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

by Sally Henson

  “Paul's playing a game with you. My dad's playing a game with me.”

  “And you’re playing a game with all of us.”

  I lean back, away from him. “I’m not playing games.”

  “You're playing a game with Paul, allowing him to go through all the motions. You could lose big time because he knows how to win that game.” He cocks his head when he glances over at me with his brows raised. I can see him chewing on the inside of his cheeks. “You're playing a game with your dad, pretending I'm nothing but a friend.” He shakes his head as he speaks. “And you're playing a game with me, by being willing to bring another guy in the mix—doing the one thing I said I didn’t want.” He reaches over to touch my hand. “It’s you and me—no one else. Remember?” His voice finally softens after the tongue-lashing he gave me.

  I shake my head. “But Paul isn't in the mix. It is just you and me.” He doesn’t understand the gravity of my dad’s final say. When Dad says that’s it, he won’t allow one more word, no more discussion.

  He pulls his hand away from mine. “Who's coming over tomorrow for a pre-date dinner? It isn't me.”

  I close my eyes and let my head fall back on the seat. “But, I don't want us to be talked about. Our relationship is private; it's no one else’s business.”

  Lane turns off the main road. About a half a mile down, he parks by an oil well down a dirt road surrounded by trees. “We've been talked about for years. It doesn't matter that these feelings didn’t surface before—we were still talked about. If we’re not more than friends, they’ll still talk about us.” He shuts off the lights and the ignition and turns in his seat. It's dark out. “What's the point of having a private relationship that no one else knows about if you let your dad send you out with some other guy?”

  I don't know what to say. My mind races through everything. There hasn't been enough time for me to get used to the idea of having a boyfriend, or whatever Lane is now. There's still a part of me that worries this is not the right thing to do, that it’ll ruin my plans. This could ruin our friendship, too. I've been hiding some of these fears, but he's honest with me. I need to do the same. Ugh.

  I open my mouth to speak, but Lane begins before I get anything out.

  “Are you …” He turns away. “Are you having second thoughts about us?” His shoulders collapse like all the air was let out of them.

  I press my fingers to my temple. This is giving me a headache. “It's just that—”

  He interrupts me again. “I mean, if you …” He swallows. “If you don't want to be more than friends.” He slowly shakes his head. “Then you, you need to tell me.”

  My heart aches. I want to hug him so tight. “It's not that. I'm still getting used to the idea of us. I like it, but I don’t know.” I sigh. “Maybe you won't understand.”

  He grimaces and clears his throat. “Just tell me.”

  “I'm afraid if I keep letting myself go in this direction with you, the future I've been wanting—planning—will end up just like Susanna's or I’ll be like my dad said—like reaching for the unattainable moon and stars. I don’t want to be a dreamer, Lane, I want to actually do it.” I pull my knee up to my chest. “I feel trapped here. I’ve got to get out and marine science is my ticket.”

  He reaches for my hand. “I'm not asking you to stay here. I know you want to get out of here.”

  I pull back and sit up straight. “But you’re staying here, right?”

  His lips spread into a tight line. “I don’t know.” He keeps his head down.

  “What’s the point of being more than friends if we know we’re not going to stay together? What if this ruins our friendship.” I start to pull my hand away, but he holds on tighter.

  He lifts his head. “I’ve always thought we’d go to college together. I want that. You want that.” He pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me, leaning his forehead against mine. “I want us to be together. We should be together.”

  Calm washes through me when I’m in his arms. I close my eyes and the doubts slowly slip away. All but one. “What about sex?”

  58

  Regan

  I pull back and stare at him, holding my breath for his answer.

  The smirk he has on his face is nudging my ticked-off level upward. He adds a brow wriggle and asks, “Right now? Are you ready for that?”

  I pull back even further, tightening my jaw. I’m seriously thinking about gut punching him.

  He laughs, “I’m teasing. I’m teasing.”

