presses the button for the doors of my car to open.

He steps into the car that only holds me, a passed out guy and the smell of my mama’s Italian sauce. All the air rushes out of my lungs. He’s drop-dead sexy. I have no idea how to describe him. He’s gorgeous. Light brown hair that sticks straight up on top and trimmed on the sides. Enough scruff to make my thighs shake with want. Ripped jeans, a dark button-down and a pair of sneakers. So casual and so mouthwatering at the same time.

Just when I’m about to slide over and beg him to sit with me, his lips tip, his mouth opens in the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen on a man. Perfect straight white teeth. Damn, I’m not sure I’ve ever been this attracted to someone before. It’s not even just him. It’s how he’s looking at me. Like he’s been searching all over the world for me and he just found me.

“You’re new?” He opens up the plastic bag and places a Tupperware container next to the man passed out.

“Do you know everyone who rides the train?” I ask and he keeps walking toward me and I find myself holding my breath the nearer he comes because with every step, my heart beats a touch faster.

“I know everyone who rides the last train on Sunday night. Yes.” He slides his backpack off, sitting in the seat right in front of me. He leans his back against the train window and extends his feet along the bench of the seat. “That’s Gil.” He nods toward the sleeping man. “He’ll be getting off at Peekskill.”

I lean forward. “Is he okay?”

He laughs like I’m not crazy for asking. “Yeah. Watch. He’ll get up at Peekskill without anyone waking him up.” He bends forward and I hear the plastic of the bag rustling. “You hungry?” He holds up a third Tupperware container.

“No, thanks.”

He nods. “Good idea not to take food from a guy on a train that you don’t know. Someone taught you well.” His smile deepens and a dimple forms in his right cheek. Seriously, who sent this man my way, the train fairy?

“I have my own anyway.” I lift my jacket and he peeks over the seat.

“What is it?”

I open my container of meatballs. “Italian.”

He sighs and his hand moves across the seat, grabbing a meatball with his finger and thumb, the sauce is about to drip right before his head falls back and he drops it into his mouth like a cherry. Please tell me he gets off early because my libido is revving in overdrive and it’s going to stall out soon.

“Aren’t you afraid of taking food from a stranger on a train?”

“Nah. You look sweet. Something tells me you didn’t bring food on the train to poison a random stranger.”

He’s funny. And so at ease and free-spirited.

“It’s my mama’s and if she knew I was sharing with you, she’d want me to tell you that there’s something off in her meatballs tonight. Unfortunately, she’ll figure it out at midnight and feel the need to text me.”

He retrieves a bottle of water. “Nothing wrong that I can tell.”

“Too much garlic. It’s overpowering the meat. My brother miscalculated.”

He stares at me for a moment and I cross my legs, becoming uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrug. “I like garlic?”

His eyes narrow, but in a teasing you-intrigue-me way. “Sibling rivalry. I get it.” He sips his water as I admire his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and secures the cap on the bottle.

His eyes fall back on me and I straighten my back like I wasn’t just ogling him. “I don’t have sibling rivalry.”

“Okay.” He lifts a Tupperware container up over the seat. “Try one of these.”

I raise my hand. “I’m okay, but thank you.”

“Come on. I promise they aren’t poisoned. I tried the staple of your culture. Try mine?”

“Shrimp?”

“Garlic prawns.” He moves it closer and though my stomach says no more food, my eyes say damn that looks good. When my nose joins in on the debate, I raise my hand to grab one.

If my brothers saw me, they’d knock it out of my hand saying I’m crazy and what am I thinking. I laugh imagining the whole scenario.

“What’s so funny?” He picks up a shrimp himself and eats it, closing up the container afterward.

“Nothing.”

“That’s the way you’re going to play it, huh?” He looks around. “We’re all by ourselves and I’m the last stop. Humor me until you get off.”

He’s getting off at Cliffton Heights too? That shouldn’t make my stomach feel like it’s filled with helium and it might float away, but it does.

