The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “No, no!” She swings her arms with a loud belly laugh. “I love the room, but with Granny gone, I’m not getting enough exercise. With bike riding gone, I need more strength exercises, room to do workouts. I can’t run for long stretches. That’s too rough on my knee, and walking isn’t strenuous enough.” She points up. “The beams in here, though...they’d be perfect for aerial silks.”

  “What the hell’s an aerial silk?”

  She flashes her perfect teeth and continues to roll paint on a door. “You’ve probably seen them. They’re these long silk ropes that people climb, great for aerobics. I can show you on my phone.”

  A heinous vision of Tory climbing colorful hangers without a stitch of clothing on streaks through my head.

  Goddamn. Not what I need to think about.

  I clear my throat.

  “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. I’ve seen them. You know how to do that?”

  “I’ve done it for years! My friend, Miriam, got me into it. Her dad owns a huge gym downtown and they were offering classes. It’s great for overall body strengthening.”

  The excitement in her voice makes me grin, despite the fury in my cock.

  “Sure, we could figure something out, but where would you get the supplies? Dallas ain’t Chicago, darlin’.”

  “Everything’s online, Quinn. Remember that Big A you invested in? Probably wouldn’t cost a ton to have it shipped here.” She stands back and examines the door on the sawhorse in front of her, then runs the roller over the edge. “Oh, and I’d need to put up a couple big mirrors, too.”

  I examine my door, and satisfied with the work, walk over and set down my roller in the tray we’ve been sharing.

  “Mirrors, huh?”

  “Right.” She sets her roller next to mine. “People always think the mirrors in dance studios are because dancers are vain, but that’s not it. They’re an important training tool. They give you instant feedback, show you the height and shape of your movements, your body and line position.” She shrugs. “You can’t fix what you don’t know is wrong.”

  There’s nothing wrong with her body whatsoever, but what the hell do I know about ballet?

  “We could hang up some mirrors, no problem. But what about the floor? It’s pretty old and scuffed up. Won’t be much good if you get tripped or step on a sliver.”

  “It’s fine!” She rubs the floor with the sole of her sandal. “A good sweeping and mopping, and it’ll be perfect. I’ve had to practice in worse places.”

  I’m not so sure, but I could rent the industrial sander I’d used in the house again.

  “What about under those silks? Don’t you need a mat or something? Padding in case you fall.” I’m not convinced I love the idea of her climbing silks, whether or not it makes me hard enough to pound nails.

  I’ve seen it on TV and the shit looks dangerous, the higher it goes. More bad news for her knee if she slips again—or worse.

  “You worry too much.” Tory laughs, her mind made up. “I won’t fall. I’ve done this for years, and it’s exactly what I need right now to get back in shape.”

  “You ain’t out of shape, woman.” The words burst out before I can stop them. “If anybody’s telling you that, give me their name and I’ll set ’em straight.”

  “I’m out of form for a dancer.” A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she slowly looks around the barn, visualizing everything. “With a little bit of equipment and your help...I could go back to Chicago in tip-top shape.”

  Damn.

  There’s a longing in her voice. A determination. Whatever doubts I’ve got rolling around in my head can’t argue with that.

  “Order whatever you need,” I tell her. “I’ll put it up and check everything over to make sure it’s solid. You promise me you won’t go crazy till I’ve signed off on the safety.”

  “Absolutely!” Her face lights up like I just descended from the sky with a halo. “Thank you so much, Quinn!” She claps her hands together, lets out a wild squeal, and then throws her arms around me. “You’re too good to me.”

  My hands instantly grasp her waist, which fits too perfectly in my palms.

  She hits me with soft blue-eyed gratitude and the same smile she’d always give me when we were kids. Every time I ever got between her and disaster.

  It’s so familiar it hurts, but there’s a key difference.

  Feeling her under my hands puts lightning in my blood.

  She makes me hungry, almost rendered breathless and definitely speechless, awestruck by how sexy, how tight, how beautiful she is.

