Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (15 page)

O
n Monday
, after a week spent mostly out of the office, Ian was swamped. Just getting through the most urgent emails took five hours, much longer than they should have, because his thoughts kept drifting to Billie, to their recent night and all the years before.

This was a woman he’d known since she was a kid but had never
really
known. He’d always liked her, sure, he’d thought she was funny and easy to be around, the perfect company on a long drive through Friday getaway traffic, or a hike in the Marin headlands, even if she tended to be late. He would’ve said they were friends, old friends, even good friends.

Now he wondered if he’d been honest with himself.

On Sunday afternoon, Billie had sent him a text, warning him that Jane had moved in and he had to stay away.

Jane had also sent him a text, warning him that she’d moved in and he had to stay away.

The text messages, interestingly, arrived less than a minute apart. He could imagine the two of them typing away, side by side, not knowing what the other sister was doing.

Jane’s didn’t bother him except as an inconvenience. She seemed to think it was her job to keep him away from Billie, but she didn’t have any legal or moral authority to enforce her will.

It was Billie’s warning to stay away that gnawed at him. Hadn’t she enjoyed their time together? She’d insisted she didn’t regret anything. She’d seemed to like it. Her body had seemed to like it. The slightest memory of that night caused his eyes to slide away from his laptop and gaze, unfocused, at the ceiling, imagining her little cries, her laughter, her taste, her nipples.

Again the nipples.

He couldn’t think straight. Which bothered him. Growing up, he’d received compliments about his good looks, and he’d always been a decent athlete, but it was his brain he cared about. It was his intellect that he was proud of. He relied on it, to say the least. To have it malfunctioning so badly for so many hours—he wasn’t used to it.

Obviously he needed to have sex with Billie again as soon as possible. Wanting her this badly was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

But that in itself worried him. He didn’t like to become dependent upon
anything
—even harmless, everyday pleasures. He controlled his addiction to caffeine, for instance, by periodically going cold turkey, refusing himself coffee and soda and even the bars of dark chocolate he kept in his desk, enduring the headaches and brain fog so that he could reset his system. Regain control. After a month of abstinence, he would allow himself a small reintroduction of his favorite stimulant with one cup of green tea per day. Then two. And then, very gradually, he’d allow himself sips of full-octane coffee, his true love. About a year later, when his consumption reached danger levels again, he’d repeat the process, going cold turkey and suffering through.

Was Billie really so different?

She certainly stimulated him.

He hated to think of what going cold turkey would entail. Handfuls of ibuprofen wouldn’t help that kind of pain.

During another spell of staring at the ceiling, Billie sent him another text. “Meet me at Home Depot nr your office @7,” she wrote.

He frowned, regretting she hadn’t come in person. Or sent him pictures of her nipples. “Which department?” he typed back.

“Paint.”

He was a little embarrassed about how quickly he agreed. He nearly pushed the phone out of his hand when he hit send.

The paint department of an urban Home Depot wasn’t the most promising spot for a rendezvous.

Then again, his loft was a short drive from the store. Maybe she’d just been too shy to suggest meeting there.

Mood brightening, he tried again to turn his attention to his work for the rest of the afternoon. Lorna brought him a printed stack of financial data as thick as his arm, which was sweet of her, but his eyes kept glazing over. Financial research was better than email, but the numbers kept blurring into shapes that reminded him of Billie. It was bad business when spreadsheets literally gave him a hard-on.

Around six thirty, he bolted out of his chair and left the office for Home Depot, waving at his senior analyst, who was surprised that he was leaving so early again.

Since he was only a few blocks away, he got there within a few minutes and had to wait for her, pretending to ponder the rainbow of colors on the display as he remembered the way she’d felt in his arms.

She’d felt perfect, like a woman should feel. Perfect.

This was crazy. Now he was seeing her body reflected in the plexiglass paint display.

“Hey,” she said at his elbow. “Come here often?”

