Gypsy Hope: A Gypsy Beach Novel

by Jillian Neal

  “No, she rode with Jana.” Hope was still folded in on herself and refused to meet his gaze. Just as he suspected, she was too embarrassed to even really discuss such a thing. She’d just had too much to drink. She’d spoken without thinking. That was nothing new. He loved that they were close enough that she occasionally called him fuming when customers were morons or someone posted something on Facebook that made her crazy.

  “Okay, wait here. The storm’s letting up. I’ll get the tarp on, take you home, and get Ryan out here tomorrow morning. It’s still gonna be a total teardown. There’s no way around it. Whoever roofed it last was an idiot, and it’s been reroofed one on top of the other way too many times. Plus, the sheetrock is shot. I’m surprised the store’s still standing at this point. We’ll get everything packed up this weekend.”

  “You really don’t mind helping me pack up all of these books? I keep pretending I don’t have to actually do that part.” She wrinkled her nose and giggled. Brock smiled automatically. There was his Hope, a little tipsy maybe, but more recognizable now.

  “We’ll have fun. I’ll bring some pizza. We’ll have it done by Saturday night and go see whatever’s playing at the Cineplex.”

  “Oh, they’re doing a special screening of Oceans 11 and 12 Saturday night. I was gonna see if you wanted to go.”

  Brock gave her a goading grin. “I suppose I’ll go watch you drool over Brad Pitt and Matt Damon … again.”

  “Uh, I have endured Total Recall with you like four times just so you can see the three-boobed alien woman thing, so you owe me Brad and Matt, and at least two screenings of a chick-flick of my choice.”

  Brock cracked up and nodded his defeat. “Okay, okay, but not Sweet Home Alabama again. And it’s not just me. Every single guy on the planet wishes he had a third hand just for the Total Recall chick,” he teased as he headed out in the now drizzling rain to tarp the roof of Bandana Books. Maybe the chilly rain would help him drown his desperate desire to cage her between his body and the countertop, strip her out of her clothes, and pound into her until neither of them had any hope of knowing where his body stopped and hers began.

  “Sweet Home Alabama is the best movie ever!” she called defiantly as he made his way out the door.

  Two

  Okay, so that went over about as well as the Hindenburg. Locating her emergency stash of fudge ripple ice cream—normally reserved for PMS—from the freezer, Hope collapsed on her sofa. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused them. She did allow a small whimper to escape when her cell phone rang, however. Tucking the carton under one arm and holding the spoon in her mouth, she managed to wrangle her phone free from her purse.

  “What have you done now, Skye?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I’m just a little short on cash, and I was wondering if you could help your baby sis out, just until Gage gets paid next week. He got a gig at Fireworks!”

  “And Fireworks is?”

  An annoyed huff accompanied the explanation. “It’s a huge honkytonk here in Nashville. All of the big stars that have made it played there.”

  “How close is it to Music Row?” Hope helped herself to another bite of ice cream while her sister droned on about how talented Gage was and that the bar was only, “like seven streets over from Music Row,” and how “nobody but record execs knew about it.”

  “Skye, I’m sorry. I’m putting a new roof on the shop. It’s going to take all of my money and the season’s over. I’m going to have to scrimp and pinch until next summer. Something you should consider trying.”

  “Come on, Hope. I’m desperate.” Skye could whine like no one else. Her ability to make people pity her, coupled with her unfairly perfect, straight blonde hair, and being on the receiving end of their mother’s genetic make-up, which left her taller than Hope—and more well-endowed—certainly played in her sister’s favor.

  “I can’t, Skye.” Hope rolled her eyes at the beep of an incoming call. “I gotta go. Jana’s calling. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Hope switched to the incoming call. “What, Jana?”

  “Did he come by?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. Why would no one just let her drown her misery in ice cream?

  “Oh, no. What did you do? You just blurted something out, didn’t you? When will you ever listen to me?”

  Not in the mood to be lectured, Hope plunged the spoon back into the frozen confection. It was just starting to soften and melt, her preferred way for ice cream to be. She filled her mouth with the chocolatey goodness and refused to answer.

  “You did. I knew it.” Jana sighed. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

  Swallowing and cringing from the ensuing brain freeze, Hope considered. She wasn’t giving up yet, so she went on with the tale. “I asked him what he thought about friends with benefits. He thought I was drunk.”

  “Oh, good grief. Okay, no more of that. You need to be more flirty and less direct. A little coy, but don’t come off as cold. You know, kind of kiss up to him, but not in a slutty way. Try to let the conversation work naturally.”

  Completely fed up by this point, Hope huffed, “Jana! How exactly does ‘I know we’ve been friends for twelve years, but I’m really jonesing for you, and I’d like you to do something about that,’ come off naturally?”

  “You’re the genius. You figure that out. When are you going to hang out with him again?”

  “He’s going to help me pack up the store this weekend. He has to completely take the roof off, so it has to be empty. We’re starting tomorrow night and going to see a movie Saturday.”

  “Okay, so see, he completely chalked your horrendous friends with benefits comment up to three glasses of wine too many and still wants to hang out with you all weekend. Nothing is lost, but tomorrow, try to turn down your brain and turn up your body. Be sexy, not brainy.”

  “Did you get Sophie home okay?” Changing the subject was all her mind was capable of at that moment. Maybe that would please her friend. There was nothing particularly brainy about just giving up.

  “No. She’s insane, I tell you. She hasn’t yet figured out that Gypsy Beach is about as far from the nightlife of Chicago as you can get. I’m not sure she’ll survive here another six months until her gig with Charlotte Claire’s is over.”

