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

by Sally Henson

  I stand and sneer at his name. “I know who he is, Dad.”

  “I invited him over Friday evening, to get to know him better before I let you go out with him.”

  My stomach twists, and I gasp, out loud. “What? I am not going out with Paul Frak!” I lean forward and point at him. “Call him back and un-invite him.” I bat my lids a few times, trying to wake up, hoping I’m having a nightmare.

  Dad lowers his chin. “I most certainly will not.” The paper smacks loudly against his leg from his slap. “He has the respect to ask my permission. I will not go back on my invitation.” He stares me down, his eyes narrow, face stern. And that is the final word.

  Dad has me chest in a vice, tightening. I can barely breathe. “The gang is having a party for Lane on Friday. I already have plans. Besides that, Paul asked me out on Sunday, and I said no. I told him no already.”

  Dad’s chest is puffed out like a proud peacock. “You should give him a chance. How many boys these days have the manners to do such a thing?”

  Another twist of my stomach causes my brows to draw closer together. My face must show the pain I’m in. “He already asked me out before he asked your permission. How's that for manners?”

  Dad sits there, stone-faced without waver.

  “Fine, I'll call him back and tell him to forget it.”

  “He is coming here for dinner on Friday, and you will be here eating dinner with us.”

  “Where's Mom?” She knows all about my plans for Friday. I cross the room and look down the hallway.

  “Your mother isn't here.”

  Obviously. I slam my lids shut. Calm down, Regan. Dad doesn't react well to hotheadedness, even if this is totally ridiculous. I open my eyes and look at him, but the fire inside me is getting out of control. I storm out of the room before I do or say something that’s going to get me grounded. Though, I’d do whatever it took to get out of having Paul Frak over to my house to eat.

  If Dad thinks just because guy calls him to ask permission to take me out that guy’s a gentleman, he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. I think I know a gentleman, and Paul is definitely not one. What’s going on with him? What am I going to do?

  If Lane comes over tomorrow, I'll tell him what Dad did, and what Paul did. Otherwise, I'll have to call him. Either way, Lane is not going to be happy about this. At. All.

  I say my prayers as I lie down in bed, adding a request for help with my dad, and drift off into a restless sleep.

  I was in a hurry this morning and didn't have a chance to talk to Mom before I left. On the way home from practice I rehearse the spiel I plan on giving her. Thinking about the points of (a) I already have plans, (b) Paul didn't ask Dad first, and (c) I have no interest in Paul whatsoever.

  She practically runs out the door with her tote of fabric when I pull in the drive. Mom's kind of a seamstress. She makes alterations and dresses or gowns for people. It looks like she has someone in a panic for her. Whatever—I'm in a panic for her, too.

  “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

  She grabs the keys out of my hand. “Not right now sweetie, I’m sorry. I have to go.” She opens the hatch of the Jeep, puts her bags of dresses in, and turns toward me. “Can we talk later? There’s a last-minute change on these bridesmaid dresses and the wedding is this weekend.” Her arm swings up in the air dislodging her hair from behind her ear.

  My chest tightens. I know she needs to go, but … My shoulders drop, and I nod accepting the situation.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She gets in the Jeep and takes off.

  I stand in the driveway, hopeless, as I watch her leave.

  55

  Regan

  My tennis shoes have turned into concrete boots. I trudge inside, drop my bag at the door of my room, and flop onto my bed. Is there any hope here? It hurts to even breathe right now.

  I peel myself off my bed. After my shower, I’ll call Lane—but I'm scared of what he’s going to say or want to do. I’m a chicken. I can't help what my dad did—is doing. Mom has enough sense to stop this idea of his, but she’s gone. Ugh!

  I'll just call Lane now and get it over with.

  “This is Lane, leave a message.”

  Argh. I hang up. I don't want to leave a message. What would I say? Hey Lane, Paul asked my dad's permission to take me out on a date, so Dad invited Paul over for dinner Friday night. Sorry, I can't go to your going away party. See ya.

