The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I really don’t.

  I can’t help but wonder how different things would be right now if my life took a detour.

  What if I’d just told Mother to pound sand and stayed at Granny’s that last summer after high school?

  Would I be a dancer somewhere else? Would I be someone totally different?

  A wife? A mother? A rodeo clown?

  Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to do what she wants—namely, press my lips to Quinn’s and let our tongues lead where they may.

  God. The possibilities in a person’s life are like tree rings.

  He takes my hand as we cross into the rougher terrain, stepping from boulder to boulder. We walk over fallen logs while crossing the creek several times as we head through the trees.

  In my imagination, I go back to when we were teens. How I would’ve died a hundred times over just to have him hold my hand. My heart almost stopped forever that day I took a peach pie to the face and he was so good to me.

  But he’d always been aloof, too.

  That’s just who he is.

  Kind, funny, handsome, and alpha as Hercules, but never ready to risk what we had.

  Never ready to take our friendship further than the kids we were then, and the adults we’ve become.

  I was just the tagalong little girl, his sidekick, wishing for more than a silly one-sided crush.

  And here I am again.

  Wishing, hoping, and praying for something I’m also scared to death to plunge into.

  Once we step out of the trees, Owl barks and goes charging ahead to the pond, chasing two Canadian geese swimming near the shore. They take off at the last second with a few parting screw you honks.

  “Wait. I recognize this place,” I murmur, slowing down. “It’s where your grandpa had his bee boxes, isn’t it?”

  Quinn smiles, and I wonder if he’s been meaning to lead us here this whole time.

  “Good memory. I was wondering if you forgot. This, right here, is the exact spot where we first met.” He shakes his head. “What a fucking day. I thought you’d fall down and die from shame if the bees didn’t get you first.”

  “Almost ten years ago.” I pause to snicker. “Wow.”

  His hold on my hand tightens.

  My breath seizes.

  That feral green gaze sharpens as our eyes meet, and my heart beats its way up my throat.

  “Nearly a decade, Peach. Long damn time.” His eyes fall to my lips and linger.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  My lips, my entire body, quiver as I remember kissing him at the rodeo, tasting the heat of his growl. Kissing him was more than I’d ever dreamed then.

  Sweet Jesus, I’m still dreaming about it.

  Constantly.

  It’s worse with us both dancing around the subject, never bringing it up. Apparently, part of our emotional maturity level is still stuck in the last decade, too.

  “I wondered about you so many times over the years,” he tells me, and I wonder if I’m wrong about being stuck.

  A hot thrill rips through me.

  “I thought about you, too. I wish I’d tried to write while you were overseas, but I knew you didn’t want me worried sick. Still, I wondered where you were, what you were doing, who you’d turned into...”

  He smiles, those green eyes flickering in the soft light.

  “Thinking about you. That’s all I ever did, Peach. Whatever comes and goes, whoever I work for, however the seasons change...that’s the one damn thing that never strays. And I know it’s out of line, but I’m telling you right now—it ain’t gonna change when you head back to Chicago. I’ll be thinking about you then, too.”

  Holy hell.

  My heart nearly explodes. I can barely breathe. I start opening my mouth, searching for words, but he casts me this sad, hangdog look like he’s realized he just said too much.

  “Quinn—”

  “Let’s uh—” He clears his throat and glances quickly at the pond. “Skip rocks. We used to do that shit all the time. How long has it been since you tried?”

  I smile, loving and hating how he tries to save face. I have half a mind to grab his face and kiss him...but for now, I’ll play along.

  “Probably not since the last summer we were here,” I say.

  “Far too long.” He lays a hand on the small of my back and guides me to the pond. “High time we have another go.”

  We search the ground, find the flattest rocks, and then take turns pitching them over the top of the water. A fun little competition breaks out over the number of times each rock skips before sinking into the murky depths.

  It’s more fun than I’ve had in ages, and not because it’s something so easy, so innocent.

