More Than Friends (Kendrick Place #1)

by Jody Holford

  Owen stilled. The air had been sucked out of the room. “How do you know about my list? Were you on my computer?”

  She turned to stare at him, her mouth hanging open a little. With a shaky laugh, she tossed the pizza box onto the counter. His fingers itched to pick up the scattered napkins, to pile them neatly.

  “You have an actual list? Oh my God. I was being facetious.”

  His face heated. “Oh. Of course I don’t. I was joking.” Stepping forward, he bent his knees so they were eye to eye. Gabby twisted a napkin between her fingers. He took it from her hands. “Gabby, please. I need you.”

  She winced. “Just tell them the truth. Tell them you didn’t want to come home to all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. They’re your family; it’ll be okay. You know how I feel about lying.”

  He did know, and it made him a lousy friend to ask this of her, but he’d already tried to think of another way and couldn’t.

  “I can’t, Gabs. My mom cried when I told her. She was so happy I’d found someone. Then she called this morning and said they’d changed their plans and they’d be here in a few days.”

  Gabby paced the kitchen, making the space between them feel too small. “Okay, fine, she’ll be disappointed and maybe even a little mad. But you can tell her.”

  Owen’s breath caught in his lungs when he remembered his mom’s words. “It’s not just about disappointing them. My aunt Patty is having a hard year.”

  Gabby stopped pacing. “Hard how?”

  He hadn’t wanted to play the sympathy card, but he wouldn’t lie to Gabby of all people. He hadn’t actually intended to lie to anyone. “She and my uncle are divorcing. She’s nearing seventy and starting her life over.”

  Gabby’s face contorted. She so easily empathized with others’ pain. “I’m sorry. That’s very sad. But still…”

  “I tried to tell my mom the truth, but she started going on about how good it would be for Patty to be with family, to see me in love and have something so great to celebrate. Then she said maybe her sister’s Christmas could be salvaged after all.”

  Gabby groaned.

  “How could I tell my mom it wasn’t true? That I made something up to stay home? I feel like a jerk, but I can’t tell her. Please, Gabby.”

  Shaking her head, she began to pace again, her breath coming in short bursts. “Please what? Pretend to be your girlfriend for a week? No one will buy it. Half the time I’m not even sure you know I’m female.”

  What? Sure, he didn’t think of her that way, but he wasn’t blind. She was definitely female. It’s not like he hadn’t noticed she had…breasts and curves and…damn, now he was thinking of both those things. He stared down at the ground, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of her…femininity more than ever before.

  Even without looking at her, he could picture the elegant curve of her neck and the show of skin where her sweater hung loose, her gorgeous hair that made him think of rich chocolate and her pretty face with her endless, open smiles. Just because they were friends didn’t mean he was completely oblivious. Looking up, he saw she’d turned away, her hands gripping the counter.

  He might not have thought too much about it, but he could damn well see she was a woman. And he didn’t need that knowledge or awareness getting in the way. He watched the rise and fall of her back, and then she turned and walked away from him. In the living room, she took over his spot by the window, staring out at the inky black sky. The stars were like little cutouts of light peeking in.

  He leaned against the arch separating the living room and kitchen. “Look at me.” He waited until she did. “I know I’m asking a lot. It’ll probably be awkward. My family is loud and messy. Messier than you, if you can imagine.” She tried to scowl at him, but it had no heat, and that felt like a small victory. “I know you hate to lie and I hate asking you to. But you love Christmas and so do they. I don’t want to wreck it for them. It’s not a big deal—a few days with my family and no one will know otherwise. I’m asking you to help me and in return, I…I’ll give you something I know you’ve been wanting for a long time.”

  Because he was staring at her so intently, he saw the way her eyes darkened and her chest flushed. Trying to avoid looking at her breasts, he caught her gaze again. Owen walked across the room once more, the scent of her shampoo catching him off-guard, kicking him in the gut with the delicious sweetness of it. Like candy or gingerbread. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad.

