by Jillian Neal
She may have graduated salutatorian, but she’d never had any fun in school. Her sister, Skye, had dared Rick Stilton to kiss her because she was sixteen and had never even been kissed. How lame was that? Her little sister had vastly more experience than she did. When Hope was at home, trying to please their overbearing aunt who had become their guardian after the car accident that had killed their parents, Skye was out actually living life. Sure, she got caught sneaking out occasionally, but who cared now?
Always anxious to please her aunt, Hope had thrown herself into her Lit degree at the small community college. There were no frat parties, football games, or any other opportunities to “bloom,” as Skye always insisted that she needed to do. Feeling like a complete outcast from society, she’d gone out with Brad for six months her senior year, long enough to make him officially a boyfriend. She assumed that would count for something, but she and Brad certainly hadn’t even come close to the level of passion her favorite authors wrote about. She knew placing her high hopes on fiction was probably not the most logical thing in the world, but actually achieving an orgasm while you’re with a guy didn’t seem like she was asking for the moon.
A few weeks ago, she’d begrudgingly agreed to go out with Trent Young. She’d endured dinner a few times and had seen a movie with him, but he was almost as thrilling as watching paint dry. Sick to death of hearing about his rich family’s sailing business, she’d never let things go beyond a kiss and had broken it off after their third date.
Maybe her friends were right. It was time for her to loosen up a bit, and oh how she wanted Brock to be the one to do the loosening. He was more than welcome to loosen her clothing, her undergarments, her stubborn resolve, and her conviction that he would never be interested in anything more than a friendship.
She forcibly shut down all memories of staring at him over the cover of her books and watching him flirt, tease, and make-out with most every girl on the cheerleading squad in high school and a myriad of other tall, well-endowed, long-legged, beautiful creatures since then. He never dated anyone very long. They never seemed to capture his attention for any length of time, but she and Brock had been friends for almost twelve years. That had to count for something, right? Staring down at her own B-cupped breasts and her decidedly short legs, she sighed.
But determination began to build in her tensed abdomen. No more hiding or cowering in fear of what might happen if she took a chance. She was going after life, and that meant she was going after Brock. The resolve sped her heart as she considered how to bring up the fact that she’d been lusting after him for nearly half of her life. Her phone rang and a broad grin lit her entire face.
“Hello.” Somehow her smile continued to widen.
“Hope? You okay? I’m heading that way. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Matt dragged me out to Dave’s again. Just hang tight. I’ll help you clean everything up. We’ve got to get a new roof on there. You know I’d do it at cost, but I can’t cut Ryan out since he’s my boss. But he’ll give you a deal. I’ll talk to him,” all of this fell from Brock’s mouth without breath.
Hope giggled. “Actually, I was just about to call you. I have the money saved up. Do you think you could come by tomorrow and make sure it’s not going to be more than you originally quoted and tell me when you can get started? I’m more than ready to stop being my own very bizarre bucket brigade.”
Brock’s insanely sexy chuckle warmed her entire being. “It won’t be more than planned. I won’t let it be, and I’m pulling in now. See you in a sec.”
A moment later, the door swung open, and he appeared in all of his glory. Rain dotted the dark grey t-shirt that pulled across his chest and biceps like it couldn’t quite contain his muscles. A well-worn pair of Wranglers slung low on his hips and were perfectly rubbed in the places where his thighs taunted the fabric. His customary Nebraska Cornhuskers baseball cap sat on his thick brown hair.
Before he stepped inside, he wiped his boots on the ancient red mat on the front porch. At one time, it had displayed the word READ, but now was so worn only half of the R and the D were visible.
Hope could just make out his chiseled pecs in the wet t-shirt. She put her hands behind her back and held her index finger to keep from running her hands over his stomach and up his chest as she’d imagined doing dozens upon dozens of times. Even in her sleep, she dreamed about touching his body and letting him touch hers.
Pointing to all of the wine glasses serving as makeshift rain-catchers, he laughed again.
“Forgot it was book club night. Kinda shitty of them to abandon you to empty the wineglasses,” he huffed as he quickly lifted the half-full glass on one of the non-fiction shelves, stalked quickly to the storeroom, emptied it, and replaced it before much of a puddle had formed.
“Thank you for coming by. I sent them all home. I feel bad making them clean up the store. It’s my fault the roof leaks.”
“How is that your fault?” He paced around the storeroom, quickly climbed up on the worktable, showing off his athletic prowess, and pressed his fingers against sagging drywall on the ceiling. He produced yet another drip. Shaking his head, he leapt back down, grabbed the last available pot, and set it on the counter under the falling water.
“I should have made the former owners at least lower the price on this place. I should have let you look at the roof before I bought it. I should have done a lot of things I never did.” Hope sighed. I should have told you years ago how I feel about you.
“You should stop being so hard on yourself.” He grasped her shoulders and gave a light squeeze before he grabbed the tray of cheeses. “I’m assuming we aren’t keeping the soggy cheese?”
“Uh, definitely not.” Hope wrinkled her nose as he banged the tray against the interior of the trash can to shake loose the sodden cheese. Recalling that he’d been out with Matt and the guys to Whiskey Dave’s, she offered him a sympathetic smile. “So, how many times did you have to hear the behind-the-back-catch, seventy-yard touchdown story?”
