Boyfrenemy

by Sosie Frost

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. But we lost a lot of equipment. A couple animals. The structure itself. Caused a lot of stress. My mom got sick first, trying to take care of everyone. She passed three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He frowned. “That was the catalyst to every fight and problem. After her funeral, we all scattered. Everyone except Cassi left the farm, just trying to avoid the fighting and problems. Dad had always had a bad heart, so when his health started to slip, I knew I had to come home. I just…” He shook his head. “I didn’t. I waited too long. He died, and…”

  “And?”

  “And I wasn’t there.”

  My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.”

  Julian switched the subject, his voice hardening. “So, the farm is my problem now. No one else wants to deal with it.”

  I leaned a little closer. “So…why do you want it?”

  “Someone has to manage it.”

  That wasn’t the truth. “There’s more to it, cowboy. You’re fighting me tooth and nail on this damn application. A man doesn’t just snap one day and decide to be a farmer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a guy like you was supposed to be some big-time athlete.”

  His expression flickered—wavering between pride and shame. “That was a long time ago.”

  “But you did play football?”

  “Once.”

  He didn’t want to talk about it, but I wanted to hear it.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  His jaw clenched. “Same old story.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard it.” I pointed to the goat, balancing on the hood of Cassi’s car. “Clyde hasn’t heard it either.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  I winked. “Don’t be baashful.”

  “That’s a sheep, Old MacDonald.”

  “Do I have to get you one of those too?”

  He swore. “Better get me the barn first.”

  “I’m working on it. Least you can do is provide me some backstory. Who knows what might help me get this variance approved?”

  “Fine.” His arm stretched against the swing, almost wrapped around me. “I played football years ago. Ancient history now.”

  He talked like he was old and grey, not young and mouth-watering.

  “I was good,” he said. “Good enough to go pro. My parents realized it when I was just a kid. They…did all they could. We never had a lot of money, but they scrimped and saved to get me into a couple different programs. Traveled with me across the state. Got me trainers and extra coaching. And it worked. Had my pick of colleges. Full scholarships. Played my four years, and I had…prospects.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Yeah…” He rubbed his face. “But then I blew my back out.”

  “Is that why you have scars?”

  “Surgery.”

  “That bad?”

  His mouth thinned. “Pretty bad. I should have had an all-star career. Instead I landed on the operating table in the middle of my first season with the Rivets.” He ground his jaw. “And that was that. My chances slipped away twelve years ago.”

  “What have you done since then?”

  “Nothing that I should have been doing.” His fingers wove over my shoulder. Like a fool, I let him pull me to his side. “I never planned for the future. Never thought to start a family.”

  I snorted. “Well, check that off the list now.”

  “Surprise.”

  I smirked. “Surprise.”

  He shrugged. “Not a bad one.”

  My heart fluttered. “No?”

  “Man’s gotta start a family sometime.”

  Perhaps, but usually the wedding, stable career, and houses came first. “This probably isn’t the best way to do it.”

  “But what a way to make it.”

  “Really?” I laughed. “Rushed, clothes on, in the middle of an office?”

  “Lucky I didn’t take you on a bed with some rose petals—you’d be having twins.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re so damn cocky.”

  “I earned it.”

  His fingers brushed my arm, casting shivers deep into me, where everything centered, warmed and waiting.

  “You only think you earned it,” I said.

  “I don’t remember you complaining…” He grinned. “And you complain a lot, princess.”

  “Only about men who bother me.”

  He teased, his voice a squeak. “We’re out of money for the fireworks. We need another sponsor for the festival. We need more volunteers.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Can’t remember you complaining about a bad fuck.”

  “I’m sure I’ll mention it over the next seven months.”

  He smirked. “Pregnancy isn’t all bad. Show me one woman who’s never wanted bigger tits.”

  I wrapped an arm over my chest. “Excuse me?”

  “Think I hadn’t noticed?”

  “Thought you would be polite enough to not mention it.”

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  “No shit. I don’t know anything about you.” I sighed. “So, let’s start a family.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Oh, let’s see.” I rattled off the most pressing concerns. “Having a stranger’s baby. The potential destruction of my career. My breasts growing so large they’re mistaken for mountains.”

  “That’s all? Hell. I can take care of that.”

  I had no idea I’d been knocked up by a miracle worker. “Oh?”

  “First, I’m not a stranger,” he said.

  “You’re just a pain in my ass.”

  “Don’t worry—when we do that, I’ll be gentle.”

  I batted his arm away. “Perv.”

  “Don’t lie, little girl. You’re curious. Practically squirming onto my lap.”

  I didn’t care how many of his babies I had or how many weeks I’d known him, I would never, ever admit to being curious about that sort of intimacy.

  Even if I was.

  Just a little bit.

  Damn hormones. They confused me. Heated me. Drew me closer to Julian’s embrace.

  I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, but his lips grazed mine, soft and tender. A tentative nibble. A soft pulse of desire and hesitance.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  I needed a lie. “I’m…I’m sick to my stomach.”

  “I bet I give you butterflies.”

