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

by Gretchen Galway

  They hit the road to San Francisco.

  Over the years, she’d been in his fancy car many times, so she focused her full attention on him and all his beauty. It was only March, and the sun had set hours ago, leaving his profile illuminated only by the oncoming cars and city lights. He’d shaved, which brought out his high cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw, but she knew a dark shadow of whiskers would reappear within a few hours.

  They fell into a pleasurably intense silence. Being with him over the past few weeks—going to movies and restaurants, hiking the park near the house, and shopping for colorful throw pillows for his black leather couches—had been (almost) as much fun as their hours in bed. He did indeed have a bed in that airplane hangar he called home. A very nice one.

  She hadn’t moved in with him officially, but she spent most of her nights at the loft. The twin bed at Grammy’s wasn’t nearly as comfortable, and Jane had plans to convert that bedroom into a rental so she could afford to buy out Billie’s share of the house and keep it for herself. Ian would put up a wall with a separate entrance and put in a little kitchenette. Billie, as a newly minted Permit Technician II, would act as consultant on the city permit process.

  “Are you hungry?” Ian asked now, when they were approaching the tolls for the Bay Bridge. “I made reservations for dinner at the restaurant first, but don’t feel obligated to eat if you don’t want to.”

  Thinking they were going straight to the lounge for drinks and dancing, she’d shared a bowl of pasta—and a tub of cream cheese—with Jane earlier. “Oh, Ian, I’m sorry, I already—”

  “No, don’t be sorry. I’m not hungry either. I just wanted us to have the option. The bar has tapas and small plates if you need something.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “But it’s there if you want it,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

  She smiled at him, curious about the funny tension in his voice. “I won’t.”

  When they were finally past the tollbooths and weaving through traffic onto the east span of the bridge, he wiped his hands on his pants and let out a slow breath.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. Lorna had come into his office sick with a cold, and she wasn’t the type of person to always cover her sneeze, with or without a please.

  “I’m fine. Don’t I seem fine?”

  “You’re more than fine.” She reached over and played with the tiny tuft of hair curling over his starched collar.

  With his hand on the gearshift, he paused. “It would be better if you didn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d rather not drive off the bridge.”

  She smiled. “Afraid of getting the car wet?”

  “Exactly.”

  With a final caress of his freshly shaven cheek, she brought her hands back to her lap. “I’ll be good.”

  “Only for the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Deal.”

  The Top of the Mark was a famous high-rise bar downtown. She’d been looking at pictures and reviews online, all about its old-fashioned, romantic luxury, but she’d never been lucky enough to go before. Ian pulled into an enclosed brick driveway, parked to one side, and got out, stroking her knee before he left her. Then Billie watched as he conducted some sort of rich-guy’s negotiation with the uniformed valet parking staff—another man came over, and he shook a few hands—and then he helped her out of the car.

  As they walked up the red-carpeted stairs to go inside, she noticed he returned his car keys to his pocket.

  “Don’t you give them the keys so they can move it?” she asked.

  He glanced at her and smiled. “No.”

  She turned and saw the valet guys gathered around the car, their faces serious, conversing amongst themselves like justices at the Supreme Court.

  “They like your car,” she said.

  “So do I,” he said, escorting her deeper into the hotel. “That’s why I gave them a little extra for leaving it right where it is.”

  His “little extra” was probably about ten times what she’d call “small fortune.”

  They went through the gold-toned, chandelier-lit lobby to the elevator, and in a few moments they were stepping out onto the nineteenth floor.

  Even though it was long past sunset, the stunning view made her suck in her breath. Twenty stories above the peak of Nob Hill, they stood in a glass-walled penthouse with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of twinkling city lights, fog, sea, moon, and stars. A jazz band was playing over near a large dance floor, where a few couples were dancing.

  She gripped Ian’s arm and sighed.

  Chapter 49

  “Glad you like it.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  Within a few dizzying minutes, they were seated at a window facing east, with downtown San Francisco and the Bay Bridge spreading out below them. And beyond that, Oakland and the hills of the East Bay.

  “I thought it would be nice to look in the other direction for a change,” he said, pulling her hand into his.

  “I love it,” she said. I love you. She hadn’t said it yet, but it was always lingering on her tongue, waiting for a moment that wouldn’t ruin everything.

  They each had a martini from the vast menu, gazed into each other’s eyes and, after planning their next hike to Mt. Tam, got up to dance. He’d told her he could, and she wasn’t disappointed: the man had moves.

  She wasn’t so bad herself, but she didn’t know much swing, and after two dances, she pulled him off to the side and slowed them down to something she could handle without stepping on his feet for a tenth time.

  He held her and they swayed from side to side up in the clouds.

  “I want this to be the beginning of something, Billie,” he said softly. “It’s not just because I want to…” Eyebrows rising, he caressed her palm with his thumb.