  Forget the fucking silks.

  Having Tory up in my face like this, tempting me to do terrible things?

  That’s the real danger.

  No question.

  “I’m so excited,” she says, bouncing a couple times on her heels. “I’ve missed having them around for a real workout. You don’t even know.”

  Bull. I’m sad to say I do.

  Because her missing those silks can’t hold a candle to how horribly I’ve missed having my hands all over her, exploring places I shouldn’t, capturing her flesh the same way I want to seize that strawberry of a mouth—with teeth.

  When she looks at me again, she must see the seething in my eyes, the bearish need coming out.

  Fuck.

  We both know what I need.

  And looking at her, blinded by those perfect pink lips, without leaning down to touch them, to kiss them, to take them over, is killing me.

  “I’ll go make us some lunch so we can get the doors hung up as soon as they’re dry,” she says, stretching, offering her lips.

  I don’t release her.

  Not when we’re human magnets with a sexual polarity I can feel singeing the air.

  The way she smiles and arches her back makes hot sticky blood roar through my veins.

  Neither of us dare to look away.

  I have to kiss her. One more time. Just to get it out of my system.

  Tory’s eyes flutter closed as I pull her close, her body against mine, and she knows what’s coming.

  I swallow a growl, loving how her breasts feel on my chest, how her hips mold to mine. She has to feel the demanding bulge in my jeans, too, and I’m past caring.

  My lips find hers like a hunter.

  They come down hot, slick, devouring, prying her open with my tongue till she whimpers.

  I almost fucking gasp, reaching up to clasp her chin, cradling her face as I pull her into a kiss with no surrender.

  And she knows she’s beaten.

  Her arms tighten around my neck. Her lips part, kissing me back with the same giddy passion I’m pouring into the kiss.

  Even though we’re chest to chest, I pull her closer, wanting more. My hands caress the swell of her hips, the small of her back, roaming with mad intent as my tongue chases hers, driving a moan out of her.

  I don’t want to stop.

  Not until I’ve had her under me.

  Not until I’m in her balls deep, wrenching moan after sweet moan out of her ruby lips.

  Not until I’ve brought her off so hard, so many times, she’s ruined, spent, her legs crooked and her pussy leaking my seed.

  I fully admit I’m insane.

  Driven mad by crossing lines with my best friend that should still matter, but aren’t worth a damn when we’re this keyed up, tearing at each other’s clothes, and—

  The sudden screech of a vehicle’s horn rips through me like a cold shower, along with Owl’s bark a second later.

  Damnation.

  I rip my lips off hers so fast I nearly pull a neck muscle.

  She drops her arms from around my shoulders, and eyes closed, stumbles a step back.

  Reluctantly, I release her hips. We’re both staring out the barn door at the direction the sound came from.

  “I’ll go see who it is,” I say numbly.

  I’ll get rid of them, too. Whoever decided to interrupt the most important kiss of my life better have
a damn good reason.

  Stomping out of the barn, I jog up the hill toward the house with every part of my body still heated, still throbbing, still angry that it hasn’t gotten its fill of Tory.

  My teeth are bared as I plod over the top and see...a police cruiser?

  “Hey, there you are!” Drake shouts as he rounds the corner of my house, wearing his Dallas PD uniform, gold badge flickering in the light. “I knocked, but no one answered. Your truck’s here, so I honked. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  Only the hottest sex ever, buddy. No big deal.

  But I can’t stay pissed at him forever.

  “No. Just painting cupboard doors in the barn,” I half lie, walking the last few feet to meet him and give a handshake that nearly tears his arm off.

  “Damn, man. Must be some paint job,” he grins, shaking out his arm. “The extra cameras I ordered for you came in. The winter fried a few of the sensors on the ones I gave Ridge, but these are brand new and should do the trick.”

  I’d almost forgotten. Since Tory’s here now and the Pickett situation uncertain, I figured I’d have him put a few up around the property so I’ll know if anyone comes prowling around.

