More Than His Best Friend (More Than Best Friends Book 1)

by Sally Henson

  These thoughts are crazy. I'm really getting tired of arguing with myself.

  Dad can't tell me what to do anymore if I'm married, though.

  Stop it. It won't work. I can't handle a distraction like that. College will be hard enough on its own.

  Lane’s plan was to join him at college. Study together, eat together, and hang out together.

  He also talked about working in Illinois or Colorado. That’s not the coast.

  My finger traces around the eyes I sketched in my notebook. They don't do him justice.

  Grr, I slam the notebook closed and stuff it in my bag, pressing my fingertips to my forehead. What am I doing? Lane’s stupid kiss has ruined me, I eat my sandwich, drink my water, and try like mad to think of work, school, gossip hounds, anything but him.

  All evening I'm distracted by Lane. Working at the pool, driving home, it's nothing but Lane's stupid mesmerizing eyes, his lousy soft tender touch, his idiotic amorous inerrant lips, and his rotten honest vulnerability.

  Walking through the door of the house, I hang up the keys, throw my bag on the table, and sulk to my room without saying a word to anyone.

  49

  Regan

  I slept last night, but it wasn't enough to forget about the way I feel every time I think of Lane now. This is good and not good. I didn’t want things to change between us. But I can’t seem to help it. Butterflies flit in my stomach—all dreamy and everything. At least I'm not in a bad mood this morning.

  I'll get ready for church before going in for breakfast. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I get out the curling iron and turn it on. While it's heating, I decide to put on a little eye makeup. I don't really wear makeup and don't have any of my own. I use Mom's stuff. Just a little liner, some tan natural-looking shadow, and a little mascara on the top lashes. I brush out my hair and take sections running the hot iron slowly from the root to the end and then rolling up the bottom a bit. This is taking much longer than I remember. A dab of perfume, too, only enough so no one can smell it but me.

  In my room, I search in my closet for something to wear. Let's see … Tobi gave me a dress a while back. Where is that thing? Heather navy, cotton, ultra-soft … There, on my shelf. It's a cool-looking, a wrap with a wide navy blue, white, and gray belt. It goes down to the top of my calves. It’s cooler and trendier than I am.

  Sitting on my bed, I quickly paint my toes and let them dry while I eat breakfast.

  My parents are sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when I walk in.

  “Good morning.” My voice chirps like a bird singing as I glide to the cabinet for a glass while humming a tune to myself.

  “Well, good morning.” Mom turns in her chair on her second take of me. “You curled your hair.”

  Is that a question or a comment? I just shrug. “Yeah. What's for breakfast?”

  “Omelets. Can you get it yourself?” She stands with her coffee in hand to leave the room. “I need to finish getting ready.”

  “I can make an omelet.”

  She crosses the room to refill her cup and gives me a squeeze on the arm and a kiss on the cheek. “I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Everything I need is already out. I crack two eggs and begin.

  “Regan?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Have you been considering other options for college?”

  Crap. He's going to bring that up now? “Uh, yeah, kind of.” I test the skillet to see if it’s warm enough and pour in the mixture.

  “What have you come up with?” He stares at me, taking a sip of his coffee. He's been writing notes or something; there's a pencil behind his ear.

  “I'm still working on it. I've been busy with volleyball, work, and friends lately.”

  “What colleges are you thinking about?”

  With a silent sigh, my heart sinks. There are hundreds of colleges out there. I need access to the internet to do some more research.” I sprinkle cheese in the middle of the omelet, fold it over and look over at the table again.

  He has the notebook I wrote in yesterday. It was still in my bag. Is nothing private around here?

  “I see you've been in my bag.” I can’t help it. It comes out before I even take my first bite.

  “I see you've made a list of colleges, the closest of which is over one thousand miles away.”

  I don't comment, I just sit down and start eating my breakfast.

  “Forty thousand dollars is a lot of money for one year of college, Regan. We can't afford that kind of tuition.”