He spun around, his heart pounding against his ribs. Her outfit was a lot more conservative than he’d hoped, mostly black and corporate and full coverage. Blood heating, he imagined that pink bra under her soulless business clothes. All afternoon he’d found himself remembering the way her breasts had filled that bra, her curves spilling out of the feminine fabric. “I do, as it so happens,” he said, embracing her.

He bent his head to kiss her, not liking how stiff she felt in his arms.

She put a hand up between their mouths. “We need to talk.”

Which was practically the last thing he wanted to hear, along with
the test results have come in
or
there’s been an accident
.

“I told Jane we slept together,” she said.

He decided to add that one to the list. Releasing her, since it was obvious she didn’t want his arms around her, he groaned. “You told Jane.”

“I had to.”

Nodding, although he didn’t like it, he picked up a paint brochure with children dancing around an off-white living room. If he ever had kids, he’d paint everything the color of shit and grass stains, like his parents had. That way you never had to worry. You could just relax and enjoy the childhood years.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“She thinks I’m infatuated with you.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

She punched him on the arm. Then made an apologetic face and rubbed the spot where her knuckles had landed. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

Any rubbing was better than no rubbing. He smiled down at her. “
Are
you infatuated with me?”

Eyes downcast, she didn’t answer right away. Then she looked up, brows drawn together. Her voice dropped to a throaty purr. “I’m obsessed. But it’s only sexual.”

His mouth went dry. Time to get her to his place right now. For a split second, he actually considered finding a quiet corner inside the store. Behind those hanging room-sized floor rugs, perhaps.

He caught her by the arm and started marching toward the exit. “I couldn’t concentrate all day. I kept seeing you naked.”

“Hold on, I need to get the paint.”

“Forget the paint. I need to get you,” he said. “Naked.”

“But—oh, you’re right. Who am I kidding?” She skipped along after him.

T
hey were
in the parking lot when Billie stopped and pulled her arm free. “Hold on, I thought we’d talk together more first.”

Ian ran his hand through his hair, which drew her attention to the powerful width of his ribcage and his talented fingers, which wasn’t what she should be noticing. Not quite yet.

“What else is there to talk about?” he asked, his voice filled with dread.

Her stomach tensed. Did he have to sound so uninterested in anything other than sex? I mean, she loved that too, but it would be nice if he weren’t so obvious. “Nothing in particular.”

He looked around them. “This is hardly the place.”

He did have a point. The Home Depot parking lot was wedged between freeways, big-box stores, the bay, high-tech parks, empty lots, new condos, Amtrak trains, vintage Craftsman bungalows, abandoned factories, shipping yards—a zoning-free patchwork of everything, rich and poor, new and old. And it smelled like sewage from the water treatment plant upwind.

The Champs-Élysées, it was not.

“I’ll meet you at your place,” she said. When he looked like he was going to protest, she added, “I want my car with me so I can get home.”

He paused. “You could spend the night.”

God, she wanted to. The thought of spending hours in his arms in a bed that was wide enough for
both
of her butt cheeks filled her with warm, wordless happiness.

Much too much. “No, I can’t.”

“Because of Jane?” he asked.

Might as well blame her big sister. She nodded. “I’d rather keep this a secret.”

“But you were the one who told her—” He cupped her cheek, his touch sending little sparks across her skin. “Never mind. Whatever you want to do.”

“You go ahead. I’ll follow.” He’d bought the loft recently, and she’d never been inside. “It might take me a while to find a parking spot.”

“Don’t worry about that. You can have mine. I’ll meet you at the gate in five minutes to let you in.”

She leaned her cheek into his hand, suddenly overwhelmed by his chivalry. To bring her tea was considerate, to retile her bathroom, very generous, but to bestow his personal, private, secure parking space—

Was enough to knock her over.

“Isn’t that where you keep the Ferrari?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. “I’ll move it.”

“To where?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find a place.”

“Not on the street,” she said.

“Why not?”

She probably shouldn’t insult his neighborhood, but come on. It wasn’t Malibu. “I know how you love that car.” That had been obvious the year before, when he’d first driven her up to Rohnert Park in it. She’d been uncomfortable, almost joking about leaving “them” alone for a few minutes.

