Friend (With Benefits) Zone

by Laura Brown

  Dedication

  To my wonderful husband. You’ve been my support and my rock throughout this writing process. You’ve listened to me babble plots and helped (sometimes against your will) figure out solutions. I would not be where I am without you—certainly not as inspired to write about love.

  Acknowledgments

  Sometimes writing a book goes smoothly. Other times it does not. This novel did not. I won’t bore you with the details. Just know that a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into FRIEND (WITH BENEFITS) ZONE. And not all of them mine!

  This novel went through a few major changes, and thanks to that I’ve had a lot of help along the way, including help on areas that had a date with the cutting room floor. It’s been quite the journey, and I couldn’t have done it without all my readers, from beta to critique, and those willing to handhold me through the process.

  In no particular order, I’d like to thank Karen Mahara, Heather DiAngelis, Robin Lovett, Adrienne Proctor, Emma Wicker, Ann Marjory K, Laura Heffernan, and two sensitivity readers who gave me fantastic feedback on a character I later opted to revise to be a mirror to myself.

  I’d also like to thank the writer community in general. I can’t imagine taking this journey without the incredible support, sounding board, and comic relief that the community provides.

  A special shout-out to my husband, who decided to break his wrist right as I was faced with a huge deadline. And another shout-out to my son, for keeping Daddy entertained while I chained myself to my laptop.

  I am blessed with the best agent and editor. They helped me over the hurdles I faced, giving me the tools to create the end result I needed.

  And thank you to my readers. I received some encouraging words from those eagerly awaiting my next novel. I do hope you enjoy.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from Signs of Attraction

  About the Author

  Also by Laura Brown

  A Letter from the Editor

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Jasmine

  CHILLY MIDNIGHT WIND blew my trench coat up as I stared at the fluttering note taped to my basement apartment door. I needed to get out of the freaking cold air, but I stood rooted to the spot by a sloppy handwritten letter that didn’t even mention my name.

  To Whom It May Concern,

  Your residency is terminated. Please collect your belongings and move out ASAP.

  I’d seen one too many letters like this in my twenty-one years. Some taped to doors, others shoved underneath them, and still more sent certified mail. All back when I lived with my mother. This was the first I had managed to collect on my own.

  I shouldered the door open, then used my hip to force it closed. The letter—now crumpled in my hand—landed on my wobbly kitchen table. I still hadn’t found the right combination of books to keep it level. Not that I had many books to begin with.

  The wind outside stopped, but my postage-stamp-sized studio didn’t exactly come with heat. I flicked on the tiny portable heater and sat on my bed, waiting to thaw out.

  I never wanted to be in this situation. Not again. Served me right for accepting a cheap Craigslist apartment. I paid my rent on time, in cash. I kept to myself. If I’d somehow created too much noise, then they needed to tell me. Deaf ears couldn’t tell.

  I took in a deep breath of questionable moldy air. Thirty days. That was standard for evictions. I could work out something in thirty days.

  I had to.

  With a bit of warmth finally reaching my skin, I changed out of my clothes and into a baggy tee shirt, then added sweats and a sweatshirt. I had to tighten the drawstring to keep the pants up, but the extra fabric helped keep me warm. Clothes stolen from Dev, my BFF. Perks to having a guy friend. I had no clue if he knew I’d stolen his clothes or not. I didn’t care. He’d give me the shirt off his back if I asked; nothing wrong with skipping a step.

  From my bed, the entire studio apartment stretched before me. Okay, so cramped was a better word than stretched. A half kitchen that consisted of a mini fridge, a sink, and a microwave, a small table, one lousy tiny window, and the bathroom that held a stall shower and just as much water pressure as heat: almost nonexistent. The only positive thing about this place was the rent, cheap enough that I could save as much money as possible. My phone vibrated, and I picked it up, welcoming the distraction.

  Dev: How did the date go?

  Considering I sat on my bed wearing his clothes instead of being warmed up without any clothes on at all? I sent back a thumbs-down image.

  Dev: That bad?

  Me: Greg was disappointed I wasn’t in my bar clothes.

  Served me right for picking up a guy at the bar I worked at. He had seemed nice and far more of a gentleman than most of my customers. He even knew a few signs. I had hoped for a little fun, a departure from my daily life. In the end, we had nothing in common. He wanted the shot-girl image, not a real person.

  Dev: That asshole. Want me to beat him up?

  Me: I know you have a love affair with your punching bag, but this one requires no fists. Sorry.

  Dev: You OK?

  I stared up at my ceiling. The man always managed to read between the lines.

  Me: I’m fine.

  Dev: Liar.

  I scrunched my nose and tapped at my phone until his image appeared on-screen, too-long hair included. “I just had a bad date. Are you done picking on me?” I signed.