  “I know that.” I start to make a snarky comment about not being able to afford any tuition, but I change tactics knowing that will get me nowhere. Respectful, I need to come across as respectful. “I also know that I'm going to need to get scholarships, grants, and loans to attend any college, no matter how much the tuition is.”

  He presses his lips together and looks down at his coffee. He gives me a few moments of peace. “Did you draw this?”

  I want to yell and stomp my feet and throw a fit for him getting into my stuff. But I can’t do that. If I stay quiet and don't answer he's going to think I'm hiding something. “Yeah, I was just messing around.”

  “I didn't know you like to draw. It's pretty good.” He seems surprised.

  “Well, I don't really. That's the first time I've tried.” I continue my breakfast.

  “Who did you have in mind?” He drinks the last gulp of coffee down.

  “I don't know, a movie star maybe. I was just doodling on my break.”

  “They seem familiar somehow.” He looks down at the page again for a moment and then walks toward the kitchen with his cup. “It doesn't matter what school you go to if you get a degree in something that’s not employable. You'll not only not have a job when you graduate, you'll have loans to pay.” He rinses his coffee cup and sets it in the sink. “And how are you going to pay loans and bills when you aren't working? Choose a degree that has a broader scope, one that employers are interested in hiring.”

  I nod, chewing my food. What I really want to do is jump up on the table and scream.

  Mom walks in. “All ready?”

  And that’s the end of that conversation, thankfully. Usually, any backlash against my plans for my future gets my blood boiling. Hot-headedness doesn't work with dad, though. I'm going to have to be more disciplined in our conversations about college. Maybe if I can come up with some practical reasons against another career field it would help my case. I'll have to work on that.

  50

  Regan

  As soon as Dad parks, I'm out of the Jeep and nearly running to the bathroom. We've come to this church my whole life, but this is only the second time I've felt anxious, nervous, or whatever this odd squirrely sensation in my chest is.

  The first time was the day I decided to get baptized and become a Christian. Lane and I decided at the end of Sunday school the same day. They have a baptistery here, but we wanted our dads to do it in Fox Creek. At the end of services, we walked down the aisle to the preacher and made the Good Confession.

  I was so nervous to walk in front of everyone and speak, mostly because everyone was staring at me. It wasn’t so bad because I wasn't alone. Lane was beside me. We did it together. Everyone was invited to come out to Fox Creek and support our decision by being there when we went under the water.

  Today, these flutters inside me are a little different. Drying my hands, I look in the mirror. I almost don't recognize myself. The light in the bathroom isn't doing me any favors. Why did I put this makeup on? Instead of covering up my imperfections, it shines a spotlight on them. Especially the gold flecks in my eyes. They look like the eyes of a wild animal—hideous. I shake my head in disapproval.

  This is why I never wear makeup. And my hair. It doesn't know if it's mousey brown or dirty blonde. The only time my hair gets curled is when Tobi does it. Same goes for my painted toes. If this dress wasn't so comfortable, I'd be wishing I hadn’t decided to wear it. Crap, I
wish I hadn’t wore it. Even though it's cotton, it's a more sophisticated than I am.

  Just forget about it and move on.

  Out the door of the bathroom, I make a mad dash—well, as much as is possible without attracting attention to myself—to class. Lane's sitting in his usual seat, drinking something out of a Styrofoam cup. It’s probably apple cider from the one-cup hot drink machine.

  Paul, who is a year older than me and a senior, is sitting in the chair next to him. Lane usually doesn't have much to say to Paul. Lane looks up at me and trails off his conversation. Paul follows his line of sight and is looking at me now, too.

  I just looked in the mirror. There wasn't mascara or anything running down my face and my hair wasn't sticking up. Fear jolts through me. My shoes! I look down. Phew! No toilet paper hanging off my shoes.

