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

by Gretchen Galway

Or grabbed her and pulled her close.

  “I thought we were,” she said softly.

  “Maybe I want more than that.” The words came to him through his ears, seconds after they were spoken, and he realized that he had been the one to say them, the one to send them out into the air between them, the one to own them.

  Mouth falling open, she stared.

  Those lips, those perfect little white teeth.

  He stepped forward and slid his hand behind her neck, feeling the warm skin, the silky hair, the thrum of her pulse. “I’ve always wanted more than that. You must’ve guessed.”

  She gave a short, quick shake of her head that knocked a curl onto her forehead. Her eyes never left his. “Uh-uh,” she breathed, her lips not moving.

  Her neck was so warm, so soft. He wanted to stroke her cheek with his thumb but was afraid it would break the spell. Whatever was keeping her motionless, and therefore, he hoped, tempted, he didn’t want to screw it up.

  Was she tempted, or was he just fooling himself?

  He needed to find out. Lying to himself again—it’s only research, like when you study a company’s financials—he stepped closer. Then he lifted his other hand and brushed the hair away from her temple, lowering his head a few inches, close enough to smell the lilac perfume she always wore. He gave her a split second to complain, to knee him in the nuts, to break away, but she was frozen and passive, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was going to do.

  He was going to kiss her. Just like the afternoon years earlier when he’d quit his job, he was going to abandon his usual method of careful deliberation. In one hot, blazing second, he had decided to follow his instincts.

  Sliding his fingers through her curls, he closed the distance between them.

  Chapter 14

  This was really happening.

  Billie felt his mouth come down on hers, felt his hands tangle in her hair, felt her pulse jump and fly through her veins like a sparrow—but she did nothing.

  Inside, she was melting, burning, exploding. But outside—how could she respond to a dream? There had been moments, of course there had, when she’d allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to strip off his T-shirt and cargo shorts and lick his pecs and taste the sweat beading on his throat…

  I mean, who wouldn’t? she thought, swaying on her weak knees as she concentrated on the feel of every millimeter of his lips—oh, and tongue, there was tongue—

  But she couldn’t do this. They couldn’t. He couldn’t.

  He was.

  No, no, it had gone far enough. They had to stop right now.

  Right. Now.

  Now.

  Yeah, right.

  He felt so good. She was so weak. Physically and morally. He was just too, too…

  Perfect. It was as if a witch had cursed him with tall-dark-and-handsome potion. And then zapped him with the most powerful strong-and-silent-type spell known to magic.

  Just a smidgen, she parted her lips. His appreciative growl made her open wider. She leaned into him.

  Oh God, she shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t a potion, this wasn’t a spell, this was lust. And her own stupid weakness.

  One of his hands had slipped down her back and was moving slowly but determinedly to her ass. Oh, hello, there it was. His palm cupped her butt cheek, his fingers spreading wide and then squeezing.

  Tilting her head, she sucked his tongue into her mouth, feeling herself get wet, reveling in the pressure of his hard-on and imagining it entering her right here against the counter, bam, bam, bam—

  Holy shit on a stick, what was she doing? This was Ian. Ian Cooper.

  Jane’s boyfriend. Long ago and forever more, at least as far as she was concerned.

  With more strength than it had taken her to free her Hyundai from a snowdrift in Tahoe last winter, Billie flattened her hands on his chest—his warm, broad, tantalizing chest—and shoved.

  “What are you doing?” She pointed at him as she staggered backward.

  “You know what I was doing.” He was breathing heavily, his eyes as dark as her best denim jeans.

  “We’re friends!”

  “I’m not convinced. And from the way you were just going at it, you’re not either.”

  “Going at it?” She felt herself flush to the roots of her hair, the last part of her to reach combustion levels. “I’m a healthy female organism who’s quick to respond sexually to stimulus.”

  A smile twisted his mouth. “Excuse me?”

  Oh God. She’d just quoted that geeky male feminist studies grad student she’d dated a few years ago. She stood up taller. Better press on as best she could. “You heard me.”

  “You said I stimulate you. That’s good.”

  With a bracing inhalation of Ian-free air, she straightened her shoulders. “I’m saying it’s nothing personal, and we’re not going to do it again.” She tied another knot on her robe. “You’re not going to do it again.”

  “I think I just might,” he said.

  A shiver danced down her spine. “Even though I don’t want you to? Are you crazy?”

  He still had that damn smile on his face. “But you do want me to.”

  The tough, independent side of her wanted to pour the salad dressing on the counter over his head until he stopped smirking at her.

  Part of what he said was true. But only part. With a few feet between them, and the urge to grab the Newman’s Own Honey Mustard strong in her mind, she was able to shake off the lust and remember her vows, both to herself and to her sister.

  “I don’t, actually,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Ian, but I don’t.”

  His smile finally fell. Eyes narrowing, he stared at her for a long moment. “You’re afraid of Jane.”

  His exact words surprised her. Afraid, yes. But… “Of?” she repeated.

