Her Best Friend's Lover

by Shiloh Walker

  At least, this one had.

  Dale replayed those words in his head. “She’s just embarrassed, I think,” Derek had said. “She doesn’t want to say anything about it, but she asked me earlier to spend the night.” It didn’t fit. Lauren going to bed with a man she had known for two hours? Lauren? Embarrassed?

  Dignified, cool, collected Lauren Spencer? Dale doubted she even knew what embarrassment was.

  Seeing the concern in his eyes, Allison said, “Maybe you should check on her. She was acting rather odd all night, but I don’t think it was because she was embarrassed about an illicit slumber party,” she said wryly. “I really don’t see Derek as her type. From what I saw, she was giving him the brush off most of the night. And even if she was attracted to him, I don’t see that woman deciding to fuck a man she just met tonight.”

  The thought of Lauren fucking anybody didn’t settle too well, now that he thought of it. In truth, it settled rather badly, made him feel slightly nauseated. And why was that, after he was always nagging her about living like a nun?

  Roughly five minutes after he’d led Allison inside for their own slumber party, he was walking back out, heading toward the gate, jogging. The jogging broke into an all out run when he heard a crash.

  He arrived at Lauren’s to find Derek on the ground, hands cupping his groin, blood spurting from his nose while Lauren stood sheet white over him, hands up and fisted, ready. Her eyes glinted with rage and fear and challenge while she stood over him, silently daring the man to face her again. A large potted plant had been knocked over, the glazed ceramic shattered.

  Her hair had fallen from its neat chignon, tumbling around her shoulders, and the demure neckline of her dress was sagging. Her lower lip gleamed wetly in the porch light’s glow, and he realized it was blood. Bruises were forming on the delicate flesh of her upper arms.

  She has skin like a baby, Dale remembered inanely.

  “Come on, you bloody bastard,” she snarled, not even glancing up at Dale as he rushed the porch. Derek was slowly rising to his feet, staring at Lauren with wary eyes while Dale moved a little closer.

  Eyes narrowed, Dale saw red as he realized what he had set his best friend up for. Some judgment in character he had, he thought mindlessly as he grabbed Derek Gaines by the lapels of his designer blazer and lifted him to his feet before knocking him clear off them again with a swift uppercut to his chin. His former golf buddy tumbled down the stairs and landed in the middle of one of Lauren’s prized flowerbeds.

  He started to go down the stairs after him but a soft quiet sound stopped him. He turned and saw Lauren fumbling for her keys, her mouth quivering.

  “Damn it, Lauren. I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching for the keys and unlocking the door before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  “For what?” she asked, her voice only slightly shaky. “It’s not your fault you have somewhat shitty taste in friends.” She remained briefly in his embrace before shrugging it off and turning away.

  “Has he been hassling you all night?” Dale asked, frowning as she shrugged away his hands, taking deep calming breaths before turning back to face him.

  “From the get go,” Lauren said, her voice calmer, sedate, almost normal. “You were too busy necking with the future queen of Broadway to notice, but your friend couldn’t seem to keep his eyes, or his hands, to himself. I don’t think he looked at my face once through out the entire night.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded, planting one hand on his hip and the other by the wall beside her head.

  “I shouldn’t have had to. Any blind man could have seen it,” she said quietly. Her gray eyes briefly closed, and when she opened them they were clear and dry. “Please leave, Dale. Go back to your Broadway queen and leave me alone. Don’t ask me, ever again, to go along with one of these pathetic ideas of yours.”

  “Lauren, I was just trying to help. You worry me, how much time you spend alone.” He started to reach for her only to be stopped by the look in her cold eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “If I had any idea, I wouldn’t have set it up. You’re the best friend I’ve got.”

  I’m the best friend you’ve got, she thought brokenly. Didn’t he know how much that hurt? She didn’t want to be his friend, damn it. She wanted to be his lover, his wife, the mother of his children. She wanted to go to sleep at night with him next to her and she wanted to wake up in the morning curled against him.

  And he wanted to set her up on blind dates with his friends because he worried about her.

  Defeated, she finally accepted what she had refused to admit to herself.

  She was fooling herself.

  This beautiful, sexy man with the wicked mouth and heavenly eyes wasn’t ever going to notice her. He wouldn’t ever love her.

  She had to move past him.

  Her eyes drifted to the man who sat outside her open door, cursing loudly while trying to stem the flow of blood that gushed from the nose Lauren suspected was broken. Her hand sure as hell felt broken. “If this is all that being your friend gets me, maybe I’m better off not having you as a friend,” she said harshly.

  Pain, quick and sharp, sliced through Dale as she turned away and left him standing alone in the anteroom. Or so he thought. Allison was standing in the doorway behind him, watching with sympathetic eyes. “Don’t take it personally. I doubt she’s thinking clearly now.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he muttered, clenching his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment until he had settled. “Lauren doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”

  “Dale, she is female. That means she is going to say things she doesn’t mean from time to time. That’s just part of being female. And just because she means it tonight doesn’t mean she will mean it in the morning.”

  Allison only sighed at the implacable look on his face. Surveying the damage on the porch, she decided, “I think I’ll call it a night. You give me a call, okay?” Rummaging in her purse, she found her keys and waited for a response.

