by C. C. Wood
Girl Next Door
The Complete Series
Copyright © 2013 Crystal W Wilson
All Rights Reserved
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
Friends with Benefits
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Frenemies
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Drive Me Crazy
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About C.C.
Friends with Benefits
Text copyright © 2012 Crystal W. Wilson
All Rights Reserved
To my hubby, for believing in me and encouraging me.
Saturday night sucked. For the third weekend in a row, I was spending my Saturday night on my couch, cuddled up to a pint of ice cream, and watching reruns of Golden Girls. This was definitely not the norm for me. While I was not some twit who thinks every night is a reason to party until I passed out, I’m a social animal. Weekends were invented so I could go out with my girls or my guy, drink, dance and have fun. Weekends were a break from monotony. Trust me, as an accountant, I often needed a break from monotony. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my job. I like numbers. I’m good with numbers. Still numbers don’t make me laugh or make my heart beat fast. Okay, so if these numbers are on a winning lottery ticket or attached to a pair of shoes I absolutely LOVE and I lose track of the decimal because of the fog of shoe lust, maybe. Usually when this happens, my card has already been swiped through the little thingie and I’m walking out the door, receipt in hand, only to realize I’ve spent more than my car payment. Yikes!
Thankfully, I’m good at my job and extremely busy. Because of this, I only have time for serious shoe shopping on rare occasions and I make enough money to pay the price for my monthly shoegasm.
Needless to say, I am not the kind of girl who stays home for three Saturday nights in a row. However, these last three Saturdays have been about one thing, okay, several things: me being pissed, hurt, disgusted, pissed, and doubtful.
My boyfriend, Jack was the cause of all these feelings. Four Saturdays ago, Jack and I were hanging out with my bestie, Cat and her “friend”, Mike. Cat had lots of male “friends”. She is a bit of a commitmentphobe and refused to call him her boyfriend. We were grilling on my deck, drinking margaritas, and swimming in my awesome in-ground pool. Mike and Cat, unfortunately, became non-friends after five margaritas and a wicked argument, which ended with Cat screeching, “You’re a lazy, rude bastard AND you couldn’t find a clitoris with a map!” Did I mention this was after five margaritas?
On that parting salvo, Mike left and Cat was without a ride. I was well into margarita number six and Jack was almost done with a six pack of beer. Neither of us could safely drive her home. She, being part pissed off and part hurt, okay, maybe mostly pissed off and a little hurt, decided to stay the night instead of calling a cab.
Not long after this decision was reached, Cat and I cleaned up most of the mess (we were too tipsy to do more than a half-assed job) and went upstairs to bed.
The next morning I woke up slightly hung over in an empty bed. Jack usually slept half the day away after he tied one on, but he wasn’t in the bed. Hoping he was okay and not puking in the bathroom, I dragged out of bed. The bathroom was empty, so I doubted Jack was suffering from hang over hell. I did my morning routine and threw on some clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, hair still damp from my quick shower, I crept downstairs. The shower moved my hang over meter from slightly to less-than-slightly and I was feeling mostly human. I figured Cat was still in bed and I wanted to get the coffee ready before she got up. A hung over Cat was a little scary before her first cup of coffee. As I hit the ground floor, the scent of brewed java hit me. Yay! Jack was up and he even made coffee. The man was now my hero. I turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.
Cat had her back against the counter, Jack pressed tight into the front of her body. I came through the doorway in time to see him lean down and plant a lip lock on her.
My heart stopped because it couldn’t survive pain that fierce. Then, unbelievably, it began beating again, fast and hard. Suddenly, Cat simultaneously bit Jack’s lip and kneed him viciously in the balls. I think his feet even came off the floor an inch or two. When Jack crumpled, Cat leaned down and started shouting.
“You bastard! I’m Nat’s best friend! What the fuck?” She reared back, her face dark with fury. Then she lunged forward, hands out and curled into claws. “That’s it, I’m gonna kick your ass!” Though Jack definitely deserved it, my friend did not need to fight my battles.
I came unfrozen in time to take three steps across the room and yank Cat away from Jack before she could kick him in the face. I didn’t want her to hurt her bare foot on his hard skull. His face, I could have cared less about. Jack looked up at me, his face pale and guilty and started stammering.
“Baby, I know Cat’s your best friend, but she was coming on to me. When I turned her down, she started shouting and…”
He didn’t get any further because I released Cat and got in his face so fast he flinched and turned green. I mean, seriously, did he think that all my brain cells had died overnight?
“I saw everything.” I hissed. “You have one minute to grab your balls and go. Anything of yours will be in a box on the front porch this afternoon. You don’t pick it up today, it’s in the garbage tomorrow.”
Whatever Jack saw in my face must have told him I meant business. He glanced at Cat, went from green to white again, and heaved himself off the floor.