  “Of what she’ll say. Of being judged.” He moved away and leaned back against the counter, resting one ankle over the other. “Just like in high school.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She’s your big sister. You’ve always wanted her to be proud of you. You’re still hoping she will be.”

  Her eyes darted to the honey mustard salad dressing, imagining how much better he’d look with it splashed all over his face. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

  “I’m just quoting you.”

  “I never said that.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh yes, you certainly did. I have an excellent memory. You were wearing a green sweater at the time. And those big dangly frog earrings she gave you.”

  She hadn’t worn those earrings since high school. A vague memory teased the basement of her mind. “They were newts,” was all she could think to say at first. And then, “Jane gave them to me for my eighth grade graduation. She told me there was a lot of pressure to grow up too fast and she wanted me to remember how to be a kid, how to have fun. Jane has always been awesome.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Then—” Then why’d you break her heart? she’d almost asked. “You don’t act like you think she’s awesome.”

  “It didn’t work out between us, but I admired her.” He shrugged. “I always will. Which was what I was saying right before you said that about wanting her to be proud of you.”

  The memory came back in a rush. She’d been seventeen, a couple of years after the breakup, and he was home from college for Christmas. Curious to see him again, she’d jumped at the chance to go to his house with her mom.

  While their mothers had wrapped presents and gossiped in the kitchen, Billie and Ian had played air hockey in the Coopers’ rec room, having a great time, although she’d felt a little guilty about having so much fun with her sister’s ex.

  But only a little. It had been a difficult time to live in Jane’s shadow. Billie had just failed physics for the first time, and algebra for the third, and was learning to accept she wouldn’t be going on to Berkeley or Davis or Sonoma State like her best fr
iends.

  Unlike Billie, Jane had always been perfect. Not only had she been top of the class, but she’d never gotten a B, let alone an F. Her winning streak continued uninterrupted to this day.

  Except with men. She still had trouble with that. Billie thought it had everything to do with the man who’d just kissed her.

  “Well?” he asked now. “Is it coming back to you?”

  The kettle whistled. She walked over to it, shooting him a glance over her shoulder. “Maybe a little.”

  That day at his house long ago, she’d thought maybe he could understand. Maybe he’d broken up with Jane because all her perfection had been annoying to him, too. Maybe he’d even been jealous, she’d thought. And so, in a moment of weakness, she’d knocked the puck to him across the table and shared her insecurities with him.

  “I wasn’t bullshitting you,” he said now. “She really was proud of you.”

  She’d gobbled up every word he’d shared over the air hockey table. He’d listed her qualities—her people skills, her sense of humor, her generosity, her fluency in Spanish, which she’d learned to talk to her grandfather—that Jane had told him she’d admired in her. He’d gone on and on, telling her how much her big sister wished she could be a little more like her.

  Jane was like that, often seeing the best in people and then emulating them so she could improve herself.

  Unlike Billie. If Billie ever improved herself, it was an accident. She never set out to accomplish something for the sake of being amazing. Her vision didn’t extend that far into the future. What she did, she did because she felt like it. She wasn’t much better now than she’d been as a teenager.

  “I was such a fuckup,” Billie said, getting out a mug.

  “You were not,” he said. “You just weren’t a good student. There’s a difference.”

  It wasn’t fair of him to get nice right at the moment she most needed to pour salad dressing on his head.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, keeping her back to him. She got out a second mug, this one for him.

  He walked over and stood directly behind her, so close he brushed the bottom hem of her robe. “I wish I’d known earlier.”

  “Known what?”

  “That you’re attracted to me.”

  Her heart skipped. Hoping he couldn’t see her hands shaking, she poured the boiling water into her mug. “I’m not. I told you. You caught me off guard. It’s late, I’m tired, I responded.”

  “You forgot to put a tea bag in your mug,” he said.

  “You’re too full of yourself,” she replied, maneuvering out from behind him, her mug of hot water clutched in her fist. She saluted him with it. “I happen to love hot water. It’s the ultimate decaf.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Sure I am. You show up here late at night and make your moves and confuse me. That makes me nervous.”

  His smile returned, and with it a twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “Well, better late than never.” His gaze fell to her robe, sliding over it from head to toe as if it were a transparent negligee, before he nodded and walked out of the room. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  She lifted her mug to her lips and inhaled the steam. Her heart was still pounding in her chest. She should insist he not come again, that the repairs were her problem and that she didn’t want him around.

  But then she heard the door slam.

  Too late. He was gone.

  Closing her eyes, she sipped the water, still too hot to drink but not as hot as Ian’s lips had been.

  She couldn’t let this go any further. Jane might have a boyfriend, but the dude was the third guy she’d dated since high school who wasn’t even likable. It was as if Jane were intentionally choosing men she’d never love or marry. As if she were still pining for her high school sweetheart, the only man she’d ever loved.

  And who could ever top Ian Cooper?

  Top… bottom… sordid images spun through her addled brain.

  Billie hadn’t been joking about being a female organism quick to respond to sexual stimulus. That’s all this was about. Those broad shoulders, the high cheekbones, the dark hair curling just so around his ears, and those stunning ocean-blue eyes.

