Page 4 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter four

ETHAN

T here’s a hum to dysfunction. A low, steady thrum you can only hear when you’ve lived in it long enough.

It’s not loud like Nick, or sharp like Jake. It’s quieter. Constant. The kind of thing you don’t notice until it’s gone, and the silence feels like pressure building in your chest.

Right now, the house is buzzing with it.

I’m leaning against the window frame in Danielle’s living room, arms crossed, watching dusk bleed across the manicured lawns outside. Behind me, Jake’s sprawled across the couch like he owns the place—shoes still on, legs tossed over one armrest, a glass of whiskey loosely cradled in one hand.

His grin is cocky, but his eyes dart around, taking everything in.

Somewhere in the kitchen, I can hear Liam. The subtle sounds he thinks nobody notices—cabinet doors closing too gently, the faucet running a few extra seconds when there’s nothing left to wash, a soft sigh he tries to swallow before it escapes.

We all have our tells. Liam’s just quieter about his. He showed up to the house about twenty minutes ago and has been growing increasingly anxious as we wait for Danielle and Nick to get back.

He steps into the living room with a purposeful stride, like he’s walking into a board meeting, but there’s a tension in his jaw that betrays him.

“Nick text?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

His nod is tight. Clipped. Like everything inside him is being methodically filed into folders labeled “Not Now.”

“You think he’ll show tomorrow?” he adds, eyes flicking toward the front door as if he expects Nick to materialize from the shadows.

Jake snorts from the couch without hesitation. “He’ll show when he’s ready to throw a wrench in something. So, yeah. He’ll be there.”

Liam shoots him a dry look before collapsing into the armchair with a soft grunt.

“Helpful,” he mutters.

Jake grins, stretching out like a cat. “Hey, you’re the team dad. You deal with the feelings.”

Liam glares at him, unamused. I don’t flinch.

“He’s not wrong,” I say, voice steady.

“Can we not assign me a title like I’m on some kind of dysfunctional wedding planning committee?” Liam mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’d make a great clipboard guy,” Jake shoots back with a grin, flopping deeper into the couch with a casual confidence that feels almost like a mask.

“I hate both of you,” Liam says flatly.

I snort.

Jake’s phone buzzes sharply, cutting through the silence. He quickly grabs it and I tense in anticipation.

“Nick?” Liam asks.

Jake sighs and shakes his head. “Nope. Not Nick.”

He leans forward, elbows resting heavy on his knees, staring down at the rug.

“This is going to be a weird week, huh?” he finally asks, looking back up at us.

“Absolutely,” Liam says. “I’m not going to lie… I’m nervous about seeing Maya again, and it’s not because of Nick.”

“I saw a picture of her,” Jake admits. “She looks good. Really good.”

“She always did,” I murmur. “That was the problem.”

They both look over at me, surprised.

I clear my throat and shrug. “What? You can’t tell me you guys don’t find her the least bit attractive.”

Jake chuckles. “Well, shit. Of course I think she’s attractive. She’s gorgeous, but she’s Nick’s ex. That means she’s off-limits… right?”

Just like that, the air shifts.

We all look at each other, each of us assessing the others as we try to figure out exactly what we’re each thinking. Maya is definitely off limits. Absolutely. None of us can even think of going after her.

Jake clears his throat, breaking the silence with a rough laugh. “Well. On that note, I vote we get very drunk tomorrow at the brunch. Seems about the only way any of us are going to get through this shit-show.”

“Classy,” I say, shaking my head with a grin.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

I don’t.

Because he’s not.

I head into the kitchen under the excuse of needing more ice, but it’s really just to breathe. The air in the living room was getting tight—too many thoughts, too many almost-confessions.

When I round the corner, I find her.

Maya. Alone. Elbows braced on the counter, staring at a catering menu like it personally offended her. She’s biting her lip, her brows pinched like she’s solving nuclear diplomacy instead of choosing between mushroom tarts and caprese skewers.

“You look like you're about to break up with that menu,” I say, leaning against the doorway.

Her head jerks up, startled. She recovers quickly, straightening her spine and flashing me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It had it coming.”

“Tough but fair.” I step closer, slowly, like I’m approaching a spooked animal. “Need a second opinion?”

“On mushroom tarts?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your culinary expertise?”

I grin. “I’ve eaten a lot of things at weddings I regretted. That counts, right?”

Maya lets out a soft laugh. It’s quiet. Tentative. But real.

“You always this helpful?” she asks.

“Only when I’m trying to impress someone.” I meet her gaze head-on, letting the words land.

Her expression flickers—just for a second—but then she tilts her head like she’s not going to let me off easy. “And is it working?”

“Jury’s still out,” I say, shrugging. “But I’m willing to work overtime.”

She turns back to the menu, but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile.

“You always flirt like this?” she asks.

“Only when I mean it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Heavy with things unsaid. She doesn’t push me away, but she doesn’t pull me in either.

I let it hang there, then change the subject just enough to let her breathe.

“For what it’s worth,” I say, nudging the menu with a knuckle, “go with the skewers. Tarts are unpredictable.”

“Unpredictable how?”

I lean in, voice low. “They crumble under pressure.”

Maya rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now.

“Thanks, Ethan.”

“Anytime.”

I leave her there, pretending I don’t feel her watching me as I go. But I do.

And I’m already thinking about what I’ll say next time I get her alone.