  “What’s that?” she whispered, folding her arms so one hand rested on her biceps and the other rested against her mouth.

  Closing the distance between them, he reached out a hand and stroked her hair. Her hands dropped to her sides. He trailed his finger down her jaw to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. She really did have gorgeous eyes. Knock-a-man-on-his-ass eyes that were watching him, full of an emotion he couldn’t name.

  He smiled, bent his knees again, and then pinched her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “My apartment.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabby’s heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. The room was like a sauna, and the pressure in her chest was bordering on painful. She’d imagined this moment more times than she could count. Owen—the sexy-if-somewhat-nerdy tech wizard, her next-door neighbor, her best friend—standing close enough to breathe the same air, telling her he wanted her to be his girlfriend. Not once, in all her extremely detailed daydreams, had it gone down like this.

  The heat of his fingers continued to singe her skin and his eyes burned into her, making it impossible to hide her surprise. She knew he was oblivious to her feelings. If he knew what she felt—the depth of what she kept locked up inside for him—he’d snatch his hand back in an instant.

  He was killing her.

  “Say something, Gabs.” He dropped his hands and shoved them in his back pockets. His glasses made his green eyes seem bigger, more intense. He watched her closely and she knew the subtle way he pursed his lips together was a sign of his nervousness. Owen was rarely nervous. He was steady and calm and in control. She knew so much about him—too much. He took his coffee with sugar and milk, not cream. He loved to throw on his shirt right out of the dryer so it warmed his skin. He slept in only one day of the week, preferred milk chocolate over dark, and hated any sort of fruit in muffins, even though he loved fruit. He disliked Christmas and “chick flicks,” but would tolerate both for her.

  And now she knew he loved her, in the safest way possible. The most platonic, means-nothing way he could. Which, in her books, was the same as not at all. You can’t have everything.

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she sidestepped him, rubbing her chin where he’d pinched it like he was an older brother or uncle. Or friend. She couldn’t talk while he was touching her and looking at her with his eyes all intense. “Your family isn’t stupid. You’re nearly thirty years old. It’s silly to hide the truth. They know you, so obviously they know you don’t like the noise and huge gatherings that they enjoy. Adding more lies isn’t going to make things easier.” On either of us.

  She gathered her paint supplies to keep her hands busy. She wasn’t sure what she’d been about to paint anyway, but putting anything on paper or canvas soothed her. Before he’d walked in, Gabby’s biggest concern was convincing herself she was good enough to be part of the Klein Gallery showing. That seemed easy compared to thinking about being Owen’s pretend girlfriend, though the thought of being surrounded by a family tempted her down to her core. She loved Christmas, but it was a hard time of the year and more often than not reminded her she was alone.

  Owen’s voice was gentle, like the comfort of his arms during one of their hugs. “Trust me, it will definitely make things easier. Come on, it’s not such a big deal. You get to watch me suffer through all the Christmas celebrations you love, you get to meet my family, and you get to have my apartment. You are winning in this scenario.”

  God. His apartment. It wasn’t him, but it was every bit as beautiful. In a dif
ferent way, of course. She couldn’t stand still. Grabbing her brushes, she walked past him, avoiding his gaze, and went back to the kitchen to clean them. And put some space between them. It was too hard to breathe in the same room where he’d said he loved her. As a friend. Later, she’d relive the moment and fantasize that he’d meant it in an entirely different way.

  Pushing the thought away, she latched on to another. “I don’t get it. What do you mean I get your apartment?”

  Owen leaned a hip against the counter as she warmed the water. “I mean you’ve wanted it since you moved in, and now I’m willing to trade with you.”

  She slanted her gaze toward him, frowning. “You’ll just trade? I get the hardwood floors, corner unit, and wall of perfect natural lighting, and you’ll move into this dungeon?”