  He tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes laughed at me. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

  I held the phone farther back and let him see I was ready for bed. How much more fine could I get?

  “So that’s what happened to my college sweatshirt.”

  I angled the phone to the emblem on my leg. “Pants too.”

  Dev laughed and shook his head. “Come over. You don’t have to stay at your crappy apartment tonight.”

  “I happen to like my crappy apartment.” Okay, that was a lie. I hated this place. But I liked my privacy. And even if I stayed at Dev’s a few times a month, that didn’t mean I needed to right this second. Not when I’d be losing this place soon.

  I didn’t sign that. My problem. I’d handle it. I’d learned a lon
g time ago to never let a wannabe social worker get involved unless I wanted to give up control. Dev had no boundaries when it came to helping others.

  “Please?”

  “Are you seriously begging me to come over at midnight?”

  Dev had the decency to shrug.

  “Tomorrow. Come to the bar. For now, I have a date with my pillow.” Sure, the pillow was flat as a pancake, but I wanted alone time.

  “Fine. If you change your mind, come on over.”

  I nodded and ended the call. I had his spare key, but we both knew I wouldn’t use it.

  My eyes traveled over the room once again. The cracks in the walls, the cracks in the cement floor. I had snagged the place for one reason and one reason only: to save money and buy my own bar.

  Like my father had. I wondered if he’d recommend it or if he’d try to convince me to choose a different career. Maybe we would have worked side by side, handling customers and drinks. In truth, I’d never know what might have been.

  I pulled out my notebook, the one with the pale blue cover on which I had penned Jas’s Bar. Here I planned out everything I could for owning my own bar. From rules and regulations, to which brands I wanted, to recipes and other ideas. I mapped out my finances, what I’d need to make this a reality.

  I wasn’t there yet. Hence the cheap apartment and meager living.

  Maybe I should have crashed at Dev’s. A little comfort went a long way when life spiraled out of control. I knew I was young and I had time. But I wanted my happy. I’d paid my dues; I deserved my dream.

  I was still staring at my notebook when a light flashed by my tiny window. Outside someone stood with a flashlight, shining it into my apartment. I didn’t need to adjust to the light to know who that someone was with the one, two, three blinking pattern.

  It took five steps to stomp over to the door. Dev came in once I wedged it open. He pushed the door closed.

  “You can’t have your clothes back,” I signed, even as I was grateful to see him. When Dev was around, even this place sorta felt like a home.

  “I don’t want my clothes back. Not now, at least. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

  I held out my hands, showing that I was fine. Even if I did scan my coffee table and breathe in relief that the eviction letter was facedown in a crumpled mess.

  He studied me, searching for all my little tics that spelled I was in trouble, tics only he knew. I blanked my face; otherwise he would latch onto there being a problem. A big one. Dev shoved a hand through his hair, those wavy locks rioting into one massive sexy-as-hell bedhead. I missed the days when he was a spindly little thing, before he grew into this hunk I could never unfriendzone. He meant too much to rock the boat, and I didn’t dare risk losing him. He scratched at a day’s worth of scruff, the black stubble contrasting with his pale skin. Then he kicked off his shoes, tossed his coat on the back of a chair, and plopped down on my bed in a way that had to have a spring or two digging into his back.

  He didn’t budge.

  I wanted to laugh. Forget me time—neither one of us had given the other the right to be alone since we first met. Still, I couldn’t let go of our usual bickering match. “Go home.”

  He folded his hands behind his head, not moving. I crossed my arms. A few seconds later he sat up, grabbed my laptop off the floor, and flipped it open. “We’ll watch a movie.”

  “My laptop can’t handle Netflix. You know that.”

  He closed the laptop. “Right. Forgot.” He unlocked his phone and placed it on the bed.

  “Tiny viewing tonight?”

  “You refused to come to my place.” Underlining meaning: we could have watched on a large flat-screen TV.

  Since there was no budging him now that he had settled in, I climbed onto the bed with him. He picked up the phone so we could watch, and I settled my head on his chest.

  I didn’t pay much attention to the action flick he put on. Most days I loved the intensity of those movies. Tonight, those explosions felt too close for comfort. Instead I made a mental list of my options. Had to before Dev found out. He’d want me to stay with him. And being cuddled up with him, I had to admit, had potential. More so when I placed my hand on his firm stomach and took in a deep breath of the ocean scent of his soap. Problem was, I needed to be on my own two feet. The last person to take care of me—my mother—had failed. I couldn’t trust anyone else.

  Not even Dev.

  Chapter Two

  Devon

  MY TASK—TO reach over a sleeping Jas and pluck my hearing aids off her bedside table. Challenge level—low. This early in the morning, she’d be in a deep enough sleep that I’d have to resort to a bucket of cold water to wake her up.

