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

by Gretchen Galway

  “It’s just a car.” He slipped his other hand behind her neck, snaking his fingers into her hair as he kissed her again. “I don’t want you walking around the streets in the dark.”

  Her melting reached knee-buckling levels. His body was pressed against hers, his arousal obvious.

  “Billie,” he groaned, kissing his way down her neck. He hooked a finger under the neckline of her tank top, made of a thin, stretchy knit, and pulled it down so his mouth could explore lower and lower and lower. His breath was hot against the skin between her breasts. “God, you are wearing it.”

  Driving her fingers through his hair, Billie let out a soft sigh and gazed, unfocused, over his head. Heavy traffic roared past on the gazillion-lane highways. Icy wind was blowing off the bay, mingling with Ian’s breath under her clothes. And were those gunshots firing down the street?

  Whatever. His tongue was tracing the seam of her bra. She’d die happy.

  “I need to get you home,” he murmured into her ear, readjusting her shirt. “God, Billie, you kill me.”

  Killing made her think of gangs and urban warfare not too far from where they were necking. Even though there was a Nordstrom Rack just a few steps away, they weren’t in a luxury spa nestled in a remote, rural area where they could lie down together in the grass under the stars. It was the concrete jungle of a sprawling metropolis.

  “I’ll meet you at your place,” she said, taking a step back. He bent at the waist, keeping his lips at her temple, but finally broke the kiss and nodded.

  He walked her to her car and waited until she’d gotten inside and locked the door. As she put on her seat belt, she watched him sprint across six lanes of parked cars to his pickup. Sighing, she rubbed her chest where he’d been kissing her. She was stupid with him. Absolutely stupid, mindless, dizzy, without a thought in her head.

  For a second she worried that Jane was right about her being in some kind of emotional danger, but she reassured herself that this stupidity was nothing new; she’d felt it for her ex as late as the night before she’d left him. Lust. It was the same. But at least this time she was with a guy who was smart, generous, and didn’t require special foods. Why shouldn’t she be happy about that?

  After waiting five or so minutes to let him get ahead of her and move his beloved Ferrari, she started the car and headed for his place. It had been a difficult day. She’d worn her best work clothes, wanting all the confidence they would give her to face Doc. She’d expected him to snarl and berate her, as he usually did; with his ego at stake, she’d prepared for the worst.

  Or she thought she had. Unfortunately, it turned out she hadn’t been prepared for her boss being nice for the first time ever. He’d practically waited on her, offering to get her muffins, excusing her from counter duty, complimenting her hair.

  Her hair. Before today he’d always hated her hair, frequently telling her she looked like she’d slept on it when of course she’d slept on it, what did he think, she took it off? But that was much better than the saccharine smile that flashed a stained mouthful of gold crowns.

  It had been horrible. She shivered now just thinking about it.

  And then she shivered when she thought of what she was going to be doing in a few minutes.

  Oh God. Ian. If she’d known back then in high school that he would finally grow up and look at her the way he’d just looked at her in the Home Depot paint department…

  The way he’d just slipped his tongue under the edge of her bra in the parking lot…

  She would’ve developed an interest in DIY home improvement a lot sooner.

  But… why now? Had she changed that much? Had he?

  Shaking her head to dislodge the useless questions—she needed all of her meager mental powers to keep from driving over a pedestrian or plowing into a bus—she focused on the road and made her way to Ian’s building.

  Sure enough, he was standing in the short driveway, hands shoved in his pockets. She let the car idle with the headlights on him for a moment so she could admire him. Damn, he was hot. As far as thighs-in-denim went, Ian was a master. Top of his class. His legs were long but thick and powerful. Gorgeous.

  She made herself think about his external features because otherwise she’d think too much about how wonderful he was on the inside. Of all the men she’d dated, none had been important enough to make her worry about getting hurt. Financially ruined or infected with a disease, sure. But really, seriously heartbroken?

  Only one man could ever come close to doing that.

  And he was smiling at her right now.

  Chapter 33

  “Nice digs,” Billie said, looking around the cavernous space. It was just like she’d imagined: high ceilings, walls of windows, ultramodern furnishings. What was it with men and black leather couches? He had three that she could see, as well as a black area rug over a slate-gray concrete floor. The walls were cream, which was better than black, but didn’t make the room any cozier.

  Room. It was more like a factory floor, which it obviously had been not too long ago. What had they manufactured here? Canned vegetables? Airplanes?

  “You hate it,” he said, coming up behind her and brushing the hair away from the back of her neck.

  “Oh, no, of course not. It’s really roomy. You could throw great parties in here.”

  “Which”—he kissed her neck—“of course”—he nibbled her cervical curve—“I never do.”

  Shivering, she forgot about the paint factory they were standing in and closed her eyes to concentrate on the way his mouth felt against her skin. “Thanks again for the parking spot.”

  “If I’d known you were so obsessed with parking spots, I’d have given it to you years ago.”

  If she’d known she could almost have an orgasm from having her neck kissed, she would’ve worn fewer scarves.