  It’s because I’m doing it with Quinn—and the fact that my rocks win nearly every round doesn’t hurt one bit.

  “Who the hell went and made you Miss Rock and Roll? You’re too good, lady,” he says. “I give up!”

  I toss a rock in the air and catch it, flashing a victory grin.

  “How?” He wipes the sweat off his brow, grinning back. “Just how’d you go and kick my ass that hard when you said you haven’t done this for years?”

  “I was taught by the best.” I wink at him.

  Growling, he swipes the rock out of the air when I toss it up again. “And you’ve been practicing the last ten years, liar.”

  I grab his hand and try prying it open to get my rock back. “No, I haven’t. Swear to God. Give me my rock.”

  He holds his hand just out of my reach, using his height to his advantage.

  “Hmm, I don’t know. What will you give me for it? I hear these things can be pretty valuable.”

  A kiss, you lunk, I want to say.

  But that’s the one thing that would ruin the evening, the week, the rest our lives.

  Scrambling for the ground, I pick up another rock.

  “Here, bozo. I’ll give you this one for it. Rock for rock. Sound fair?”

  He tosses the rock in the air and catches it again, swinging his hand down with a grin that almost melts my panties right off.

  “That rock for this one, huh?”

  “Yes! What are you expecting? A Ferrari?”

  He holds it up to his face, stroking his chin like he’s pondering the meaning of life with a stone that’s magically turned to solid gold. It’s so ridiculous and exaggerated I burst out laughing.

  “Sorry. This is a far better rock. Can’t part with it for that crappy basic bitch skipper you picked up. It ain’t even an eggplant.” Then he spins while I’m busy laughing my butt off and side pitches it across the water.

  I yell out the count as it skips.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! Seven.” I throw my rock on the ground. “Seven, you dick. The most I had was five! So you’ve been letting me win this whole time?”

  With a knowing chuckle, he grabs my hand.

  “Or maybe I just got lucky with the right rock. We’ll never know. Come on, darlin’, I’m getting mighty hungry. Time for steaks and hash browns.”

  “I’m making us a salad. I’m not going to die here from protein and carb overload,” I say, playfully pushing at his side.

  Quinn whips out another slayer smile.

  Even if he does it a thousand times, I swear, I’ll never get sick of that look.

  Oh, and as for the food...yes, I’m hungry, but I’d forgo ever eating again in a heartbeat to do more than hold his hand.

  14

  Goat Me All Riled (Faulkner)

  I had to be out of my mind to agree to this—having Tory Three Names move in with me.

  Ridge might as well have tossed me in one of his Western flicks and cast me as the idiot who gets tied to a pole with fire ants crawling up his pants.

  That can’t be more tortuous than spending whole days with the girl I’ve jacked off to since before I could drink.

  Shit. I’m as horny as a quarterback watching the cheerleaders.

  Make that cheerleade
r, singular.

  Just one.

  But even that ain’t right.

  Tory’s a full-blown, sexy-as-all-hell dancer who can do a whole lot more with her body than an entire cheer squad.

  Of course she has dynamite legs. I’ve been staring at them all day, tracing how they run up into that supple peach of an ass.

  I try to end my creepin’ there, before my eyes slide up her spine, turn her around, and find those tits I want to shove my face in and own.

  Don’t fucking care if she’s not the bustiest gal in the world.

  What she’s packing is enough for ten lifetimes, and if I don’t find some goddamn self-control, I’m gonna rip that flimsy outfit right off her and see what she’s been hiding.

  As soon as we got home from checking on the goats this morning, she’d changed out of her jeans and boots, into a pair of white shorts, a lime-green tank top, and flip-flops to paint in.

  She’d still been wearing her flip-flops on our walk, and not wanting her to slip on the rocks or fallen logs, I’d taken her hand as we’d followed the creek to the pond.

  That simple touch, holding her hand for balance, almost burned me down.

