by Debra Kayn
“Well?” She cocked her hip and planted her hands at her waist.
“Jet lag,” he muttered, latching onto a plausible excuse for his reaction. “I’m ready to get out of here. You?”
Her shoulders sagged and she stepped closer. “Finally. Let’s go home.”
It wasn’t something he planned, but somehow he found himself following her back inside the beach house and across the main room. His cock hardened halfway to the door. She had a hell of a walk; her tight ass and loose hips were the perfect combination.
Unprepared for such a reaction, he had to do something because the last thing he needed was to think of Crista as … hell, he couldn’t go there. She was his best friend. They’d done everything together. They laughed, fought, conspired, and supported each other. He hurried forward and opened the door, letting her go under his arm and outside first.
The door shut and he held her arm as she navigated the steps in her heels. Her smooth skin felt nice under his fingers and he moved his hand higher.
She glanced at him. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged off her concern. He’d be perfect once he had sex. Tonight proved he was past lucid thoughts and was hallucinating. Crista was off limits and his best friend. Hell, she might as well be his sister for how well he knew her.
He shuddered. At least he called that tremble that swept down his spine and landed in his balls a sign of repulsion. He only went out with girls like Janelle who were unattached to him emotionally, and who he wouldn’t have to see after they were done having sex. He went for low maintenance and no obligation sex, not girlfriends or relationships.
“Bruce … Crista,” a woman’s voice called out behind him.
Crista groaned. He glanced over his shoulder, and he wanted to groan, too. There, hurrying down the steps of the house was his sure deal—the in his pocket, free sex for the night woman coming right toward them, and she did not look thrilled to see him leaving with Crista.
“You two are leaving?” Janelle directed her question at Bruce.
Crista yawned. Janelle snapped her attention to Crista and glared as if the whole night was her fault. This was a disaster waiting to happen, and there was only one thing he could do to stop trouble before it started. He had to continue playing the part of Crista’s boyfriend and keep Janelle interested and hanging in there a little longer.
He looped his arm across Crista’s shoulders, pulling her to his side. Her hand went to his stomach out of surprise but provided the perfect sign of them having an intimate relationship. “Do you need a ride home? We have room if you’d like to go with us back to the apartments,” he said.
Janelle’s lips pursed and she glared even more. He could barely view the shocking blue color of her eyes through the barrier of false black eyelashes. He glanced down at Crista, who gazed up at him.
Crista’s serious expression belied her amusement because her bright green eyes fairly danced with laughter. He tightened his hold on her and hoped for once she didn’t do something that would have him busting a gut. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Sure.” Crista smiled at Janelle. “My car has a comfortable backseat … lots of leg room for a sports car.”
Janelle pivoted without answering, marched back into the house, and finally let her opinion of them be known when she slammed the oversized, solid wood door with the brass handle. Bruce winced. “I guess she has another way home.”
“Appears that way,” Crista said. “Bummer.”
He looked at her. She looked at him. They both burst out laughing and didn’t stop until they were pulling into the parking garage at Crista’s apartment. He was okay with that because somewhere between the party and Crista’s place, he decided he really didn’t want to expend the energy it would take to get Janelle into bed.
Chapter Five
The iron clank of the barbell hitting the stand echoed in the weight room. Crista sat up from her spot on the bench, wiping the stray strands of hair off her overheated face. If she hadn’t eaten an onion burger and fries last night with Bruce, she could’ve cut her workout in half. As it was, she’d probably still gained five unwanted pounds.
“Done?” Bruce let the leg machine slowly retract back in place and planted his feet on the floor.
“Yep.” Crista stood. “Are you up to ten miles on the bike?”
Bruce eyed the exercise bicycle in front of the mirror. “Staring at myself while being stationary isn’t my favorite thing to do.”
“Yeah, well, I was talking about riding outside on two wheels that actually propel you forward.” She laughed. “It does a body good.”
Bruce clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Still not feeling it. The last time I went bicycling with you, I had the bike seat impression in the crack of my ass for a month. Let’s just say, it wasn’t an enjoyable experience.”
“Crude, dude.” Crista sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “I need a shower.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He grabbed his towel and wiped his face, looping the material around his neck. “How about we hit the beach afterward instead of the self-punishment of the bicycle seat?”
“Sounds good.” She pushed through the door and walked into the hallway. “Don’t forget that Grayson and Shauna are coming over tomorrow. We need to plan a night out that’s baby friendly.”
Bruce pushed the elevator button. “How would I know where it’s safe to take a kid?”
“You expect me to know just because I’m a woman?” Crista nudged him with her elbow. “You probably expect a woman to be barefoot and in dresses when you get home from earning all the money, huh?”
“It’s a fantasy.” He stepped inside the elevator and held the door open for her. “Don’t you want kids someday?”
Her stomach flip-flopped. His question hit too close to home. She hadn’t talked with anyone about her desires to slow down, ease up on training, and think about settling down. Most women, she suspected, only thought about their future after they were in a serious relationship. She worked in reverse order, and since she needed a man to give her a baby, her chances were slim.
