by Brinda Berry
I handled it wrong by avoiding her afterward. She deserves a guy who’ll give her everything—the things I said tonight in my toast.
“We are friends,” I answer. “And that’s why I can’t ruin it. You’ve been my best friend since we were kids.” I’m not feeding her a line.
“Then why pretend it didn’t happen? Why no phone calls or visits lately?”
The infamous ‘it’ happened a couple of Saturdays ago. It all began innocently enough. A few drinks. Dim lighting and a good movie.
One minute I was teasing her about her movie selection and the next I’m kissing her. My hands were inside her clothes. She was tugging on my belt.
It was hot and desperate like we both were starved for something and didn’t know until that moment that we needed it.
The next thing I knew, we woke up Sunday morning in my bed, clothes strung across the floor. Her white lacy bra hung lazily over my headboard, so at home in my bedroom.
We had a connection on some level I didn’t know existed. A connection beyond two people using each other to get off. She handed me a gift wrapped in euphoria and ecstasy and emotion.
And I needed to separate that shit in my head. Feelings and sex had no business playing tango.
Even if it was the hottest sex of my life.
A condom wrapper—thank God for habit ‘cause I sure was out of my mind with lust—neatly on display atop my wallet.
“I’m sorry.” I can’t even look at her now. “I never meant for us to have sex.”
“That’s obvious.” She laughs, a hint of dark in the sadness of it.
“And you planned for it to happen?” I return my gaze to hers. “Come on, Josie. You know it was a mistake. We’re too close to mess up like this. I mean, you’re like a sister to me.” This comment is real and honest. She’s at my place all the time, complaining that I don’t put the toilet seat down for her. She borrows my SUV whenever she visits the flea market for her bargain buys and needs to haul purchases home. I clean before she comes over.
The wuss factor is real.
She groans in frustration. “What if I said that’s a load of bull.”
“I don’t want to lose our friendship.”
Her eyes narrow and she jabs me in the ribs. “Oh, don’t play that card. You forgot that you have to see me the morning after. Just say it. You’re not into me. I can take it.”
If that were true, this problem would be much easier. Temptation wouldn’t haunt me every night, making me want to race over to her place and beg for more.
I tilt my head and lower my eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I get it. You like them big breasted and leggy and dumb. I’m sorry I actually have an IQ with three digits. Guess brains don’t turn you on.”
“You turn me on plenty.” I allow my gaze to fall to the outline of her body in the silk dress and then I look in the mirror. The tan skin of her naked back is accented by the silky drape of dark fabric. I itch to touch her.
“Only by throwing myself at you.”
I rest my hands on her shoulders. Shoulders. A man can only have so much willpower and mine is slipping like my patience. “Listen. You are beautiful and kind. And you’re right. You’re smart. Too smart to say things like you are.”
“Don’t try to mollify me with—"
“Molli-what? See, you’re so smart. Using words I don’t even know. Now I’m gonna have to look that up on my phone.”
“You think your charm and wit can take the place of honesty. My feelings aren’t hurt. My soul is.”
Pain laces her words. Her soul? Only Josie can make me feel terrible with something I’d laugh at from anyone else.
“I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been for anything in my whole life. If I could turn back the clock—”
Josie shrugs out of my hold on her shoulders. “Spare me. I’m not Heathcliff, too stupid to focus my affections on someone else who’ll appreciate me or maybe I am stupid for thinking you were attracted to me in the first—”
“Heathcliff? Is that someone you dated?”
“Ugh! No. He’s a character in a classic book. A book you obviously pretended to read in Mr. Murray’s high school lit.”
I love it that she thinks I might know about some book dude. “You’re attractive. Let’s just take that out of this discussion. The problem is that you deserve somebody special.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Oh, Dane. Why don’t you understand that you are special? I’ve waited so long for you to wake up and see me.”
“I do see you.”
She pushes lightly against my chest. “Why do you have to be such a jerk? I’m moving on. Do you hear me? Moving. On.”
She smashes her lips together and I know she’s going to cry.
And then I kiss her. Honestly, I’d do anything to make her stop.
Her initial response is as lukewarm as lake water in August. Her body stiffens and her hands push against my chest—but only for an instant. Then, she melts against me and her fingers curl around the lapel of my tux.
My lips press hard against hers. My hands are finally home on her sweet ass—and hell, she’s wearing a thong. I’m lost to my lust. Again.
I should know better. I shouldn’t be doing this. But putting my hands on her should prove how irresistible she is and it’s about all the logic I can muster.
She’s the one with the brains. Surely she can figure out that physical attraction isn’t the problem.
She pulls back and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about that night.”
“Me, too.”
“Then tell me why we can’t work. The real reason.”
I rake a shaky hand over my head. “What do you want from me? What? I don’t have relationships. You know this. It’s why I don’t know what to do with you because…I care. You are my best friend.” The last statement is one that loops on repeat in my head.
“Do you really think we can stay away from each other after…” Wrinkles gather on her forehead.
And then I say it…the words that tumble out without any filters of right or wrong. If it’s the only way I can keep her, then so be it. “Maybe we could be friends with benefits.”