  “I know how you feel about your car,” she gasped.

  “Fuck the car.” He suddenly grabbed the bottom hem of her sweater and pulled it up over her head, turned her in his arms, and pushed her against the wall, the only wall that wasn’t made of windows.

  “Where do you sleep?” she asked, arching against him. There had to be a bed around here somewhere.

  “Sleep?” He unfastened her pants and slid his hand under her underwear to squeeze her bottom and thighs as he shoved the fabric over her hips. His teeth dragged across her jawline, making her tremble. “You feel like taking a nap?” he murmured in her ear.

  Oh, no, not so much. “Just… curious.” Her words came out broken, breathy. He was releasing her. He was unzipping his pants. He was kicking them off. He was tugging his own shirt over his head, then kicking off his boxers.

  He was naked. Removing the shirt had messed up his hair. A dark strand hung over his eye, blocking her view of the vivid blue iris, and she reached up and brushed it away, wondering at the feel of it between her fingers, her right to touch him however she wanted.

  “I need a haircut,” he said.

  “I need you.” She kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her pants completely, her breath coming in short bursts now, no longer wondering about his bed. There wasn’t time to find a bed.

  His palms captured her breasts, squeezing them through her bra as he licked her earlobe and shoved a knee between hers, pushing her legs apart. “Billie, Billie,” he said. “God.”

  The sound of her name on his lips made her legs weak. She’d never let herself imagine him talking to her like this. He was too forbidden. And now all of that self-denial rushed forward and swept her away in a tide of hot, sticky lust.

  “Billie.” He removed her bra quickly, without any seductive bra-strap-in-the-teeth moves, and plunged his hand between her legs, stroking her apart. “You want me, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I want you,” she whispered. Had she always? God help her. She had.

  Her legs gave way, which allowed gravity to pull her weak, morally frail self down the wall a few inches
.

  His powerful arms came around her and lifted her up, bracing her against the wall at the same time he ducked his head and crushed his lips against hers. He was hard and thick and ready, pressing against her stomach. “Should I slow down?” he asked roughly. His tongue drove into her mouth, tangling with hers, filling her.

  To answer, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him, took a second to admire him as she wondered how he’d been so fast with the condom, and guided him lower. With an impressive grunt, he readjusted his grip on her ass and lifted her another few inches, bracing her against the wall, never breaking the kiss.

  Clutching his shoulders, she hitched her knees higher, wrapped her ankles around his hips, and shifted her pelvis to just the right angle, frantic to have him inside her, not entirely confident he could hold her up much longer but willing to risk it, willing to risk anything—

  He thrust up into her with a shout. She cried out, her voice mingling with his. He drew back and pushed again, his grip on her ass like iron, unmovable, and she rode up the wall another inch, then down, then up again, and again, and again. She stopped worrying about falling on the floor and started worrying about falling apart completely. He was pounding into her, impaling her, splitting her into pieces, and she loved it and wanted more, licking his cheek and jaw, digging her nails into his hard shoulders as she tried to take all of him.

  He came with another shout. He drew back, pushed in again and held her, his entire body shuddering so violently she thought they’d knock a hole in the wall.

  Then, many moments later, after he’d already stilled and was breathing slowly, when he must’ve been on the verge of collapsing to the ground and dropping her like a sack of grain, then she came.

  It was a little embarrassing. She trembled in his arms, in his very tired arms, and tried not to be too obvious about the waves of ecstasy washing over her. “Mmm,” she said, pinning her lips together. She couldn’t stop her hips from bouncing a little.

  Chuckling, he softened his grip on her bottom and dropped kisses on her forehead. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Sorry I beat you to it. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

  Adding to his already impressive list of accomplishments, he guided her to the floor gently and without exclamations of physical strain. As if he had no problems lifting large women, as if she were as weightless as the evening fog outside.

  The fog that she could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Just over there. Everywhere around them, in fact.

  They were on the fourth floor, but they weren’t the tallest building on the block. She could see a guy playing the guitar in a loft across the street.

  “Great place for putting on a show,” she said, laughing into his chest hair.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I should’ve waited. I meant to. I have a very nice bed around here somewhere.”

  “I kind of liked this,” she said. “Although you’ll probably be sore tomorrow.”

  “Fuck sore.”

  “Exactly. Sore from fucking.” She moved away and put her arms around herself, not sure if she should get dressed or find that bed and invite him for a cuddle.

  He kissed her hard and fast on the lips. “Be right back.”

  Men were cute when they ran away with a condom dangling from their fingers. She’d always thought so. Something about the contrast between the before and after. The hard and aggressive before, the soft and sheepish after.

  With a lazy sigh, she found her clothes and put them on, not bothering to duck behind one of the black sofas since the exhibition damage had already been done. Unless the neighbors were using binoculars, they couldn’t see her face from this distance. And thanks to the internet, watching strangers have sex was no big deal anymore and hardly tempting from a distance, through foggy windows. The graphics would be way better on a laptop.

