by Tawny Weber
Brody tried the words out in his head, but they sounded too stupid to say aloud. Holy crap, he felt like a dorky schoolboy. Any second now he’d be shuffling his feet and, God forbid, blushing.
“Brody?”
He sighed, then faced the words the way he faced Hell Week, that sky full of empty air when he was jumping from a plane, and enemy fire. With a deep sigh, a straight spine and an unbreakable resolve.
“I thought we could try being friends.”
9
FRIENDS.
She and Brody Lane were friends.
Or at least, they were trying to be.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, though. She’d agreed because, well, she wanted to know the real Brody Lane. To find out if he was different from the guy she’d spent years fantasizing about.
Over the last couple weeks, she’d discovered three things.
He was completely different from the guy she’d thought he was. He was controlled and strong-willed, and didn’t hesitate to voice his beliefs.
He was exactly the same as the guy she’d thought he was. Quiet, almost to the point of being taciturn, clever and fun when he did have something to say, and so sexy that she got turned on just watching him breathe.
And, over the last few days, she’d come to realize that they actually could be friends. That they had enough in common, similar interests and values. That they’d found a rhythm and flow that felt good. And as great as that was, she would absolutely, positively, unquestionably go crazy if all Brody would ever be was her friend.
Genna peered into the mirror, trying to see if there was crazy shining in her eyes yet. Nope. A few hints of stress and a whole lot of sexual frustration, but no signs of crazy.
Just her normal blue gaze stared back at her, albeit wearing a little more makeup than usual. Her eyes were smudged in kohl, with a dusky gray shadow giving her a smoky, do-me-all-night look she’d practiced for hours. Pale pink lips with a hint of shimmer on her cheekbones and she was as close to sophisticated sexy as she figured she’d ever get.
She leaned back from the mirror, lifting her hair this way and that. Up or down? Down said casual, just two friends going to dinner. If anyone saw her and Brody together, she could play it off as just a friendly meet-up with a distant acquaintance. Up said fancy, maybe a date. There was no way to pass off fancy hair as a casual get-together. Fancy hair said she’d put in time, effort. That she was looking to score.
Which she was.
But she didn’t want anyone else knowing that.
Including Brody, who seemed completely determined to keep their relationship—or friendship, as he always corrected her—on his terms. Which included his stopping by at random times over the last week, eating cookies, testing her new recipes and nagging her to do something with her baking instead of giving it away. He didn’t talk much, but listened just fine as long as the conversation wasn’t about him. Which meant Genna did all the talking. She hadn’t realized how much she had to say, things she couldn’t say to the other people in her life. Frustrations and worries, dreams and fears.
But nothing about them. Nothing personal. The minute she’d bring up that night ten years ago, Brody would shut it down. If she mentioned their first meeting two weeks ago, he changed the subject.
And the few times she’d tried flirting?
He’d walked out.
Genna dropped her hair and pressed her fingers to her temples.
Clearly, it was going to be a hair-down kind of evening.
But she wanted it up.
She sighed. Yeah. She was going crazy.
“Hey.”
Genna jumped.
She’d been so focused on her image, she hadn’t heard Macy come in.
Her stomach tightened with nerves that had nothing to do with Brody, but everything to do with her relationship with him.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked, glancing from Macy to the clock. Brody wasn’t due for twenty minutes. Hopefully she could shoo her friend out before he got here.
“I came by to borrow your printer. The caterer emailed me the final contract,” Macy said, her tone distracted as she gave Genna a suspicious twice-over. Clearly the first glance had tipped her off. Genna brushed her fingers over her hair, hanging loose and casual, and bit her lip.
“What’re you doing?” Macy asked, stepping farther into the room. Her gaze swept from Genna’s dress to the three others tossed on the bed, then landed on the tangled pile of shoes next to the closet. Her arched brows demanded information.
Genna didn’t want to give it to her, though.
