Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits)

by Gretchen Galway

“Not to mention she was on oxygen and needed her walker. If she’d climbed up there, I would’ve been right down here making a video.”

  “There you go. She must’ve hired somebody,” he said.

  “So what if she did?”

  “Then she probably hired people for the roof, too.” He took out his phone and pulled up his note-taking to-do app. “I’ll call for a pest inspection. And I know an electrician who can check out the wiring.” He began jotting down a checklist.

  “Ian.”

  He continued to type. Lorna must know some strong guys at school who’d like to make a few bucks hauling the garbage out of the house. Which would mean he’d have to order a debris box. He made another note.

  “Ian.”

  “There’s no point arguing, Billie. I’m here, I’m on the job. Don’t waste your energy trying to get rid of me. You’ll need all of it for what lies ahead.”

  Chapter 8

  Billie was opening her mouth to argue again when a baby-blue Volt turned in to the driveway. Inside was an older lady with short hair and a big smile.

  Trixie? “What’s she doing here?” Billie asked under her breath.

  “Who is she?”

  “One of my dad’s cousins. We call her Aunt Trixie.” Billie waved at the figure walking toward them. If Trixie hadn’t been at the funeral, she probably wouldn’t have recognized her. The two family branches knew each other but had drifted apart. “Grammy was her mother’s sister.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Trixie said, glancing between them. “Your sister told me you were here.”

  “Is something wrong?” Billie asked.

  “Well, your grandmother died.” Trixie reached out and squeezed Billie’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Billie offered an awkward smile. Her father, being more than ten years younger than his cousin, hadn’t known her very well, and Billie couldn’t think of why she’d come over. “You live here in Oakland, don’t you?”

  “Not far at all. Which is why I wanted to come by and see if I could help. I know what it can be like after a death. You must be overwhelmed.” Trixie’s gaze turned to Ian and brightened. “But you’ve got big, strong, handsome help already. How wonderful.”

  “You can help me convince her of that,” Ian said. “She seems to think she can do it on her own.”

  “I’m sure she’s just being polite.” Trixie walked past them and reached for the front door. “How about we go inside? The neighbors are staring.”

  The neighbors? Billie looked up at the house next door and saw Todd watching them from an upstairs window. “All right, that’s just creepy.”

  “He’s probably lonely,” Trixie said, holding the door open for them. “I’m sure Clara told him about you and Jane. The women in our family can’t resist pairing up the young people. My own mother was the same way.”

  Billie glanced up at Todd again. As they went inside, Ian leaned over and made a strangled cat sound in her ear. As if it were being eaten.

  “I’m afraid it’s a mess,” Billie said, running a hand through her hair. Trixie might have been family, but she felt embarrassed for her grandmother’s sake. The Garcia branch of the family wasn’t well represented by the feline decrepitude currently on display.

  “It just got too much for her, poor thing,” Trixie said. She didn’t recoil at the smell or express shock at the worn carpet, the piles of papers, the stacked boxes everywhere. “The mail and the newspapers and the mail-order packages, coming day after day, all of it needing to be sorted and chosen and rejected. And so much waste in the world and you don’t want to contribute to it, but to fix and reuse and recycle everything is just too much work. Poor Clara. After a while, she probably couldn’t see it the way we do.”

  “That’s what I was telling Ian,” Billie said, relaxing a little.

  Maneuvering around piles of boxes, Trixie marched through the house like a real estate agent on a deadline, flipping light switches and checking the plumbing, kicking cabinet doors, peering into closets, admiring the view they’d uncovered out the back room. “You’ve got a lovely house here. How wonderful you’ve got a handy friend to help you out.”

  Billie glanced at Ian, who smiled.

  “I’m sure the last thing you can imagine wanting right now is furniture,” Trixie continued, “but I’ve recently acquired a man who has a house full of it. We’ve been trying to get our children to take it, but they’ve got homes of their own or different tastes, or maybe they just don’t want their stepfather’s things because it’s kind of weird. Anyway, we’ve got loads. It’s yours if you want it.”