“Too damn many, that’s for fucking sure.” Brock shook his head. Hope’s heart ached. He had always had a vocabulary that would have her Aunt Cora lighting candles, but Hope never minded. She generally loved words of all varieties. They fascinated her. But if Brock was letting them fly like that, something had really gotten to him.
“You didn’t have to come by.” She tried to feel badly that he’d, once again, come to check on her. He always made certain she was okay. His kind care and concern meant the world to her. Secretly, she was thrilled he was there, but hoped he hadn’t put himself out.
His brow furrowed as he dried the cheese tray with some paper towels. “I never mind coming by, Hope. You know that. Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know. You just seem irritated.”
Nodding, he set the tray down, leaned back against the counter, and considered. “Just been a long week, and I’m sick to death of this town. I spent all day listening to some idiot try to tell me how to install a roof. You know, because he saw some guy on HGTV do it once, so he’s a freaking expert. Then there’s that kid Paul. I swear, I have never seen such a screw-up. Ryan wants to fire him, but I feel bad for him. He just won’t listen to me when I try to teach him to roof. Then I spent my night with Matt and his crew. After we get this roof on, I might go down to Yellow Branch, or up to the Nantahala, or something. I’m sick and tired of hearing about the state championship of 2007.”
Hope offered him what she hoped was an understanding smile. She knew Brock would do just about anything to get away from town. He loved the outdoors; camping, fishing, rafting, surfing, he did it all. Horseback riding was by far his favorite. He’d trail ride with some friends up near Cape Hatteras as often as he could. His parents had moved him off of the ranch that had raised him and to Gypsy Beach the summer between eighth and ninth grade. His extreme football and baseball skills, coupled with his cowboy boots and sexy drawl, made every girl in a fifty-mile radius go wild. Prom king, football capta
in, and most popular in his graduating class, Brock had more pins on his letterman jackets than anyone else. Not that those were necessarily important things once you were out of high school, but he’d ruled the school in most every way one possibly could.
Hope understood why Brock despised any discussion of his high school heroics. She understood it only because she’d done something she never should have done. The one and only time she’d ever snuck around, she’d discovered something about Brock that she would never bring up. Clenching her jaw, she tried once again to forget the day she’d worked up the courage to go by his house after school. He’d left his Biology book on the ground near his locker, and she’d decided that she would return it so he could do his homework that night. He barely maintained an average that allowed him to play sports. She didn’t want it to get worse because he didn’t turn in an assignment.
Brock and his dad were in the backyard. Instead of knocking on the front door, she’d stood frozen on the porch. Brock’s father had been shouting at him. It was far more than being scolded for doing something wrong. His father was vicious. He kept screeching that Brock was stupid, and the hollow, echoed sound of Brock being hit would never be erased from her consciousness. It was horrible. She’d cried every time she thought of it for weeks after that.
From what she’d been able to discern, Brock had failed to get the baseball through a tire hung from a tree 100 times in a row, and his father was beating him for the perceived failure. She recalled a few times when he’d come to school moving as if he’d been hurt badly. If she asked, he would tell her he was sore from practice, but she suspected that wasn’t always true.
From that moment on, she’d vowed to not only keep Brock’s family’s secrets, but to try and prove to him that he was smart and so much more than an amazing athlete. That was the other thing his father had been shouting at him, that he was useless if he couldn’t throw a ball.
They’d made a pact after he graduated. She wouldn’t bring up his high school heroics, and he wouldn’t ask her about the car accident that had killed both of her parents when she was ten. Somehow, not talking about all of that made her relationship with Brock deeper and more meaningful. She didn’t have to pretend with him.
She loved that he never pitied her. He saw her for who she was, not for what she’d lost, and she was the only person that had ever even heard of Wellsley High School that didn’t discuss it in his presence. It seemed to her that people somehow thought that stupid state championship trophy was his only worthy accomplishment, the only thing in his life he should be proud of. They didn’t know what he’d had to endure to achieve his success.
Though she knew why he never wanted to relive his glory days, so to speak, she did occasionally wish he would allow himself the praise he received without end no matter where he went. He’d been through so much to achieve all that he’d accomplished. It always seemed to her that he should at least enjoy what he’d worked so hard for, but she hadn’t been abused. Those scars could certainly have robbed him of any joy over his high school life, she supposed. One night a few years ago, he’d confessed to her that his father was an abusive alcoholic, and that he hated him but felt guilty for despising him. Hope had tried to listen and be understanding, but she was certain she’d fallen short of the mark.
Even now, life got to him sometimes, and he’d take off for a few weeks to camp, hike, or raft. He always came back in a better mood, but she missed him terribly while he was gone. She knew all of his outdoor adventures reminded him of the ranch where he’d grown up.