  I smooth down my dress sides and back to make sure it's not caught up in my underwear or something totally embarrassing. Paul leans back in his chair with a cocky grin. Lane stands. His eyes search me up and down. I’m such an idiot. Instead of having to listen to him make fun of me, I bolt to the drink machine.

  What was I thinking getting dressed up this morning? I look like a complete fool.

  It feels like everyone is staring at me and I don't like it. I really want to run out of here, but I can't. I'll just get my hot chocolate and find Miss Braun.

  Almost in tears by the time my drink is done, I’m reaching for an ice cube when I feel a presence behind me. I try to ignore it, assuming it's someone else staring at me.

  “Are you ignoring me?”

  The sound vibrations amplify whatever has been going on inside me today. I stir my drink and shake my head without turning around.

  Lane steps to the side and leans on the counter, craning his neck to see me.

  My self-consciousness melts away, and I sip my drink in relief—at least until Paul walks up behind Lane.

  “Hey, Regan.”

  Lane frowns and stands tall and rigid keeping his back to Paul.

  “Hi, Paul.” I force a polite smile even though he has interrupted us.

  “You're looking good. That's a great dress.” Now he's looking me up and down.

  This is uncomfortable. “Uh, thanks.”

  He’s so full of confidence—maybe arrogance is a better word. He's the basketball star so a lot of girls swoon after him. It seems like he's always going out with someone new. “I was thinking, maybe you and I should go to the movies sometime this week.

  Him asking me out at church feels even weirder and more awkward for some reason. Especially right here in front of Lane. A grimaced smile breaks out on my face. “I don't … really … date, Paul. But thanks for asking.”

  “Oh. Well, it doesn't have to be a date. We can just hang out or whatever.” His smile turns into a wolfish grin.

  Lane looks totally bored with the whole idea. Without moving he says, “This isn't the church social mixer, Paul.”

  Paul ignores every word Lane just said and drapes his arm on one of Lane's shoulders. He can't see Lane crinkle his nose up with contempt at the gesture. “I mean, it's not like you two are dating, right?”

  Add to the crinkled nose, narrowed piercing eyes that could cut a block of ice in half.

  Oh, this is going to be tricky. “Well, Lane is my best friend and I don't really hang out with any other guys.”

  “Who's going to take Lane's place when he goes off to college? He won't be around to keep you company anymore.”

  Lane chews on the inside of his cheek. It’s his telltale sign of complete annoyance and irritation.

  Paul’s question embeds in my brain like a treble hook. I don’t know who to look at, Lane or Paul. My gaze floats back and forth between them. “Tobi's not going anywhere and neither is Haylee or Cameron.”

  Paul raises his eyebrows. “Is it Cameron?”

  My teeth clench, and heat flows up my neck.

  “I've seen pictures of you two together. I didn't believe the rumors, but it did look like you were having a good time.” His smile stretches across his lips as if he's just exposed my secret.

  I almost reach up and smack it off is face. It seems as though Stacey’s gossipy antics are never ending. My chest tightens, knowing there’s not a thing I can do about it.

  Paul leans closer to me, and speaks softly, “If things don’t work out with Cam, I’m always available. Anything for you, Regan.” He winks as if it’s the cherry on top his smooth-word sundae.

  I start to tell Paul I’m not interested, again, when Lane knocks Paul’s arm off and moves directly in front of him. “She's not interested, Paul, so back off. Go ask one of your groupies to ‘hang out or whatever.’”

  In three steps, Tristan is near enough to intercede. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Lane’s voice is steely. Hesitantly, his eyes move away from Paul to acknowledge Tristan, only to find their way back, etching a warning to Paul.

  “Paul?” Tristan waits for a response.

  Paul crosses his arms. “Fine as frogs' hair.” His eyes stay focused on Lane with a provoking smirk drawn on his face.

  Tristan nods to Miss Braun and she starts class while he makes sure the three of us amicably find a seat.

  Through Sunday school and church service, I think about Paul's question and wonder to myself, who will take Lane's place?