Her eyes widen and the hurt grows. Angry tears fill her eyes. Shit. I can’t believe I said something so stupid. I don’t even back away as her hand pops me hard on the cheek. It’s a stinging blow, enough to make a welt I’m sure.
“And you think I’m the type of person who would settle for that? I guess we’ll have to be non-fucking friends. Please leave me alone. I can’t even look at you.”
“I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Is there any way to make this better? I attempt to rub a hand down her arm and she swats mine away.
Turning to the door, she doesn’t even look back at me. “No. I’m done. You’re right. I do deserve better.”
I force myself to stay put as she walks away, telling myself that in time we’ll be friends again. We have to be. Because as stupid as I can be about a lot of things in the world, I know one thing.
I’m in love with Josie Jensen. It’s why I have to let her go.
Chapter Two
Dog Ears
Josie
May
Dog Ears Bookstore smells of onion, primarily due to my customer who obviously indulges daily so he can make my life a test of patience and olfactory fortitude.
“Print books are dead,” he says. “As dead as VHS tapes and cassette players. Who’s gonna buy these? You should stock e-readers.” William Walters, an eccentric man who looks like the average Joe but owns half of Nashville, grouses as he pilfers through the used book table and disrupts a perfectly straight stack sending it sliding willy-nilly over the edge like a paper waterfall.
Some people experience road rage. I experience obnoxious customer spasms.
My hands fold into controlled fists, shaking with the effort to stay civil. This little man who stands here insulting my business doesn’t strike me as careful about who he pisses off. I shou
ld alert this asinine hobbit that I was raised with a pack of wolves, comprised of my twin brother and his buddies.
There’s not a delicate bone in my body.
“Sorry,” he mumbles in a not-sorry voice.
“Oh, no problem,” I lie. “That’s what I’m here for.” I stride toward the avalanche of books, stepping around the ones scattered nearest me.
Bending down, I grab several of the runaway books and notice the man’s shoes, a real indicator of this man’s character. A man wearing black dress socks with sandals is a sure sign of someone who lacks social grace.
This is my life—being pleasant to a customer who probably won’t even buy a book. Usually, I’d charm and chat with him until he is convinced the Dan Brown book in his hands will complete his life.
I heave a sigh, my shoulders slumping at the end of the sound. Times are a changin’ in the book biz, and I barely make enough profit to cover my overhead. If not for the money and house my parents left me, I’d be forced to give up on my beloved bookstore.
Maybe it’s time to be realistic. Find a job with a retirement package and great health insurance. All good things come to an end, right? Things like the carefree single life where you dine on an entire pizza for dinner (because you can), and you binge on books—the lifeblood of any dreamer with one foot in reality and the other in possibility.
I glance over at the computer where I was going through the accounting records earlier. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to perk up that depressing task. If I give up Dog Ears and work for someone else, there will be no more reading romances until two in the morning because I call it professional development.
Or forget that adult bullshit. I could commit a lifestyle U-turn instead. No need to get hasty. I’m only twenty-five and never had a chance to take the real less-traveled road. It would be nice to forget about responsibility for a couple of months. Travel the world. Explore the jungles. Escape somewhere besides the pages of a book where love and romance always end in a white picket fence and a goodnight kiss.
This would require leaving now, this very minute before I change my mind…before it’s too late.
I’m not chatty on the outside today, but my inner voice is a veritable motor-mouth.
Trill. Trill-trill-trill. The chimes over the door, once a charming addition of auditory fairy dust, now bring a warning like a police siren. The fine hairs on the back of my neck protest another customer when I am clearly out of sorts.
I neatly position the books on the sale table and turn to the door. A broad-shouldered silhouette fills the doorway.
Him. No. Not now.
Dane walks in, an ebony lock of hair falling carelessly across his forehead, not quite hiding the mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“Hey, Butterfly,” he says with a smile and continues walking toward me.
He’s the only one who calls me this, a nickname he gave me in high school. He hasn’t called me this in a while. A month ago, I would’ve given an inward sigh at his use of the name. He should know better than to use it on me at this point in time when we haven’t been on friendly terms since the night we became lovers. My heart skips several beats, then restarts.
“Hi,” I say. “What’s up?” I give him a smile more neutral than I gave customer William Walters.
“Actually, I have some news.” He slows his stride and stops a yard from me.
I steel myself to be normal, but I have nothing to do with my hands. They flutter out without my permission to straighten the children’s books on the nearest end rack. I take a deep breath. “Oh really?”
“This is our future….” He pulls a document from his jeans pocket. Waving the paper in slow motion, he raises one eyebrow. “Guess.”
I break out into a sweat. Our future. I hate this feeling, as if anything he says will break my heart. “What is it? I’m working,” I say with an edge.
“Oh. Sorry.” He looks around. William gives us an unapologetic stare.
I take a few steps behind a shelf of books and wait for Dane to follow. He meets me beside the self-help section.
“Dane. I—”
“Butterfly,” he says again as if to torture me with nostalgia. “You have to put your anger at me on hold for a day. This is important.“
“Really?” I lower my voice. “Doing the dirty deed with me wasn’t important in the least. Sure. Makes sense.”