  And sparring with her by the pond, fighting over rocks?

  Fuck.

  I think I’ve reverted back to caveman, and I’m still trying to remember how to talk as we work on dinner.

  “Do you want tomatoes in your salad?” she asks through the screen door.

  I’m just as surprised as anybody my fridge now houses vegetables. So much green and red I think I see Christmas every time I open the door. Even a couple eggplants.

  “If you do,” I call back, checking the grill.

  She’s silent for a moment, then asks, “What about kale?”

  “We bought kale? Was I drunk?”

  Laughing, she pushes open the door and takes a swig off a beer bottle, one from the case we’d also picked up on our shopping trip.

  “Psych! I was just testing you.” She hands me the beer, winks, and saunters back inside. “I’ll buy some next time I’m at the store, though. You’re not getting off that easy.”

  I take a long pull off the beer, hating how her lips make it taste better than it should.

  Then I go back to flipping the steaks, trying to deduce whether I’m more pissed at my poor blue balls or the fact that I’ll be eating kale before this is over.

  Damn, I need to switch gears. Whip my thoughts back in line to a place that doesn’t involve picturing Tory bouncing on my cock, but it’s damn near impossible.

  Especially when I think about the curve of her ass in those shorts as she turned after sassing me.

  Welcome to hell. Population: me.

  I can’t even think straight.

  I’m a raving beast.

  Like down by the pond, when she looked at me with those baby blue eyes brighter than a desert sky.

  They’re as gorgeous as the rest of her, and just as likely to tempt me into signing my soul away.

  Owl lets out a sharp bark from beside the grill.

  Huh?

  Oh, shit!

  I yank the steaks out of the flames just in the nick of time and set them on the side of the grill.

  “Thanks, dude,” I tell the dog. “You’ll have some extra meat on the T-bone in your dish tonight. I promise.”

  He wags his bush of a tail, flopping his tongue out.

  “What are you two talking about out there?” Tory asks from the kitchen window.

  “The steaks. Next time I’m buying three.”

  “Oh, there’ll be plenty for him. Those are two of the biggest steaks I’ve ever seen.”

  “They’ll be the best steaks you’ve ever tasted, too,” I tell her.

  “Promises, promises,” she says, laughing as her face disappears.

  I’d damn well like to make a few other promises we could only fulfill in the bedroom.

  If I knew for certain that Bat Pickett wasn’t coming for my ass, I’d write them with my tongue all over her skin, and deal with the fallout later.

  Until then, I’ll have to learn to live with the raging hard-on from hell.

  Until then?

  Hell, what am I saying?

  I’ll never be able to fulfill carnal promises of any kind with Tory once Pickett gets released.

  That’s a given. Same for the fact that he wants to cut off my head. The psycho won’t ever get over my part in putting his brother away.

  Not while I’m still breathing.

  I need to be prepared for that.

  Fully.

  I’d shown her Pickett’s sneering mug shot, and she said that probably wasn’t the man who’d been in the red Chevy. I hate that she couldn’t get a good read on his face. We couldn’t get a positive ID from the low-res pictures Grady took, but my gut tells me the dude had something to do with Pickett, guaranteed.

  Another Marvin, another minion, looking for intel to feed to Bat.

  I pull the steaks off the gentler side of the grill and carry them inside. Even with the kitchen in disarray with all the cupboards open, missing their doors, this place has started to feel more homey than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.

  I’m starting to like it a lot.

  And yeah, that might just have something to do with the fact that I’m not alone anymore.

  No denying I also like the sight of Tory, wearing her short shorts and skimpy tank top, in the kitchen, in the house, in the guest room. I like it more every time I see it, and the only thing I’d like more is having her wearing less.

  Shifting my pants for cover, I try to battle the bulge before heading back into the house.

  I buck up, pull on my best wasn’t-just-thinking-about-you-naked grin, and call out, “Steaks are done!”