  “Dungeon” wasn’t a fair term. Each of the eighteen units in the building was lovely and elegant. A cross of old-school charm with mostly present-day building code regulations. Kendrick Place was not considered a luxury apartment building, but it was completely charming and full of character. Like so many great buildings in Boston, it had history and presence. It had been a shipping warehouse long ago. One man had bought it, moved into one of the container rooms, and spent his life turning it into rental spaces one apartment at a time.

  The main floor had a multi-purpose room, a fitness room, and a huge lobby. The basement held the storage and boiler rooms. During the last World War, when the building had been used to ship contents overseas, the storage room had been one of the assembly-line rooms. In addition to loving the story behind the building, Gabby felt it was in a nice area close to everything she needed. It was elegant without being stuffy, and the four corner units on each floor were an artist’s dream. Aside from the views of the Boston skyline towering over the water, the units were far more spacious, with open layouts and actual floor to ceiling windows. The light pouring in made Gabby feel like she was outside without the direct glare of the sunlight. She had a unit on the opposite side of the place, so she faced another building instead of the courtyard fountain or the city.

  Owen set out a towel for her brushes and nodded. “Straight-up trade. You move your stuff into my place, I move mine into yours. After the holidays, of course. For now, I was thinking we’d kind of blend our stuff so it looked like we’ve been sharing both spaces. You know, because we’re so in love we haven’t even dealt with the logistics of living space yet,” he said.

  His laughter nicked her heart. He thought it was funny—the idea of them being in love. He had no idea. He was the smartest man she knew and so bloody stupid she wanted to smack him.

  Instead, she took another deep breath. “I don’t know. It’s a ridiculous trade. Why would you offer this?” She knew she was stalling. He was never going to love her the way she did him, so this might be her only chance to be this kind—the girlfriend kind—of close to him.

  He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder. Brief. Barely a touch. Certainly nothing…sexual. But Gabby felt that touch down to her toes like she’d plugged in the toaster with wet hands. She scrubbed the paint from the sink, leaning into it, trying to put all her strength into getting out the spots. Just like that, he’d changed things. Now every touch was electric when she’d worked so hard to ignore the sensations his fingers on her skin caused. He was free with his shoulder nudges, high fives, and side hugs, so she’d learned not to read into them. Now, that felt impossible. She bit her lip so she didn’t sigh out loud.

  “Because I know you want it. Besides, you spend more time at my apartment than yours, anyway. You’ll make better use of the space.”

  She scrunched her shoulders, scrubbed harder, the feel of his hand still imprinted on her skin. Realizing the sink was almost sparkling, she tossed the rag on the counter and dried her hands. Restlessness coursed through her body like it had replaced all her blood.

  Gabby opened the fridge, pulled out a soda, and held it up for Owen. When he shook his head—no caffeine in the evening for him—she closed the fridge and popped the top of her can. “If you never loved it anyway, why did you take it?”

  He looked down at her floor and mumbled, “Vanessa.”

  Gabby hid her growl at the sound of his ex’s name by taking a sip of soda. Tall, blond, perfect Vanessa, who looked every bit as good on paper as she did in person. Owen had dumped her more than a year ago, but Gabby hadn’t stopped measuring herself against what she knew was Owen’s image of an ideal woman. Basically, the complete opposite of Gabby. At five-foot two, with generously rounded hips, long, tumbling hair that sometimes looked a little wild, and an eclectic sense of style that often favored comfort and practicality over name brands, Gabby was no match for Owen’s tastes. It wasn’t until Owen had dumped Vanessa that he and Gabby had gotten close.

  While she was happy Vanessa was gone, she found it sad that Owen had ended a relationship because he didn’t want to have children. He talked of the future, but never mentioned having a family. Not once had he ever spoken fondly about one day being a dad. Gabby had never asked him outright if that was the only reason, and she could certainly think of dozens of others, but it was the only one that made sense to her. Otherwise, why would he let go of his ideal candidate? Whatever the reason, Gabby knew that eventually, he’d find a woman who was as perfect on the inside as she was out.

  She set her soda down on the counter and went back to her brushes to dry them. She didn’t like leaving them wet. She squeezed them harder than normal and watched the water drip into the sink. “Of course. Boston Barbie would only want the best.”