  I wished I hadn’t parted my lips. My words murmured over his kiss. “You already gave me a baby.”

  His hand brushed my cheek. I wished it had fallen lower.

  “You never answer me honestly,” he said.

  “And what would you do if I did?”

  “Take you to bed right now.”

  I had no doubt of his intentions. Problem was, I didn’t trust my inhibitions.

  “But what would you do for me?” I teased.

  “Anything your heart desired…” His hand drifted over my shoulder, the swell of my breast, the curve of my hip. “Besides, you still think I’m a stranger. Only one way to fix that.”

  “Dinner and a movie?”

  “One night. My bed. Taken again and again until there’s not an inch of our bodies we don’t recognize.” His words thrilled me. “What could go wrong? I’ve already knocked you up.”

  I swallowed. It was easier when we kissed. Less to speak, so much less to reveal.

  “Maybe the pregnancy isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

  “What is?”

  Falling for this man.

  Letting him touch me. Hold me. Promise so many delicious and naughty pleasures.

  What was I doing?

  This was Julian Payne.

  I hated him. The insults and the arrogance, the problems he caused and the amount of work I had to do to cover for him. I wasn’t supposed to feel these things for him. Wasn’t supposed to wonder and hope and imagine
what would happen during a night in his bed, curled in his arms, pinned beneath him.

  I also wasn’t supposed to be pregnant.

  I’d already screwed so much up. Already wrecked every plan I had for myself, and I hadn’t even begun to reorganize my already fraying life. I couldn’t let it get any more out of control.

  Not just for my own heart, but to protect the little life inside me.

  I pulled away, still tasting him on my lips. “I need to get back to the office.”

  “Come back later,” he said. “I’ll make dinner.”

  “No.”

  “Fine. You bring dinner.”

  “Cowboy.”

  “Princess.”

  He stared at me, jaw set, eyes burning through the damned dress that clung to the wrong parts of me and felt suddenly too rough and scratchy against my heated skin.

  “Tell you what…” I said. “If, by some miracle, you can solve the funding problem for the fair and get me my fireworks, then I’ll be yours all night.”

  “That a promise?”

  “That’s a problem. There’s no money. No chance.” I shrugged. “But you’re free to try.”

  “If it gets you in bed with me?” He adjusted the towel. It did nothing, still tented and so very tempting. “I’ll make you see fireworks.”

  “And then what?” I asked a question that had no easy answer. Nothing we’d want to hear. “Let’s pretend you take me again. Then what?”

  “Family’s already started.” He grinned. “Only one thing left.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I gotta make you like me.”

  “Good luck, cowboy.” I hurried off the porch, avoiding a sudden head butt from a very excited Clyde. “Need more than a miracle to pull that off.”

  He’d need me to tell him the truth.

  I liked Julian. In fact…I liked him a little too much. But having a baby with him was enough. Dating my own enemy? What did that make him?

  A complication? A danger? Or just…

  A boyfrenemy?

  Chapter Ten

  Julian

  If I’d known how easily I could bribe Micah with half of a meatball sandwich and a pint of pistachio ice cream, I’d have gotten my barn weeks ago.

  Then again, if I had known she would have dunked one into the other, I probably would have had second thoughts about sleeping with her.

  Micah was the type of girl who ate her fast food off real plates. She laid out a fork, a spoon, and a wineglass that once held Chardonnay and was now filled to the brim with milk. She settled into her chair at the two-seat dining room table and folded her napkin in her lap.

  Then she smeared the ice cream over the meatballs.

  Sweet Jesus, pregnancy was terrifying.

  “Bon appetite,” I said, considering bolting for the exit if she dared to reach for the squirt bottle of honey mustard sitting on the table. “Glad I could…help.”

  The apartment seemed too tiny for a woman as sophisticated as Micah. Decorations trumped practicality. She’d sacrificed a valuable kitchen shelf to display a vase of fresh flowers, choosing to tuck her pots and pans into her oven instead. The appliances were antiquated, but she hid their age by hanging fancy hand towels from their handles. Ruffled curtains attempted to brighten the tiny kitchen, but the windows were awkwardly small. The evening’s sunset cast long shadows across her counters—mostly occupied by presumably empty porcelain cookie jars and a now dusty coffee pot that hadn’t seen use since before the pregnancy.

  Micah could fill a home and make it beautiful, but at the end the day, the mother of my child sat alone in a damp kitchen, passing the hours until she’d crawl to bed—miserable and nauseous—in a poster bed fit for a princess.

  I couldn’t let her handle this pregnancy alone. But how the hell was I supposed to convince her to let me help?

  “Is this gross?” Micah stared at her food. “It’s good, but I’m afraid if I realize it’s gross, it’ll all come back up. And I’d really like something to stay down.”

  I pulled up a chair and stole a spoonful of ice cream. “That bad?”

  She sighed. “I’m running out of excuses for work. First, it was a stomach bug. Then it was a bad tuna fish sandwich.”

  “All tuna fish sandwiches are bad.”