  “Go ahead and say it,” she whispered. “I like sex talk.”

  He lowered his voice and spoke softly in her ear. “Not just because I want you,” he said. “Not just because I want you in my bed.”

  She shivered. If she wasn’t careful, she’d touch him in an inappropriate way right there on the dance floor. At that moment, his loft in Emeryville, just past his shoulder on the other side of the bay, seemed like the other side of the earth.

  “When can we leave?” she asked.

  He drew back and looked at her. “You don’t like it here?”

  “It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s just that you’re even more great and beautiful.”

  “You’re talking about yourself, not me.”

  “That would be kind of conceited of me,” she said, “if I’m dancing with a guy and I start saying, ‘I’m great, I’m beautiful.’ Like that shampoo commercial. Or was it makeup?”

  He kissed her earlobe. Her neck.

  “Seriously,” she whispered, arching against him. “Let’s leave so we can be alone.”

  He stopped kissing her, drew back, and frowned at the floor, missing the next few steps of the dance.

  She realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Ian?”

  He reached up to his eyebrow—paused—and then adjusted his tie. “I had planned—I’d thought—” He stopped himself and smiled. “No, it doesn’t matter. This night is for you. If you want to leave, we’ll leave.”

  “No, forget what I said. I was being”—impatient, horny, selfish—“silly. I totally want to stay. There’s a chocolate martini. I can’t miss out on that.”

  “We could come back tomorrow night. Or in the morning for brunch.”

  That sounded good. But no, he’d arranged this date and of course wanted to see it through. “I don’t want to come back. It has to be now or it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  He smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and escorted her back to their table, where a triangle of chocolate layer cake sat on a plate.

  “Did you order that?�
�� she asked.

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  She sat down, smiling shyly at him, and took a bite. The taste of rich chocolate exploded in her mouth. She moaned and wiggled.

  He smiled. “Thought you’d like that.”

  Their waiter arrived then with a bottle of champagne, which he prepared with panache.

  “We’ll also have a chocolatini,” Ian told him after he’d poured the glasses. “And the check.”

  “I told you we don’t have to leave,” she said. “We can dance again. You’re a great dancer.”

  But Ian didn’t respond. He had his hand in his coat pocket and was staring at the table with a queasy look on his face.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  She understood immediately. “You forgot your wallet, didn’t you? Don’t worry. I have a credit card that should have enough room on it to cover it.” Hopefully.

  His eyes met hers just as he pulled a velvet box out of his pocket.

  While her heart hammered against her ribs, he set the box on the table.

  “I—I really care about you, Billie. I have for a long time, although I was too stupid to realize it until recently.”

  She dropped the fork, catapulting a chunk of chocolate against the side of her water glass. But—but—it was too soon. Sure she’d had little daydreams, but this—this—they’d only been together a month.

  He was watching her carefully. Hands still on the box, he slowly cracked it open. “Don’t worry, it’s just a necklace.”

  And it was. A very thin gold chain, twisted in a loop several times over, much too big to fit on any woman’s finger, no matter how curvy she was.

  Different emotions waged a war inside her. Relief, annoyance, amusement, disappointment, love.

  Mostly there was love.

  All right, mostly there was disappointment. But love was mixed in there too.

  She had to clear her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she said, reaching for it.

  “You like it?”

  “Of course I like it.” She took the box in her left palm and withdrew the delicate chain. “I love it.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” He gave his head a brisk nod, then reached into his pocket again. “First I got you this, but Jane said you weren’t ready.”

  He set another box on the table.

  The air caught in her chest.

  His voice deepened. “I think you are.”

  Chapter 50

  Billie gripped the table, her heart pounding. Little prickles began tingling all over her body. The chocolate cake felt like a cable car in her stomach, heavy and rumbling.

  “I love you, Billie,” he said.

  Oh my God. She’d thought maybe he would eventually, but this—now—

  She stared at the box. “What is it?” Her voice was raspy.

  “Open it.”

  Hand trembling, she set down the necklace in the first box and gazed at the other one. That box, too small for a necklace, was black velvet with gold trim.

  She was shaking too badly to open it. If she picked it up, she’d drop it and those drunk girls at the next table were going to see it and laugh. It might roll a few tables away. Everyone would get involved. People would take pictures and post them next to the porno they’d shot through the windows of his loft in Emeryville. There would be a scene.

  “I’m sorry.” He began to reach forward. “I guess Jane was right.”

  Lunging just in time, she got her hand over it before he did. “Wrong,” she said. “Let’s get that straight right now. Jane is never right.”

  His lips curved faintly at the corners. “Is that so?” he asked softly.

  “That is so. That is very so.” She was still shaking, but she was highly motivated to stop him from backing out. It was her responsibility to reassure him that her feelings were definitely in the commitment department. To open the box right now and accept whatever was inside would be an act of kindness.

  She was big like that.

