Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (8 page)

T
he next morning
, Ian pressed the doorbell, trying not to smile too broadly. He was more than ready to see her again.

He’d never been the type for regrets. Kissing her had been a bad idea, but he’d done it. And yes, there would be painful times ahead, littered with disappointed mothers and disgusted sisters, but he would work very, very hard to make those times as far in the future as possible.

He’d felt her respond to him. Those few hot moments last night had forever shattered the fragile illusion that they were friends. They couldn’t stop now and pretend they could go back to the way they were. It was too late; they’d crossed the line. Since they’d have to pay the social price anyway, they should enjoy each other now as much as they could.

The lock clicked, and the door began to open. He knew better than to anticipate hot pants and nipples. She’d probably wear some daytime version of the Ewok robe to send him a message, one he’d ignore.

“Hi,” she said, frowning so hard he could barely see her eyeballs.

He didn’t try to hide his smile. Baggy jeans, a black fleece sweatshirt zipped up to her chin, bulky sheepskin boots. Her hair, every silky strand, was swept back into a tight ponytail and hidden under a baseball cap. She wore no makeup, no contact lenses. The frames perched on her nose were silver wire, not particularly flattering, more like an elderly man’s reading glasses.

But her face was flushed a dusky rose.

She’d never been sexier. He took a moment to remember the taste of her lips.

Lifting her chin, she deepened her scowl. Her eyes completely disappeared. “What are you staring at?”

Marco and Shawn were still at the pickup, collecting the gear, so she had the opportunity to say rude things to him without being overheard. He kind of liked it. If she didn’t care a little for him, she wouldn’t get all riled up. She’d be more apologetic, gentle with his tender feelings. Fighting him was much better.

“Just happy to see you,” he said pleasantly, stepping inside. “I thought we’d pull up the carpet today. You got rid of so much of the furniture, the boxes are mostly out of the way, the garbage out last week, and now we’ve got an empty debris box.”

She glanced down at the floor, momentarily distracted. “Really?”

“We can’t refinish the hardwoods until later, of course—there’s lots more work to be done—but you won’t have to breathe in as many fumes.”

He could see that offer was too tempting for her to refuse. “That would be such an improvement. It’s like walking on dead animals the way it is now.”

“Go out for a few hours. The air is going to be unpleasant when we tear it up.”

Seeing that he was only going to talk about the business of home repair, she visibly relaxed. “I can’t just leave,” she said. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Shawn and Marco work better as a team. You’d just get in the way.”

“I may not be the most buff chick on the planet, but I can help. Somebody has to pull up all the nails and tacks.”

“You can do that afterward.” He waved to Shawn and Marco. “Front room, guys. Start at the corners. Cut into strips with the box cutters, roll it, carry it out.”

“Please and thank you,” Billie said to the men, then looked at Ian. “You forgot your manners.”

“No problem,” Shawn said, taking off his sunglasses, putting them in a case, then putting on a regular pair of glasses. He was very precise, very careful, which was one reason Ian thought he had a promising future. “He’s giving us something way better.”

Ian cringed, knowing she wasn’t going to like the sound of that. He reconsidered Shawn’s promising future.

Indeed, she’d perked right up. “How much?” she asked. “How much is he giving you? I need to know so we can pay him back.”

Shawn and Marco burst out laughing. Shooting glances at Ian, they grabbed their gloves and bolted for the front room.

Billie spun on Ian. “How much?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh,
really
.”

“Not a dime,” he said, grinning.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think I’m going to suggest you’re giving them sexual favors, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

He brushed his knuckles under her chin, quick to make any excuse to touch her. “You never disappoint me,” he said quietly. “But it’s flattering your thoughts went in that direction.”

She batted his hand away and stepped back. “Cut that out. I know they’re not doing this for nothing. It’s my house. I deserve to know.”

Maybe she did. Besides, he might as well tell her, or she would keep bringing it up. Last week she’d already offered the guys a few twenties as they were leaving. They’d told him about it on the ride over that morning, laughing as hard as they had just now.