  I'll call again; maybe he'll answer this time. My thumb dials his number.

  Ring.

  I bounce impatiently up and down on the balls of my feet.

  Ring.

  Come on, Lane.

  Ring.

  Pick up.

  Ring.

  Pick up.

  “This is Lane. Leave a message.”

  Argh. At the beep, I leave a message. “Lane, it’s Regan. Call me when you get this. I'll try your house, too.”

  I dial his home number. No luck there either. His mom tells me he went to get supplies for his dorm room. I ask her to leave a message for him to call me when he gets home.

  It would be best if Mom came home before Lane calls back.

  After my shower, I take my lunch and my book out to the patio to eat and get some fresh air. I’m so tired. I yawn; could use a nap too. After last night’s fiasco, I didn't sleep the greatest.

  I'm flipping through the pages of my book and the next thing I know, I’m walking down a set of railroad tracks, alone. There’s no openness, no houses, and no roads. I hear a rumble and I look behind me. A train’s coming.

  I step off the tracks to the side. If it's not going too fast, I'll jump on and ride the train to the coast. The horn echoes as it comes closer. It sounds again, but it’s more like the ring of a phone. I look back again. My surroundings go dark. But the ringing continues.

  I sit up, startled and realize I was sleeping. My book and feet hit the ground at the same time. The phone rings again. I look around, heart pounding.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  “Hello?” I’m out of breath. My eyes glance over my surrounding. The daylight has become soft.

  “You're still home?” Lane's voice speaks to me through the phone. He sounds surprised.

  “Uh, yeah. I fell asleep. You woke me up. What time is it?” My throat is dry and scratchy. I start to drink what's left of my glass of water.

  “It's six o'clock, Regan. Don't you have open gym?”

  My breath catches. “Crap! Six?” I look out to the shed. “Mom isn't home yet.” I growl. “She hasn't called or anything. How am I going to get to the gym? She has the car.”

  “I'll run you in. You'll be late, but …”

  “Thanks, I'll be ready when you get here.”

  56

  Lane

  When I pull in Regan’s drive, I don’t even make a complete stop before she opens the door and jumps in.

  “Thanks so much for taking me. I owe you.” She buckles her seat belt and leans her head back, sighing as I pull out of the drive. “Do you mind speeding?”

  “It’s just open gym,” I say, trying to calm her down. I can feel her stress from here.

  She gave me a look. “I don't know why they call it open gym. It's not really open as in, ‘You can come if you want, but you don't have to.’ It's more like, ‘Be there or else you can forget about starting.’”

  I try not to laugh at her, but she’s funny when she’s frazzled and ranting. “I'll drive a little faster for you. Where are your parents?”

  “Mom went in town for a sizing or something when I got home this morning and hasn’t come back. Dad? I have no idea.”

  Her foot taps nervously on the floorboard. Add cranky to the list. I can tell by her snippy tone.

  We're on the main road now, speeding along. “I missed your call earlier. Forgot my phone at home in my room. Sorry.”

  She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. The thing is, it must be a big deal, or she wouldn’t have c
alled me.

  “So …” I glance at her. “What did you want?”

  “I was just bored.”

  She’s lying through her teeth.

  I snort. “You never call without a reason.” I wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t.

  We’re halfway there when she starts gripping her seat belt as if she’s scared. “You’re driving is a little too fast, don't you think?”

  My mouth twists to the side, knowing she’s holding something back. “No. What's going on?”

  She doesn’t say a peep, so I speed up.

  Still nothing.

  I change tactics, slowing down to a crawl.

  She glares at me. “I'm already late. Hurry up.”

  I lift my chin. “Which is it? Am I driving too fast or too slow?”

  Regan crosses her arms against her chest, staring out the windshield.

  She wants to play games? Let the games begin. I flip on the right turn signal, slowing even more.

  “Fine! Speed up and I'll talk.”

