Tempting Her Best Friend (A What Happens in Vegas Novel) (Entangled Lovestruck)

by Maxwell, Gina L.

  “Are you sure that’s what you really wanted to do? Break things off I mean?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited on his answer.

  Shrugging, he faced her with his normal cocky smile stretching his beautiful face, yet not really reaching his eyes. “Come on, what have I always told you? Variety is the spice of life. Besides, I can’t keep all this Alexander charm for just one woman. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I think you just haven’t opened yourself to the idea of giving it to the right woman,” she insisted. “Don’t you want to settle down some day, share your life and grow old with someone?”

  He reached down and captured her hand in his, threading his roughened fingers between hers, and her heart sped up at the contact. “Now, why would I ever want to get married when I have all that with you?” He winked.

  Her heart was beating triple time now. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Maybe getting him to Vegas and that Elvis preacher would be easier than she’d thought. “Hey, do you—”

  They spoke at the same time. “Seriously, though, you know I’m against long-term relationships.”

  Alyssa paused, her mouth gaping before she closed it. She pulled her hand back into her lap, not wanting him to feel it trembling. Dillon had said it a dozen times if he’d said it once, but she’d thought he meant against for now, not against forever. “Why is that again?”

  He took a healthy swig of his beer before replying. “You know how my dad is, Aly. How many times has he fallen in love only to fall right back out of it?” Dillon started doing air quotes with his free hand. “Each new relationship was ‘different’ and he ‘really meant it this time.’ But he was like a kid eating a bag of M&M’s for the first time. With each new color he tried, he got excited about getting a new flavor. But once that candy coating melted off, it was still just plain old chocolate like the one before it.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That analogy is really strange and yet kind of brilliant.”

  Dillon smiled. “Don’t be too impressed. I was in my freshman psych class and eating a bag of M&M’s when I thought of it.” Alyssa couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of him in class, studying his chocolate as though it had the answers to life’s big questions on it. “My point is that my dad was in love with the high he felt when a relationship was new and exciting. So you see, long-term monogamy just isn’t in my DNA.”

  Alyssa knew that even though his dad was a total flake when it came to monogamy, Dillon’s mother had made it a point to raise him to be honest and a gentleman. So even though he typically had a flavor-of-the-month kind of thing, he was still up front with the women and always respectful. “Come on, that’s not true. You know DNA has noth—”

  He pinned her with a look so heavy she felt the weight of it press her into the couch cushions. “Hey, don’t make a big deal outta this, okay? There’s a reason they coined the phrase ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ I’m the same as my old man. The only difference is that I don’t delude myself into believing it’s anything more than the thrill of the chase and having some good times.”

  “Oh.”

  A voice inside her head told her to say something at least mildly intelligent, to move her body, or hell, even to simply blink.

  “Besides,” he added, “we’ve got a great thing, you and me. During the week I get to hang out with my best friend—who spoils me with amazing cooking, not to mention trading the occasional load of laundry in exchange for hanging new light fixtures in her kitchen and other manly duties”—miraculously she managed to curve the edges of her mouth up when he grinned at her expectantly—“then on the weekends I have my lady-friend distractions and for the most part manage not to bother you. It’s perfect.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Dear God, she was an idiot. She’d thought he wasn’t getting the message she was interested, and that was all that was holding them in this pattern. She’d never thought for a moment that this was exactly what he wanted.

  And he would never want more.

  Somehow, she’d managed to turn into her mother, and they weren’t even dating. She’d be a thousand times more pathetic if they ever became a couple and he continued emulating his womanizing father as he was certain he’d do. A humorless laugh echoed in her head. What a pair they’d be, each of them repeating their parents’ mistakes.

  No thank you. Not now, not ever.

  Alyssa closed her eyes and demanded they stop watering for no damn reason. She didn’t have the right to feel like she’d lost him. She’d never had him to begin with, and apparently, she never would.

  After making a hasty excuse and promise to “be right back,” she gathered their empty plates and took them into the kitchen. She blotted the waterlines of her eyes with the backs of her fingers and sniffed any irrational emotions back into her nostrils.

  As she worked on clearing the counters, her mind raced. She needed to get over him, and fast. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous thought. Like she hadn’t tried doing just that every time he brought someone else home the last couple of years. Contrarily, Alyssa couldn’t remember the last time she’d went on a date or was even interested in another man.

  Alyssa was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she almost dropped the plastic container of leftover coq au vin when he called out from the other room, “You need help in there?”

  “No, I’m just putting a couple things away,” she said, praying he wouldn’t come in. “I’ll be right back.”

  She closed the door of the fridge and saw her collection of book-cover magnets staring back at her. The amount of money she spent on her romance novels alone was a staggering example of her attempts to replace thoughts of Dillon with fantasies of hundreds of book boyfriends. Unfortunately, a fictitious character in black typeset was hardly competition for the living, breathing man currently in her living room.

