Page 6 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

ainsley

“Did that all just happen?”

I look over to Quinn, and I can’t blame her for asking the question. The last hour would be unbelievable if I just didn’t witness it for myself.

But here at The Joint—the hometown bar where each of us have spent our twenty-first birthdays, countless family nights out, and some very not-family-friendly nights too—we as the Banks family helped Porter—the owner of said bar and my sister’s former situationship turned roommate turned love of her life—run off his mother, who was trying to extort money from him in exchange for custody of his niece, whom he’s been raising.

I can’t imagine saying all of that out loud. Just thinking about that insane run-on sentence is hard to wrap my head around. Then again, we’re the Banks family. Chaos seems to follow us. But in the end, we always seem to come out on top.

And take those down who’ve done us, and the ones we love, wrong.

“I still can’t believe all of that actually worked,” Porter says as he sets down a round of drinks for everyone at the long table in the middle of the bar. Except me. I don’t drink. I tried a few times in college, the first being on my twenty-first birthday.

I puked for two days. Just hearing the word J?germeister makes my body shake.

I tried again, but I just don’t think alcohol agrees with me. And why would you do something that’s not working for you? If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. That’s my motto. Which is why I stick with cranberry and club soda with a lime. It’s quite refreshing.

“Everyone, I’d like to propose a toast.” My brother Simon stands up and holds his glass of bourbon in the air.

“To Quinn and Porter. May this be the worst thing your relationship will have to endure and from here on out it will be nothing but smooth waters. And to my family, can we please not do this again? I’m getting too old for this shit. Cheers!”

Everyone at the table laughs as we clink glasses and take sips of our drinks.

“I kind of don’t want it to be the last time,” Stella, the baby of the family, says. “It’s fun creating diabolical plans and making assholes realize that karma is, in fact, a bitch.”

“Plus we’re getting good at it,” Quinn adds. “Why put this kind of talent to bed? Oh! Maybe we can start a vigilante business.”

“Really, Quinn?” This is coming from Maeve, our oldest, and most practical, sister. “Who do you think we are? Some kind of small-town, southern Avengers?”

Everyone laughs as Logan, her husband and the reason she knows any Marvel references, kisses her temple. “That might’ve been the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“As much as I do fancy myself a modern-day Iron Man, I don’t think that would fly,” Simon says. “So unfortunately, our shenanigans are going to stop here. We’ve all had our fun and taken down our enemies. Ainsley’s the only one left, and we know she doesn’t need the help of our services.”

Everyone nods and tips their glasses at my brother’s statement. I chuckle, but it’s more of the nervous variety. Is nervous even the right word? I’m not sure. I just know the words “only one left” are now running laps around my brain.

Because…I mean…

I quietly shrink back from the conversation as I look around the table.

Every one of my siblings is laughing, smiling, and has love radiating from them.

Porter has his arm around Quinn as Grace, his niece, sits on her lap.

Logan has Maeve in an embrace as he kisses her forehead.

Stella is whispering something into Emmett’s ear that’s making her normally stoic boyfriend smile.

Simon and his wife Charlie aren’t having such an intimate moment—Charlie is currently checking my niece’s diaper—but the way he looks at her, even during something so mundane and pretty stinky—is inspiring.

And then there’s me. Sitting at the end of the table because that’s where the extra seat would fit. No one is holding my hand. No one is kissing my cheek after a day that will go down in Banks family history. No one’s talking to me low, sharing a secret or whispering something only meant for us.

It’s just me.

The ninth wheel.

The reason we need an extra chair at a table, because I make the numbers uneven.

I’m the cheese. And I’m standing alone.

I pick up my drink, slowly sipping it as the realization overwhelms me.

I mean, I knew this. It’s not brand-new information.

Once Quinn finally admitted that Porter was much more than her roommate—and former situationship—I did the mental math.

So I don’t know why it’s hitting me now?

Maybe Simon’s phrasing? Maybe seeing everyone together in one space? Maybe both?

But whatever the reason is, I’m very, very, aware of my singleness.

“Ainsley, I love you. We’re perfect together. Come back to me and come with me.”

I physically shake myself out of that train of thought. Dang…I really must be headed for Depression City: Population, Ainsley, if I’m even entertaining any thoughts about Dr. Jonathan Ainsworth.