  “Now I’m inventing reasons. I need a paper towel, or my pen exploded on my hands. Today’s was Does anyone else hear that ticking?” Micah paused. “Pro tip…don’t use that last excuse around the sheriff. We had to evacuate the offices and the senior center in the middle of Bingo. Don’t piss off the little old ladies when they’re armed with knitting needles.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “My Nan used to play. She’s the reason they created the Annie Rule.”

  “No hot beverages served during Bingo?”

  “That’s the one. Nanna had a temper.”

  She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed, then reached for the honey mustard. I couldn’t watch.

  “I got something that’ll cheer you up,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Is it a piece of pineapple?”

  Christ, I could barely keep my cock in my pants around this woman. Did she think I could fit tropical fruit in my pockets? “Fresh out of pineapple.”

  She bit her lip. “Could it be a piece of pineapple?”

  “Barlow’s closes at nine,” I said. Her crumpled expression broke my heart. “But, no problem. I can drive over to the Walmart in Cedar Grove—”

  “No, that’s okay,” Micah said. Could tell she didn’t mean it. “I’ll live.”

  “Besides, I got you something better,” I said. “Did you still want some fireworks?”

  “No way.”

  “I found a sponsor.”

  “No way!”

  “They used to do business with my dad. Gave them a call. They said they’d love to be a sponsor, and they’ll front an extra three thousand bucks so you can get the fireworks.”

  Micah bounced to her feet and rushed into my arms.

  Was it wrong to hold her tight? To keep her close?

  To savor the sweet apple-rose of her scent?

  Probably. I did it anyway.

  “Who are they?” Micah smiled, a beautiful, carefree, untempered grin. “As a member of the government, I can’t thank them with a gift, but I can certainly offer a firm handshake.”

  “It’s a little outfit in Sawyer County.”

  “Even better.”

  “Locally source all their products,” I said.

  “We like that. Who are they?”

  “Four Men And A Pig Fertilizer.”

  Micah blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “They’re professional. My dad used them for years. I guess now it’s Four Mens’ Sons and a Different Pig Fertilizer, but the work ethic is still there.”

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, how locally sourced is their product?”

  “Suppose the pig does most of the heavy lifting.”

  She pushed her sandwich away. “Well…it doesn’t matter as long as their checks are good…and they wash their hands before signing it.”

  “Only thing they ask is that they get recognition for their donation,” I said.

  “Not a problem. They’ll have an ad in the program.”

  “Actually…I promised them a bit more.”

  Micah frowned. “You…what?”

  The woman had tempted me with sex. I would have paid for the fireworks myself if it meant getting into her bed. But the sponsorship was easy enough to score. A little introduction. An explanation about the potential advertising benefits.

  Plus, they’d seemed far more eager to help after I’d ordered a couple tons of fertilizer to one of my untilled, unplanted fields.

  “I told them they could have a bigger spot,” I said.

  Micah hesitated. “How big?”

  “How do you feel about…Four Men And A Pig Fertilizer Company Presents The Sawyer County Agricultural Fair?”

  “Oh my god.”

&n
bsp; “It got us the money.”

  “No, no, no, no…” Micah shot out of her chair. “That can’t work. We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everyone already thinks the fair is shitty this year—this will confirm it!”

  I tugged on her arm before she escaped to the living room—not that there was very far to go. She swung around only to slap my shoulder.

  “Jesus, cowboy.”

  “You said to find you money for the fair,” I said. “Take it.”

  “But it’s fertilizer.”

  “And it’s an agricultural fair. You think unicorns kiss the farmland around here, and everything grows by itself smelling like roses?”

  “Gross.”

  “Farms need fertilizer. You needed fireworks. It’s a good trade.”

  She squirmed but eventually nodded. “You’re right. Damn it. It’s just…you have no idea why I need this fair to succeed.”

  I didn’t let her escape to the couch. “So tell me.”

  For the first time, Micah didn’t have anything smart to say. “I need to keep this job.”

  “Why?”

  She patted her belly. “Why else?”

  And now I felt like an asshole. “You know I’m going to help you.”

  “Do I seem like the type who would accept charity?”

  Why didn’t she punch me in the gut while we were at it? “What charity? That’s my kid in there.”

  “I can handle it myself. I just need to focus. On everything. The job. The fair. My responsibilities. But…”

  “What?”

  “The morning sickness is a killer. That sandwich was all I’ve kept down in a day.”

  “You hardly ate it. Probably because it was disgusting, but Christ.”

  “I can’t help it.” The frustration edged her voice. “I’m sick when I get up. I’m sick when I go to work. I’m sick in meetings, at lunch, during the afternoon, when I’m eating dinner. The only time I’m not sick is before bed, but God knows I can’t do that at work.”

  Now that piqued my interest. “Can’t do what?”

  A quiet panic stole her confidence. She aimed for the couch. I didn’t let her out of my sight.

  “Nothing,” she said, quickly. “Forget it.”

  “So…you only feel good at night?” I asked. “In bed?”

  “Easy, cowboy.”

  I grinned. “Now what would feel good late at night in bed? Must be something you’re doing.”