  Too bad those sexy heroes didn’t appear while she was reading. She’d bet her chances of forgetting her best friend would be a hell of a lot better in the strong arms of one of those hotties.

  Hello, lightbulb. A smile curved her lips as an idea formed. That’s exactly what she needed. A hero to help her get over this one-sided crush, once and for all. A hero with abs so defined she could body surf them all night long, and a smile so perfect that Dillon’s rather endearing lopsided grin would fade in comparison.

  And it just so happened she was going to a romance-novel convention that would be filled with men who fit that very description. Okay, so they weren’t really heroes, but they played them in photo shoots.

  Her solution could be summed up in two words.

  Cover. Models.

  Alyssa grinned as a new plan took shape. She’d already planned to sin while in Vegas. Hell, she even had the wardrobe for it. So now all she had to do was put it to good use…and hook herself a cover model for a steamy, no-strings-attached tryst.

  Yes, this would work.

  She would get over this childhood crush in one hot weekend with another man, and then she and Dillon could go back to their regularly scheduled program. He could stick with his bimbos, and Alyssa wouldn’t have to develop stomach cramps as each Friday drew near, wondering who the lucky girl would be this week. It was a perfect plan, born of desperation and determination, and it could not fail.

  Because if it did… Then this had to end.

  Either she finally kicked this one-sided crush, or she’d have to make the even more painful decision to move and cut all ties with her best friend. She really saw no other choice. Because ending up ten years from now just like her mom, pining for a man who would never love her back, was not an option.

  And who knows, maybe this hot cover model would fall madly in love with her, follow her back to Longmont, and she could spend her Friday nights kissing his washboard abs, ridge by glorious ridge. Stranger things have happened, right? With a nod to herself, she rejoined Dillon in the living room.

  “What’s with the goofy grin, Aly-gator?” Dillon tipped his bottle up and took a s
wig of his beer. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “Do I?” Alyssa brought her feet up and tucked her knees to her chest. She tried to affect a facade of innocence but knew she failed miserably.

  “Yeah,” he said, “you do. And I know something’s definitely up because every time you think I’m not looking you’re pouring yourself more wine. So spill it.”

  Deflect, hedge, beat around the bush! “I went clothes shopping today.”

  He blinked once, then arched an eyebrow. “We need to find you some real excitement if a new wardrobe gets you this amped up.”

  “I came to the same conclusion myself the other day—that I need more excitement in my life, more…well, more—which is what prompted my somewhat impromptu shopping spree for my trip tomorrow. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She placed her wineglass on the coffee table and led him to her bedroom where she had everything she’d bought that day laid out on the bed. Matching sets of lace underwear and bras in black, white, and red. A body-hugging, red halter dress that reached a mere few inches below her ass, and a black pair of what the sales lady called fuck-me boots that reached several inches above her knees. Her casual wear consisted of skintight jeans, leggings, and curve-hugging tops.

  But her pride and joy hung over the closet door: a white gown she’d purchased for the masquerade ball. Wearing the strapless bodice and floor-length skirt made up of more layers of tulle than a debutante at prom, she’d be a modern-day Cinderella. Not to mention with her fear of never getting married, she was seizing the opportunity to wear a wedding dress under the guise of it being a ball gown. There was nothing wrong with secretly pandering to her inner child.

  Alyssa tore her eyes away from her goodies to find a confused look on Dillon’s face.

  “You, uh—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “You planning on getting married this weekend?”

  “It’s a ball gown.” Well, it is now. “For the masquerade ball Saturday night. I have a mask and everything.”

  Still staring at the clothes, he asked, “Why do I get the feeling I’m missing vital information in this story?”

  Ignoring the doubts echoing in her head, she decided to just tell him her plan. Some part of her really hoped he’d object, profess his undying love, and they could move on to the naked parts of her original fantasy, proving he was wrong about himself and they did have a future together after all. “The other day I read a book where the hero and heroine met at a club and had a one-night stand, which got me thinking—”

  His eyes cut up to meet hers. “I thought those books all had ‘and they lived happily ever after’ endings. One-night stands don’t usually fall into that category.”

  “That’s just how they got together the first time. Throughout the rest of the book they fall in love and all that, but that’s beside my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is that there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and not all relationships start with dating websites or meeting through mutual friends. The former being something I will never do, and the latter option offering no prospects since you’re really my only friend and insist you know no one of the slightest worth.”

  He crossed his arms and scowled. “Construction guys are all pigs.”

  “You’re a construction guy, Dillon.”

  “I rest my case,” he said. “Why do you want a relationship so badly right now anyway?”

  Admitting she’d wanted one for years with him was so not happening. “I’m old.”

  “You’re twenty-four.”

  “My biological clock is ticking.”

  “No, it’s not.” He definitely wasn’t buying this explanation. She racked her brain for something else to say, but lying was not one of her strong suits.

