The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Preferably bent over, her hair in my fist, ass up, moaning my name with this fuck-hot smolder in her throat.

  Hell.

  I don’t even know what I’m doing at first when I look down and see my fist wrapped around an angry hard-on, stroking it harder, driven by animal lust more than conscious thought.

  I remember how good she felt pressed up against me on that swing.

  Then I think about how nimble she was while she helped me hang it. Even with her knee messed up, Tory Three Names can flex like a yoga teacher, her lithe body and lush curves bending in ways that’d ignite any red-blooded man’s imagination.

  She sends mine right off the rails to dark places full of flesh. Stolen kisses. Driving hips.

  She makes me imagine what it’d be like to shred the veil of everything we’ve had, all chaste smiles and friendly jabs and electric need throbbing underneath it.

  She begs me to get her on the nearest surface, stretch those long dancer legs over my face, and devour every last bit of her soft, dripping peach till the only sounds she can make are ragged, otherworldly screams.

  And then I’d flip her over, put her under me as I stare into her eyes, drunk on her taste. I’d watch her face shudder and twist with delight, sinking every furious inch I own deep inside her.

  A tension rips up my spine, fills every muscle, and before I know it—

  “Fuck, Tory!” I’m grinding her name through my teeth, panting for dear life.

  A white-hot orgasm rips out of me in a sudden burst and streams all over my leg, the wall, and my fist before the water rinses it away.

  Unbelievable.

  This is who I am right now.

  Comin’ my fucking brains out to my childhood best friend, who I haven’t touched, haven’t kissed, haven’t even gotten comfortable with in anything more than a friendly way.

  Because this is exactly what I’m afraid of.

  This is what a baser, wicked, totally irrational part of me wants.

  And this is what might just happen, whether I like it or not, when I ask Tory out tomorrow on something that’s bound to feel like a date.

  I’m glad the boys gave me bottle salutes for good luck back at the Bobcat.

  There might be no coming back from this.

  Stick a fork in my horny ass, I’m done.

  The next evening, I head over to Granny Coffey’s.

  She opens the door before I get a chance to knock, decked out in a pink-and-white-checkered shirt, jeans with a huge silvery belt buckle, and pink boots just like I’d seen Tory wearing.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here, young man!” she hisses while grabbing my arm. “I damn near lost faith in you.”

  My nerves instantly kick into gear. “Why? What’s happened? Where’s Tory?”

  “Shhh.” She presses a finger to her lips, then taps it against her mouth. “She’s in the kitchen, getting ready to cook that godforsaken eggplant,” she says under her breath. “Look, I’m all for adventurous eating, but that blasted thing is purple. Some plants God made for decorations, and nothing else.”

  I bite back a grin. “Can’t disagree with your logic, ma’am.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t.” She glances over her shoulder, still whispering. “You have to take her to the rodeo tonight, Quinn. Have to.”

  “Why’s that?” I whisper back.

  “Because I’m not choking down eggplant parmesan for supper. I’m having a burrito as big as my head from Kenny’s Taco Truck. I’ve been hankering for one ever since I saw the first rodeo poster, but I can’t go get one with her cooking us supper.”

  “Sounds like you’d better take her to the rodeo then,” I say, a small doubtful part of me wondering if Tory will give me a chance.

  “Oh, posh.” She rolls her eyes. “Would you want to go to the rodeo with your grandma, Quinn Faulkner?”

  I shake my head. “Granny, anyone who rides around town on a bike built for two with their grandma won’t mind going to the rodeo with her.”

  “Truth be told, I bought that bike to help exercise her poor knee. That first week of riding damn near killed me, but if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it till I’m blue in the face. Now come along.” Looping a hand through my arm, she pulls me farther into the living room. “Tory, dear! You have a visitor. Quinn’s here to take you to the rodeo tonight!”

  “What?” Tory yells from the kitchen. “What the...did you text him?”

  Granny looks up at me and whispers, “Delete my text.”

  “I didn’t get a text from you,” I whisper back, confused.