  I romp on the gas pedal and try to keep my growl in check. “What’s going on?”

  She huffs out a loud breath. “Dad got a call from a”—she holds her hands up and moves her fingers for quotation marks—“‘gentleman’ asking permission to take me out on a date.”

  “What?” I roar, my eyes about to pop out of their sockets. I scan her face and focus back on the road.

  My grip on the steering wheel has a direct connection with my foot on the accelerator. The muscles along my jaw spasm. If Cam pulled a stunt like this, we’re going to have it out once and for all. “Who?”

  She fiddles with her fingernails. “Paul.”

  It can’t be. He knows better, but I ask anyway. “Frak?”

  Her voice is small when she answers. “Yeah. But that's not the worst of it. Dad invited him to dinner Friday night.”

  A giant leech is sucking the life out of me. I barely have the strength to say the words, “Friday’s my going away party.”

  She presses her palms to her temples, her voice picking up steam. “I know. I told him I already had plans. And I told him Paul asked me out on Sunday, and I said no.”

  I knit my brows together, trying to understand her dad’s logic. “He's still having him over for dinner?”

  She nods, looking all kinds of hurt and confused.

  Every heartbeat is pain. My heart goes from making slow, intermittent beats to a rapid-fire machine gun, overloading my brain. The pressure builds until my head feels like it’s going to explode at any second. A mixture of confusion and hurt clamps down on my heart. “Why would he do that?”

  She turns in the seat, angling toward me. “I don't know. Something about respect, blah blah blah.”

  My hand automatically runs through my hair, kneading the back of my neck, and I blow out a long breath from my puffed-out cheeks.

  “Mom wasn't home last night. I tried to talk to her today when I got home from practice, but she said she didn't have time.”

  I focus on the road and chew the insides of my cheeks. Tim thinks he’s protecting his daughter, but he’s marching her to into the fire. Why can’t he step into the twenty-first century? There’s no way I’m letting Frak the V-card Slayer anywhere near Regan.

  “I told Dad I was going to call Paul and cancel, but he won't let me. I just don't know what's gotten into him. It seems like every other week, he's trying out some new control tactic.” Her head thuds against the seat. “He can’t keep making decisions for me. I'm not a little girl anymore.”

  I glance sideways at her, my nose scrunched up. “Paul is very aware that you’re not a little girl anymore.”

  Heat colors her cheeks. Normally, I’d tease her more, but this isn’t funny.

  At all.

  She clears her throat nervously. “Paul's probably just trying to get under your skin.”

  Regan might not know about what Frak does. She’s so naïve sometimes. The minute she thinks someone’s gossiping, she tunes them out, changes the subject, or walks away.

  I narrow my eyes, connecting with hers. “You know he does this, right?”

  She tilts her head, drawing her eyebrows together. “Does what?”

  “He picks out an attractive, good girl and pursues her until she gives in.”

  She scowls. “Gives in?”

  “However far he can get with her.” I glance at her.

  “I'm confused ... get where.”

  See? Naïve. I sigh and shake my head. “He takes her virginity, Regan. Do you want me to be more explicit?”

  “Oh!” She hides her face by turning to stare out the passenger window. “I didn't know that about Paul. He goes to church and Sunday school. I just thought he went out with a lot of girls.”

  “Just because you go to church doesn't mean you really follow Jesus. You know that.”

  “Yeah.” Her voice cracks. “I'm just, I …”

  She needs to know how real this is. “After he's won, he doesn't break it off, he dangles them along.” I grunt, disgusted by it all. “All who are naïve enough to go along with it, anyway. It's like he's building a harem or something. It's sick.”

  She softly agrees, “That is sick.” She swallows again, making a gulping sound. “How did I not know that?”

  I don’t answer, mainly because I don’t think she’s really asking me the question.

  We turn into the school parking lot, and I train my eyes straight ahead as I stop the truck in front of the gym doors. “I'll take care of Paul.”

  “Don't do anything stupid.” She hops out and stands there waiting for me to do or say something.