Tales of Pleasant Glen, Nebraska, rolled off of his tongue so often, the tiny village had taken on a magic-like quality in Hope’s mind. His family owned a large ranch there, and Brock spent his childhood riding horses and herding cattle. When his own father had gambled away a small portion of the family land, his grandfather had taken all of the land away from Brock’s dad. His mother had moved the family to Gypsy Beach. He had a few distant relatives that had been a part of the original Romani tribe that had settled the Beach during the Depression. Sometimes his Gypsy heritage shone in Brock’s soulful hazel eyes. They would very slightly change their shade according to his mood. The rest of him was a mix of cowboy, All-American football star, and just a sweet kid. Hope adored each of his many sides, but she wasn’t always sure how to read them. Sometimes she felt like he was on the brink of telling her some deep, dark secret, but he was much better at keeping his mouth shut than she could ever hope to be.
Brock leaned across the counter, grabbed a bucket half-full with water, and dumped it in the sink. Hope’s eyes stared ravenously at his backside caught up in those worn blue jeans. She attempted to swallow down her longing.
Remembering her decision to take life by the horns, she drew a deep breath and went on with some semblance of her plan. “Hey, uh, I know you usually go by yourself, but do you think you might ever be okay with me tagging along just once when you go camping? I’ve never been. I kind of want to try it.” And having you all alone in a tent would be the closest thing to Heaven on earth I could ever think of.
“You want to go camping with me?” He stared at her like she’d just suddenly sprouted another head.
She shrugged and tried to be nonchalant. “Sure, unless that would be super annoying for you.” Which it probably would be, since I’m usually out of breath after walking form one end of the beach to the other. Why did I even ask him? Ugh!
Still studying her, he swallowed, and she was instantly mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple contracted. “Sure. That’d be fun. Not sure when I’ll be going exactly. Ryan’s got me slammed with the new hotel, and we’ve got to get this taken care of first.” He gestured upwards to her roof. “You sure you’re ready to get started?”
Dragging herself out of the fantasies of them naked together in a sleeping bag, it took her a long moment to understand his question.
“Hope?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m ready for you to do me, uh, I mean, I’m ready for you to do the roof as soon as you can.” Blood pooled readily in her cheeks. She tried to pretend she hadn’t just said that. “If you can start next week, that’d be great. Maybe I could have like a last minute sale tomorrow or something, but the season’s really over. Customers are few and far between, so I can close for a couple of weeks, but I understand if you’re too busy with the hotel.”
“This is more important than the hotel. I’ll get Ryan out here tomorrow to see how we can fit it in, but if you’re ready, I’m gonna tarp it tonight.”
She’d refused to let him tarp it earlier in the season, afraid it would be unsightly and drive customers away.
“If you’re gonna do a sale tomorrow the tarp will add to the effect. Heck, call it a raise the roof sale. Sympathy might go a long way, and you deserve it at this point.”
Hope couldn’t argue that. “How are you going to tarp the roof in the dark?”
“I’m just that good, sweetie. You know that.” He winked at her, and her heart flew in her chest like some kind of caged hummingbird. “And I have my work lights in the truck.”
Swooning over his affectionate name for her, she beamed at him. “Can I ask you something else?” Hope! Do not do this! Stop now! But things flew from her mouth without her permission on a regular basis.
“Yeah, what’s up with you tonight? You’re acting weird.”
“I don’t know.” Frantic heat scorched her cheeks, but she couldn’t make herself shut up or act normal. She wasn’t even certain she wanted the normal way they interacted anymore. She wanted more than that. “What do you think of friends with benefits?” And there it was. She sank her teeth into her tongue one half-second too late.
His eyes goggled, and his mouth hung open in shock. “Okay, I’m gonna go tarp the roof, then I’m driving you home. How much did you have?” He gestured to the wine bottles on the counter.
Defeat crushed her soul. Of course, he wouldn’t take her seriously. He’d certainly never considered her a woman he’d want to sleep w
ith. Her head sank, and she stared at her flip-flops. She didn’t even own a pair of stilettos or anything else the women he usually dated probably wore all the time. “I only had one glass.” Her voice was barely audible. “Sophie was just talking about it.” She offered a feeble shrug.
“Of course she was.” Brock shook his head and tried desperately to sweep away the effect of thinking about engaging Hope Hendrix in a friends with benefits situation from his body.
Yeah, he’d go tarp that roof just as soon as his cock decided to stop trying to figure out how to sever the zipper of his jeans of its own accord.
God, he’d envisioned having her more times than he could count, but Hope was not the kind of girl that would ever agree to a friends with benefits deal—nor should she. She deserved more, a real relationship, a real lifetime of love, things he could never give her, but the visions were relentless. His mouth on hers, cupping those sweet buds of her breasts until her nipples pressed against his palms. Drawing them in with his mouth until she whimpered and writhed for him. Hearing the gasp that would come with his first thrust of ownership and the moans of her satisfaction she’d make when she came. Inhaling the spicy heated musk of her arousal, cupping her warm, wet pussy, and stroking her until she was so needy she drowned him in her juices. His body vibrated against the storeroom cabinets. He had to get it together. Blinking rapidly trying to dislodge the images from his mind, he forced himself to recall the last thing she’d said. He survived on memorizing the words people spoke. Sophie! That was it.
“Please, for all that is good in this town, tell me Sophie DePriest did not drive herself home either.”