Macy would judge. And since Brody had been stubbornly reluctant to take his hero dues, especially in public, the gossip had shifted. Now the lunchtime buzz wasn’t as much about Brody Lane, the military hero. It was more speculation with a whole lot of rehashing his past.
Macy, like Genna’s parents, would buy into the speculation, rather than trusting the hero buzz.
“I’m just trying on outfits. You know, playing girl for a change.” Just because she lived most of her life in jeans didn’t mean she didn’t have a great wardrobe of things she never got to wear anywhere. Especially the shoes. A girl who stood five-ten barefoot and only seemed to date insecure men never got to wear heels. Since Brody was secure as hell and six-two, she’d figured this was a great time to scuff those soles.
But she didn’t want to tell Macy that, either.
“You’re going out?”
“Maybe.”
“With Stewart?” Macy said, looking at the four-inch, pointed-toe stiletto pumps on Genna’s feet.
“Eww. No. He collects troll dolls. Remember?”
“Then who are you going out with?”
Crap. Genna gave the clock a wincing glance and realized she wasn’t going to get out of this. She took a deep breath and put on her most confident face.
“With a friend for a friendly dinner. Sort of repayment for a few dozen cookies, a cake and a couple of pies. You know how everyone pays me for my baked goods in favors or in exchange?”
“I don’t remember you getting all dressed up when Mr. Jenson bought you lunch last month for making his granddaughter birthday cupcakes.”
“That’s because Mr. Jenson bought me a hoagie and a side of fruitcake off the lunch truck and he didn’t even invite me to the party.” And, of course, there was the fact that the sixty-year-old pharmacist looked nothing like her hot and hunky SEAL.
“So. Who’s been eating your cookies?” Macy asked suspiciously.
Sadly, no one. Since Macy wouldn’t understand or appreciate that joke, Genna just shrugged.
“Genna...”
“Brody Lane,” she blurted out, throwing her hands in the air. “There. Now you know. I’m going to dinner—a casual, just-between-friends dinner—with Brody Lane.”
From the horror in her eyes and the drop of Macy’s chin, maybe it’d have been better if she’d said she was going to dinner with an ax murderer.
“Like I said, it’s just a thank-you meal. No big deal.”
Macy’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. Good. Genna knew she wasn’t going to like hearing it when her friend recovered.
Pretending her spine wasn’t so tight it’d take a chiropractor and a sledgehammer to crack it, she moved to the full-length mirror to check her dress. Was it too fancy for a simple dinner between friends?
Red and fitted with a sweetheart neckline that made the most of the very little she had, the bodice hugged her body to the waist before flaring into full pleats to just above her knees.
She sneaked a glance at Macy’s expression in the mirror. The other woman looked like she figured a straitjacket would be a better fit.
“Okay. What? Go ahead and say whatever you have to say. But do it fast, because Brody’s going to be here in ten minutes and I’m leaving.”
“You’re crazy. Don’t you remember what happened last time you chased after this guy? How furious your parents were? In case you forgot, your mom ended
up in the hospital and your brother in jail.”
Praying for patience, Genna reminded herself that this was her oldest, dearest friend. And that she was too heavy to throw out the window.
“Joe stole a car. That had nothing to do with me, my actions or Brody. He would have gone to jail even if I was sitting at home eating popcorn and watching reruns of Friends.” Something she’d told herself, and her parents, a million times over. Dammit, she wasn’t to blame for her brother’s choices. “And Mom went to the hospital because she had an asthma attack. Again, in no way related to my actions that night.”
“Her asthma attack could have been brought on by stress,” Macy said, parroting Cara so perfectly that it was all Genna could do to not look around the room for her mother.
Or cry.
“That doesn’t mean I caused the stress. Joe gets the lion’s share of the credit for that. Or it could have been brought on by the heat.” Genna frowned, wondering why the hell she was always to blame for everything when she was the least of the contributors. When did she get to stop paying for her brother’s choices? And when the hell would someone trust her to run her own life?
