by B. B. Hamel
Possessive Best Friend
BB Hamel
Copyright © 2020 by B. B. Hamel
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs
Photo by vishstudio, Shutterstock.com
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Contents
1. Lora
2. Dean
3. Lora
4. Dean
5. Lora
6. Dean
7. Lora
8. Dean
9. Lora
10. Dean
11. Lora
12. Dean
13. Lora
14. Dean
15. Lora
16. Dean
17. Lora
18. Dean
19. Lora
20. Dean
21. Dean
22. Lora
Also by BB Hamel
1
Lora
I kick my feet up on the couch and stare at my phone. It feels like all I’ve been doing since coming back to Lofthouse Manor is staring at my phone. I wake up, go for a run, do a little workout, shower, then stare at my phone.
It’s a hard life. I know, I know.
But I’m drifting. I can feel it. I saw it happen in my older sister Delia when she moved home last year. And now it’s my turn to feel unmoored, like the ground’s shifting beneath my feet.
This time, though, this time something interesting pops up.
Dean Ashman’s Twenty-Third Birthday Outdoor Extravaganza (with beer and trucks and a fire, of course)
I open up the event invite and feel nearly overwhelmed with nostalgia. I haven’t spoken with or seen a lot of these people in years. I still remember Dean and the way he’d make me laugh, the way he’d lean toward me with those boyish blue eyes, his shaggy hair in his eyes, his handsome, square jaw perfect, and whisper some dirty joke in my ear.
Nothing like making a rich girl laugh at something dirty, he used to say. And I loved it, I loved that he treated me just like anyone else.
Even if my family owns the town we live in.
So I hit yes. I don’t know why. I accept the invitation and throw my phone onto the couch across from mine. I stare at it like it’s a radioactive spider or something, and I’ve just let it bite me.
I have no business going to that party. I should be out looking for a job or at least figuring out what I want to do with my life. All my siblings seem to have it figured out, or at least they’re really good at faking it.
Problem with being filthy rich is I don’t have to do anything at all. And that freedom is almost paralyzing.
But poor me, right? Poor rich girl doesn’t know what she wants out of life. Don’t worry, I don’t feel sorry for me, either.
I think that’s why I decide to go to the party for real. I’ve been wasting all this time lying around the manor, talking to my siblings about their lives, and pretending like my own life is on hold. My mother has tolerated it so far, probably because sitting around the manor means I’m not out getting in trouble, but it’s time to stop. It’s time to move on.
So I’ll start by going to some outdoor birthday party for a guy I used to have a crush on once upon a time and see how that goes.
The first thing I smell when the security agent drops me off is smoke. He frowns as I step toward the people congregating around a large roaring bonfire. Trucks are parked all around it with their beds open and loud music is blasting from a stereo.
“You sure about this?” Johnson asks.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Can you have someone pick me up in a few hours?”
“Text me,” he says, but hesitates. “Really, Lora. You could just come back. I mean, we could watch—”
“No,” I say, but smile at him. Johnson’s been really nice to me lately. We’ve even started watching movies together. It’s nice and he’s a decent man, but I can tell he feels sorry for me. “It’s time to get out of the house.”
He nods once. “Good luck.”
I shut the door and turn resolutely toward the fire. I’m about to turn back and beg him to take me home when he pulls away and drives off.
I sigh and walk down the dirt road through the trees. The music gets louder as I approach and I realize there are way more people than I realized. At least fifty people are wandering around, some of them drunk, all of them drinking. I don’t recognize anyone at first as I wade into the mess. Some cute girl with dark hair shoves a drink into my hand. “Hey,” she says. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“You look familiar.” She frowns at me.
“Uh,” I say. I don’t want to be recognized as a Lofthouse, not right away at least.
My family owns this town. Not literally, but close enough. They own all of the buildings, most of the businesses, and the majority of people that live in Lofthouse owe their livelihoods to my family in some way. A lot of people love us for it and just as many hate us. I got used to dealing with that sort of hate, but it’s been a while since I felt it and I really would rather avoid it if I can.
“Hey! Lora?”
I turn, relieved to be pulled away from this situation. I spot a young man coming toward me, tall and muscular. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down plaid shirt. His boots are stained and old but his clothes are immaculate. He has colorful tattoos on his arms and a smirk on his lips.
It takes me a second to recognize Dean.