Within thirty seconds, he had his keys and was out the door. He didn’t even take the time to grab shoes.
I turned to Cat. She was watching me with sympathy and wariness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” she whispered. “I promise, I would never...”
I cut her off with a shake of my head. “I know, babe. I know this was not your fault and I don’t blame you a bit.”
Her eyes got shiny with tears. “Nat,” she whispered.
I hugged her tight and blinked back my own tears.
Now, three weeks later, I was still super pissed and disgusted with Jack. Most of the reason I was pissed was how his betrayal made me feel about myself. It hurt, yes, but, surprisingly, I wasn’t heartbroken. What bothered me the most was I had thought Jack could be something special to me. Maybe even the one, if I believed in that fairy tale. He always wanted to spend time with me, worried about my safety when I went out without him, checked in via text on a regular basis, and he was very touchy-feely. Cat had worried he was too clingy, but I appreciated how into me he seemed. Now, I doubted my abili
ty to be a good judge of character. That’s what pissed me off the most. My self-confidence took a direct blow when Jack proved himself to be an asshat. If I couldn’t see an asshole under the surface, how could I ever trust my judgments about men again? Sure, Jack’s actions were his problem, his fault, but my bullshit detector never buzzed the three months we were together. How could my boyfriend be so sleazy and I was blind?
I pondered, okay, stewed, over the Jack issue every weekend for the last three weeks. Cat warned me Friday that this was my last weekend in isolation. After the first few calls from Jack that I had answered, I refused to take his calls. He’d even showed up at work once and I had the front desk tell him I was unavailable. When I had talked to him on the phone, he’d tried to apologize again, I’d cut him off and explained that his actions were beyond my ability to forgive. He’d tried to beg, reason, and eventually lost his temper. When he began cursing at me, I’d hung up and refused to answer his calls since. His sudden and intense pursuit were freaking me out a little. It seemed almost too obsessive.
Earlier this week, Cat had called me and laid down the law.
“Next weekend, Nat, your ass is mine. We are going out and having fun.”
Cat never made idle threats.
So, here I was, eating a pint of cookie dough ice cream and watching the Golden Girls. Dressed in my cute pink camisole and short-short pajama set, no make-up, and hair in a messy bun, I almost ignored the doorbell when it pealed. I didn’t want company and I certainly wasn’t dressed for it. Still, I figured Cat decided to enforce her threat a week early. She could be sneaky like that. So, I hauled my butt off the couch and peeked out the peephole.
Jack’s handsome face stared back at me. His hair was a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, and he was swaying slightly.
Shit. I was pretty sure he was drunk. As quietly as I could, I took two steps back from the door. Before I got further, Jack started banging on the door LOUD.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“I know you’re in there, Nat! I saw your shadow in the window. Open the door! I wanna talk to you!”
I rolled my eyes. Apparently Jack couldn’t take a freaking hint. I’d told him I never wanted to speak to him again, turned him away from my work, hung up or ignored his calls the last couple of weeks, but he still didn’t seem to get that I didn’t want him anymore. I hadn’t thought he would start acting like a stalker.
Since he was on my doorstep at midnight on a Saturday, I guess he had decided stalker actions were immediately necessary.
Bambambambam!
Whoa, the door was shaking under the force of his hard, drunken blows. I backed up further. This situation was deteriorating rapidly and I wasn’t even actively participating. Crap, I really didn’t want him to wake up my neighbors. Mrs. Crabtree on the east side of my house was almost deaf. She usually had her hearing aid out this time of night. The house on the west side was vacant until about a month ago. I saw a moving truck parked out front for a couple of days, but no movers or my new neighbor. I prayed my neighbor was either old and deaf like Mrs. Crabtree or young enough to have a social life and be out on the town on a Saturday.
“Nat! Open the damn door!” Jack shouted.
I wondered if I should go ahead and call the cops. I really didn’t want to, but I knew people three houses down could probably hear Jack’s banging and shouting. If I didn’t, they would. It would be humiliating to have the cops show up. All the neighbors would be in their yards, staring and gossiping about crazy Natalie York and how the cops showed up to her house at least twice a year. I swear every time they showed up before, it wasn’t my fault.
Still, the cops were probably going to be called anyway by me or someone else. Also, there was the added bonus of men in uniforms. I was contemplating which was more appealing, attempting to ignore Jack or calling the cops when another man’s voice boomed in my front yard.
“What the hell, man?”
Oh man. He had a great voice. Deep, resonant, with just a hint of a growl. Goose bumps broke out on my arms.
“If she hasn’t answered the door, she’s either not home or she doesn’t want to see you. Either way, take the hint and go. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Fuck you!” Jack yelled.