  I leaned across her, gathered up my hearing aids, then sat back to put them on. The silent room squeaked into sound, adding a mechanical humming noise to my ears. Could have been something from the pipes, could have been background from the aids. I didn’t know. Didn’t care, really. In her tiny-ass apartment, there wasn’t much to hear.

  She shouldn’t be in a place like this. Life had a penchant for handing Jas the bad end of a stick. She’d weathered so many bad storms, and yet her spirit remained intact. A little bruised, a little weary, but still a fighter.

  There were days I’d swear she was stronger than me.

  Maybe it was odd to have shared a bed with my best friend, but certain things had become normal before we hit puberty. Before my awareness of her shifted and I had to stuff it into a box. Back then, Jas had needed comfort and a safe place to stay. Now . . . it was habit.

  I shoved my feet into my shoes with too much force, throwing my balance off. My hip bumped into her kitchen table before I could regain my footing. Papers fell to the floor, and I bent to pick them up, freezing at one crumpled paper and the words residency is terminated. My hands tightened around the edges, all but tearing the page that appeared torn from a notebook. My jaw ticked as I swallowed that strange combination of emotion Jas created so well: anger and fear.

  “Liar,” I signed to Jas, even though she remained fast asleep. “You’re not OK.” The paper looked illegal as hell, but then again, so did Jas’s apartment. I took a picture of the letter with my phone before putting her mail back on her table.

  I wanted to write her a note, tell her to come with me to Support Services, where they could help her fight this. But Jas did things on her own. If I wanted to help her, I’d have to be sneaky about it.

  With one last look at Jas and a prayer I’d manage to help her for a change, I left. I needed to go to my classes but figured I had just enough time to make one more important stop first—I headed closer to Boston, to Support Services, the Deaf social work agency I volunteered at.

  I arrived five minutes before opening. The doors were already open and a crowd hung out in the waiting area. People sat in chairs or stood, all signing back and forth. Most of it ASL, some more gestural or reminiscent of signs from a different country, a few speaking along with their hand movements.

  The place was home.

  I waved to the receptionist and headed to see Katherine, the social worker I had interned under last semester. I was strictly a volunteer now, but she hadn’t stopped being my mentor.

  Something I was grateful for this morning.

  I found her at her desk and flicked the light switch to gain her attention. “Got a few minutes?” I signed once she looked up.

  She studied my face and didn’t miss a beat. “What’s wrong?”

  I loaded the picture of Jas’s letter and slid it under Katherine’s nose.

  “Yours?”

  I shook my head. “No. A friend’s.”

  “Rent issue?”

  Jas might be careful with her money, but not at the expense of others. “No.”

  “Anything you know might have been a problem? Is this the first notice?”

  “She keeps to herself. No problems.” But I had no clue if this was her first notice or not.

  Katherine leaned back, nodd
ing slightly as she thought. “Your friend should have thirty days before the landlord goes to the next level. Then the courts become involved.”

  “But she did nothing wrong.”

  “Doesn’t matter. A landlord can evict for any number of reasons.”

  I shoved my hand into my hair and tugged at the long strands.

  Katherine studied me. “You care about her.”

  “She’s my best friend.” I cared more than I should.

  “Sometimes staying with a friend during a transition period is the best thing.” Her expression shifted to one of contemplation, and I knew we were about to shift topics. “You’re graduating soon, right?”

  “Two months.” And if I could stop time, I would, because after graduation things would be different. For starters, I wouldn’t be here, and that grated.

  “And you’ll have a degree in social work?” Her pointer finger stretched out that question a bit much. I smelled a trap.

  “A minor in social work. My major is accounting.” Not my choice. My father was an accountant. My brother had recently become one. I was expected to follow suit and had learned long ago that my wants didn’t matter.

  Katherine nodded, a deep pensive nod that could make a grown man squirm. Not that I squirmed visibly. I tapped my foot on the floor. “We need a new social worker. Full-time. I think you should apply.”

  I stopped tapping. A job. A job I actually wanted.

  “I’m supposed to join my dad’s accounting firm.”

  Katherine smiled. “We all like your father; it’s wonderful to have a Deaf accountant. But we need you. Here. And we know you want it.”

  I ran my hand across my scruff. I’d been torn between the two careers since freshman year—before that, if I was honest. Now the clock was ticking, and I had to make up my mind, fast, and stick to whatever path I chose.

  “Think about it. You decide what’s best for you.” She glanced behind me, and I turned, finding a client waiting. “I expect to see your application in May.”

  I nodded and left. Off to a class I didn’t care about, to worry about a friend who wouldn’t easily accept my help.

  Chapter Three

  Jasmine