  “Not funny.” I lean against the seat and cross my arms.

  Lane slides closer with his arm across the back of the seat. I slide away. He slides closer. This goes on until I have nowhere else to move but out the door. I glance sideways at him. He has a cute crooked smile on and I much as I try not to, giggles come out of me.

  “All right, all right.” I smack the back of my hand across his chest. He feigns pain.

  “Look, I know you’re afraid to make the same mistake as Susanna. But you’re getting worked up over nothing. We've only kissed once.”

  I look out the window as I feel heat flush my skin. “I know.”

  He puts my hand on his leg and traces designs with his finger. “We'll work everything out.”

  What he’s doing on the back of my hand makes me want to melt down in the seat. “Look at all the other kids our age. Even Christians.”

  “We've made it for at least ten years. What's another five?” He squeezes my hand.

  “Yeah, we didn't have these hormones going crazy for the past ten years.” I'm trying to keep him focused, but I’m losing focus myself.

  “You'll be eighteen when you graduate high school. Legally, you’ll be an adult.”

  My lids slide shut. His touch is putting me into a trance. “I'm not getting married while I'm in college, and I'm not having sex before then, either.” Lane’s fingers gliding over my skin makes my words come out in a sleepy slumber. I turn my hand over, hoping my palm isn’t as sensitive.

  “See, you're sixteen and already more mature than most twenty-year-olds.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “I get it, Regan. But if we tell our parents, maybe a few friends—”

  My back stiffens and I come to my senses. “No, I—” He presses his finger to my lips.

  “Hear me out. If we keep us from our parents, we’ll get used to hiding everything from them and I think it would be easier to, you know, get carried away.”

  “It’ll change everything if we tell them. It’s going to be hard enough fighting my dad on my major. By the time I graduate high school, he may not even be speaking to me. Especially when I go to Florida to college without his permission.”

  “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I haven't thought about us being that far apart.”

  “That's what I mean by getting away from here. Eckerd's a great college, right on the beach. You’d love it. It's private but no more expensive than attending university out of state. We can go fishing in the Gulf. And it has a great marine science program.”

  Lane’s fingers stop moving, and he rests his palm against mine.“How are you going to pay for it?”

  “How am I going to pay for any college? Grants, scholarships, loans, work. We've talked about this before.” I take a big breath and sigh. “My parents don't have the money for college. They can't even buy me a car or a cell phone.”

  “Maybe I could transfer or get work there after graduation.” He squeezes my hand.

  Hope swells in my chest. “Maybe I'll only have to fight two fronts instead of three.”

  “Fronts? Is this your war?”

  “Yeah.” I lean back against the seat, looking at the roof of the cab. “It's like, like I feel this war inside of me. Like, I'm fighting against the negative, gossip-ridden people in this town, this black hole trying to suck me in. Another front of the war is, sorry about this, our relationship—us.”

  “Why?”

  “Sometimes it feels like our
relationship is trying to take my future too. And it really isn't you; it's just the idea of a relationship. Plans change when there's a relationship in the mix. Look at Susanna.”

  He growls. “You’re not Susanna.” His head falls back against the window. “For the millionth time.”

  “The third front is my parents. My dad mostly. I can see the writing on the wall with his new talk about being realistic.” My shoulders cave. “It's so hard. You know how testy I get when people tell me I've got my head in the clouds.”

  “War.” He sighs with me. “We won’t be a battle. We just need to try and understand each other and communicate. That's what my parents say about good relationships.”

  I feel like I’ve been beat-up. Little sleep last night. Late to open gym. The roller coaster of emotions between Lane and me. I’m done. “I hope so.”

  Lane laces his fingers through mine. “So, we'll have weekends, for now.” He reaches up with his other hand to run his fingers through my ponytail. “And our summer flings.” His words bring a smile to my lips and melt my tension away.