  I’m too busy thinking about getting my hands on Frak to respond. He’s taller than me, but I’ve got a good reason to fight and a fire burning inside of me.

  “Lane!”

  A brilliant smile covers my face, and I turn toward her. “You'll need a ride home, right?”

  “I guess. If I had a cell phone or my own car, you wouldn’t have to chauffer me around.” She lets out a big sigh. “Thanks. I should be done around eight.”

  She shuts the door and runs inside, not looking back.

  I ease my truck to the edge of the parking lot, out of view from the gym, and pull out my phone. My thumb swipes and taps until I find the name of the best fighter I know.

  Cam answers on the first ring. “What’s up?”

  “You up for a little persuasion, coercion, intimidation, and if that doesn’t work, some fist action?”

  “Dude, you had me at coercion,” Cam croons as if he’s been waiting for this moment all his life.

  57

  Regan

  Lane’s in the parking lot after open gym. I'll be glad when Tobi's back. I feel like such a dependent to Lane. At least when she’s home I can spread my need for transportation help around between the two of them, so I'm not such a burden.

  I forgot, he won't be here much longer. My entire body sags as I make my way to his truck.

  “How was it? Did you get in trouble for being late?” His voice sounds normal.

  Lane takes off as soon as I shut my door.

  I put on my seat belt. “No, surprisingly, since it was my first time being late, and I always show up.”

  “Good.”

  We drive down the road with the radio playing softly. “You can sit over here.” He pats the seat beside him. “Stretch your legs out. We're out of town, its dark, no one will see.” He's driving much more slowly on the way home.

  I'm contemplating whether this is a good idea or not. My earlier thought of him leaving pops in my mind again, and I don’t want him to think I want Paul or anyone else coming over to eat dinner at my house. “I’m warning you, I probably stink.” I unbuckle and move over, resting against his side with my back, leaning my head on his shoulder. I feel better already.

  He moves the hair hanging down from my ponytail aside, then wraps his arm around me and inhales. “You smell like caramel.”

  I can't see his face, but I can tell h
e’s smiling, and I picture it in my mind. My lips curl up into a small smile.

  We’re contentedly quiet for a few miles.

  “So, I'm not sure how to get out of this disastrous dinner tomorrow. I'm thinking maybe you can take me to practice in the morning and then take me to Tobi's afterward, and I'll just not go home.”

  He chuckles. “How defiant of you. I'm not sure that's a good idea, though.”

  “If I call and tell Paul not to come, it’ll be just as defiant in my dad's eyes.” I think I’m too worn out for my muscles to tense up anymore. “What about you—did you “handle” Paul?”

  He takes a deep breath. I feel his chest rise and hold before he lets it out. “I think so.” His chest hiccups a couple times like he’s laughing, but I didn’t hear anything. “I know how to get your dad to drop this whole thing.”

  “How?” I crane my neck to look at him.

  He kisses me on the forehead. It warms my heart.

  “Tell him we want to see each other—date.”

  I was wrong about my muscles. They tense regardless of how worn out I am. “Lane …”

  “Your dad likes me. So does your mom. He’ll probably be more than okay with the idea.” He rubs my arm. “My parents will be thrilled too.”

  I know I’m whining, but I can’t help it. “If our parents know, then so will everyone else.”

  “It's a helluva lot better than having Paul feed your dad a line of BS, that will ultimately lead to him taking you out.” He groans. “Come on, Regan. You'd rather go on with this shenanigan just to protect our anonymity in this relationship?”

  My face falls in a frown. “You make it sound like I'd rather go out with Paul than be with you.” This makes me a little mad and a little hurt. Not a good combination.

  “Well, that is what's happening here.” He lets go of me and runs his fingers through his hair.

  I sit up straight and look at him. “I don't see it that way.”

  He moves both hands to the steering wheel. “Tell me, how do you see it?” The fading daylight is bright enough to see the prominent knuckles under his skin.