  Holding her breath, she popped it open.

  Through the liquid pooling in her eyes, she saw something round and shiny with a rock on it.

  “I love you, Billie,” he said again.

  This time she opened her heart to him, dropped the attitude and the joking and the fear, and said, “I love you, Ian.”

  The band started up again, filling the lounge with the rapid sounds of instrumental jazz, drowning out whatever else they might say. But that was just fine. Their eyes were saying everything.

  Leaning over the table, he pulled the ring out of the box, took her hand in his, and slipped the platinum band over her finger.

  “Will you marry me?” he mouthed.

  Butterflies were in full flight in her gut. She pressed her free hand to her stomach, blinked away another surge of tears, and nodded.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Hell, yeah.

  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath that made her feel like a million bucks. A thousand feet tall.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, rising and bringing her to her feet with him.

  Unsteadily, she hooked her arm through his and began walking to the elevator, weightless and happy and on top of the world.

  Epilogue

  Twisting her toes in the warm sand, Billie drained her iced tea and gazed out on the ocean horizon, searching for Ian’s figure in the waves.

  There he was. All buff and sexy, his silver-gray swim shorts slung low on his hips, glistening with South Pacific seawater. They’d been snorkeling on the reef, but she was taking a break.

  Over the last three days, they’d kept busy, wanting to enjoy every day of her limited vacation days. She’d considered quitting her job altogether—she was engaged to a millionaire, after all—but she’d decided, for now, to keep working at the permit center. It felt right. And her new boss was a nice woman who hadn’t asked her once if she’d slept on her hair or suggested she take a long jump off a short pier.

  Billie had hired a tutor to help her prepare and apply for college again. This time, she was going to get a degree. Maybe even two or three.

  She’d long since stopped worrying about accepting Ian’s help. She helped him too. For instance, today she was going to go to the hotel gift shop and buy him a swim shirt, because that fair skin of his was going to burn.

  With a sigh, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Married life was going to be sweet. He looked out for her, she looked out for him. He had more money than anyone would ever need, but if it weren’t for her, who would tell him to put on a swim shirt? Who would convince him he didn’t have the DNA for all-day sun exposure near the equator? No one but her.

  Wife-to-be. Ball and chain. Old lady.

  Smiling, she reached into their cooler and pulled out another iced tea.

  Soul mate.

  They weren’t married yet, but she was feeling like they were. The vows and the paperwork and the parties and the gifts would be on the surface, only formalizing the silent promises they’d already made to each other over all the years they were friends.

  They would be kind, they would be considerate. They would arrive on time if possible—but of course it so often wasn’t—and apologize readily whenever it might be remotely necessary.

  They would split their burgers and they would share their fries. They would offer the popcorn, they would hold the door. They would do all of this because they were partners and because life was too difficult to navigate alone.

  They would love each other.

  Here I go again. When she felt her eyes fill with tears, Billie stood up and brushed the sand off her butt.

  Seeing her rise, Ian waved and gestured for her to join him. She had to adjust the bikini top that kept falling down (Ian had picked it out and didn’t seem to mind that it barely covered her nipples and kept coming untied in the back) as she made her way across the beach to the water, where her handsome hero stood in the surf with a camera.

  She’d gi
ven up trying to stop him from taking candid pictures of her. Combined with the loft porno, these engagement-trip shots were going to make quite an embarrassing website.

  Couldn’t be helped. Besides, she took plenty of pictures of him to get even. And just because.

  Even better, she’d recorded a hilarious two minutes of him singing “Poker Face” in Spanish while he showered, not knowing she was sitting on the toilet with her phone. She’d been biting back laughter, but she’d been proud, too, because it had taken him almost two months to learn all the words.

  He wasn’t always a genius.

  Five feet away, Ian took another picture of her with his waterproof camera, signaling for her to spin around and show him everything.

  Glancing around, she decided the other people were far enough away, and probably busy, to allow her a little fun. Striking a pose, she turned her back to him, paused, then pushed her bikini bottom down her hips. Just as quickly, she pulled them back up and ran for the water.

  Ian tackled her into the waves, kissing her as his arms came around her waist.

  “Got you,” he said, grinning. The camera around his neck banged against her shoulder, and seawater splashed into her mouth, but she laughed and laughed and would’ve drowned happily if that were the price of this man, this love, this life.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to him like a soft, nimble starfish. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and she kissed the new whiskers on his chin.

  “That picture’s going to be one of my favorites,” he said.

  “Pose for me and we’ll have a matched set. We can put them on the mantel of the new house.”

  Happily for her, he wasn’t very attached to the paint factory. They were going house shopping when they got home. Something not too far from Jane, who had bought out Billie’s share of Grammy’s house and was going to rent out a room to cover costs.

  “All right,” he said, nibbling her ear. “As long as I get another photo shoot with you if this picture doesn’t come out.”

  “Seriously?”