“It’s just a car.” He slipped his other hand behind her neck, snaking his fingers into her hair as he kissed her again. “I don’t want you walking around the streets in the dark.”

Her melting reached knee-buckling levels. His body was pressed against hers, his arousal obvious.

“Billie,” he groaned, kissing his way down her neck. He hooked a finger under the neckline of her tank top, made of a thin, stretchy knit, and pulled it down so his mouth could explore lower and lower and lower. His breath was hot against the skin between her breasts. “God, you
are
wearing it.”

Driving her fingers through his hair, Billie let out a soft sigh and gazed, unfocused, over his head. Heavy traffic roared past on the gazillion-lane highways. Icy wind was blowing off the bay, mingling with Ian’s breath under her clothes. And were those gunshots firing down the street?

Whatever
. His tongue was tracing the seam of her bra. She’d die happy.

“I need to get you home,” he murmured into her ear, readjusting her shirt. “God, Billie, you kill me.”

Killing made her think of gangs and urban warfare not too far from where they were necking. Even though there was a Nordstrom Rack just a few steps away, they weren’t in a luxury spa nestled in a remote, rural area where they could lie down together in the grass under the stars. It was the concrete jungle of a sprawling metropolis.

“I’ll meet you at your place,” she said, taking a step back. He bent at the waist, keeping his lips at her temple, but finally broke the kiss and nodded.

He walked her to her car and waited until she’d gotten inside and locked the door. As she put on her seat belt, she watched him sprint across six lanes of parked cars to his pickup. Sighing, she rubbed her chest where he’d been kissing her. She was stupid with him. Absolutely stupid, mindless, dizzy, without a thought in her head.

For a second she worried that Jane was right about her being in some kind of emotional danger, but she reassured herself that this stupidity was nothing new; she’d felt it for her ex as late as the night before she’d left him. Lust. It was the same. But at least this time she was with a guy who was smart, generous, and didn’t require special foods. Why shouldn’t she be happy about that?

After waiting five or so minutes to let him get ahead of her and move his beloved Ferrari, she started the car and headed for his place. It had been a difficult day. She’d worn her best work clothes, wanting all the confidence they would give her to face Doc. She’d expected him to snarl and berate her, as he usually did; with his ego at stake, she’d prepared for the worst.

Or she thought she had. Unfortunately, it turned out she hadn’t been prepared for her boss being
nice
for the first time ever. He’d practically waited on her, offering to get her muffins, excusing her from counter duty, complimenting her hair.

Her
hair
. Before today he’d always hated her hair, frequently telling her she looked like she’d slept on it when
of course
she’d slept on it, what did he think, she took it off? But that was much better than the saccharine smile that flashed a stained mouthful of gold crowns.

It had been horrible. She shivered now just thinking about it.

And then she shivered when she thought of what she was going to be doing in a few minutes.

Oh God. Ian. If she’d known back then in high school that he would finally grow up and look at her the way he’d just looked at her in the Home Depot paint department…

The way he’d just slipped his tongue under the edge of her bra in the parking lot…

She would’ve developed an interest in DIY home improvement a lot sooner.

But… why now? Had she changed that much? Had
he
?

Shaking her head to dislodge the useless questions—she needed all of her meager mental powers to keep from driving over a pedestrian or plowing into a bus—she focused on the road and made her way to Ian’s building.

Sure enough, he was standing in the short driveway, hands shoved in his pockets. She let the car idle with the headlights on him for a moment so she could admire him. Damn, he was hot. As far as thighs-in-denim went, Ian was a master. Top of his class. His legs were long but thick and powerful. Gorgeous.

She made herself think about his external features because otherwise she’d think too much about how wonderful he was on the inside. Of all the men she’d dated, none had been important enough to make her worry about getting hurt. Financially ruined or infected with a disease, sure. But really, seriously heartbroken?

Only one man could ever come close to doing that.

And he was smiling at her right now.