  She vaguely remembered meeting Trixie’s new husband at the funeral. Although he’d seemed like a cool guy, the thought of taking in an older man’s furniture wasn’t one of her real estate fantasies, unless that older man was Ralph Lauren or something. But she was practical; she knew she couldn’t afford to be picky. “Maybe, yes. Thanks. I’m not sure yet what we’ll need.”

  “From what I can see, you’ll need to get rid of everything of your grandmother’s.” She offered a sad smile. “The cats, you see.”

  “Yeah, the cats.” Billie sighed.

  “Even if you refinish the scratches, there’s still the smell,” Trixie said.

  In unison, the three of them sniffed. And then coughed.

  “It really is impressive,” Ian said. “We might have some trouble if it’s soaked into the floorboards.”

  Trixie patted his arm, beaming up at him. “You’ll figure it out.” She looked at her wrist. “I’ve got to be going. I’ll be in touch. You let me know about Hugo’s furniture. Take it from me, his bed is fantastic. Definitely a keeper.” Winking at Ian, she turned on her heel and floated out of the house, dodging the garbage, and slammed the front door behind her.

  “That’s nice,” Billie said into the stinky darkness, although the morning wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped. They still hadn’t looked at the big things Jane had mentioned—electrical, plumbing, foundation, roof. “I’ll probably need to take her up on that furniture. I can’t afford to be too proud.”

  “Precisely,” Ian said, pulling out his phone. “Which is why you’re going to let me do what I can do and not fight me.”

  “I just don’t understand why you’d want to,” she said.

  “Making money only goes so far.”

  “Really? I’d think it would go way past this,” she said, smiling. “Like by several million light-years.”

  “How many sets of keys do you have to the house?”

  She pulled them out. The keychain was a neon-orange stuffed cat as big as her fist and played a mechanical “meow” if you rattled it. It was rather fantastic. She was definitely keeping it. “Just the one.”

  Without touching the cat, Ian caught the ring between his fingers and freed the two brassy keys. “I’ll make a copy and get them back to you. It’ll take me a few days to clear my schedule, but we can meet here same time next week.”

  “Hold on, I need those.”

  “We can’t do much more here until we haul out the garbage. I’ll also get one of those storage pod things so you can move the uncategorized items into it—mementos, valuables, charity stuff, that sort of thing. That way you don’t have to decide everything all at once.”

  This was a side of Ian Cooper she’d heard about but never seen for herself—the take-charge, dominating side. It was kind of cute. Even sexy. He probably talked that way in bed.

  But she wasn’t going there. She reached out to reclaim the keys but inadvertently knocked the keys to the matted ex-carpeting.

  “I need those,” she said, bending over to retrieve them. “I’m moving in here later today.”

  “Moving what in?”

  “Myself. My stuff.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I am,” she said. “I’ve already given notice. Another guy moves in Wednesday.” Because she’d been subletting, she didn’t have any furniture to move. Trixie’s offer had been ev
en more helpful than she knew. What little she’d had, she’d already sold to cover the rent. Living with her ex-boyfriend had been expensive, and moving out suddenly last year had demanded sacrifices.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” Ian asked.

  “I think I’ll put my bed down in the kitchen. It’s the one room she kept relatively clean.” It was only a blow-up air mattress, so it would be easy to move around.

  He scowled. “You mean you’re actually going to sleep inside the house? You won’t be able to smell anything for a month. Why not stay at Jane’s if you have to?”

  “Jane lives with her boyfriend. There’s no room for me.”

  “I’m sure you could crash on the couch for a few days,” he said.

  Billie couldn’t believe she was arguing with him. They never argued. “The whole point is I can take care of things personally by being here when I’m not at work.”

  He stared at her, waved the fist holding the keys. “I should hold on to these to save you from yourself. At least until I’ve cleaned out the litter boxes.”