Jonathan moved away almost three years ago now, and I think that was the last time I even thought of him.

I remember it distinctly because it was a hot fall day when he was literally on his hands and knees begging me to come back to him.

That he’d been crying for five days because of the heartache, and that he had to move to San Antonio to get away from me.

Unless, of course, I wanted to come with him.

It was very dramatic. And I’m saying that as a member of the Banks family.

He was everything I thought I wanted. A mild-mannered pediatric surgical resident. Came from a good family. Clean cut. Polite. Ambitious. Wanted to spend every second of every day with me when we weren’t working.

No doubt he would’ve been here with me today.

Sure, he might not’ve joined in on the antics of helping take down Porter’s mother, but he’d have come for the celebratory drinks.

Though he probably would’ve asked to drive separately, because he’d have to be in bed by nine.

But he would’ve been here. And I wouldn’t have been alone.

As much as I’d love to have someone next to me, I need to remind myself why I’d rather be here alone.

That Jonathan wasn’t right for me. We weren’t right together.

That being together all the time is great, until it isn’t.

I don’t know what true love is supposed to feel like, but I know what I had with Jonathan wasn’t it.

Even in the beginning, I never had the butterflies.

Couldn’t tell you what tingles feel like.

I definitely didn’t have the orgasms. I still think those are a myth.

So yes, I’m alone now. And that stinks. But if my options are being the ninth wheel or being Mrs. Jonathan Ainsworth, then I’ll be the odd man out any day of the week.

Plus Ainsley Ainsworth? Absolutely not.

“Yo! Earth to Ainsley!”

I jump a little in my seat at Quinn’s outburst. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“What were you daydreaming about?”

“That wasn’t daydreaming,” Maeve says, giving me a skeptical look. “She smiles when she daydreams. There was no smile. Is everything okay?”

I never lie to my family, or anyone really, but there’s a first for everything.

Because I’m not about to bring down the mood of the day because I’m feeling a little lonely.

I’m surely not going to bring up the subject of Jonathan—that would send Simon into a rage, and now he has brothers-in-law to help him bury bodies.

And Quinn.

Plus, today isn’t about me. It’s about Porter, Quinn, and Grace, who’s currently giving Simon the side-eye as he tries, and fails, to make her smile.

“Nothing important. Sorry, though. Did you ask me something?”

I notice that all my sisters are now thoroughly examining me, but luckily, none of them press me on my clear deflection.

“What I was asking was how the Fury visit to the hospital was?” Quinn asks. “I figured it had to be a big one if it made you late today.”

“What!” Maeve yells, who arrived after I did. “Ainsley was late?”

“By like five minutes,” I protest.

Maeve shakes her head in disbelief. “Damn. Even after everything that happened, I think that might be the biggest news of the day.”

“Right?” Stella says. “For the first time in history, Ainsley Banks didn’t follow specific directions and was late .”

“I mean, what’s next?” Quinn asks. “Porter! Go check behind the bar. I bet she stole a few bottles of liquor.”

I narrow my eyes at my sister as the rest of the table snickers. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one headed for a life of debauchery.”

I add in my own dramatics with an eye roll, which gets a snicker from the rest of the table. “Yes. I was late. I picked up a shift today on Mia’s unit. A few Nashville Fury players came for a visit. Time got away from me. That’s it.”

As I’m not going to mention where my traitorous brain was taking me a few moments ago, I’m also not going to be bringing up the six-foot-five football player who is the entire reason I was late.

If I tell them that I literally ran into one of the Fury’s biggest stars, I’ll never hear the end of it, I just know it.

“Who was there?” Simon asks, suddenly in fan-boy mode. “Was Bryce the quarterback there? I doubt Cole Campbell was there. He and his wife just had a baby. Oh! What about Linc Kincaid? Dude is a fucking beast. Won me a shit-ton of money last year.”

I feel my cheeks heat at the mention of Linc’s name. Or maybe it’s because I’m remembering the smile he gave me that I could feel across every inch of my body. All I know is I need to fix my face immediately and not give anything away.

“I don’t know? Maybe?” God, I’m such a bad liar. I can’t see myself, but no way am I believable right now. “There were a lot of them there. And you know I don’t know football.”

“Do you mean to tell me you don’t know the name of the man whose eyes you were staring into a couple of hours ago?”