  This time, I'm the one who leans in and softly kisses him once on the mouth. A spark ignites inside me. When I pull away, his beautiful wide smile weakens my knees. Those crystalline eyes somehow sparkle on this moonless night, under the security light of the well.

  Lane groans as he slides behind the wheel. “We better go.”

  We're only a few minutes from my house. “What do we do about tomorrow night?” I don't think we solved this issue.

  He looks over at me. “I'm talking to your dad, tonight.”

  “What are you going to say?” I thought we were done hashing things out. I don't think I like where this is going.

  “I'm going to tell him we want to date.”

  “No! You can't.”

  “The alternative is Paul. Is that what you want?” He’s staying calm, but there’s an impatience in his voice.

  “No, but there has to be some other way.”

  “You asked.”

  “Let's try to talk to my parents out of Paul coming over.”

  “And if that doesn't work?”

  I sigh. “Okay. I'm agreeing to this only because I don't want Paul taking me out or coming over for dinner.”

  59

  Regan

  We pull in my drive, and I wipe my sweaty hands on the top of my shorts. The lights are still on. Of course, they are. It's not even nine o'clock yet. Between this lump in my throat that won’t go away and the worry Lane will slip up, I may throw up before I get in the house.

  “Are you freaking out?” Lane laughs.

  I nod quickly. “I think I'm going to hyperventilate, and not in a good way.”

  “I'm the one who should be nervous.” He gets out and walks around the truck to open my door. I'm still trying to calm down. He takes my bag and helps me out, shutting the door behind me. “Come on.” I look up into his eyes, searching for my safety net. I find it and take a few cleansing breaths to calm down.

  “Okay.”

  Lane does all those gentlemanly things for me. I’d say it was a show for my parents, but he does this sort of thing a lot and not just for me. He opens the door to the house for me. I smell cinnamon. Mom’s in the kitchen making something delicious.

  “Hey Mom, what’re you making?”

  “Hi, there, Lane. Cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”

  “Save some for me. I can't eat that before volleyball or I'll get sick.” I put my bag down and take off my shoes. “Hey, what happened tonight? I was late to practice; Lane had to give me a ride.”

  “I'm so sorry. I got caught up with a customer, sweetie, I couldn't call. Thank you for taking her, Lane. You're so thoughtful.”

  Lane smiles. “I don't mind at all, Mrs. Stone.”

  Dad walks into the kitchen.

  “Lane, how are you?” Lane steps toward Dad to shake his hand.

  “Great, sir. Thanks.”

  “I didn't think we would see you until Sunday.”

  “I gave Regan a ride home.”

  “Oh yes. We had some things come up, thanks for helping.” Dad walks to the fridge to refill his tea.

  “It's no problem at all.”

  Dad sits at the table and gestures for us to sit down. Lane offers me the chair, I sit.

  “Would you like a drink?” Dad offers.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I think I need something.” I scurry to the kitchen for a glass of water. I'm so nervous about this, I'm about to drop the glass. I feel Lane watching me.

  He’s sitting up straight, hands in his lap. “Mr. Stone, Regan tells me you invited Paul Frak to dinner tomorrow.”

  Mom's finishing up with her rolls, and instead of sitting down I stay in the kitchen to clean up for her.

  “Yes, we have.” Dad sits calmly, sipping his iced tea.

  “Paul's not who you think he may be.” Lane leans up in his seat getting right to the point. “And frankly, sir, I don't want Regan anywhere near him.” That gets my mom's attention.

  She hurriedly washes her hands and finds a seat at the table. “What do you have against Paul?”

  Lane raises his brows and lays it out. “He doesn't respect women.”

  Dad scoots against the back of his chair, tall and straight. “He called me to ask permission to take Regan out. I would call that being respectful.”

  “He's not the kind of guy you want your daughter to go out with.”

  It’s like watching a ping-pong match. Back and forth. “And why is that?”

  “Paul's a—a hunter. He likes to hunt girls.”

  “Is that what you kids call courting these days?”

