Best Friends, Secret Lovers

by Jessica Lemmon

  Which meant he needed his head examined.

  Pairing with the confusing thoughts was a palpable relief that down south he was operating as usual. He’d worried after the one-two punch of losing his wife to his brother and his father to cancer he’d never be back to normal.

  Now that he reconsidered, who cared that a mental wire had crossed and put Sab’s face in his fantasies? He’d had weird dreams before and they hadn’t changed the course of his life.

  After the tasting, Sabrina chattered about her favorite cheeses and how she couldn’t believe they didn’t serve wine at the tour.

  “What kind of establishment doesn’t offer you wine with cheese?” she exclaimed as they strolled down the boardwalk. She was a few feet ahead of him yelling at the wind, her jeans and Converse sneakers paired with an army-green jacket that stopped at her waist. Which gave him a great view of her ass—another part of her he’d noticed before but not like he was noticing now.

  Not helping matters was the fact that he didn’t have to wonder what kind of underwear she wore beneath that tight denim. He knew.

  No amount of trying to forget would erase the image of her wearing a black thong that perfectly split those cheeks into two bitable orbs.

  “What do you think?” She spun and faced him, the wind kicking her hair forward, a few strands sticking to her lip gloss. He was walking forward when she stopped so he reached her in two steps. Before he thought it through, he swept those strands away from her sticky lip stuff, ran his fingers along her cheek and tipped her chin, his head a riot of bad ideas.

  With a deep swallow, he called up ironclad Parker willpower and stopped touching his best friend. “I think you’re right.”

  His voice was as rough as gravel.

  “You’re distracted. Are you thinking about work?”

  “Yes,” he lied through his teeth.

  “You’re going to have to let it go at some point. Give in to the urge.” She drew out the word urge, perfectly pursing her lips and leaning forward with a playful twinkle in her eyes that would tempt any mortal man to sin.

  And since Flynn was nothing less than mortal, he palmed the back of her head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Eight

  What. Was. Happening?

  A useless question since the answer was as plain as the tip of Flynn’s nose on her face, because Flynn Parker was kissing her.

  Her eyes were open in shock and she was using every one of her senses to rationalize this moment. But she couldn’t. There was absolutely no way to sort out why his lips were on hers.

  Time slowed.

  She’d never imagined what his mouth would taste like, but now she knew. It was firm and sure with a hint of sweetness from the blueberry cheese they’d sampled. His kiss was delicious and confident. He held her as her knees softened and her eyelids slid shut. Sight lost, her body was a mangle of sensations as she became aware of every part of her touching every part of him.

  His hand in her hair. His other hand on her hip beneath her coat, squeezing as he pulled her in tighter. The feel of his always-there scruff scraping her jaw. The low groan in his throat that reverberated in her belly and lower still...

  She jerked her head back to separate their mouths, her eyes flying open. His mouth was still pursed, his lips shimmering a little from the gloss she’d transferred to them. She witnessed his every microexpression as it happened. His eyebrows ticked in the center, his mouth relaxed, and his eyes followed the hand that slid down her hair as he played with the strands between his fingers.

  She opened her mouth to say something—to say anything—but no words came. Just an ineffectual breath of surprise. Unable to speak, or reason, or tame her now-overexcited female hormones, she waited for him to speak.

  When he did she was more confused than ever.

  “I don’t want to go to the trapeze thing,” he said.

  “Oh-kay.”

  “What was between cheese and the trapeze?”

  A slightly hysterical giggle burst from her. A release valve—not only was “cheese” and “trapeze” funny in the same sentence but Flynn grabbing her up and kissing the sense out of her was ridiculous.

  Omigosh. I kissed Flynn Parker.

  She touched her lips, reliving what seconds ago had her rising to her tiptoes—the kiss. A really great kiss.

  “Shopping,” she croaked when she was finally able to utter a coherent word.

  “For what?”

  “For...whatever.” She shrugged, feeling awkward that they weren’t talking about The Kiss. Feeling more awkward about standing here not bringing it up. “Um, Flynn?”

  “I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and while he collected himself she used the moment to check him out. Brown leather jacket, worn jeans, brown lace-up boots. He looked sturdy and capable and...now that she thought about it, pretty damn kissable, too. It was as if every subtle nuance she’d noticed about him over the last week had come into sharp focus. Flynn was still her best friend, but he was also freaking hot.

  “What...was that?” she ventured, feeling like she should ask and that she shouldn’t at the same time.

  He raised an arm and dropped it helplessly, but no explanation came.

  Tentatively, she touched his chest. This time when their eyes met a sizzle electrocuted the scant bit of air separating them.

  “Let me guess. You’re going to suggest we don’t do that again,” he murmured.

  She became vaguely aware of the couples walking by, but since it was Valentine’s Day none of them stopped to gawk at a man and woman standing in the center of the pier kissing.

  “Why? Was it bad?” Her voice was accidentally sultry and airy. She wasn’t trying to impress or woo him. It just sort of...happened. Maybe it was nerves.

  “It wasn’t bad for me.” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he watched her mouth. Those blue eyes froze her in place when he demanded, “Why’d you ask? Was it bad for you?”