“I’m giving them a little investment advice,” he said. The twenties she’d offered them were an order of magnitude smaller than what the men hoped to rake in over the next few months. They looked like young bodybuilders, but they were actually smart, hungry traders about to make their first million.

“Only advice?” she asked.

“And the hookers and blow, of course.”

She whacked him on the shoulder, but her lips looked as if they were fighting a smile. “Maybe I
should
leave. I’ll need an alibi when the Feds raid the place.”

Of course he didn’t really want her going anywhere. “You can work in the side yard. I brought some loppers and hedge clippers. That lemon tree of yours could use a haircut. Clear a path to the back gate, and we can get back there to remove the garbage.”

The sound of fabric tearing and plywood snapping reached them from the front room. She turned her head in that direction, indecision on her face, and then nodded. “That’s a good idea, actually.”

“Of course it is.”

Sighing loudly, she bent over to the pile of tools Marco had carried in, found the clippers and shears, and began striding away. “Don’t get cocky. This is still my house.”

He watched her go, wondering if he’d played that right or wrong. If he’d been too serious, she might’ve told him to get lost. Maybe if he joked about what he wanted to do with her, to her, on her, she’d ignore him until it was too late.

Until she forgot why she was pushing him away.

He grabbed a crowbar and sauntered over to the corner of ragged carpeting near the front door, a grin on his face.

B
illie was
knee-deep in thorny lemon tree branches when she heard Jane’s voice calling for her.

“I’m out in the side yard!” Billie shouted. About time Jane showed up to help. Just because she was contributing more money didn’t mean she couldn’t help clip the—

And then she remembered.

Ian was here.

F-word
. And that’s how she said it inside her head, too:
eff-word
.
Eff, eff, eff.

She’d meant to tell Jane that Ian was helping out at the house. Hiding him completely would’ve been impossible, so she’d intended to warn her. But then she forgot, probably because of the mess of emotions swirling around in her brain. Precisely the type of brain that might make a person fail algebra three times in high school.

She wiggled around to the back of the tree, hoping to buy some time. A three-inch thorn tore a ragged line down her forearm, but she pressed on. Blood was better than emotional torture.

“Where are you?” Jane called.

For a moment, Billie thought about not answering. She bent her knees a little to reduce her visible surface area.

“Are you stuck?” Jane asked, her voice getting closer.

It was no use. She’d have to face the firing squad. “Sorry, lots of thorns. Just a second.” Billie tugged the sleeves down her arms, feeling the blood smear along the fabric, and pushed her way out again. A long branch caught on her sock, tripping her, and she fell to her hands and knees at her big sister’s feet.

An appropriate posture, given the situation. For Jane to find Ian here was bad enough, but to find him without any warning that he
might
be here…

Billie stayed on the ground, digging her fingers into small clumps of earth as she cowered. Her sister wore black-and-white ballet flats with tiny silver bows on the toes. Knowing Jane, these were her work shoes. She probably wore them to exercise on the elliptical. Cleaned her bathroom in them.

“Are you hurt?” Jane asked.

Billie tried to decipher the tone in Jane’s voice. Irritable? Furious? Disappointed? Heartbroken? She couldn’t tell. Jane was hard to read, even for Billie, her closest sister.

“Just tired,” Billie said with an exaggerated exhalation as she staggered to her feet. Playing for sympathy might help. Pretending to only just then notice her injured arm, she gasped and pulled back her sleeve, psyched to see the blood had smeared a two-by-ten-inch streak across her skin, making it look much worse than it actually was.

Little sisters had to use all the tools they had. Especially when their big sisters were perfect.

“Oh my God,” Jane said. “What happened?”

“Must’ve been the thorns.” Billie sighed again. “I’ve been out here for
hours
. There’s just so
much
to
do
.”

“Let’s get you inside and clean that up.” Jane turned and led the way to the kitchen, not bothering to pause and confirm that Billie was following. Inside, she went to the sink and ran the hot water.

“It’s nothing,” Billie said. “Just a scratch.”

“God knows what germs are lurking around here. Here, put your arm under the water.”

Billie did as instructed. It was scalding hot, and she cried out.