I rolled my eyes again. I know this is a bad habit, but it’s better than vocalizing all the curse words I said in my head. I peeked out the front window by the door and saw the shadow of a large man a few feet from Jack. He was broad and a couple of inches taller. Okay, not only did I now have a witness, but I also had a man bigger than Jack around. Maybe he could pull me off Jack if I started to strangle him because I suddenly decided I’d had enough. Jack was going to get a piece of my mind and I wasn’t going to filter it at all. I was tired of avoiding his calls and hiding out. I wasn’t the one who screwed up.
Driven by this instant and probably bad decision, and embarrassment, I yanked open the front door and stepped out into Jack’s space. He whirled around to face me. Barefoot, I just reached his collarbone, so I rose up on my tiptoes and poked my finger in his chest. The smell of whiskey hit me hard, but I was too pissed to care.
“I do not want to talk to you, see you, smell you, or hear your voice EVER AGAIN! You kissed my best friend, in my kitchen, in my house, with ME in it! This is Texas, you know. I do own a gun. If you set foot on my property again, I WILL SHOOT YOU!”
By the end of this diatribe I was almost screeching. Jack leaned back from my jabbing finger and tried a different tactic.
“Baby,” he muttered. He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off.
“NO, Jack, GO!”
His eyebrows came down when it was obvious his sweet ploy wasn’t going to calm me down as it would have in the past. I occasionally, well, regularly, went on rants when we were together, but they were rarely ever directed at him. Usually, he could calm me down with a soothing tone and sweet words. When he realized this was not going to happen now, the pissed off look returned. He reached out to grab my arm and then, poof, he was gone.
I was left staring at a broad back and short blond hair. The lighting wasn’t great, but good enough for me to see the heavy muscles in my protector’s back. Holy shit, my witness-slash-protector was shirtless, muscular, and, if the front was anything like the back, HOT! He was also now standing between me and Jack and close enough to me for me to feel his body heat.
“Man, she said go. If you won’t do that on your own, I’ll make you.” The guy crossed his arms and looked like he was settling in for the night. Damn, but his voice was sexy. Too bad I was only five-foot four. I would have loved to see the look on Jack’s face. All I could see though was smooth tanned skin and muscles. Okay, so maybe this view was better anyway.
Jack was silent for a moment. He worked out, was in decent shape, but he was lean. He still had to be three inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than the human wall in front of me. And most of those fifty pounds had to be muscle.
“We’ll talk later, Nat.” Jack said.
I rolled my eyes again and muttered under my breath, “No we won’t, you asshat.”
Wall o’ Muscle in front of me made a weird noise but said nothing.
If Jack heard me, he ignored it. I heard his footsteps fade, a car door slam, and an engine roar to life. Then, Jack peeled out and tore down the quiet street.
Suddenly, I realized all my muscles were tight and I was barely breathing. I sucked in a deep breath and let my forehead rest on the back of Wall o’ Muscle for a second. I let out my breath, straightened and stepped back. As I did, shirtless guy turned to me and I was face-to-pecs with major hotness. At least, major hotness from the neck down. Even in the dim light I could see he was in very good shape. I swallowed hard and stopped breathing when I looked waaay up to meet Wall o’ Muscle’s eyes.
Whoa. I thought his body was good, but his face was even better. He wasn’t a pretty boy, but rugged and striking. His jaw, cheeks, and nose were carved and sharply delineated. I though
t his hair was blond, but it was hard to tell in the dark. His hair was cut short around an extremely masculine face.
I couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the light leaking out my door to the porch, but I could see them narrow as he took me in, top to toe.
I remembered what I was wearing and my messy hair and felt heat creep up my face. Thank God, it was dark and he couldn’t see me blush.
He remained silent, staring down at me. He had to be at least six-three, I thought inanely. I tried to control my crazy lusty thoughts and focus on speaking to him.
“Um, I appreciate your help…um, who are you?” I stammered.
Wall o’ Muscle, aka Extreme Hottie, gave me a half-smile.
“I’m Aidan Hart. I moved in next door a few weeks ago.”
So this was my new mystery neighbor. I almost grinned, and then I remembered Cat’s fight with Mike a few weeks ago. God, I hoped he wasn’t home then. The clitoris comment was top volume and definitely took the prize for insanely inappropriate.
I held out my hand. “I’m Natalie York.”
He grasped my hand and I swear I felt it all over my body. Before I completely recovered, Aidan let go of my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Natalie.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you got dragged out of bed, Aidan. This kind of thing doesn’t usually happen.” There, I sounded almost normal, okay, maybe a little bit breathy.
“He your ex?” Aidan asked.
“Um, yeah. We broke up a few weeks ago.”
“When he tried to kiss your best friend?” He looked like he was trying not to smile.
I nodded.
“Good.”
Okay, what did that mean? Was it good he’d kissed my best friend? I cocked my head to the side and wrinkled my nose in confusion.
“Huh?”
He gave me the half-smile again and shook his head. “Nothin’.”
I was still confused but I returned his smile and stepped back into my house. I was beginning to feel very awkward.
