The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Her eyes go huge like blue diamonds as the reality of what’s happening hits her.

  No going back now. Hell if I want to.

  As I drop to one knee, I pull the box out of my pocket and flick it open. Holding it up for her to see the diamond ring, I reach down deep for a few more words.

  “You didn’t steal any honey from Gramps and you didn’t get my tongue that day with the peach pie like I wanted to give it, but you got something better both times, and again years later when you came back to Dallas. You stole my frigging heart, woman. So, will you marry me, already? Because I’m fresh out of romantic crap to say. I promise to cherish you till my dying day.”

  Her eyes are blue moons as she puts a trembling hand over her mouth.

  My heart pounds in the silence where every second feels like a century.

  “Oh. My. God, Quinn, I...I’d hoped and dreamed, but never expected this, so soon, I—” She drops to her knees in front of me and throws her arms around my neck. “Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you! I’ve only loved you my entire life. Let’s do forever.”

  At some point between the whirlwind of sticky, teary-eyed kisses she tackles me with, I manage to slip the ring on her finger. We also eat some of the goodies Granny made, pop the champagne, and dance to the music, laughing till it hurts.

  It doesn’t take long before we can’t keep our hands off each other.

  And now, knowing we’ll be man and wife, there’s zero reason to.

  No need for clothes, either.

  Good thing I’d planned on this part, too.

  Grabbing the thick quilt off the shelf, I throw it over the floor as we shed our clothes.

  Naked, looking more beautiful than ever with the tiny lights painting her skin, Tory runs her hands over my chest, digging her nails into my skin with a sweetness that makes me suck in air.

  “You thought of everything,” she whispers. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “I tried.” I kiss her, running my tongue along the seam of her mouth slowly, teasing her lips apart. Our lips dance as seductively as our bodies did only minutes ago.

  Swallowing a growl, I stop the kiss and pull her down on the quilt beside me, folding my arms around her with a screaming desire to never, ever let go.

  “I love you like mad, woman. Keep me crazy.”

  Smiling, she presses my shoulders with both hands until I’m lying down. Then she straddles me with her peach-perfect hips I want to lose myself in forever.

  “I love you, Quinn, more than anything.”

  Grasping hold of her ass as she aligns her sweet, wet silk over my cock, we lock eyes and I watch her take everything, sinking deep inside her.

  The moment the head of my dick fills her, pleasure rips through me.

  Tory’s eyes flutter closed with a moan while she slowly moves down, finding her place on my shaft.

  She rolls her hips slowly and sensually, and damn—I’ll never, ever get sick of this.

  Claiming her with a fury in my pulse so hot it makes every last bit of me throb.

  “I love the way you fill me,” she says with a soft moan, then lifts, gliding up the length of my cock until it slips out of her pussy before engulfing it again.

  It’s enough to drive me crazy, but if I’m gone, I want to be her happy lunatic.

  “Lucky you, Peach. I love filling you up,” I say, reaching down and finding her clit.

  She leans her head back and whimpers as I tease her, showing her teeth.

  “That’s it, darlin’. Let it go.”

  She gasps and her eyes flicker open. “You keep that up, and...and I won’t last long.”

  “Then don’t. Come all night for me. Come till you can’t.”

  With another slurred whine of bliss, she rides me faster, faster.

  Drunk on her pussy, I focus on her pleasure, holding back my own, driving up deep and hard as she loses control and the frenzy overtakes us.

  When her orgasm hits, I don’t stop for a second, turning every thrust into a full body wave.

  She gasps.

  She twitches.

  She clutches my arms as the raging momentum takes her into a second convulsing release.

  The heat in my balls, my blood, my soul becomes unbearable.

  We’re both gasping for oxygen when I can’t hold back, when a groan rips out of me, barely ahead of the torrent I’ll empty into her, planting my seed deep.

  My own climax hits like an avalanche. It’s massive, intense, enveloping my whole body in pure white-hot pleasure.