Trying for patience, she smiled through gritted teeth. “Macy, my mom is a hypochondriac. Even the doctor says so. My brother was on a collision course with himself.”
And Genna had paid, and paid and paid and paid, for that night. As horrible as she felt about Joe’s choices, about what’d finally happened to him, she was tired of paying.
“It’s no big deal. Seriously, don’t get all weirded out.” Genna wanted to check her lipstick, but figured primping would negate her entire pitch. “Brody is staying at his gramma’s while he recovers, so he’s living across the alley and we’ve run into each other a few times. Partially because the mayor wants to do an event for him. Hero’s welcome and all that.”
Something Brody had no interest in. Still, Genna had started putting together tentative ideas, in case she changed his mind. After all, he was a hero and maybe if he saw how much the town appreciated his service, he’d have a different opinion of Bedford. And of the idea of visiting here more often after he’d gone back on duty.
And maybe after seeing Brody praised and paraded, everyone would see what a great guy he was. A much better guy than someone like, oh, say Stewart.
“It’s really no big deal,” she said again. This time as much to convince herself as Macy.
“You’re going on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”
“We’re going to dinner. On a Tuesday,” Genna corrected, checking her purse for necessities. “Valentine’s isn’t until Friday.”
Lipstick, keys, license and credit card, condom, twenty-dollar bill, cell phone.
Looked as if she was all set.
“Hey, there’s nothing between us. We’re friends. That’s it. That’s all he wants.” She met Macy’s eyes and straight up lied. “And that’s all I want.”
“Fine.” Macy huffed, then handed Genna the black leather gloves and wool jacket from the chair, as if covering her as much as possible before she went downstairs was going to keep her virtue intact. “When’s he leaving?”
Leaving? The thought was like a jagged knife ripping through her gut. She hated thinking about life without Brody.
“He’s going to Coronado four times a week for physical therapy now, so I’d imagine he’ll be back to full use of his leg before the end of the month.” She gave Macy a big smile all the brighter for being fake. “So he should be back on duty in two weeks.”
A smart girl would start steeling her heart against the end. A smarter girl would cut things off now, before her emotions got tangled any tighter.
Genna was smart.
Damned smart.
Smart enough to know that she was already in too deep. She had been for years. She was smart enough to know that nothing was going to make the heartbreak of Brody leaving any easier to take. So she was going to get every second of pleasure, of fun and of anything else she could from these couple of weeks together.
And she didn’t care if it took her thirteen of her fourteen days. At some point before he left to play hero again, she was getting him naked and naughty.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang.
“Don’t you have something to print?” she asked, hurrying around her friend and heading for the stairs. “Go ahead, take your time. Lock up when you leave.”
Never one to take a hint, Macy followed her right down the stairs and stood there like a grumpy rain cloud, waiting for Genna to open the door.
Trying to ignore her, Genna tossed her coat over the hall bench, took a deep breath, put on a big smile and opened the door.
And almost melted as the chilly evening air washed over her. Oh, he looked good. Black slacks and dress shirt suited his bad-boy image and fit to perfection. So used to seeing him in jeans or sweats and a tee, she had to swallow a couple of times to keep from drooling.
“Hi,” she finally said.
“Hey. You look nice.” His tone was light and friendly, but his eyes were hot as they swept over her body, leaving the kind of tingles that led to tight nipples, damp panties and, hopefully, multiple orgasms.
Yes. Genna wanted to do a happy dance right there in the doorway. Finally, he was looking at her as something other than a friendly cookie machine.
Maybe they could skip dinner and get right to dessert.
The loud cough behind her burst the sexual bubble as effectively as an icy cold blast from the hose.
Brody looked over her shoulder. She followed his gaze and sighed.
“Brody, this is my friend Macy. She was just leaving,” Genna said pointedly.
“Hi,” Brody offered with a polite nod.