“Careful,” Jane said. Her tone was unsympathetic.

Shooting her a suspicious glance, Billie turned down the temperature. As she soaped up her shallow wound, she chewed her lip, trying to think of a good introduction. “Did you meet Shawn and Marco?”

“Sure I did,” Jane said. “My ex-boyfriend introduced us.”

Billie turned off the water and closed her eyes.

“What a coincidence that he just happened to be driving by,” Jane said flatly.

“What?”

“And then
happened
to see you in the yard so he stopped and you guys got talking and he just
happened
to have two beefy young men ready to carry heavy things.” Jane handed her a paper towel. “Pat gently, don’t rub.”

“I asked him,” Billie said. “Ian. I asked him to help.”

“You don’t say.” The sarcasm was sharp enough to cut her arm clean off.

“Don’t be like that.”

“You should’ve told me,” Jane said.

“I’m afraid of you. You’re scary.” Billie grabbed her sister’s hand and put it over her heart. “Feel that? It’s totally pounding. I’m still fighting the urge to run.”

“Don’t bother,” Jane said, pulling free. “I’d catch you.” And she always did, that was true. She was the marathon type. Anything with a finish line and a prize, Jane was all over it.

“He was just going to walk through the house with me once, give me his impressions, make a few educated guesses about repairs, that’s it,” Billie said.

“You really believed that would be enough for him?”

Billie’s heart fell through her pelvis, down her leg, and crawled into her heel, desperate to reach the floor. Did Jane suspect he’d kissed her? That he’d wanted to?

“I don’t know, why wouldn’t it be?” Billie asked, her voice sounding funny to her own ears. “Who’d want to spend the next million weekends of their life helping clean out an old cat lady’s house?”

“Ian Cooper. Come on, you know him. Remember when he retiled Mom’s bathroom?”

Billie managed to take a complete breath. It was all right. Jane hadn’t meant anything sexual.

“He was in college then,” Billie said. “He probably needed the money. But now he’s rich and I’m not paying him a penny.”

“He’s never been motivated by money. You must know that. He just loves getting his hands dirty.”

Billie dabbed at the droplets of blood on her arm, afraid of the look she might have on her face. “I told him we didn’t need him. I did. But he overpowered me.”

Jane snorted. “I bet.”

Feeling herself flush, Billie turned her back on her sister and began arranging her half-dozen tea canisters on the counter into a pyramid. If Jane was this angry about him hauling garbage and removing carpeting, how would she feel about that kiss? Or the way Billie hadn’t stopped him?

“I’ll send him home,” Billie said, moving toward the door.

“
H
old on
,” Jane said. “He’s here. The damage has already been done.”

Oh God. Not nearly. “So you
do
want to let him get involved?”

“I’m not going to walk over there and make a scene when he’s in the middle of something,” Jane said. “You shouldn’t have hidden things from me, but it would be stupid to barge in right now and send everyone home. What’s he paying those guys, do you know?”

Billie was glad she finally had an answer for that. “Investment advice. He’s their guru.”

One eyebrow arched on Jane’s smooth, round forehead. “They look more like MMA fighters than bankers.” She lowered her voice to a throaty purr. “Especially the big one.”

“Easy, cougar. I think they’re still in college.”

Jane dug a hand into the bag on the counter and withdrew a chunk of a sesame bagel. “You’re right. Not my type. Andrew is the love of my life. I was just kidding.” She nibbled few seeds off the bagel. “Not my type,” she mumbled.

It was Billie’s turn to snort. Andrew was about as charming as an earwig on an ice cream cone. If Jane was type A, Andrew was type Z—you’d have to circle back to the end of the alphabet to do his anal-retentive, pedantic personality justice. One of these days, hopefully soon, Jane would admit she didn’t like him very much either.

Jane shoved the bagel into her mouth, shaking her head, and only then got out the knife and cream cheese. She smeared a dollop of cream cheese on her finger and licked it off.

“It has the same calories when you eat it separately,” Billie said.

“Quiet. You’re still in the doghouse.”