  I keep thrusting, fighting it till the end, dragging out every last electric spasm.

  She drops to my chest, heaving and shuddering.

  I wrap my arms around her, lacing my fingers through her auburn hair, holding her tight against my chest, loving her with my all, my best, and now my forever.

  25

  Goat Ourselves A Party (Tory)

  Sure, it’s an old cliché to call a girl’s wedding the happiest day of her life.

  For me, it’s nothing but the truth.

  I’ve been pinching myself all day, making sure I’m not dreaming. When we’re an hour from the magic moment and I still haven’t woken up in my bed back in Chicago to drag myself to Jean-Paul’s studio...holy crap.

  No dream. It’s happening. Like really and truly.

  I’m about to marry Quinn Faulkner. The love of my life. The boy who was bound to be my forever from day zero.

  I’ve been on cloud nine ever since he’d asked me and we’d set a date weeks ago.

  If I’d had my way, we’d already be married. But I knew I couldn’t cheat my mother out of helping plan her only daughter’s wedding, so I let her whip through every last microscopic detail to her heart’s content.

  At least I’d had veto power, and I said hell no right away to having it anywhere but Dallas.

  She’d also started out by insisting on a long engagement, which I also shot down.

  Once I’d convinced her that six weeks was the most I was willing to wait—all we had before the holidays would be right around the corner—she’d come around.

  Literally. She’d shown up in Dallas over a month ago, and she’s been crashing here ever since.

  Incredibly, it’s been nice having her around.

  I’m sure Granny doesn’t agree, having to put up with Mother in her newly remodeled house, but as far as I know, they’re getting along with a truce for my sake.

  If Mother hadn’t flat-out refused to ride the tandem bike, they might’ve rebooted their whole relationship.

  Oh, well.

  There’s a limit on miracles.

  Quinn’s done a decent job of winning her over, at least.

  Hardly surprising.

  He’s just that wonderful. I’d be lying if I said that learning how wealthy Quinn’s investments have made him over the years wasn’t part of the reason she’s warming up to him.

  But I can live with that. Some things, you just can’t change.

  Quinn won’t either, and today, that’s what matters most.

  As with everything else, nothing is too much when it comes to Mother.

  My dress is absolutely gorgeous. A long flowing white gown made of silk and lace.

  The little country church is overflowing with fall flowers, it looks like a florist’s wildest dream. Grace spared no time or expense, and the little wooden plane Bella and Drake modified from a North Earhart Oil sign is too perfect.

  Fly high. Love higher, Quinn and Tory, it says, words painted on the frame lovingly by Bella herself.

  Who’s actually standing with me now, right next to Grace, the two best bridesmaids in the world. Ridge, Grady, and Drake mirror them perfectly as groomsmen.

  “Almost time, honey,” Mother says as she enters the dressing room. “Are you nervous?”

  “I’m too happy to be nervous.”

  She adjusts a curl hanging on the side of my face. “You really love him, don’t you?”

  “With all my heart.” No longer afraid to ad
mit anything, I add, “I have since I was a kid, the very first day we met. And that day I tumbled into the pie...let’s just say there was no going back.”

  She smiles softly. “That’s what your grandmother says, too. I refused to believe it for years, thought it was just that awful woman trying to raise my blood pressure but...I was wrong, Tory. And I was wrong for ever thinking he wasn’t good enough.”

  A wave of empathy fills me. I reach behind my shoulder and clasp her hand.

  “I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

  Mother frowns. “Disappointed me?”

  “I know you’d rather have me in Chicago, dancing the ballet, sucking up to Jean-Paul, but I truly am happy here, Mom. So very happy.”

  She pats my face. “Perish the thought, darling. I’m happy you’re happy. All I ever wanted for you.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather see me on Broadway?”

  “No. I’d rather see you living your life and enjoying it. I realize now that I was selfish. I got a bit carried away in the scramble to help you catch your dreams—and part of me hoped you’d catch mine. You’ll understand someday when you have kids.”