  “When can you put them up?”

  “Now? Might as well, if you’re not tied down. This camera shit is almost turning into a running gag for too many dudes in Dallas,” he says, his blue eyes sparking. “Guess you’re gonna get married off next, seeing what happened to me and Ridge.”

  “Whatever,” I growl, silently rattling off a few curses. “Sounds good, I guess. Where do we start?”

  “If you’re busy, I can do—”

  I slap a hand on his shoulder.

  “Nah, I’ll help. We were just finishing up the painting, anyway.” Honestly, cooling off a little after what almost just happened in the barn right now would be a good thing, even if my dick objects fiercely.

  “Okay. It’s all in my truck. Let me grab the gear,” he says.

  We discuss where to put them while opening the boxes, and then get to work. Tory brings us sandwiches and iced tea later. I don’t want to worry her, so I tell her it’s just the security system I’d ordered, which is half true. Some of this is stuff I’ll pay him for and leave up for the new owner if I decide to sell.

  After she’s carried our empty plates and glasses back into the house, Drake eyes me slyly. “So, it must be going good between you two, yeah? She’s moved in.”

  “It’s fine. We’ve been friends for years,” I tell him, keeping my voice even to head off the shit he no doubt wants to serve me.

  “Friends,” he echoes dryly, raking back his dark-blond hair.

  “Friends. That a problem, Officer?” I grunt back sarcastically.

  He looks at me and grins. “I’m gonna have to give you a citation for excessive bullshit, yeah. C’mon, man, who do you think you’re talking to? An old married guy like me knows when a man and a woman are more than friends.”

  “You haven’t been married that long,” I tell him.

  “And I’m not that old.” He laughs. “I’m happy for you, man. She’s hot. Nothing like my Bella, of course, but no woman ever is.”

  “Just keep those eyes to yourself,” I warn him.

  He chuckles harder. “There’s nothing like it, Faulk. You ought to get over yourself and try.”

  “Try what?”

  “Being married to your best friend. The woman you want to grow old with.” He shakes his head, his lips quirking up with a whimsical smile. “Falling in love with Bella hit me like a fucking freight train, truth be told. Just between you and me, it scared the living shit out of me at first. There was a lot going on in my life then, and I thought there wasn’t room for a woman. For marriage. A real marriage, I mean, not the fake one we started with. You know how old Jonah Reed set us up.”

  “Everybody does,” I bite off.

  “Right. Anyway, once I came to my senses, from that moment on, life’s been better than I ever imagined,” he continues.

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot going on in my life right now,” I say, echoing his words.

  “And that’s why I’m here—to help you get your shit worked out—and I don’t just mean the cameras and this fuckhead in prison who hates you.” He picks up another camera. “You going on top of that barn, or am I?”

  “I’ll do it,” I say sharply.

  Though I wonder at the shine lingering in his deep-blue eyes.

  Drake’s one lucky man with a wife, a kid, and another on the way.

  Could that ever be me and Tory?

  Could the mountains between us just melt away someday like they did for Drake and Bella, leaving a bliss I know he’d die for?

  It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything set up and checked over.

  I thank Drake for his help before he leaves and then head into the house.

  Tory carried the cupboard doors from the barn to the house earlier. I’d told her to wait for me before hanging them up.

  She’s at the kitchen counter now, cutting raw chicken into strips.

  I have to tighten every muscle in my body to resist walking up behind her, spinning her around, and picking up right where we’d left off in the barn.

  “Hey,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I screwed the knobs and hinges on the doors, but I couldn’t get them in place. They’re just too cumbersome.”

  I walk to the sink and wash my hands.

  “I know. That’s why I said wait up. Thanks for putting the hinges on, though. Hanging them won’t take long at all.” Nodding at the cutting board on the counter, I ask, “What’s for supper?”

  “Chicken stir-fry. The meat just needs to marinate for an hour or so. Plenty of garlic and ginger!”