  In the morning, I drive her to check on the goats again, then we stop by Granny’s house before heading home.

  “Wow!” Tory says, staring at the dumpster in the driveway. “They left the whole freaking kitchen and bathroom in here.” Frowning, she asks, “Do you think they’ll have it all done by the time she returns?”

  “Yep. They’re a good, trustworthy company, and that’s why they wanted the place empty. A house is a lot easier to remodel with nobody living there.”

  We go inside, chat with the workmen for a few minutes, and have a good look around. Then, once Tory’s satisfied that all’s well, we head back to my place.

  “I’ll go change and meet you in the barn,” Tory says as she climbs out of the truck.

  I don’t know whether to be happy or worried.

  She’s bound to return with another skimpy pair of short shorts clinging to that delectable ass.

  I’m starting to regret ever giving her that peach nickname.

  “C’mon, buddy,” I tell Owl, holding the door for him to hop out of the truck and into the balmy summer heat. “I think we could both use a splash of ice water.”

  After I’ve watered the dog and tried to douse my own fire, I turn around and face today’s death by sexy roommate.

  Bam.

  Right between the eyes.

  The shorts she’s wearing are cut-off blue jeans with ragged fringes. They’re short, riding up to the edge of her ass, and naturally they look damn good. So does the tight red t-shirt hugging her chest, a wicked eye-trap contrasting with the jean shorts.

  The blocky white lettering on her shirt says NOBODY’S PERFEC—NEVER MIND!

  “Granny strikes again?” I stare, not skipping a fair chance to have a good look at her tits, my eyebrow raised.

  “Nope, all me this time,” she says proudly. “Kind of a running joke in our dance group. That’s what happens when you throw together a bunch of girls who obsess over every single detail.”

  I nod, fully aware I’m the one doing the obsessing right now. Can’t peel my eyes off her till she begins walking.

  Later, we make small talk while giving the cupboard doors a second coat of paint. As I walk over to do the last door, I test the paint on the first one I’d finished.


  Finding it dry, I say, “We’ll be able to hang these after lunch.”

  “Awesome. I can’t wait to see how they look.” Tory smiles like I just made her day. “I really like this slate grey color. What’s next on the list after these?”

  “Mainly trim work,” I say, half sorry the project is almost over. I’ve enjoyed working on the house, and having her help has even made it fun. “Quarter round molding on the doors and windows, and crown molding for the ceilings.”

  “Is that what’s wrapped up in plastic in the corner?” she asks, pointing to the section of the barn where I’ve been storing materials like a beaver prepping for the apocalypse.

  “Bingo. It’s already painted white. Didn’t want it getting scratched.”

  “Are you going to do anything more inside the barn?” she asks, her eyes big.

  “More? Like what?” I haven’t done anything to the barn except clean it out for storing supplies, which are almost depleted. It has new siding and a new roof—both upgrades I paid for. Those jobs were too big to handle alone.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Extra space to store stuff?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it. Why?”

  “Well, um, I was thinking...”

  She glances around, and her eyes land on the beams overhead.

  “Thinking what?” I ask.

  “Sooo, I know I’ll only be here a few more weeks tops, but if you aren’t using the barn for anything special...I was wondering if maybe I could?”

  “For the goats?” I ask. “Sure, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’d save you a trip to Dean’s place between jobs.”

  I smile at the thought of her beasts roaming around here. Gramps never had a lot of livestock the older he got. He’d pulled the stable walls out years ago to make more room to store the old antique junk he collected.

  The corral’s still in good shape. I’d fixed it up and painted it a month ago, just in case whoever I sold it to might have animals. For the goats, I’d have to fence in an area with more grass for them, which wouldn’t be that much work.

  “No, the goats will be at the dairy farm for at least that long.” She grimaces slightly. “I want the space for me.”

  “You?” I blink in confusion. “Don’t like your room? Wish you’d told me, peach. It must suck awful bad if you’d rather sleep in the hay.”