Looking distant, as if she were holding her breath in case he was carrying a bad case of cooties, Macy gave a jerky nod.
Brody glanced at Genna, who just rolled her eyes and gestured him inside.
“You look great,” she said as the door closed behind him. Her fingers itched to straighten his collar, to feel the fabric of his shirt and see if it was as soft as it looked. “I didn’t realize you had fancy clothes with you.”
“I stopped by barracks after physical therapy today.”
Brody shifted from foot to foot, almost as if he’d rather be in front of a firing squad. Whether that preference was over what he was wearing, his visit to his barracks or this evening’s plans was up in the air.
“You sure you want to go into San Diego? We can eat someplace here in town instead. That way you don’t have to drive,” he said, referring to the fact that while he’d come back on his Harley after his last physical therapy session, he didn’t have a car.
Nope. Dinner in San Diego was more romantic. A drive would give them time to talk. And if they stayed here, people would see. Then they’d talk. Her father would hear and things would get ugly. Worse, her mother would hear and head straight for the hospital.
“Good question. You should eat in town. I hear Ziapatta’s is serving lasagna tonight,” Macy broke in. Stepping forward, she started reciting the menu as if her life—or Genna’s virtue—depended on convincing Brody to eat there.
Genna scowled. The woman couldn’t say hello, but she saw a chance to ruin the night and she turned into a chatterbox.
“We have reservations,” Genna interrupted smoothly. “And I don’t want Italian food.”
She wanted her date, dammit.
“Good night, Macy,” she said emphatically.
As huffs went, Macy was a champion. Muttering warnings the whole way, she skirted around them to yank open the front door, then stormed down the walk.
Genna grimaced at the scowl her friend threw over her shoulder before climbing into her car.
“I’ll bet she’s on the phone by the end of the street,” she predicted, letting the door slam shut with a satisfying bang.
“Gossip?” Brody guessed.
“Tattling.”
He glanced out the window at the departing car, then arched a brow her way
.
“To whom about what?”
“To my parents about us,” Genna said, heading over to grab her purse and coat off the bench.
She didn’t make it far.
Two steps and she was stopped by Brody’s hand on her arm.
“Hold up a sec. So let me get this straight. Your friend is going to run to your mommy and daddy and stir up trouble when she tells them that you’re hanging out with me?”
Genna frowned for a second at his use of hanging out instead of dating. He was working hard to keep that wall between them. Or maybe it wasn’t hard work on his part and he really did only think of her as someone to hang out with while he was stuck in town.
Then, taking a deep breath to shake that off because she was sure she’d change his mind eventually, she focused on his question. And the irritation on his face.
“Totally obnoxious, right? I know she’s my best friend, and she really is a sweetie. But she’s always doing stuff like this. She thinks she knows best, and just has to interfere.”
Genna started to move toward the bench and her coat again, but Brody didn’t let go of her arm.
“What?” she asked.
His irritation had settled into a scowl.
“Tell me something. Other than your friend, does anyone know you’re hanging out with me?”
Again with the hanging out? Genna huffed, then shrugged. He let go this time, but shifted so his arms were crossed and his legs wide. She had the feeling that even if she did get her coat, she wasn’t getting past him to open the front door.
“I don’t know,” she said, throwing both her hands in the air. “I suppose your gramma knows. And people have seen us together, right?”
At her corner grocery store. The little café on the edge of town. The movie theater matinee. Nobody who knew and might report back to her parents. But that was beside the point. They were still people.
“You ashamed?”
He said it so matter-of-factly, with no inflection at all, that it took a few seconds for the implication of his words to sink in.
“Of course I’m not ashamed to be hanging out with you,” she protested, ignoring the guilty little tickle in the back of her throat at the words.
He didn’t look convinced. In fact, if Genna didn’t know better, she’d think he was a little hurt. But Brody didn’t care about things like approval. And, despite the fact that they were playing this let’s be friends game of his, she doubted her opinion registered in his world.