  It was “Uh-huh, sure.” With a roll of her eyes, she headed for the car she had parked in Dale’s drive hours earlier, certain she wouldn’t need it until very, very late, the next morning.

  Dale was busy studying Derek who was limping away from the house, muttering things about crazy bitches and lunatic artists.

  With cold blue eyes and a mean smile, Dale decided he’d do something constructive with the anger that had built.

  Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning, brief periods of sleep interrupted by old nightmares, Lauren faced her pale reflection over the sink. The brightly lit makeup mirror highlighted every flaw, her pale skin, grim mouth, solemn eyes. A tiny nick on her lip remained, just slightly swollen. She’d had worse, she knew. Her right hand throbbed like the devil and her knuckles were swollen. The exec had a face of stone.

  Why did she do this to herself?

  It was pretty damn sad when a woman got more depressed over a friend sleeping with some bimbo actress than an attempted rape.

  Tears burned her bloodshot eyes and she closed them, but not before two tears broke free, sliding hotly down her face. Why’d she have to fall for the one guy who saw her as a buddy, not a woman? With the back of her unhurt hand, she dashed away damp tear tracks from her cheeks. “What are you going to do about this?” Lauren asked the sad-faced woman in the mirror.

  “This cannot continue.”

  * * * * *

  The following morning he eyed his torn knuckles and smiled, quite pleased with himself. Of course, smiling didn’t feel too good. For an ad exec, Derek had packed a pretty decent punch. Now, if only they could meet up on the green somewhere and have round number two, Dale would be even happier.

  But thoughts of Lauren ruined his good mood. He had to make sure she was okay. He realized that she had been shaken up the past night, very much so. No doubt it reminded her of the rough times she had gone through as a foster child. Twice a foster father had tried to molest her and only Laure
n’s speed and quick thinking had kept it from happening. That, and the grace of God.

  He didn’t want to think about what kind of bad memories last night had probably brought on. But Lauren had no choice but think about them. So Dale did as well. Had she had nightmares? Had she slept?

  Had she forgiven him?

  But one look at Lauren’s icy gray eyes quickly told him the night hadn’t done much for her temper. “You could have at least taken the brawl off my property, Dale,” she said over her shoulder as she knelt in the dirt of the flowerbed, repairing the damage done by two men rolling through them. “You completely ruined my marigolds.”

  Taken aback, Dale paused in the act of reaching for the pile of refuse at her side. Slowly, he straightened and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I beg your pardon?”

  She glanced at him and said, “You heard me well enough, big shot. You tore the hell out of my flowerbeds.”

  With an absent frown, Dale studied the grounds. Sure enough, several small bushes had been flattened and almost every single flower in this particular area was trampled. But he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing in her face. “You’re ticked at me because I tore up some flowers?”

  “A little bit upset, yes. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Excuse me, but that guy tried to rape you. Should I have just calmly escorted him off your property?”

  “You calmly escorted him onto it without any trouble.” She shrugged, a negligent move of her shoulders, as she continued pulling up destroyed plants. “If you hadn’t nagged me into going out with him, there wouldn’t have been a problem, now would there?”

  Guilt flushed his cheeks red but was chased away as self-righteous anger settled in. “I had no idea he was like that. He always seemed like a pretty decent guy,” Dale said, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. He was on edge anyway, too little sleep, sore to boot, and madder than hell over what had almost happened last night. What would have happened if Lauren hadn’t known how to take care of herself? He might have calmed himself down. If Lauren hadn’t deliberately been goading him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Mmm,” she said softly. “Maybe now you’ll keep your nose out of my life. Then again, you probably won’t be happy until my social calendar is as full as yours.”

  “I’ll keep my opinions about your social life, or lack of one, to myself,” he said through gritted teeth. “And don’t go laying last night at my feet. In the first place, you could have told me you weren’t interested. And, second of all, if you were worried about him, which you obviously were, you should have said something to me.”

  “I might have, if you hadn’t been so…busy with Miss Broadway,” Lauren replied, digging her hands deep in the dirt. “Every time I tried to talk to you, you’d mumble something under your breath and go back to nuzzling Allison.”

  I’m such an idiot, she thought sadly. Setting myself up for heartache like this. After all, how many women had there been? She knew of at least seven in the past six months, one or two lasting a few weeks before another lovely thing took her place. Allison had been around now over a month, showing no signs of leaving. “I hated to interrupt you with my complaints about your choice in friends.”

  “Pretty shitty taste, I guess,” he agreed, narrowing his eyes at her. “After all, my best friend is a selfish bitch who can’t accept an apology when it’s offered.”

  The insult rolled like water off her shoulders. Or seemed to. He wouldn’t know how deeply it cut into her heart to see that anger on his face, the hurt in his eyes, and worse, the knowledge that she had put it there. With seeming calm, she rose, dusted her filthy hands on her shorts. If his mind hadn’t been so cluttered, and he hadn’t been reeling inside from shock, he might have seen the minute signs of a sleepless night that showed on Lauren’s face.