“I do,” she said, clearing her throat to ask louder. “Don’t you? Someday, I mean?”
“Sure. I think all men do. It’s in my body to procreate and want to see little Bruce Juniors running around and hitting the cover of Sports Illustrated or Bass Angler,” he said.
She opened her mouth to ask him when he planned on settling down, when a slim arm slipped between the closing elevator door, distracting her. She stepped back against the rail, staring at the blood red fingernails as they curled around the door, stopping the elevator from closing. She sagged against the wall and held on to the rail for support.
The door changed directions and Janelle came into view. Irritated over being interrupted just when she was about to get some information about where Bruce was in his life, she scooted closer to her friend, hoping Janelle would take the hint and get lost. As soon as Janelle stepped inside and hit the third floor button, she turned on Crista.
“You’re not answering your cell phone,” Janelle stated.
She held her hands, palms up, letting Janelle see the bicycle shorts and sports bra were the only things she had on. “When I’m training, I never carry a phone.”
Janelle leaned against the wall, cupped her elbow with one hand, and delicately fanned the air under her nose. “I can tell you’re exercising.”
“Really?” Crista stepped forward, but Bruce planted his hand flat in the middle of her stomach to keep her away from Janelle.
Anger rolled over her. She shrugged Bruce away, but his hand only moved to the back of her and held the waist of her shorts. She was tired of Janelle.
All the attitude and demeaning comments had taken their toll, and she was done. She inhaled through her nose and curled her fingers into fists. Her problem with Janelle wasn’t only the lack of respect she received. She was also tired of feeling like Janelle’s ugly stepsister.
“Whatever.�
� Janelle’s gaze finally landed on Bruce. “You’re looking hot, Bruce.”
The model’s gaze lowered and her finely shaped brow arched at the sight of Bruce’s loose sweat pants hanging from his hips. Crista rolled her eyes as the elevator dinged.
Without waiting a second, she charged out and headed toward her apartment. It wasn’t until she was at the door punching in the code that she realized Bruce wasn’t with her. She peered down the empty hallway, looked at the closed door to Janelle’s apartment and snorted.
“That bitch,” she muttered.
Stinky, pissed, and feeling kinship to a warty frog, she entered her apartment and headed to the shower. If Bruce wanted to ruin his life getting hooked up with Janelle, then he was on his own. She wasn’t going to help him anymore.
While she showered, she stewed. It wasn’t as if Janelle was better than her. Janelle had a more active social life, but Crista wasn’t looking to bed-hop and fill her life with meaningless friendships. Janelle reminded her of an immature eighteen-year old who suddenly walked out of a strict upbringing and wanted to experience everything at once, no matter what her actions did to everyone else. Crista was past that.
She stepped out of the shower and dried off, leaving her hair wet and dripping. She was also frustrated because Bruce was making a fool of himself by playing Janelle’s game just to get sex and prove he was man enough to bag the supermodel. His behavior was pathetic because all he saw in Janelle was a good lay. Crista tossed the towel in the hamper and paused. Fine, if she wanted to be honest, she was jealous that Bruce seemed to fawn over someone totally unlike her.
Ever since she was fourteen, she’d trained and made her life all about competing in marathons, triathlons, and the Ironman. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, but she’d be the first to admit that she’d missed out on a lot of normal things. It was only natural that she’d compare her sex life with Janelle’s and come away feeling like the loser out of the two.
She slapped the hamper closed. Now she was too old to act stupid around a man, go out, get drunk, and dance on a table. Everyone knew her, and if they didn’t know her for what she’d gained through hard work and dedication, they remembered that silly shot of her running out of the ocean in a bikini that did make the cover of Sports Illustrated.
Sure, it wasn’t the swimsuit addition and she’d had sand in her ass and her hair in a swimcap, but she’d heard the talk. Not everyone thought she was hideous.
She sighed, opened the bathroom door, and walked out naked to get dressed in her room. From now on, she was going to cut off her relationship with Janelle. Toxic friendships messed with her head, and she needed to concentrate on getting in the best shape she could so she could step away from her career on a win.
In the hall, she picked up the dirty towel on the floor and stared at it. It wasn’t one of hers.
The spare bedroom door opened. She dropped the towel in surprise and stared at Bruce. He was supposed to be with Janelle.
Bruce’s gaze dropped to her bare breasts. Heat rose to the surface of her skin. She stood naked in front of him with nothing in her hands to hide behind. As quickly as that thought passed through her head, she also came to the conclusion that he wasn’t with Janelle, and she’d be damned if she was going to cower in embarrassment because she was more mature, more confident, and more secure than her next door neighbor.
Bare chested and wearing only a pair of jeans, Bruce continued to soak in every little detail of her body. His gaze went from her breasts to her legs and back again. His mouth softened and he leaned against the doorframe as if he had all the time in the world to look at his best friend. Her pulse raced. Unable to stop her reaction from his intense inspection, her nipples peaked and warmth spread throughout her body, congregating between her legs.