  “Huh?” She takes her phone out of her back pocket and starts punching buttons like a teenager. “Oh damn, looks like it didn’t send.”

  She frowns. Then grins as she pockets the phone.

  “Of course, I didn’t text him, Tory! He came freely and he’s of sound mind, so get your butt out here,” she calls.

  Tory comes around the corner just then with wide blue eyes.

  “Quinn?” She looks at me and frowns. “What are you actually doing here?”

  “Granny’s right.” I step forward, throwing her an easy smile. “I came to see if you wanted to hit the rodeo. Biggest night of the summer. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “Weird, no. I didn’t get a text from you.” Tory eyes me critically.

  “Shoot. Maybe I forgot to hit send. You know how these phones are...”

  Granny snickers as she walks over and grabs Tory’s arm. “Go put on your shiny new outfit. We bought it special just for tonight. I’ll serve Quinn a glass of strawberry rhubarb wine while he waits.”

  Tory’s face flushes red and she looks down, an adorable wrinkle of confusion across her brow.

  “But...I just cut up the eggplant,” she says quietly. “It has to be cooked, Gran. It won’t keep.”

  “Oh, well, what’s one eggplant? Hardly a tragedy.” Granny says to her before looking at me with sparkling eyes.

  “Kenny’s Taco Truck will be at the rodeo,” I say, clearing my throat. “I hear they have a damn good burrito.”

  “A burrito off a truck?” Tory asks, cocking her head. “Sounds like a bad case of indigestion to me.”

  “Would you forget eating like a bird for one day? I have some Pepto chewables in the cupboard you can take with.” Granny stomps over and pushes Tory into the hall. “Go. I’ll get some for you to put in your purse while you’re getting ready.”

  I should feel sorry for Tory being forced into a rodeo trip, but the excitement of spending the evening with her and saving Granny from a miserable dinner wins out.

  “Edison’s performance starts in about an hour, I think,” I tell her, trying to make it easier. “We don’t want to miss that opener.”

  “No, sirree, you don’t!” Granny sings.

  Tory looks at me and then, shaking her head, hurries down the hall.

  “Thanks, lady.” I pull out my wallet and hand Granny a ten. “Your burrito’s on me tonight.”

  “Ahh, well. You always were one of my favorite people,” she says with a wink, taking the bill and stuffing it in a pocket. Then she pulls out her phone. “I’d better text Velma to wait up. They’re my ride and now I know I’ll be going to the rodeo after all.” She shakes her head while texting with both thumbs. “I could kiss you right about now, young man. But how about that wine?”

  I walk around her while her thumbs are still flying. “I’ll take a beer instead, if you don’t mind. Got some in the fridge?”

  “Yep. And go right ahead and toss that heinous eggplant in the trash while you’re at it!”

  I don’t touch the eggplant, but I do grab us each a beer.

  We’re still drinking it when Tory reappears.

  She’s dressed to slaughter.

  White shirt with fringes across the yoke, rhinestone and sparkling pearl buttons, black jeans, and black-and-white boots.

  My cock almost explodes in my pants.

  Her hair hangs around her shoulders in soft waves, this sweet mess of cinnamon-
auburn I’m sure feels as sweet as it smells. All my filthy thoughts from the shower come rushing back.

  I can’t even look at her without imagining that hair in my fist.

  I know. I know.

  Now I’m completely screwed, blued, and tattooed.

  Somehow, I manage to hold in a wolf whistle—barely—but Granny lets one rip for me.

  “We’ve got ourselves a hot tamale tonight, don’t we, Quinn?” The old woman turns toward me, her eyes lit with pure mischief.

  “Gran!” Tory hisses, laughing shyly.

  “No joke.” Setting my beer on the table, I stand up. “You’re stunning, Tory.”

  Tory shakes her head, that fiery pink burst on her cheeks glowing, then looks at Granny. “Will you please wrap the eggplant and try to save it from—”

  “Uh-oh, look at the time! You two run along,” Granny interrupts. “Don’t you dare miss Edison. He’s a special creature.”

  Owl, who’s been sprawled out on the sofa, lifts his head and lets out an offended woof.