  When he returned, he was wearing a pair of shorts, which made her glad she’d gotten dressed instead of crawling into that bed, wherever it was, and expecting him to join her if that wasn’t what he was inclined to do next.

  She had no idea what he was inclined to do next. This entire experience had been a surprise. Maybe not tonight, but the last few weeks with him.

  “Are you hungry?” He bent over and picked up his T-shirt. “There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge.”

  The austere space was beginning to feel even chillier than before. She hadn’t expected to be wined and dined or for this to be a real date. By asking him to meet her at Home Depot, she’d tried to prevent one. Maybe that’s why depression was starting to nip at the edges of her afterglow. She’d gotten what she wanted but wasn’t happy. That was the problem.

  Why was she so quick to get naked? Was she incapable of being in a healthy relationship?

  Was Jane right?

  Thinking of Jane reminded her of… Jane, not surprisingly. Her sister would be home by now. The sooner Billie joined her, the less annoying she’d be.

  “No, I grabbed a bite after work,” Billie said, smiling to soften the rejection. His hair was adorably mussed, and he hadn’t shaved in a while, giving him a sexy piratical look. But when he smiled back, his expression was all nice guy, not at all bad boy. Her heart squeezed.

  Giving in to her urges yet again, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his warm chest, splaying her fingers wide and caressing the muscles of his back. He propped his chin on the top of her head and they stood there, the glass and concrete and leather surrounding them, not saying a word. She listened to his heartbeat as her mind began to turn through all the things that could go wrong if she got too used to this.

  “Jane will guess where I am,” she said.

  “I wish you hadn’t told her.”

  That hurt. She actually flinched into his T-shirt. What he meant was that, whatever this was, it wasn’t the sort of thing you needed to tell other people about.

  But that wasn’t really fair. Of course he didn’t want Jane to know they were sleeping together. The whole family would know now—her mother, his mother, his father, her younger sisters. Even Aunt Trixie and all her cousins. They’d be under pressure from the start that most couples wouldn’t experience for days, weeks, or months. Because their families were intertwined, their every move would be scrutinized.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m a terrible liar. She would’ve figured it out.”

  “Sure, I know. Of course.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Me?”

  He nodded, a little smile on his lips.

  “I’m fine,” she said, smiling back, slightly exaggerating how happy she felt by rubbing against him. “Better than fine.”

  “That’s my Billie.” He kissed her and pinched her butt.

  For some reason, it didn’t make her feel better.

  Chapter 34

  The next morning, Billie opened the permit center a little early. Doc hadn’t even come in yet. It was ridiculous for her to stand there behind the counter waiting until eight thirty exactly to begin work. None of the people were going anywhere. Might as well get a head start.

  She counted heads. The line for permits only reached the door and only folded back on itself once. Nobody was waiting in the hallway.

  Yet. More would come.

  “Can I help you?” she asked the man in front. He wore a baggy gray suit and paint-splattered work boots, probably a contractor on his way to meet a new client.

  He approached the counter and flung down a stack of paperwork, his gaze never leaving her breasts. Hunching her shoulders, she began flipping through the stack, wishing she, too, was wearing an oversized jacket instead of a sweater that had shrunk in the wash. It was the only thing she’d had to wear. Grammy’s washing machine was disconnected for some reason, and with all the sex and DIY and whatnot, she hadn’t had time to go the laundromat.

  In a hurry to get rid of the guy, she sorted his paperwork in record s
peed, got his money, and called for the next person.

  Doc appeared at her side and tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll get this. Why don’t you go update the social media? I know you enjoy that.”

  She’d been looking forward to throwing herself into customer service. It could take her mind off Ian for a while, or at least cool off some of the sexy daydreams. “No, I’m fine. I’ll update the blog during lunch.”

  “No. Go.” He offered the woman waiting across the counter a fake smile. “I’m not the type of boss to make his people work through lunch.”

  The phony sucking up was turning her stomach, so Billie mumbled her thanks, handed over the permit she was holding, and went into their private office.

  She’d have time to think about Ian after all. Unfortunately, this didn’t make her happy. Quite the opposite.

  Her mind kept returning to the moment after they’d had sex at his loft, when she’d looked up, seen all the windows, and known they’d been visible to anyone looking in. At that moment, it had made her laugh. Age of internet porn, her face unrecognizable, no big deal.

  But later last night, when she was home alone in her child-sized bed, her eyes had filled with tears. Safe in the dark, she’d remembered each pane of glass, each flickering light outside, as a member of a jury, judging her for what she’d done.

  It wasn’t about Jane. It was about her.

  He’d gone to the kitchen to heat up leftover pizza. How many times had she been in that position, getting dressed after a quickie with a guy who didn’t love her, taking whatever leftovers he happened to have in his fridge as an afterthought? Maybe it was OK when she was eighteen, but now? She was too old for that. She was too good for that.

  She’d chosen to meet him at Home Depot precisely because she wanted a neutral, non-sexy place to see him. So why had she given in so quickly and gone back to his place? She’d joked it was because she was a slut with no self-control, that she’d been too quick to seek pleasure and indulge herself.