  Owen laughed and clapped her on the back. Like Gabby was some sort of kid sister. All the innocent touches meant nothing to him. And everything to me. With him standing so close, she had no choice but to breathe in the scent of his soap, his cologne. Him. She’d recognize his scent in a crowded room with her eyes closed. It was imprinted in her senses.

  “Boston Barbie. That’s cute. Come on, Gabs. Please? You wanted to meet my parents. You’ll love them and they’ll adore you. We’re spending Christmas together, anyway.” He poked her shoulder, and even that was like a pressure-point of awareness. Who knew the shoulder could be so sensitive?

  Her voice pitched slightly because she knew she was giving in. “This is so crazy. What about after Christmas? When they find out. Because they will find out.” She knew better than anyone where half-truths could lead. That particular lesson had flipped her life upside down.

  One lie. Two deaths.

  Owen straightened, and all the playfulness left his tone. “This is different. You need to stop blaming yourself. Your parents’ deaths are not your fault,” he said softly. Easy for him to say. He hadn’t been the one to sneak out of the house at sixteen after promising his parents he wouldn’t go to a party. She’d feigned illness and said she was going to bed early, and when they’d checked on her and she hadn’t been in her room, they’d gone searching for her. Owen was right—the drunk driver hitting them was not her fault. But if she hadn’t lied, if she hadn’t broken her promise, they wouldn’t have been in the car.

  Owen pulled the brush from her hand and set it down, then tugged her close, his arms tightening around her, like he was trying to absorb the pain he knew she felt when she was missing her parents. But being in his arms now was almost as difficult as thinking about them without despair. She pushed away. When in doubt, pace.

  “You’re sure your family will fall for this?” The protest was weak, even to her own ears. No surprise. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. And as a consolation prize, when they stopped pretending, she’d have the most kick-ass space to create five beautiful pieces that might finally secure her place in the tight-knit group of ready-to-be-known Boston artists.

  “Why wouldn’t they? It’s one week. They’re coming in a few days. My mom mentioned the twenty-third. They’re leaving before New Year’s because they’re hosting an improv night at their studio.” Right. His parents were actors and acting teachers. Maybe there was mo
re of them in Owen than he realized. He sounded almost into the idea of taking on the role of her fake boyfriend. He gestured between them with his hands. “We know each other as well as any couple, so really, all we have to work on is…” Owen’s words trailed off. His cheeks turned a cute shade of pink and he stepped back from Gabby.

  Interesting. Her pulse sped up. Had he only just realized what the charade would entail? Oh, Owen. “Work on what, O?”

  His hand went to the back of his neck, another tell. He glanced around the room, eyes bouncing from one object to the next. Anywhere but at her. “Well, we should… I mean, a couple would…in a real relationship a couple would—”

  Her grin stretched her cheeks. Hmm. “Have sex?” Gabby offered. Even saying the words sent sparks zipping through her blood.

  Owen’s eyes widened impossibly, and a strange, garbled sound came from his throat. “What? No! I mean, yes, they would. But no,” he said. He came closer but didn’t touch her. The red of his cheeks practically glowed. “I would never use you like that. You know that. I would never expect that we would do…that. I just meant, like kiss and hold hands or something. God.”

  Gabby bit her lower lip because she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her laughter. Of course he wouldn’t expect that. Especially not with her. A gentleman to the core, he would only take his deception so far. And apparently he saw her as the female equivalent of a stuffed bear. Cute and cuddly.

  But this could be her chance to test things out between them in terms of chemistry. If they had none, she was worrying for nothing. He might be a really lousy kisser. He could, quite possibly, be the worst kisser in the entire Boston area. In the universe, perhaps. Maybe he was all teeth and tongue with absolutely no finesse. If he was and there were zero sparks between them, this…this spell he had on her could be broken and she’d never want him physically again. Years from now she’d laugh about how she’d thought Owen Burnett was the one.