  “You are not touching my grandmother’s cat shit,” she said. “That’s a bridge too far, buddy. We’ve been friends for a long time, but it’s not like I took a bullet for you in a war or something. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I told you. I enjoy this. Making order out of chaos is one of the great pleasures of my life.”

  “I thought making mountains of cash was your great pleasure.”

  He shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

  Well, damn. He really wanted to do this. How could she turn him away? Who was she to stop a tall, handsome guy from strapping on a tool belt and going to work on her?

  On her house. Her house.

  Reality kicked in. She was Jane’s sister. Jane who was his ex-girlfriend, Jane who was her closest sister and best friend, Jane who would be uncomfortable to know he’d even stepped over the threshold.

  “Jane won’t like it,” Billie said.

  He shrugged. “Don’t tell her.”

  “I have to.”

  “You didn’t today,” he said.

  “That was one time for a quick walk-through. And I already feel guilty.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. Tell her. It’s your house too. Do you plan on getting permission from her every time you want to have somebody come over?”

  “No. Only before you do.” She rolled her eyes. “For obvious reasons.”

  “You and I are friends. You’ll be living here now. Jane and I are bound to run into each other more often from now on.” His expression hardened. “If she has an issue seeing me, that’s her problem.”

  Billie couldn’t tell him that Jane’s problem with him might be the embarrassing kind of problem that a woman has with a guy she’s never gotten over. Jane always, even now, dressed unusually sexy when their mothers herded both families together. For instance, just last year at the college graduation party for Rachel, their youngest half sister, Jane had worn a low-cut sundress that barely covered her underwear, twice as much makeup as usual, and red stilettos, when usually she wore flats. And every few minutes Billie would catch her watching Ian out of the corner of her eye, watching to see if he was watching.

  And he never was.

  After ten years of that sort of uncharacteristic behavior, Billie knew Jane hadn’t been able to move on. Billie knew Jane still loved him—or at least wanted him.

  Who wouldn’t? Billie wondered. He was hot. He had that tall dark god thing going on. If only he weren’t an only child. A younger brother would’ve been perfect.

  “It’s been over a decade,” Ian said now, lifting his bag to his shoulder. “We’re adults, it’s time to move on. She’ll agree, I’m sure, especially when you point out I’ll save her a lot of money.”

  Excellent point. Jane was notoriously careful about counting pennies. Becoming an accountant had surprised not a single soul who’d ever known her. In kindergarten, Jane had tallied up her classmate’s milk money and tried to convince the class to invest for their futures instead of drinking it away. It was only one story among many to follow. Saving thousands of dollars with free labor would definitely take the sting out of seeing Ian Cooper now and then.

  “If you’re sure…”

  Grinning, he walked to the door. “I’m always sure. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “What do you like in your burrito?”

  “You’re going to get me lunch, too?”

  “Sounds like we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

  He was being too generous. She should at least pay for her lunch.

  But she knew he’d refuse to let her. “Chicken,” she said with a sigh. “Extra guac.”

  The memory of his grin lingered long after he’d left.

  What trouble had she gotten into now?

  Chapter 9

  On Tuesday night after work, Billie drove up to her grandmother’s—no, her—house and was surprised to see two enormous metal containers in her driveway. An open-topped, squat, green container for garbage, and a boxy white enclosed one for storage, as Ian had promised.

  She just hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon. After he’d helped her out all day Saturday and Sunday, she’d thought he’d be busy with his real job until at least the following weekend. Billie had started cleaning on Monday night after work, but there was only so much she could do with so much clutter in the house. The worst of the garbage was now bagged up and dumped with the rest of the stuff in the backyard. She’d been unable to find a square foot within the house to move anything. It was like one of those little plastic puzzles with squares that you had to move around into the proper order, except there was no empty square.

  Yawning, she got out of the car with her takeout Thai and portable tea mug and braced herself for inhaling the smell inside the house again.