It’s been so long since I last saw him. His hair’s shorter and stylish, cut short on the sides and pushed back on the top. He has the same jaw, the same full lips, the same handsome face, but he’s taller and more muscular. He looks like he’s ten years older, even though it’s been about five since we last spoke.
“Hey,” I say as he pulls me into a hug. I laugh and hug him back. His huge arms wrap around my body and I feel a thrill in my chest at his touch.
“Wow,” he says. “I saw you accepted the invite on Facebook but I didn’t actually think… damn, look at you.” He steps back, grinning. “You look good.”
“Thanks.” I feel myself blush. “You too.”
“Come on, come meet everyone.”
He pulls me toward the crowd and starts introducing me all around. Some of the faces and names I recognize, but most of them flow past me like a river.
I didn’t know he had so many friends in town, but it shouldn’t surprise me. Dean’s always been magnetic and charming. Even back in high school, he always had a girl or two following him around, and he loved the attention. Now he’s taller, even more handsome, even more attractive. I can see how he’d have a lot of friends, and I can’t help but notice a lot of them are girls.
“When was the last time I saw you?” he asks me after we go through the introductions. We lean up against the back of a truck, the bed hanging open.
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“Must be one of the last days of school.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, and it comes back to me then. “We were standing out back waiting for our rides. Remember?”
“Oh,” he says and laughs. “Yeah. I remember. You wanted to kiss me.”
I glare at him. “I did not.”
“You did.”
“Dean.”
“What? You did. You were looking at me with those big pretty eyes of yours basically b
egging me to kiss you right then and there.”
“No, not at all,” I say, but he’s absolutely right.
Dean was my best friend in high school. We were closer than I’ve ever been with anyone before or since. And I had a massive crush on him the whole time, but never did anything about it. Until that last day, standing with him behind the school, waiting to get picked up. I looked at him, and I wanted him to kiss me, but…
“Then your ride came,” he said. “You looked so disappointed.”
“You should’ve taken your chance,” I teased.
“Yeah, I should have.” He gives me a long look. “But I was young and stupid.”
“I’m sure you’re so much older and more experienced now.”
“Exactly.” He grins. “What a classic story. The rich smart girl goes to college and the dumb local boy goes back home to be poor.”
“First of all, you had better grades than I did. And second, you’re not poor. Your dad owns like, what, five dealerships?”
“Six now,” he says. “And some detailing places and a couple auto body shops. Oh, and he was elected to the town council.”
I whistle. “Wow. No kidding?”
“I know. It’s been a wild few years.”
“And here I am with a degree and no job.”
He laughs. “What have you been doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Literally, nothing. I’ve been sitting around the manor feeling bored. This is the first time I’ve gone out since coming home.”
“Oh, come on. The Lora I remember couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes.”
“People change.”
Before he can say anything, a shout goes up and someone throws more wood into the fire. It flares up and there’s a cheer as a guy runs around with an enormous beer bong.
“Oh, fuck,” Dean says.
“What?”
“They’re going to make me drink that.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“I know. It’s really immature.”
“I’ll do it.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I’ll do it.” I stand up. “Bring it over.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “There are like four beers in there. Come on, Lora. You can’t even handle one.”
I slug back my drink and throw the cup on the ground. “Try me.”
“Lora…”
“Come on,” I say, grinning at him. “Try me.”
He smiles back. “That’s the girl I remember,” he says, and walks over to the cheering crowd. I follow him, and as I get closer, I realize I’m making a huge mistake.
I don’t drink anymore. I mean, I drank a little in college, but not like this. Not this stupid binge-drinking sort of thing. I can’t chug four beers like that, even if I wanted to. I’ll puke it all up and look like a moron.
But I’ve come too far. The crowd’s cheering as Dean takes the funnel and holds it up. He hands me one end and I put my thumb over the opening.
He nods at me. “I got you,” he says.
I nod back and put the funnel to my lips.
Immediately I hate it. I’m drinking this awful, lukewarm beer. People are going wild though, and I can’t help but laugh. I get maybe a third of the way through before I have to stop, but before it spills too much, Dean grabs the other end and finishes it off.
The crowd goes wild. I laugh as people congratulate me, even though I didn’t get close to finishing. Dean walks over and throws an arm around my shoulder, handing the funnel away to someone else. We hang around the crowd for a few minutes until he steers me away from it.
“Okay, that was really dumb,” he says. “I’m going to regret that tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Hell, yeah. I have to work.”
I laugh. “Your dad won’t give you the day off?”