  I inhale, and my nostrils are pleased.

  “Smells damn good,” I tell her.

  “Let’s hope it tastes good too. Are you a stir-fry fan, Quinn?”

  I shrug. “Is that kale shit in it?”

  She pushes a giggle back with her hand. “No, you’re safe tonight, but there is bok choy.”

  “Bok what?”

  I wipe my hands with a paper towel.

  “It’s kinda like celery and green onion had a baby. You’ll like it.”

  “I’m trusting you,” I say, pointing two fingers at my eyes and then at her. I wad up the paper towel and throw it in the trash can. “I’ll start on the doors while you wrap up the grub.”

  She hits me with that sunshine smile again.

  “I’m almost done. I just have to get the chicken in the fridge, then I’ll help with the doors.”

  True to her word, she holds the doors while I use the drill to screw the hinges to the cupboards. All while trying like hell not to let my eyes crawl up her legs the entire time.

  She tells me the silk ropes and mirrors are ordered, and they should show up in the next forty-eight hours.

  I’ll rent the floor sander tomorrow and then give the floor a good varnishing. Can’t risk her tripping over roughed up spots and hurting herself.

  She balks at that idea at first, but agrees before mentioning she’s also ordered a small sound system that’ll be arriving soon.

  I’m happy she’s so excited for her space.

  Dirty thoughts aside, I’m legit excited for her.

  We’ve just hung the last door and we’re admiring our handiwork—the entire kitchen looks picture-perfect—when her phone rings on the center island.

  I watch her walk over, look at it, and freeze in her tracks. The ringtone continues to blare.

  “Aren’t you gonna answer that?” I ask, suddenly damn curious what’s wrong.

  She whips her head back and forth from me to the phone and gives me a horrified look.

  “It’s Jean-Paul. He’s been texting all day.”

  Hot, jealous rage hits my veins like a storm.

  “And you haven’t answered?” I ask, fishing for more.

  “No.” She flips around and leans against the island as the
phone stops ringing, this dread in her eyes. Her voicemail pings a few seconds later.

  “Talk to me, Peach,” I demand, stepping up to her, hating the sadness in her eyes.

  “I love dancing, Quinn, I really do. It’s been my whole life. But I know I can’t do it forever...I’ll be too old soon, or who knows, maybe my knee will never be strong enough to handle the rigors. That’s why the director job would be perfect. A dream come true. I’d be teaching, directing, planning—all the things I love just as much, if not more, than dancing itself. Everything I think I could do forever.”

  I wait, and when she doesn’t say more, I drop the inevitable.

  “But?”

  Her shoulders roll with a heavy sigh. She looks at me with a wry smile.

  “How’d you know there’s a but?”

  “There always is,” I growl. “Tell me, darlin’. What’s holding you back?”

  “I don’t want my old life.” Her eyes pinch shut. “It’s, well...it’s not a fun life. I have no freedom there.”

  I recall what Dean said about her ma smothering her.

  “Your folks? Your mom?” I ask.

  “And Jean-Paul. I hate the man I’d be working with. My title would be Creative Dance Director, but I won’t have any artistic freedom. He’ll still be calling the shots and expecting me to execute everything. I’ll be put in the same sad box I’ve always been in.” She throws her arms in the air. “And when I refuse to marry him—”

  “Marry who?” I blurt out, wondering what the hell I missed.

  “Jean-Paul,” she says, her voice just a whisper.

  I can’t fucking help it.

  I can’t stop the jealousy curdling my face.

  “Bullshit. You’re telling me you’re gonna go marry that fucking—”

  “No. I’d never marry him, not after what he did, and that’s the problem.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair while shaking her head. “We dated for years. It was always assumed we’d tie the knot eventually. Lord knows Mother wanted it. But we were never engaged, and then he cheated on me with that bitch, Madeline, and she knocked me down, hurt my knee and—”

  “Hold up. The whore he cheated with caused your injury?” Anger, not at her, but for her tears through me like a bolt.