A hint of his cologne drifts across the space between us and I close my eyes to inhale. It’s the brand, Indelible Love. It’s the stupid cologne I said I liked. I really hate him.
“Hey now. Are you so mad you can’t look at me?” he asks, a hint of sadness in his voice. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let it go the way it did. But we’re going to be best friends forever no matter what other stupid things I do. It’s a fact, so you need to resign yourself to it.”
Silence, except for the throat clearing from my customer who clearly wants my attention.
“Please. Josie, I’m miserable. I’ve been confiding in Jimi Hendrix and—”
“Who?” I ask, cutting him off.
“Jimi Hendrix, the neighbor’s cat.”
“And exactly why are you talking to…” I trail off at his fallen expression. He actually does look miserable. I take a deep breath. “Go ahead. If you’re confiding in a cat, you must be desperate.”
“I know. Jimi Hendrix told me as much. He thinks I have commitment issues.”
“I would say you have reality issues.” Blood rushes into my ears. We are going to talk about commitment. Finally.
“So,” he says and hands me the paper.
“Is this some sort of Fifty Shades contract?” I grin at my own joke. Tamp down the giddiness, girly.
His eyebrows knit in confusion, telling me he’s not a follower of the book or the movie. Not that I swing toward the BDSM lifestyle, but there’s a lot I’d consider for this guy.
I unfold the paper. It’s not a contract or a travel itinerary (a girl can always hope). It’s a copy of a blueprint in miniature.
“It’s the architect’s drawing of our business plan for an updated bookstore,” he says. “Dog Ears 2.0.”
“Oh,” I whisper, all my expectations falling to the floor in a shattering crash.
“I don’t know why I dragged my feet over it when you’re all sorts of brilliant. This will be the best thing I’ll ever invest in. There’s no one in the world I trust more than you.” He drags fingers through his thick hair and I watch, jealous of that hand. He looks disheveled now. Reckless.
Damn him and that crooked smile which calls to my heart. I look away to the self-help shelf. One Hundred Ways to Leave Your Lover. The Official Handbook to Role-Playing with Your Sexual Slave. Yo Girl, Get On with Your Life. Some Men Can’t Be Saved. The Official Handbook to Creating Your Furry Lovemaking Costume.
I move the third book to its proper spot at the end. An audible sigh escapes me. “I don’t know. I think I need to back out.”
“Why?”
The fairy tinkling of the door chimes sound and I push up to my tiptoes so I can peer over the top of the bookshelf. Customer William exits and with it my getaway excuse.
“Dane. It was just talk. You know. Like that time we planned on breaking into the middle school so we could steal the semester exams.”
“Hey. The only reason we didn’t do that is because you’re too damned smart and didn’t even need the tests to begin with. I was game.” He points at the center of the paper. “Look at it. Really look. This oval with the open center is the wine bar. I asked for the reclaimed wood and it will all feel like an old library. Just like you want.”
“Dane—”
“We’ll have the shelves from floor to ceiling with the library ladders. And there will be that secret door that completely rotates at the push of a button so it’s a hidden entrance to another room. The sex room.”
My gaze flies to meet his. “What did you say?”
“The sampling room. For the microbrewery. What did you th
ink I said?”
I release a shaky breath. “Oh. Yeah. Sampling.”
He smirks. “Come on. I know that you and I can get past what happened. I’m friends with girls I’ve had sex with before.”
Holding up my hand, I stop him right there. “Don’t want to hear about you and your sexcapades. Are you a total ass?”
“No,” he says softly. “Just a desperate ass. I can’t lose your friendship. I’m scared you’re going to shut me out and never let me back in. It would be simple if it were only about sex. What we have is a lot deeper than that.” He avoids my gaze, instead staring at the books in front of him. “You’re my family.”
I search his face and try to imagine never talking to him, laughing with him, trusting in him. I flash back to a memory of Dane holding me at my parents’ funeral after they were killed in a plane crash.
He’s the one I turned to, not my twin brother. He’s always been there for me.
Will I throw away everything I’ve had with him because he can’t reciprocate the way I feel? No. I can pretend it never happened.
“I guess I can get past it.”
Dane pulls me into a bear hug before I can stop him. “Thanks. I swear I won’t ever pull a dick move again.”
I go from painfully enjoying the hug to cringing at his choice of words. “Yeah. Whatever.” I push against his chest and the floor plan he brought drops to the floor. “Now go on and get outta here. I have to unbox a shipment of stock.”
“Ok. I’ll text you later.” He leans down to pick up the document. “I’m serious about a partnership. Let’s do this. You need something new to entice the book buying crowd and I’m ready to expand the business. Dastardly Bastards will always be Dad’s brainchild. I’d like to put my stamp on something. It’s a win-win for you and me.”
He finally leaves, looking back at me when he reaches the door. “Later, Butterfly.”
After the door chimes settle, I walk on shaky legs to the back storeroom. Kicking off my shoes, I sit on the floor and bury my face in my hands. Love is cruel.
It’s been four weeks since I told Dane I’d get past our ‘dalliance.’ Using that word helps me put a label on what happened and reinforces I’ll be moving on with my heart.