  I let out a soft, thoughtful sigh. Will I?

  “You’ll want them to have everything. To succeed. To excel,” she continues. “That’s what I’ve always wanted for you. I just got confused by what I wanted and what you wanted. I know that now, and I’m sorry for what I put you through. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  I’m stunned, but also impressed by her honesty.

  Kissing her cheek, I say, “Of course. I just hope I can give my kids a childhood as wonderful as mine. I’ll always appreciate everything you did, the money you spent to try and make me happy. It didn’t get me to Broadway, but it’s made me the person I am. Thank you.”

  “Oh, dear, now you’re making me cry! Don’t you dare make my mascara run.”

  I hand her a tissue. “You still look great.”

  “Yes, she does,” Dad says, walking into the room. “In fact, I believe I’m looking at the two most beautiful women in the world.” He walks over, kisses us both on the cheek, and then says, “You’re on, sweetheart. Showtime.”

  Happiness fills me as I take the bouquet of flowers my mother hands me and then grasp my father’s arm. “I’m so ready.”

  Moments later, as Dad walks me down the aisle to Quinn, I think I’m about to explode.

  I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy.

  My almost-husband was already the hottest man of the century, but now he looks atrociously stunning in his black tux and a wicked, sly grin that just pops the second he sees me.

  Holy crap. Am I hyperventilating?

  I’m about to be Mrs. Quinn Faulkner.

  Tory Faulkner.

  For the first time in my life, I’ll have one last name!

  Reason to celebrate.

  But first, I’ll make sure I take everything in, and remember every waking moment of this ceremony for the rest of my life.

  The vows we whisper, the way he looks at me with longing in those fierce green eyes, the all-consuming God-I-love-you kiss in front of all our guests...

  No other word fits besides magical.

  Unfortunately, the real moment no one will ever forget happens after the ceremony.

  Smiling at each other, hand in hand, Quinn and I walk out of the church proudly. People line the sidewalk, clapping as we walk toward the limo—another fun thing Mother insisted on—that will take us to the hotel for the reception.

  We’re about to make a perfectly pretty exit for the cameras when, seemingly out of nowhere, a black goat, bleating loudly, breaks through the line of people.

  A split second later, Owl comes barreling through the crowd, barking his head off.

  People shout and scatter, but that doesn’t stop the animals.

  “Son of a biscuit eater!” Granny yells as she does a full whirl that’d put any of my best performances to shame—and flies right into Robert Duncan’s arms.

  Hellboy’s hooves click on the concrete sidewalk as he gallops toward me with Owl on his heels.

  Before either of us can react, Hellboy snatches the bouquet of flowers right out of my hands and goes running around the limo.

  Owl pauses just long enough to look at me with mournful eyes, as if to say, ‘Sorry, I tried to keep him home.’

  Then he continues on a wild tear after Hellboy, herding him back in the direction from which they came.

  “Guess somebody got pissed we forgot his invitation,” Quinn says, trying to make sense of it.

  The crowd erupts with laughter as everyone watches Owl chase Hellboy, who’s still carrying my bouquet in his mouth, away from the church. Uncle Dean’s farm is at least a good mile away.

  “I just want to know how they timed it so perfectly,” Dad says with a smile. “Wouldn’t be Dallas without a few surprises.”

  “Right?” Uncle Dean says, elbowing him in the side. “Hey, you think we could get the footage to go viral? Everybody loves animals. We could make a fortune off that craziness.”

  Quinn and I both look at each other, laughing, and slide into the car.

  A sign our married life won’t have a dull moment, if there ever was one.

  Once we’re tucked in the back seat, he kisses me, then pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it to me.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “Early wedding present. Open it.”

  Too curious not to, I tear it open and pull out the slip of paper. Reading the first line, my heart swells. I have to blink back tears as I look up at him. “Yearly VIP seats...to the New York City Ballet?”