I bite into the shrimp. It isn’t rubbery and it’s still warm. The butter drips down my chin as I take another bite. I’ve had garlic shrimp before but never this good.

“Told you it was good.” His cockiness draws me into him further. Maybe it’s growing up with three overly confident brothers, but the more sure a man is of himself, the more I seem to want him.

“It’s excellent.” I finish the shrimp off and he holds up a napkin for me to dispose of the tail in. “You’re so prepared.”

He nods. “Don’t worry, in ten minutes you won’t feel a thing. You’ll just pass out.”

I stare blankly at him and then he laughs.

“I’m kidding. Seriously. Kidding.” He extends his hand. “Ethan.”

I place my hand in his, ignoring the way the heat from his large hand travels up my arm. “Blanca.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thanks.”

He wiggles in his seat, spreading his legs out a bit more and getting comfortable. “So tell me what was so funny.”

“I was just thinking about my brothers.”

“Clearly you have more than one?”

“Three,” I answer.

“Older or younger?”

“All older.”

His eyes widen and he nods. “Must be some sibling rivalry going on.”

“There isn’t any sibling rivalry.”

His smile only grows. “Italian family. Three older brothers. They all successful?”

I shake my head.

“No?”

I frown. “Okay, yeah.”

He smirks. “Married?”

I roll my eyes in a playful way. “One is.”

“The other two?”

“Seriously? Engaged and committed.”

He raises those perfect eyebrows like I should just admit he’s right.

“I’m telling you. I’m the baby sister. The only daughter in an Italian family. I’m not starved for attention.”

“And yet you know your brother put too much garlic in the meatballs and haven’t told your mom yet because a small part of you wants her to figure it out and blame your brother.”

“NO!” I screech and then lower my voice. “No,” I whisper-shout. “I would have said something if I knew when they were being made, I could just tell when I tasted them.”

He nods a few times like, ‘okay continue to lie to yourself.’

“You’re not right.”

“I am.” He winks and those balloons in my stomach take flight. Damn traitor.

The conductor announces Peekskill and Gil stands up, swooping up the Tupperware container. He looks around and when he spots Ethan, he nods in appreciation.

“Have a great night, Gil,” Ethan says.

Gil doesn’t respond and I watch him stumble down the stairs and out onto the platform. When I look back to Ethan, he’s smirking.

“I’m almost always right,” he says, but his facial expression tells me he doesn’t necessarily believe it.

“You know nothing about me or my relationship with my brothers.”

He taps his index finger on his chin like he’s thinking. “I bet they’re protective?”

“That’s not rocket science. Three Italian brothers being overprotective of their baby sister is somewhat expected.”

“But I bet it bothers you.”

I shrug. “It would bother anyone.”

He shakes his head. “There are some people who like protectiveness from other people. Makes them feel cared for. Loved.”

I look around the train car. It’s only the two of us. “Am I on the psychoanalyze me train?”

He laughs. “This is the most fun I’ve had on a Sunday night in months.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” I deadpan.

I’m not going to admit that it’s the same for me because he’s a stranger and I know nothing about him. He could be buttering me up to kidnap me later.

He says nothing and since I hate awkward silence, I finally succumb.

“Fine. You’re right, it bothers me.”

“Because you want to prove to them you’re an equal?”

I shake my head. “Okay… next topic.”

To my surprise, he does let it go, taking out a container of cookies. Chocolate chip at that. So classically American.

“What culture are you from?” I ask.

“Spanish. Not the cookies though.” He holds the container out toward me. “Peace offering. I tend to interrogate people because I love digging and dissecting what makes them tick. My apologies.”

I pick up a cookie hoping I’m not about to drop unconscious before we hit Cliffton Heights. “Thanks. Apology accepted.” I bite the cookie and an explosion of sugary goodness fills my mouth.

“Which one is your stop?” he asks.

“Cliffton Heights.”

He gifts me with a deep smile that draws his dimple out. My ego soars at being the one to pull it out of him.

I’m in so much trouble.