  51

  Regan

  After service, Lane moves to talk with his parents and Mr. Cary calls my dad over. I quickly wave bye to Lane and walk out with my mom. Just out the door, in the blistering heat of the noon sun, Mom stops to talk with the preacher's wife. Standing beside her, I look past the ladies chattering to the shade tree behind our Jeep and feel the urge to run to it. A longing to be rid of the crowd and take cover from the sun grows as sweat begins to bead on my back beneath my hair and trickle down my spine one drop at a time.

  A sultry and devious voice startles me. “You look real nice today.”

  I jump.

  Paul brushes his body against the back of me, and my breath catches in my throat.

  He slides to the side with a big smile on his face and winks, as if he's accomplished something incredibly smart. “See you later?”

  I try, but I can’t ignore what he just did. In public. At church of all places.

  Mom talks and talks and talks to the ladies outside. Lane hasn't come out, and Dad is still inside, too. I decide to make my escape. For once, I'm glad Dad always parks in the back of the lot. At least no one will see me back here.

  I sigh, leaning against the tree behind the Jeep, waiting for Mom and Dad. I look up the line of the tree trunk as my mind wanders between the past and the present.

  Mom ambles by the Jeep. “I really like that dress on you. It brings out the color of your eyes.”

  “Thanks.” I turn my focus back to the sky through the leaves of the maple tree.

  “You curled your hair, put on makeup, and painted your toenails.” She’s trying to coax me to explain why, but I'm not going there.

  “What? Do I look funny? Did I do it wrong?”

  Mom shakes her head, her eyebrows drawing in. “No, no sweetie. You did a good job. You look very nice. I'm just surprised, that's all.”

  “Oh.” I continue gazing with my head tilted back, resting on the tree. It's amazing how the very same leaf can look so different, depending on how the sunlight hits it. I think about the leaves, the various shades of light, the difference in light and absence of light, and the weight of Paul's words.

  Then it hits me. I don't want anyone to take Lane's place. No warnings go off in my head telling me no boyfriends or think about your career. I stop breathing. Lane’s right.

  I straighten as if my spine has been fused to a rod. My chest swells with excitement and fear. I wouldn’t want to go out with Paul or anyone else if I didn’t have a “no dating” rule. The incident with Paul proved that to me today.

  “Here comes your father.”

  I turn toward the Jeep to
see Lane is beside him. I must have a crazy expression, judging the way Lane’s looking at me.

  Lane stops no more than a foot in front of me. “Hey, you wanna go swimming?” I wish my parents weren’t here. I feel like I need to tell him about my newfound conclusion.

  “Sarah, do you feel like a swim today?” Dad asks Mom with a grin.

  My smile disappears and my brows pull low and tight. Mom goes to Dad's side, and they discuss the option.

  Lane steps a little closer and speaks so softly that my parents can't hear him. “Say yes. I'll explain later.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “When I get home, I'll get my stuff and come over.”

  “Don't you want to eat first?” Our families were getting together for supper today.

  “Eh.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  “I'll fix some sandwiches and we can eat when you come over.” I look over Lane's shoulder. “Are you guys going?”

  My parents, to the best of my knowledge, have never, ever been swimming at the cliffs.

  Dad puts his arm around Mom. “I don't know, we might.”

  “It might be fun.” Mom looks up at him with her eyes twinkling. She's acting like a gooey eye school girl.

  I raise my eyebrows. Truthfully, I’m not thrilled with the idea. “Okay ...” Mom laughs at me as they both get in the car.

  Lane leans in quickly. “Don't change till I get there, promise?”

  “Why?”

  “Just ... just don't change anything, okay?”

  “Okay. I'll—”

  He turns and jogs to his car before I can finish, “See you after a while.”

  On the ride home I'm quiet, contemplating what's going on, while Mom tells Dad about something from her women-only class this morning. I'm not anxious anymore—which is a good thing—and kind of hungry, too. I don’t think I’ll tell Lane what Paul did.