  I almost laugh out loud. Is Dad serious?

  Lane chews on the inside of his cheek.

  “Timothy.” My mom gives Dad a warning of sorts.

  Lane sits back against the chair, glancing at me. He's totally annoyed.

  The phone rings but my hands are messy. “Mom?”

  She turns to me and I hold up my hands.

  Lane's eyes narrow slightly as they follow her to answer the phone. He blinks and then focuses on my dad. “No, that's not what we call dating. Mr. Stone, Paul plays this game. He likes to search out a GG, a Good Girl, and takes her out on a date. He courts her for as long as it takes.” He's calmer than I’d be in this conversation. “He pursues her, tells her what she wants to hear, and wears her down until—”

  “Timothy, it's for you.” Mom walks towards Dad with the phone.

  The left side of Dad’s face pinches together. “That's quite an accusation.”

  Lane gives a slight shrug. “He knows how to charm girls and their parents.”

  I grimace at that last part.

  Mom hands Dad the phone before he can reply. She sits next to him, intent on his conversation as if she's part of it too.

  I look at Lane, my eyes bugging out, telling him without words that I'm done with all this nonsense.

  He gives me his “it will be okay” expression.

  My grim response causes him to come to the kitchen. Once beside me, he chuckles and says softly, “I think I need a drink now.”

  I nod to the cabinet with the glasses. He gets a glass of water and refills mine.

  Thirsty, I wash my hands and chug.

  My dad's words catch my attention. “Thank you for calling, Paul.”

  I spit my water out, coughing, trying not to choke. Lane rips some paper towels off and quickly wipes the floor. I'm still coughing a little when Dad hangs up.

  “Well, that was our dinner guest.” His chair scoots across the floor as he stands. “He called to cancel.”

  “Good,” I breathe, relieved. Lane stands and I mouth to him, “Thank you.” I take the paper towels to the trash.

  Dad folds his arms across his chest, eyeing Lane. “What did you say to him, Lane, that would convince him not to come to dinner?”

  Lane’s eyes flash in surprise, but he recovers quickly and spins around. He clears his throat. “Well
…” He struts toward Dad, squaring up, straightening to his full height. “I had a talk with Paul. I tried to reason with him about Regan. When he didn't agree, I gave him a black eye to change his mind.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

  “You what?” I told him not to do anything stupid.

  He continues calmly. “Cameron was with me. Paul's not the guy you’d let your sister go out with.” He turns to face me. “Cameron and I both had a talk with him. Paul knows we're both good friends of yours, and he won't touch you.” He turns back to my dad.

  “I'm impressed.” He grasps Lane's shoulder.

  My eyes pop out at his response. “Dad.” I can’t believe this. My dad is for Lane punching Paul?

  “He's protecting you.” Sometimes I don’t get him. He's not into violence but applauds Lane for punching Paul? “I thought maybe you two were just trying to get Regan out of dinner tomorrow.” Dad drops his hand from Lane's shoulder.

  “Of course, I want her to be at my party, but I don't play games like that.” Look at him, going toe to toe with my dad. Still being what my dad would consider respectful. Anyone who can hold up against my dad like that is … awesome! Dang, Lane just became more attractive.

  Dad grins. “Thank you for looking after my daughter.” He steps into the kitchen to put his glass in the sink.

  I move to stand next to Lane. He glances at me. “My pleasure.”

  Between this ponytail and the whole night, the headache I’ve been fighting isn’t going away. I close my eyes, reach up and unwind the rubber-band out of my hair. It's strangely quiet, but I continue to shake out my hair running my fingers through it, massaging my scalp where the band pulled tight.

  When I open my eyes and look up, Lane's watching me, and his eyes look like they did that night in the shed. Intense, studious, with a half grin. He’s like a magnet when he looks at me like this.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my parents are looking at us. “What? All this talk about Paul is giving me a headache.” I massage my scalp again.