  “Fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’m horny as hell and wouldn’t mind having someone around who enjoys my cooking and gives me the occasional mind-blowing orgasm, okay? Is that really so much to ask for?”

  She waited, the breath she held burning in her lungs. The muscles in his jaw worked, and for a brief moment she thought he might actually be jealous at the idea of her with another man…then he opened his mouth and ruined everything.

  “No, I suppose it’s not.”

  Alyssa released her breath on a sigh of defeat. Anonymous quickie with a cover model it is.

  “So what does all this have to do with your trip to the romance convention?” he asked.

  “Like I said before, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and there’s more than one way to scratch an itch. The convention is known for hiring a couple dozen smoking-hot cover models to serve and entertain the attendees, which happens to be very convenient since I’m in the mood to be served and entertained.” Not that she thought he had the proverbial wound to go with it, but she tossed out some salt anyway. “And you know how the saying goes: What happens in Vegas…”

  His hazel eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Aly, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  She looked him dead in the eye and without remorse said, “If you think I’m saying that I intend on having a one-night stand—or two—with a cover model, then, yes. Yes, I am.”

  …

  Dillon glared at the clothes laid out on Alyssa’s bed, willing them to spontaneously combust so she was forced to pack the asexual pantsuits she wore to work. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. She planned on flying to Vegas to hook up with a romance-novel cover model? Over his dead body!

  “Aly, that’s fucking crazy. You’re just going to throw yourself at strange men like you’re a piece of meat?”

  She blinked like she’d just been slapped. The cute wrinkle between her eyebrows that formed whenever she frowned stabbed him in the chest.

  He winced. Shit. That was way harsh, but the horrific images of Alyssa in another man’s arms—another man’s anything—was short-circuiting his brain, leaving his mouth to run off on its own.

  Dillon knew when it came to the topic of love and happy ever afters, Alyssa’s feelings were all over the place. It’s why he’d thought his assurances earlier that he had no intention of ever having anything affect their relationship would have made her smile. Instead, she’d run off to the kitchen like he’d set her napkin on fire.

  On one hand, she was a hopeless romantic who daydreamed about vacationing in Paris, read copious amounts of romance books, and had a “Perfect Wedding” board on Pinterest.

  On the other hand, she called herself the “product of love gone wrong” and half believed in some ridiculous curse her grandmother insisted they had. Alyssa’s father was a self-centered prick who strolled in and out of her life like he was dropping in on an extended family member whenever he happened to pass through town. He’d stay for a few months—just long enough to spin his promises of being a happy family and getting Alyssa’s mother to give him money for his latest “investment”—then he’d disappear again until he’d burned all his new bridges, run out of money, or both.

  And whenever Alyssa asked her mother why she always believed him, her mom justified it by saying she loved him. Watching her mother become more and more of a broken woman as a result of “love” had also left its mark on a young and impressionable Alyssa. So even though she wanted to find love, she also admitted to being scared shitless of it.

  It also didn’t help that her career in market research meant she knew hundreds of statistics about relationships. Including plenty that supported her fear that they were more apt to fail than not.

  “If I was one of your male friends, would you have had the same reaction?”

  Dillon rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “No, but—”

  “So then why say it to me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Because I’m in love with you.

  Not that he could tell her that. He knew he’d never be the right guy for her, with his tendency to roam inherited from his father. Given Alyssa’s upbringing, he loved her too much to eve
r risk hurting her like her father did. She deserved a man who was going to stick, who didn’t have a wandering eye.

  Of course, the idea of her falling in love with someone else made his chest ache, and he rubbed it absently. Logically, he knew it was bound to happen someday, and when it did, he’d have to deal with seeing them together and no longer coming first in her life. To say that he dreaded that eventuality was a huge understatement. Because the thought of losing Alyssa hurt like hell.

  Dillon had hoped he wouldn’t have to worry about that for a long time yet. She never dated or seemed to care very much about changing that fact, something he attributed to their easygoing relationship emulating that of an actual couple in every way except one: sex. Apparently, he’d underestimated her need for that particular aspect. Well, this was one hell of a wake-up call. Message received, loud and clear.

  “The chances of my guy friends getting overpowered and forced into a situation they’re not comfortable with are slim to none,” he said finally. “You can call me a sexist jerk all you want, but we both know that if things go south, you have nothing but statistics on his chances of incarceration to throw at a guy.”

  Alyssa adjusted her crossed arms slightly to a self-hug, and she drew her bottom lip in and worried it with her teeth. One of the many things she did that drove him fucking crazy. If Dillon had a dime for every time he’d been jealous of her teeth over the years, he’d have money to start up his own construction company five times over.

  “Yes, but that’s what makes this weekend the perfect opportunity. These cover models have a strong reputation within the romance community. They attend this conference year after year. If they’d caused problems with attendees in the past, they’d never be invited back. So basically, they’re already vetted.”

  “Already vetted. Would you listen to yourself, Aly? You’re not shopping for plumbers for fuck sake.”