  As it was, he had little time to do more than absently notice the smudges of dirt on denim before he started seeing red. One slim thigh, bared by the rather brief shorts, had the angry imprint of a hand, turning the deep blue of a fresh bruise. More bruises ringed her arms.

  Gently, he traced the tips of his fingers over one of those bruises. He opened his mouth to speak but Lauren forced herself to step away from his hands, forced herself to say, “Selfish? Is that what I am? Remember, Dale, I went out on the date as a favor to you. I spent the whole night trying to keep my distance from a man who was more interested in my bust size than my tailor would be.”

  “You don’t use a tailor.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Good thing, too. Otherwise that would have been one hell of an expensive dress that was ruined last night when that bastard tried to rip it off of me. I’m rather surprised you even showed up. I figured you were too interested in ripping that little vamp suit off of your actress.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Lauren?” Dale demanded, his eyes huge and bewildered.

  “I have no idea what you mean,” she said, turning away from the hurt in those dreamy blue eyes.

  “The hell you don’t. You’re going out of your way to pick a fight, but I can’t figure out why. Care to explain that?” He followed her up the three steps that led to the porch, followed her to the front door and through it before he finally reached out and caught her elbow, gently turning her around.

  “I suppose it’s because I’m tired of this, Dale. Almost every other week, you’ve hooked up with a new lady, the flavor of the month, if you will. A couple of dates, a couple of romps in the sack and then you’re off to the next one. I don’t approve, but that lifestyle obviously makes you happy.

  “I prefer a quiet life, the life I have, and yet you insist on shoving your friends at me. Hell, you’ve even introduced me to total strangers you meet at the gym just because they look like my ‘type.’ Every time I listen to you, it ends up a disaster. And you aren’t satisfied. But if I dated all the guys you’ve tried to get me to date, and led the type of social life you lead, I’d be branded a tramp.

  “I was almost raped last night,” she finished coldly, backing away from him, even though all she wanted to do was reach for him. All she had ever wanted from him was for him to love her. Even a little. “By a man you called your friend. Maybe this will wake you up. I don’t need your interference in my life. I have enough problems of my own.”

  Dale studied her, his jaw clenched tight. Where in the hell had all that anger in her eyes, on her face, come from? Had it been there a while and he just hadn’t noticed? “Fine,” he said, hollowly, the skin across his taut cheekbones a dull red. “Fine. I’ll just stay the hell out of your life, Lauren. Take care of yourself.”

  And quietly he left, his head tucked down, hands shoved deep in his pockets, leaving the door open behind him.

  If he had paused to look back, he would have seen the tears that welled up in her eyes. Might have heard her whisper, “I’m sorry, Dale. But I can’t afford your friendship.”

  It hurt too much.

  The back of her hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sob, she fell to her knees and cried, again, over a man who could never love her back.

  Dale stood at the window an hour later, watching as Lauren climbed into her fire- engine-red convertible. Her shoulders were slumped, her head low. But he couldn’t see her face. And, too clearly, he remembered the words she had uttered earlier.

  He really didn’t see what was so terrible about trying to find her a guy. Lauren was the type who should have a family, kids running around, a husband to coddle her, love her out of her moods when she got too melancholy.

  Yet, she was alone, always alone.

  But maybe he was wrong about her, maybe she didn’t want a family. Maybe that was why she stayed alone. Hell, maybe she didn’t even like men. He hadn’t thought of that, but he obviously didn’t know her as well as he’d thought.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned his eyes back to the damaged flowerbeds in front of her house. Her pride and joy. She had only cleaned up roughly half of the mess.

  Resolute
ly, he hunted up a pair of work gloves and a bucket before heading over to her house. Setting his jaw, he planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the damage. With a muttered curse, he dropped to his knees in the dirt, donned his heavy gloves and reached for the trampled remains of a flowering bush. She may have had reason to be upset over last night, but he’d be damned if she’d come yelling at him over the mess she had in her front yard.

  Lauren didn’t return home until late that night. Dale’s car was gone, all the lights out. Too tired to drive around to the garage, she left her car out front. She paused, halfway up the steps, unsure of what had caught her attention.

  Slowly, she backtracked and studied the yard. The bare, but ruthlessly clean, flowerbeds. The bushes had been tended to, broken branches cleared away. And sitting in a cardboard box by her front door were various potted seedlings. Summer and fall flowers to replace the ones she’d had to remove earlier today.

  Reaching out to trace a bright yellow marigold, she blinked away tears.

  How could a man sweet and sensitive enough to know how much she loved those flowerbeds be so damn blind?

  Bad tempered, Dale slammed the door on his way into his house. This damn week has sucked, he thought furiously. First, the fight with Lauren. They still hadn’t spoken and Dale was slowly realizing he had lost his best friend. She wasn’t just in a little snit that she would eventually work herself out of. He should have known better. He had never known Lauren to have snits. God forbid, that was too human for her.

  He had tried after two days to talk to her again, but the temperature had dropped thirty degrees before he had even opened his mouth.

  She was blaming him for what had happened. Which was just as well, he was blaming himself too. Then three days ago, Allison had announced that she was ready to settle down and get married. If Dale wasn’t interested, then there was no reason to call her any more.