He shakes his head. “Not even if I had the flu. He’d make me come in, sit in my office, and puke in my trashcan.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“Yeah, my dad’s a lovely guy. You remember him.”
I do, though not well. He was always quiet and seemed perpetually angry.
We sit back down and don’t get new drinks. He leans back on his elbows and I can’t help but look at his body. He’s so muscular and lean, and I have the sudden, stupid urge to touch his chest. He tilts his head toward me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Sorry. I think I’m drunk.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just admiring me.”
I snort. “Hardly.”
“Suit yourself. I’m just saying, you’re not so bad looking, Lora Lofthouse.”
“Really?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know it. You’ve always been one of the hot girls.”
I laugh. “I’ve never been described as hot before in my life.”
“Maybe not to your face. But I’ve been saying it behind your back for years.”
I push him and he laughs at me. He sits up on the edge of the truck bed, his feet dangling. I get up next to him.
“Don’t get the wrong idea of me,” he says, his voice low. “All this… it’s just a birthday thing. I don’t do this normally.”
“Really? You’re not normally out with a bunch of friends and their trucks tailgating?”
“Nope.” He stretches, showing off more lean muscle. “Mostly keep it low-key.”
“Hey, Dean!” A big guy with a heavy gut and an Iron Maiden t-shirt calls out from across the fire. “You gonna do some shots or what?”
Dean laughs and waves him off. “Honestly,” he says, and I just laugh at him.
We catch up for a while after that. I feel lightheaded and happy, probably because of the beer, and I don’t drink any more. I notice that he doesn’t either, despite people continually trying to get him to have some more. He keeps waving them off with a smile or a joke, like it’s no big deal.
But he’s confident. I notice it right away. He’s so confident and easy. He’s always been charming, but that confidence is new, and I have to admit that I find it really attractive.
I tell him about college, about getting a degree in art history, about realizing that I did the most cliché rich-girl thing imaginable.
“I mean, come on,” I say, “art history? Only people that don’t need money major in art history.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he says, laughing. “You’re not what I think of as a cliché rich girl, but yeah, that’s some rich-girl shit right there.”
“Right?” I sigh and shake my head. “Now I’m stuck with this dumb degree and I have no clue what I’m doing with it.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Might beat being stuck working for your dad.”
“At least you have a purpose.”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t my purpose.”
I watch him for a long moment. I forgot how hard it was for him to go to work for his dad. He didn’t want to do it at the time, really didn’t want it, but his father was insistent and he knew he couldn’t afford college without his father’s help. So he moved back to Loftville from our fancy private boarding school, and I went to college and we didn’t see each other again, until tonight.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. I like it now.” He grins at the look on my face. “Honestly, I do.”
“You like living in Loftville?”
“Well.” He hesitates. “It’s not so bad. I mean, it’s a small town, but the people are good for the most part.”
We watch as two guys race their dirt bikes down the pitch-black path. One skids out and goes spinning into the mud. Everyone laughs.
He sighs and shakes his head.
“Mostly, anyway,” he says.
“I have nothing against Loftville.” He gives me a look but I keep going. “It’s just that, I don’t know. You always said you wanted to move away.”
“I still do,” he admits. “But my fath
er’s expanding, and now that he’s on the town council, I’m taking up more responsibility. He thinks I’ll take over one day.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe I can open a dealership in Texas.”
“That would be a good way out.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m just saying. Don’t kick yourself for not having a clear path. Feeling lost might be better than feeling trapped.”
I give him a look and shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He laughs and throws an arm around me. I’m surprised at how good it feels when he pulls me against him. “I’m bringing the mood down. It’s a party, right?”
“Right.” I grin up at his face.
He hops down off the truck and helps me down after him. “You know how to play cornhole, or do they not let you play our peasant games up in the manor?”
“They definitely don’t, but I still know how to play.” I grin at him and push up against him. “You want to be on my team or against me?”
“Team,” he says. “I’m not stupid enough to go up against Lora Lofthouse.”
I grin at him and we head over to the cornhole set. We take over and play for a while, and the night dissolves into a blur of laughter, joking, and reminiscing around the fire.
Exactly three hours after I got dropped off, I get a text.
Johnson: All good?
Me: All good.
Johnson: I’m standing down by the road for when you’re ready.
Me: You didn’t have to do that!
Johnson: Oh, I know. I’m just off. But don’t rush on my account.
I shake my head and put my phone away. “What?” Dean asks.
“I gotta get going.”