  “Your ma said it was the most prestigious.”

  “It is, but this letter says it’s for two VIP seats.”

  “I’ve never seen a ballet, but this was me thinking ahead.” He glances at the letter. “This way, we’re guaranteed some time alone—minus any goats or dogs or future kids—at least a couple times a year.”

  My heart does a freaking cartwheel as I kiss him three more times, one after the next.

  “I. Love. You,” I whisper, loving his foxy smile. Honestly, I never understood ’foxy’ before, but Quinn Faulkner definitely fits with sly sexiness incarnate.

  “I know,” he replies before kissing me again like he has something to prove.

  Maybe he does.

  His lips, teeth, and tongue show me exactly how much the man I just hitched adores me—and why we were always destined to shatter the best friend zone.

  Thanks for reading The Best Friend Zone! Look for more Knights of Dallas coming soon.

  Hankering for more of Faulk and Tory after the friend zone is just a memory?

  Take a look at their lives one year into marriage in this special flash forward short story. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/88bdkfkzn4

  Then read on for a preview of another stunning Dallas love story, The Romeo Arrangement with Ridge and Grace!

  The Romeo Arrangement Preview

  No Place to Crash (Grace)

  “Careful, Gracie. This snow’s getting to be too much,” Dad growls, his eyes flicking across the road.

  “Just a little longer. There has to be something up ahead.” I bite my lip, hoping to every star above that I’m right.

  And it’s hard to hope when the stars are walled off behind the dense, angry clouds intent on burying us for the last hundred miles.

  Oh, I’ve got all the fire under my ass a girl could ever need, but I’ll tell you one thing—I’d kill for a touch of real fire right now.

  I feel a mad affection for every human being who ever shivered, scowled up at the sky, and said winter, bite me.

  If only winter was the end of my worries.

  The loud, ragged cough coming from my father in the passenger seat has me more nervous than the heavy snow drifting across the highway in blustery white sheets. It’s been snowing for hours.

  This old truck, which had seen better days long before we left Wisconsin, has already been worki
ng overtime to pull the horse trailer up and down the rolling hills.

  I’m keeping the speed low so I can try to avoid any mishaps. They’re all too likely with the sort of luck we’ve had on our journey thus far. We must’ve lost a good hour back in Minnesota, straining to change a flat.

  Every time I glance at the old Ford’s dashboard, I’m expecting to see red.

  A check engine light. Low oil pressure. Battery, alternator, brakes, another broken thingamajig.

  Nothing would surprise me.

  Still, despite being rusted up and dented, no thanks to my teenage driving skills years ago, the truck soldiers on. It’s almost like family, an old workhorse with the air of an immortal.

  Only, the signs of aging are as impossible to ignore as its scabs of rust.

  I know it’s a cheap metaphor for my father, who hacks up another coughing fit next to me.

  Ask me how much I care about metaphors right now.

  The once robust Nelson Sellers, who used to practically juggle hay bales, has shrunken the past few months. It’s not just his weight and musculature.

  He slouches, even when sitting, something he always used to get after me for as a kid.

  Dad’s demeanor has changed, his energy flatlining as his body limps along. His once coppery-brown hair is dull silver, and that fiery shine in his blue eyes that made him Dad is just...gone.

  All depressing signs of the crushing weight we’ve shared lately.

  But deep down, he’s still a Sellers. He won’t stop, and neither will I.

  As long as this old Ford trudges on, so will we, all the way to Montana.

  Same with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern—aka Rosie and Stern—the two horses riding in the trailer behind us in my rearview mirror. I’m not sure who loves them more, Dad or me.

  They were his pride and joy once, and my best friends growing up. Practically the only friends I’d had when we’d left the city for the small farm north of Milwaukee to raise pumpkins.

  Yes, pumpkins.

  Feels like an eternity ago now. I’d finished high school while living on the farm, moved out, went to college for interior design, and dreamed of covering pretty places in prettier ideas.