The feelings were so alien to her, she grew lightheaded. She shouldn’t feel … what? She swallowed hard. Turned on? Pleased? Powerful? Sexy?
She moved forward to slip into her room to escape the uncomfortable situation, and Bruce stepped into her path. Standing inches away from him, she smelled the soap from his shower. She quivered because it was the most intoxicating scent she’d encountered coming off his warm body.
“I—I thought you were—”
He hooked her neck, dragging her forward, and kissed her hard. Shocked and unprepared, she could only let him. The taste of him penetrated her numbed thoughts, and she opened her mouth. Bruce took that as an invitation. She moaned at the swipe of his tongue across hers. The warmth, the heady taste of toothpaste and heat, and the urgency coming from him had her kissing him back.
Held captive by this touch, she placed her hands on his sides. The hardness radiating off his body broke through all her inhibitions. She explored his ribs, his sides, his hips, marveling at the tone, the heat, the sculpted body. Somewhere deep inside of her pulsed, and she closed her eyes, willing the feelings to stay. She forgot whom she was kissing and what he was doing to her.
All she wanted was more.
And she wanted that something now.
Bruce tilted her head to the side and deepened the kiss. Her legs wobbled and she practically lay in the crook of his arm. His other hand came up and cupped the curve of her breast. She shifted, giving him access, and when his thumb swept over her sensitive nipple, the most wonderful burst of pleasure flooded her sex.
His hardness pressed against her. She clung to him, afraid she’d collapse in a heap at his feet if he let go or stopped. His tongue tangled with hers, licking, sucking, nibbling. She pressed her breasts into his palm and he squeezed.
Lightheaded and consumed with needing him, she stumbled back a step when he removed his hands. She panted, out of breath, confused over what had happened to make him kiss her, for her to kiss him back, and not want him to stop.
“Why did you—”
He ran his hands over his bare chest, gathering his own lost breath. “Doorbell.”
“What?” She shivered, lost without his heat.
He gazed at her and she saw reality come crashing down on him. She turned away, crossing her arms. Her nakedness no longer felt good. Her throat closed in fear that what had happened between them would forever change their relationship.
The doorbell rang. She flinched.
“I’ll get it. You can go get dressed.” He stepped around her, avoiding touching her.
She swallowed her regrets and walked into the bedroom. Behind the closed door, she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the throw blanket over her shoulders and bending at the waist until she cradled her head in her hands. What had she done?
She’d kissed Bruce. Granted, he’d made the first move and kissed her first, but he was her best friend. She closed her eyes and groaned. This was not good.
Chapter Six
The gulls flew overhead as the surf washed up on shore, promising the birds a treat. Bruce stared out at the waves. The hypnotic movements usually put him at peace, but today they only made time go slower.
He’d left the apartment at sunrise to run along the beach, trying to keep busy while Crista slept. She’d skipped out of the apartment yesterday while Janelle—who’d shut him down the moment he stepped out of the elevator and into her apartment, waving him off as if he wasn’t the guy who never struck out with women—had interrupted his kiss with Crista and tried to convince him to go back to her apartment with him. The fact that the woman had approached him when he was getting it on with Crista had nothing to do with his anger. He hated the way she had no respect for his best friend. To skank in front of a man’s woman—even if it was a ruse and he and Crista were not really together—was low in his book.
Besides, Janelle had her chance when he walked into her apartment and sent Crista home alone. Why had Janelle changed her mind the moment she closed the door? There was no reason to come looking for him, and he didn’t believe her excuse that she’d had a headache earlier but now wanted to pick things up by inviting him back to her apartment.
Despite her great body,
Janelle’s personality killed any desire to have sex with her. She was materialistic, high maintenance, and he wouldn’t tolerate anyone who talked about Crista the way she had yesterday.
Before he could right the situation, Crista left the apartment without so much as looking at him or Janelle. He’d tried to stop her, but Janelle blocked him from going out the door. Then when he’d called her cell to have her come back, the damn phone rang in her room. He heard her come back in at ten o’clock that night, carrying her bike into the apartment and putting it on the patio. He’d lain awake, thinking she’d come in and talk with him before she retired to her own room the way she always did, but her door shut and the lock clicked into place.
Not once had Crista locked her door on him.
He picked up his shoes and headed back to the apartment. Hopefully, Crista would be fully awake, and he could explain what had happened between them yesterday. Hell, he wasn’t sure what happened when he kissed her.
The passion he’d felt wasn’t planned. He equated the kiss with getting slapped upside the head by a low-lying branch when fishing the shoreline. Shocked and knocked loopy, all he could do was embrace the best thing he’d ever experienced. He’d tell her the truth. He hadn’t been thinking. He had no plans beyond that kiss, and he’d apologize. Apologizing was good. Women loved to know he was wrong and they were right. Crista would laugh over his lapse in judgment, and they’d go back to being friends. Hell, maybe it’d be better if he called his vacation short and flew out to the cabin for a few days. The way his track record was going, solitude would do wonders for him.
His biorhythm or some other kind of shit Crista was always talking about must be off kilter. He’d never had so much trouble with women before.