  Jane wasn’t the only one to make bad romantic choices. Billie’s own track record was terrible, and her downfall always began with a kiss.

  This time would be different.

  It would be.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning, Ian pressed the doorbell, trying not to smile too broadly. He was more than ready to see her again.

  He’d never been the type for regrets. Kissing her had been a bad idea, but he’d done it. And yes, there would be painful times ahead, littered with disappointed mothers and disgusted sisters, but he would work very, very hard to make those times as far in the future as possible.

  He’d felt her respond to him. Those few hot moments last night had forever shattered the fragile illusion that they were friends. They couldn’t stop now and pretend they could go back to the way they were. It was too late; they’d crossed the line. Since they’d have to pay the social price anyway, they should enjoy each other now as much as they could.

  The lock clicked, and the door began to open. He knew better than to anticipate hot pants and nipples. She’d probably wear some daytime version of the Ewok robe to send him a message, one he’d ignore.

  “Hi,” she said, frowning so hard he could barely see her eyeballs.

  He didn’t try to hide his smile. Baggy jeans, a black fleece sweatshirt zipped up to her chin, bulky sheepskin boots. Her hair, every silky strand, was swept back into a tight ponytail and hidden under a baseball cap. She wore no makeup, no contact lenses. The frames perched on her nose were silver wire, not particularly flattering, more like an elderly man’s reading glasses.

  But her face was flushed a dusky rose.

  She’d never been sexier. He took a moment to remember the taste of her lips.

  Lifting her chin, she deepened her scowl. Her eyes completely disappeared. “What are you staring at?”

  Marco and Shawn were still at the pickup, collecting the gear, so she had the opportunity to say rude things to him without being overheard. He kind of liked it. If she didn’t care a little for him, she wouldn’t get all riled up. She’d be more apologetic, gentle with his tender feelings. Fighting him was much better.

  “Just happy to see you,” he said pleasantly, stepping inside. “I thought we’d pull up the carpet today. You got rid of so much of the furniture, the boxes are mostly out of the way, the garbage out last week, and now we’ve got an empty debris box.”

  She glanced down at the floor, momentarily distracted. “Really?”

  “We can’t refinish the hardwoods until later, of course—there’s lots more work to be done—but you won’t have to breathe in as many fumes.”

  He could see that offer was too tempting for her to refuse. “That would be such an improvement. It’s like walking on dead animals the way it is now.”

  “Go out for a few hours. The air is going to be unpleasant when we tear it up.”

  Seeing that he was only going to talk about the business of home repair, she visibly relaxed. “I can’t just leave,” she said. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Shawn and Marco work better as a team. You’d just get in the way.”

  “I may not be the most buff chick on the planet, but I can help. Somebody has to pull up all the nails and tacks.”

  “You can do that afterward.” He waved to Shawn and Marco. “Front room, guys. Start at the corners. Cut into strips with the box cutters, roll it, carry it out.”

  “Please and thank you,” Billie said to the men, then looked at Ian. “You forgot your manners.”

  “No problem,” Shawn said, taking off his sunglasses, putting them in a case, then putting on a regular pair of glasses. He was very precise, very careful, which was one reason Ian thought he had a promising future. “He’s giving us some
thing way better.”

  Ian cringed, knowing she wasn’t going to like the sound of that. He reconsidered Shawn’s promising future.

  Indeed, she’d perked right up. “How much?” she asked. “How much is he giving you? I need to know so we can pay him back.”

  Shawn and Marco burst out laughing. Shooting glances at Ian, they grabbed their gloves and bolted for the front room.

  Billie spun on Ian. “How much?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Not a dime,” he said, grinning.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think I’m going to suggest you’re giving them sexual favors, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

  He brushed his knuckles under her chin, quick to make any excuse to touch her. “You never disappoint me,” he said quietly. “But it’s flattering your thoughts went in that direction.”

  She batted his hand away and stepped back. “Cut that out. I know they’re not doing this for nothing. It’s my house. I deserve to know.”

  Maybe she did. Besides, he might as well tell her, or she would keep bringing it up. Last week she’d already offered the guys a few twenties as they were leaving. They’d told him about it on the ride over that morning, laughing as hard as they had just now.

  “I’m giving them a little investment advice,” he said. The twenties she’d offered them were an order of magnitude smaller than what the men hoped to rake in over the next few months. They looked like young bodybuilders, but they were actually smart, hungry traders about to make their first million.

  “Only advice?” she asked.

  “And the hookers and blow, of course.”

  She whacked him on the shoulder, but her lips looked as if they were fighting a smile. “Maybe I should leave. I’ll need an alibi when the Feds raid the place.”

  Of course he didn’t really want her going anywhere. “You can work in the side yard. I brought some loppers and hedge clippers. That lemon tree of yours could use a haircut. Clear a path to the back gate, and we can get back there to remove the garbage.”

  The sound of fabric tearing and plywood snapping reached them from the front room. She turned her head in that direction, indecision on her face, and then nodded. “That’s a good idea, actually.”