  “It was different.” That wasn’t the best word for it, but it was the safest. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad. Okay.” He raised his eyebrows and with them his voice. “Where do you want to shop?”

  “We’re just going to...”

  “Shop. And since we’re skipping the trapeze show, do something else.”

  “Like what?”

  Like more kissing? a wanton part of her shouted with an exuberant round of applause.

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, the show included dinner. I’m not sure where we’ll find reservations this late.” She gave him a light shove when he didn’t respond. “I’ve been wanting to see it.”

  “I’ve been wanting to check my work email. We can’t always have what we want.”

  “You can’t kiss me and then tell me I can’t have nice things!” she said, unable to bank her smile.

  His mouth spread into a slow grin. One filled with promise and wicked intentions, and one grin in particular she’d never, ever had aimed in her direction.

  He was so attractive her brain skipped like a vinyl record.

  “Fine. You win. You can have your show.” He put his hand on her back and they walked to the nearest store side by side. His hand naturally fell away and she was left wondering if she could barter—no trapeze show in exchange for more kisses.

  That’d be wrong, she quickly amended.

  Right? she asked internally, but at the moment the rest of her had nothing to say.

  * * *

  “Sabrina Douglas?” Gage asked after Flynn told him what had happened last weekend.

  “Do you know any other Sabrinas?” Flynn raised his beer glass and swallowed down some of the brew. Gage and Reid had wanted to go out, so here they were. Out. Chaz’s, on the edge of downtown where they’d come on a zillion occasions, including when Flynn ditched his father’s funeral. He shoved the
memory aside. He had enough on his mind. Like making out with his best friend, who’d determined the kiss wasn’t bad.

  “Our Sabrina?” Reid asked, but he looked far less alarmed than Gage.

  “Yes.” Flynn set his glass down and stared into it.

  The memory of pulling her to him and lighting her up with a kiss hadn’t faded over the week. It was as crystal clear as if it’d happened seven seconds ago instead of seven days. He could still feel her mouth on his, her hip under his palm, the soft sigh of her breath tickling his lips. Her wide-eyed, startled expression was etched into his mind like the Ten Commandments into a stone tablet.

  “Then what happened?” That was Gage, still sorting it out.

  “Then we went shopping and watched a trapeze act. Then I dropped her off at home.”

  “And then you shagged,” Reid filled in matter-of-factly.

  “No. I dropped her off at home.”

  “And you made out in the doorway, tearing at each other’s clothes regardless of passersby,” Reid tried again.

  “The kiss was a mistake,” Flynn said patiently. “I knew it. She knew it. She stepped out of my car and walked to her building—”

  “And then turned and begged you for one final kiss goodbye before she went up?” Reid appeared genuinely perplexed.

  “Dude.” Gage recoiled. “This isn’t a choose-your-own adventure.”

  “It makes no sense, is all.” Reid was still frowning in contemplation.

  “Again, nothing happened,” Flynn told them.

  “You’re truly incapable of enjoying yourself, do you realize that?” Reid leaned to one side to mutter to Gage, “It’s worse than we thought.”

  “It sounds pretty bad already.” Gage looked at Flynn. “What do you do now?”

  “I haven’t seen her since Valentine’s Day, but we’ve been texting.”

  “You mean sexting,” Reid corrected.

  “What is the matter with you?” Flynn grumbled.

  “You want the list in alphabetical order or in order of importance?” Gage chuckled.

  Reid let the comment slide. “If you’re not going to shag, then you need to fix it. Before something awful happens like she quits and we have to replace her. Sabrina isn’t only your friend, you know. We all need her.”

  “She’s not quitting. We’re fine. It happened. I just didn’t want there to be any awkwardness when we’re inevitably in the office together again. So now you know. Don’t make a big deal about it.”

  Reid snorted.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.” Reid smiled at a passing waitress and she almost tripped over her own feet. He turned back to Flynn. “You tried to log in to your work email.”

  “How do you know that?” So, yeah, he’d attempted to check his work email three times. On the third try he was locked out for having the wrong password. A lightbulb glowed to life over his head. “You changed my password.”

  “You don’t let me run your IT department for nothing.” Good-looking and ridiculously smart shouldn’t have been a combo that God allowed.

  “I didn’t agree to be shut out entirely.”

  “That was implied,” Gage chimed in, the traitor.

  “You’re in sales. What do you know?”

  “Sales brings in the money. I’m a direct link to Monarch’s success. Don’t be angry with me because you don’t know how to relax.”

  “Refills?” the waitress who’d nearly stumbled stopped to ask, her eyes on Reid.

  “Please, love,” he responded, all British charm.

  “And a round of tequila,” Gage told her. She tore her eyes off Reid but her gaze lingered on Gage long enough that Flynn assessed a passing admiration. Then she turned to ask Flynn if he also needed a refill.

  “I’m good,” Flynn told her. “Word of advice, stay away from him.” He pointed to Reid, who promptly lost his smile, and then gestured to Gage. “And him.”