  Then she glanced across the road and saw a familiar pickup. Ian’s.

  He was here again? Did the man never rest?

  She sipped her cold tea. He was a gift from the heavens, and she was so, so grateful for his help, but…

  She was tired. Sleeping on a makeshift camp bed in the kitchen had been a challenge. And then today she’d had a series of angry citizens to deal with in the permit center, and afterward she’d had her weekly volunteering stint at the library as a homework helper, where the ten-year-old boy in her charge told her she had nice boobs. And then expected her to thank him for the compliment.

  So she had. Manners were important, right?

  Yes, it had been a long day, and she’d been looking forward to curling up on her air mattress with her green curry and a beer as she scoped out home decorating pics on the internet. Doing imaginary work, not the real thing. But Ian wasn’t imaginary.

  She shook her kitty keychain to hear the meow before fitting the key in the lock and trying to open the door. It wouldn’t turn. She tried again, but it didn’t open until Ian pulled it open for her.

  “Sorry, I changed the locks. That’s why I’m here.” He held up a set of keys. “I thought you’d want to be able to come in.”

  “You can do that? Just change the locks on somebody’s house?” She took the new keys and tripped over the threshold. The carpeting was peeled back, exposing chunks of matted foamy material and shards of plywood.

  “Careful.” He took the Thai food and held her arm. “Great timing. I was starving.”

  Her spirits fell. But she had to share. Manners again. “Hope you like Thai,” she said weakly.

  He laughed. “Just kidding, Bill. I won’t take your dinner. I ate hours ago. I brought us both a pizza, actually. Where’ve you been? I thought you’d be here around six or so. Don’t city employees clock out right at five?”

  “Hey, watch it. Public servants deserve your respect.” She rescued her Thai and climbed over the roll of carpeting to get to the kitchen. “I volunteer on Tuesdays.”

  “I didn’t know that. Where?”

  “Library. Homework club. They need all the Span
ish speakers they can get.” She pointed at him. “I know what you’re thinking. I wasn’t exactly the best student myself, so how can I help?”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  “Sure you weren’t, Mr. Valedictorian,” she said.

  “Salutatorian. And I was thinking it was a nice thing of you to do. I should do something like it myself.” He went over to the fridge. “I’ll pour you a beer.”

  “Don’t bother, just give me the bottle. I don’t want to get a glass dirty. There’s enough to clean as it is.”

  He got her a glass anyway and poured in the beer. “I’ll wash it. It’s better this way.”

  There was no arguing with him. Taking the glass, she looked down at the bare linoleum underfoot. “Hey, where’s my bed?”

  “Is that what you called it?”

  “What’d you do with it?” she asked. “I’m not going to Jane’s tonight. I’m sleeping here. I’m too tired to—”

  “I’ve got a little surprise for you. Follow me.” He led her out of the kitchen to the smallest bedroom—a room that previously had been filled with boxes, plastic bags, a treadmill, and several ancient televisions—and was now cleared away on one side, making room for a twin bed. A pink and yellow My Little Pony comforter and throw pillows were arranged on top like a department store display.

  She handed him her beer, jogged forward, and flopped onto the pastel-encrusted mattress. “Where’d you find this?” She laughed. “Oh my God! I used to sleep on this when I was little. In this room, whenever I slept over. Then one day she closed the door and told me I couldn’t come in here anymore.”

  “I found the bed under the treadmill. The bedding was in a plastic crate with your name on it. The cats didn’t seem to be allowed in here.”

  She hugged a pillow to her face. “It doesn’t even smell.”

  “She’d double-bagged it.”

  “Ian, I owe you. This is amazing.”

  He was watching her, smiling, then abruptly turned away. “Well, I’d better go. I just wanted to give you the keys.”

  “You don’t have to…” Although she’d been unhappy to see his pickup, now she wasn’t eager to see him go. In fact, it made her decidedly more unhappy.