“Speaking of which, at least she didn’t have any of those. Dogs, I mean. It would raise the yuck to a whole new level.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “I wonder how long it’ll take to get rid of that smell.”

“It’s much better than it was.” Billie was disappointed Jane could still detect an odor. “Look on the bright side. Because Ian is here today with Shawn and Marco, the carpets will be gone. I couldn’t have done it by myself.”

Chewing, Jane pondered her feet in the cute ballet flats with the tiny silver bows. Her tone became apologetic. “It’s not like I expected you to do all of this yourself. I was going to hire people to help.”

“I thought you should save your money for the big things.”

Jane looked up. “I have to admit it’s why I didn’t kick them out the second I got here.” Smirking mischievously, she lowered her voice. “Especially after I met Marco.”

“I can find out if he’s single,” Billie said. It would be great if she got interested in a new man, even if he was barely in his twenties.

“Of course not.”

“He might be.”

“I mean, of course you’re not going to find out,” Jane said, laughing. “Oh man. I wish I’d known what I was walking into this morning. I would’ve worn—” She cut herself off.

“A dress?” Billie asked.

“Shut up.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you tend to wear a dress whenever…”

“Whenever what?”

Billie was in enough trouble as it was, so she shrugged. “Whenever you’re lonely.”

“I wish I were lonely,” Jane muttered. “But the damn man never leaves the house.”

It was a running joke that Andrew had no friends or hobbies. “Why don’t you break up with him? Please?”

Jane glanced toward the front of the house, where the sound of ripping carpet continued. “He’s good for me.”

Billie could tell she was thinking about Ian. How could any man compete with Ian? “You must know you can do better than Andrew.”

Jane licked the cream cheese knife, sighing. “Can I?” she asked softly.

Seeing the nostalgic longing in her sister’s eyes, Billie began chewing her thumbnail, hating herself. How could she have let Ian kiss her last night? She’d never be able to tell Jane about it without breaking her heart completely. Jane wanted to forget him, but even after what he’d done, she couldn’t bear to be near him without longing for the past.

But what had he actually done that was so bad? Maybe if Billie knew
exactly
what that was, she’d be so horrified and angry, she’d have the willpower to push him away.

Stepping within arm’s reach, Billie lowered her voice to a whisper. “What happened?” she asked. “Back in high school. What did he do to you? You’ve never said, you never want to talk about—”

Jane turned around and began looking through the cupboards. “Do you have any good coffee around here?”

“Come on, Jane. Please? It might make you feel b—”

“And don’t offer me tea. I don’t care what country it came from or how much it cost, it isn’t coffee,” Jane said.

Billie sighed. Her sister was as stubborn as a two-year-old. She’d never talk about anything she didn’t want to. “I made coffee earlier, but it’s probably gone by now.”

“Shame.” Jane found a glass and went over to the water dispenser on the fridge. “So, I thought we’d make a budget. First we’ll need to have an inspector over, see what big stuff has to be done.”

“Ian thinks the roof is all right,” Billie said, smoothing the bandage over her arm. Later, after a glass of wine or two, she’d try again to get Jane to open up. “He thinks anything on the outside is probably fine. As long as Grammy didn’t have to let workmen into the house.”

“I hope he’s right,” Jane said. “He so often is.”

She sounded so depressed. Billie made a decision. “Tell you what. We let him finish up today, but then we tell him to get lost.” She’d avoid trouble by avoiding him completely. Sometimes abstinence was the only practical approach.

“But you pointed out we need to save our money for the big things,” Jane said.

“Once the debris box and storage unit are full, we’ll thank all of them for their service and that’ll be it,” Billie said. “Then you and I can talk about what to do next.”

“No, I think we should take advantage of Ian’s expertise.”

Had she really just thought her sister was logical? “But you were just getting upset about
me
doing that.”

“Only because you didn’t tell me,” Jane said. “But now that he’s here, we might as well exploit him and all of his talents.”

Ian strode into the kitchen, a tool belt slung low on his hips. “That’s just what I was telling Billie last night.” He glanced at her over his shoulder as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. Muscles bulged, sweat glistened, hormones fumed. “Isn’t that right?”