  “Oh, hush. Not as special as you, and don’t we know it,” Granny says to the dog before waving at us with both hands. “Get. Don’t make me find my broom and shoo the two of you out of here.”

  It’s more likely she’ll throw the eggplant at us.

  Grabbing Tory’s hand, I pull her gently toward the door.

  “She’s right. No telling what Edison will get up to tonight. Drake said they had something special planned,” I tell her.

  “Everything with that horse is special,” she says with a laugh. “So did Granny text you or not? I want the truth.”

  I open the door for her while saying, “Nope. She didn’t.”

  “She called you?”

  “No, Peach. She didn’t call me, either.” I sigh. “Can’t a man decide to bring his friend out for some fun without her crazy granny goading him?”

  “Weird how I didn’t get a text from you,” she says once we’re in the truck.

  “Right. I must’ve just thought about it and never really got around to doing it,” I admit. I’d only said that to get Granny off the hook at the house.

  “Ugh, I do that all the time,” she says, flopping back in her seat.

  Goddamn.

  Between the soft brown curls, the curves, and the delectable outfit I want to shear right off her with my teeth, I can’t tug my eyes away.

  Especially when she looks at me with those sky-blue eyes so bright, her mouth pursed like a ripe strawberry.

  “So, are the cupboards painted yet?” she asks.

  I cringe inwardly. Keeping track of her and following up on Marvin hasn’t left me much time to hit the house hard the last few days.

  “I’ve been busy with other stuff,” I tell her.

  I’ll be damned if I let on anything about that grim just-in-case strategy session with my friends yesterday. Or the fact that I’ve been tracking her every move when she’s out with the goats.

  “Define 'stuff?'” Her curiosity only makes her cuter, even as it sends me plummeting to a whole new level of hell.

  “Just cases I’m working on. Actually, I need your help tonight.”

  “Tonight? A case?” She sucks in a gasp. “You mean you’re doing that private eye stuff at the rodeo?”

  “It helps keep the lights on. This is a special job for Grady I took as a favor. So, there’s this lady named Joyce Selleck...”

  I fill her in on Grady’s friend and how I need to snap a couple of pictures of the rat husband while we’re there.

  It seems to help take her mind off other things. The idea of helping with an undercover surveillance job excites her. Tory keeps looking at me like a bright-eyed chipmunk, reaching over the console to rub her face on my shoulder.

  “You’re in luck tonight, Quinn Faulkner. I’ll be the best freaking spy-chick you ever laid eyes on,” she rushes out, already high on the excitement.

  “A regular Fuchsia Delaney,” I tell her.

  “Huh?” She tilts her face up.

  “Nothing.” I’m guessing she didn’t dive into all of those Heart’s Edge stories from the press as deeply as I did back when things went nuts out there. Blake Silverton’s weird radio show also broadcasts out here from Montana, and I’m a sucker for late-night background noise. “I’m happy to have you along for the ride, Peach. Don’t let me down.”

  “Never!” she whispers, squeezing my arm, digging her nails into my skin just a tad.

  Holy fuck.

  I hold in the first of many growls to come.

  One thing’s for sure—catching William Selleck up to no good promises to be a cakewalk compared to resisting the frantic, scary, throbbing urges this little firecracker puts in my blood.

  Before I can even blink, we’re in line at Kenny’s Taco Truck with our mouths watering.

  The smell alone teleports me to Phoenix and Albuquerque, and I overhear Kenny himself comes from Sedona. I can’t shove money at him fast enough as he grills up our food with a couple lanky kids helping assemble burritos big enough to pacify Godzilla.

  Then we’re carrying tall bottles of water and these Hatch chili-smothered monsters in their red-and-white-checkered trays to the grandstand.

  Ridge sees us and waves us over to join him, right next to Grace. Their baby boy, Levi, bounces on Grace’s lap while Ridge holds their burritos.

  “I knew you’d make it, Faulk!” Ridge belts out with a proud grin as soon as he sees us. “And I see you’ve brought the lovely Tory Coffey. Welcome back to Dallas, lady. I’m Ridge Barnet, and this is my beautiful wife and squirmy son.”