  Propping a hand on her hip, she faced Flynn, pushing out her chest. Her breasts threatened to overflow from her tight, V-neck shirt. Her blond hair was pinned into a sloppy bun, her figure curvy and attractive.

  “So your friends would recommend I go out with you?”

  “Incorrect, love,” Reid piped up. “My pal Flynn is not the one for you.”

  “No? Why not?” she asked, flirting.

  “He’s far too serious for a girl like you. You look like someone who knows how to have fun.”

  “I do.” She tipped her head toward Reid, mischief in her dark brown eyes.

  “As do I.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know.” She turned back to Flynn. “I like serious sometimes. I’m Reba.” She offered a hand and Flynn shook it. “Would you like to have a drink with me tonight, Serious Flynn? I’m off at eleven and I don’t work until noon tomorrow. That gives me a space of thirteen open hours if you’d like to fill them.”

  She swiped her tongue along her lips and it took a count of ten while staring up at her, her hand in his grip, for Flynn to realize what Reba was offering. To sleep with him tonight after her shift and then to sleep in with him tomorrow.

  “Sorry. I have plans.” He dropped her hand and her smile fell. With a slightly embarrassed expression, she promised to return with their beers. Gage and Reid glared at him like they’d been personally offended.

  “What gives?” Reid shook his head in disbelief. “She tied a bow on that offer.”

  “Nothing gives. I’m not interested.”

  “In her,” Gage supplied.

  “In anyone,” Flynn growled.

  “Except for Sabrina.” Now Gage was smiling. He and Reid exchanged glances and, as if the universe intuited that he needed another challenge, Flynn’s cell phone picked that instant to buzz in his pocket. He studied the screen and the words on it before standing from his chair. “Thanks for the beer.”

  “What about your shot?” Reid asked.

  “Give it to Reba.”

  “Who was the text from?” Gage asked, but he knew. And Reid had figured it out, too, if his shit-eating grin was anything to go by.

  “It’s Sabrina,” Reid guessed. Correctly.

  “Change my password back,” Flynn told him.

  “Not for another month.”

  “I mean it.”

  “What are you going to do, fire me?” he called after him.

  “Tell Sabrina we said hi!” That was Gage.

  Assholes.

  Nine

  Luke was out of town and her landlord was ignoring her calls. Sabrina had spent the last two days without clean water, even though various other units on her floor had plenty. She knew—she’d knocked on doors and asked. She’d been brushing her teeth and washing her face and other body parts at the sink using jugs of distilled water and washcloths, but this was getting ridiculous.

  Desperate, she’d texted Flynn a mile-long message detailing how she really wanted to take a shower and cook something and how Luke was gone and her landlord was a neglectful jerk, and could she please, please come over for an hour. Just long enough to return to feeling human again.

  Then she stared at the screen waiting for his response. According to the time on her phone she’d sent the text eight minutes ago.

  Things had been fairly normal between them since Valentine’s Day, she supposed. She’d checked in on him to make sure he wasn’t working every day and then went about enjoying her vacation...sort of.

  A stack of canvases leaned against an easel and her paints were lined up on the kitchen table like colorful little soldiers. But the canvases were as dry as her shower floor. Inspiration hadn’t arrived with the downtime like it was supposed to, so instead of creating art, she’d been reading novels and cleaning her apartment. The place was sparkling, not a speck of dust to be found anywhere, and her to-be-read pil
e was in a reusable tote to be returned to Mrs. Abernathy across the hall. That woman loved her romance novels and had lent Sabrina a stack of them a while back. Until now, she hadn’t taken time to read them.

  She also learned that reading romance novels after a confusing kiss from her best friend meant her mind would slot him into the hero role in every book. So far Flynn had starred as the rakish Scot who fell for a married, time-traveling lass, a widower artist pining for his deceased wife’s best friend and a ridiculously cocky NFL player who won over a type-A journalist.

  No matter how the author portrayed the hero, dark hair, red hair, brown eyes or green, Sabrina gave every hero Flynn’s full, firm lips and warm, broad hands. Each of them had his expressive blue eyes and permanent scruff and angled jaw. And when she arrived at the sex scenes—hoo boy! She knew what Flynn looked like with his shirt off, and wearing nothing but board shorts, but she’d never seen him naked.

  Mercy, the authors were descriptive about that part of the hero. She’d allowed herself the luxury of attaching that talented member to the Flynn in her head. As a result, she’d had a week’s worth of reading that had proved to be more sexually frustrating than relaxing. She needed to have sex with someone other than herself and soon. She didn’t know what the equivalent of female blue balls was, but she had them.

  Was it any wonder she’d reached out to Flynn after all she’d done was imagine him in every scenario?

  It might be wrong, but it felt right.

  Just like texting him had been right but felt wrong. She wished there was a way to retract the text, but there it sat. Unanswered. Maybe she could borrow Mrs. Abernathy’s shower instead. That might be safer.

  At the fifteen-minute mark without a response, she decided to let him off the hook. She was keying in the words Never mind when her phone rang in her hand. The photo on the screen was one of Flynn sitting at his desk, GQ posed as he leaned back in the leather chair. It was the day he’d moved to the office upstairs after his father left Monarch and announced that he was ill.