  I step aside to let Tory shake hands and blush at meeting a famous movie star, which makes me roll my eyes every time.

  Don’t care how rich or infamous Ridge Barnet is. He’ll always just be Corporal Barnet to me, one more grunt in the dirt pulling dumb stunts to pass the time with the rest of us in between missions.

  There’s some truth to the Army being the great equalizer.

  When the bullets fly and mortar shells are bursting too close for comfort, a man forgets his money and class—or lack thereof—awfully fast.

  “It’s so good to meet you!” Tory gushes, squeezing in between me and Grace. “I want to hear all about your interior decorating business later, Grace. Everybody in town loves what you do.”

  The girls blab on for a few minutes while all four of us eat our grub with plastic forks, waiting for the rodeo show to start.

  I’m thankful for the distance from my buddy so he can’t give me any snide shit over showing up with “your girl,” something I know he’ll call her if he’s given half a chance.

  The speakers crackle and buzz to life before the announcer welcomes the attendees and introduces the biggest hero this town will ever have.

  Edison.

  The crowd erupts and stands as the National Anthem ripples through the air.

  Edison, his black head up with a creamy white spot, looks as badass as he did ten years ago. He prances onto the field like he owns it with Bella Larkin on his back, carrying a star spangled banner.

  The horse bounces his way around the arena, dashing two laps before stopping in the center.

  He tosses his head several times and snorts, just as the country music coming in the wake of the anthem hits its pitch, almost like he’s dancing to the beat.

  Even I pull my hands off my burrito box long enough to clap. I’d bet my bottom dollar there isn’t a soul here who isn’t impressed with this beast.

  As the song ends with Bella raising herself up in the saddle, hoisting the flag high, Edison tucks back one front leg and takes a bow.

  Everybody in the stands fucking freaks.

  Tory bursts out giggling at my side, scrunching her face, cute as a button and totally entertained.

  Edison tosses his head again, as if to say you’re welcome, and then prances out of the arena.

  The best part? Bella never touched the reins once.

  The horse just followed the whole routine on his own. Some
parts I wonder if he improvised.

  It was amazing, yeah, but watching Tory blows me away even more as the big events begin.

  She’s spellbound by the bareback riders, steer wrestling, and team roping. She yells out, cheering for the participants, and clamps a hand over her mouth, frowning during failed attempts.

  Never knew the woman had a screamer set of lungs.

  Fuck, and now that I do, my thoughts go terrible places.

  Just as the saddle bronc event starts with a young rider and a bucking horse, I notice a newer pickup pulling in to the back side of the arena where most folks park their vehicles, livestock trailers, and campers.

  The truck is unmistakable with the elaborate paint job advertising Selleck brand bulls.

  Shit. I suck down the rest of my water and turn.

  “Hate to spoil the fun, but it’s time to go get some pictures,” I tell Tory.

  She nods and we get up, waving farewell to the Barnets.

  We make our way out of the stands, around to the barns connected to the side of the arena, dodging laughing people probably going for their fifth drinks of the evening.

  “See there? It’s Selleck’s truck pulling into the back of the lot,” she says, stopping to point.

  “Yeah. The stock trailer that matches his truck is parked right next to the biffs.”

  I’d noticed that, too.

  “Good observation. This might be our best chance,” I say.

  I also explain that the former rodeo queen he’s having his likely affair with is scheduled to perform in the barrel racing, which is the second to the last event. Bull riding is always the grand finale, and though I don’t mention it to Tory, I’m sure Selleck and Rosie West were locked away at the local motel till the last moment possible.

  We arrive at the biffs—portable outhouses—just as the truck pulls up beside Selleck’s trailer.

  Can’t be more than twenty feet away.

  “I’ll be right back.” Tory shoots me a grin and then enters the last biff, the perfect excuse for me to be standing there, waiting on her.

  I walk over and rest a foot on the split rail fence bordering the parking area and pretend to scan my phone. Really, I’m snapping pictures, everything I can get from Selleck’s truck.