  “Where did you take her?” At least Sophie’s antics were getting her mind off of her disastrous evening.

  “She had me drop her off at Whiskey Dave’s. Seth Moyar texted her as we were leaving your shop. Not sure what she sees in him, but according to her, he’s hung like a horse.”

  Hope rolled her eyes. She wished she had that much bravado and the ability to make men drool and beg to be taken to her bed. She’d never received even a booty call—or a booty text in this case.

  “I’m going to bed now, Jana. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “K, I’ll think about what you can say to Brock tomorrow night. Love ya, sweets.”

  *******

  Brock fell into his bed, trying desperately to get the phrase friends with benefits and the image of those very words falling from Hope Hendrix’s beautiful lips out of his mind.

  “She was drunk, and you’re an idiot,” became his mantra. His cell phone shook on the bedside table, vibrating against the wood. Rolling his eyes, he slid upwards in the bed and answered Matt’s call. “I’m home, and I’m not coming back out.”

  “Not why I called.” Matt sounded like the cat that had just swallowed a canary.

  Brock rolled his eyes. “Then why did you call?”

  “Just thought you might want to know what I overheard tonight.”

  Too exhausted and completely distracted by carnal thoughts of taking Hope to bed to hang up on his friend, Brock grunted, “I’m waiting.”

  “So, the evening kind of went to hell after you left. Seth texted Sophie DePriest, and she showed up at the bar. You know, now that I think about it, Seth is an asshole. I don’t know why we still hang out with him.”

  “I’ve been saying that
for years. What are you trying to tell me? Because I’m officially bored,”

  “Anyway, before Seth got handsy in the bar and she slapped him, she was very chatty about you.”

  “About me? I’ve never slept with her,” Brock scowled.

  “Not about you and her. She was talking about you and Hope.”

  “What?” His heart thundered to life in his chest.

  “Yeah, it seems Hope Hendrix has had a thing for you for a long time. She’s looking to lose her good-girl status and wants you to be the one to do the dethroning.”

  Brock ground his teeth. Why must the world fuck with him tonight? “She was drunk. If she said that, which I don’t really believe, she was talking out of her head.”

  “She wasn’t drunk, man. Trust me. I called Seth a cab and sent him home. He was shit-faced. Sophie and I chatted over coffee. I may’ve sworn that I wouldn’t tell you, but I’m probably going to hell for half the stuff my wife lets me do to her, so who cares. Sam swears Hope isn’t looking for some kind of lifetime commitment. She just wants to experiment, and she wants to experiment with you. Sounds like a hell of a deal to me.”

  Brock’s entire body lit like a livewire in his sheets. His cock gave a throbbed vote to immediately take Hope up on her offer. His mind flooded with illicit images of them together. Afraid the hungry moan building readily in his chest would escape, he refused to speak.

  Matt continued, “All I’m saying is if you’re interested, maybe you and Hope should actually talk about the two of you instead of completely ignoring the sexual tension you two have pretended away for the last decade.”

  “What do you think about friends with benefits?” The phrase ricocheted through Brock’s mind. Holy hell! What if she wasn’t tipsy? What if that had been her attempt at telling him she wanted more than their platonic friendship?

  Sitting up, he slammed his hand against his forehead and shoved his hair back angrily. Shit! He’d shut her down and probably successfully hurt her feelings. He had to fix this, but how?

  Suddenly remembering that he was on the phone with Matt, he drew a deep breath. “I’m going over there tomorrow night. I’ll talk to her then. Don’t say anything about this to anyone else, you got that?”

  “Dude, I want you to be happy. I’m not an asshole.”

  Supposing that was true, Brock ended the call and let his mind spin with the sheer possibilities of everything he’d ever wanted being presented to him like some kind of grand wanton buffet. In fact, having Hope splayed out, naked, eager, and wet was precisely where he wanted to begin his feast.

  Three

  The next morning, Brock and Hope were in the stockroom of Bandana Books, staring at Ryan McNamara’s legs standing half way up the pull-down attic ladder. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Hope wasn’t supposed to know that Sophie had run her mouth the evening before, and Brock could think of nothing else. This would be yet another complication of them sleeping together. When things inevitably ended, would they always be this awkward around each other? Brock couldn’t stand the thought of not being Hope’s friend.

  Determined to talk himself out of pushing Hope to tell him that she wanted him, he took another visual inventory of the hundreds and hundreds of books on the store shelves, reminding himself of the number one reason why they had no business getting romantically involved.

  His traitorous eyes quickly lost interest in the books and went back to her sweet little ass caught up in a worn pair of Old Navy jeans that were about a half size too small. They cupped her cheeks to perfection, and lust readily spiked the blood surging through his veins. Damn, but he wanted to knead her ass while she ground against him. He managed to turn his groan into a half cough as Ryan descended the ladder.

  “You’re right. I knew you would be. It’s got to be a total tear-down, including replacing the ceiling sheetrock. Here’s the thing, Hope. I can’t run this, and the hotel, and the neighborhood we just started. Sienna’s not feeling well in the mornings, so I’m trying to be there more. I’m just swamped, but, Brock, you’re more than capable of running this job completely. You don’t need me. You take the reins on this one. It needs to be done sooner than later. We’ll leave the hotel where it stands until you finish here. That’ll give me a break, too. If you need any help, give me a call, but you’re the foreman for this one.” He slapped Brock on the shoulder. “You’ve more than got this. Heck, you don’t even use a ruler. You can stare at a roof and tell me exactly how much to order. You’re incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Absolute panic drowned the sexual images that had consumed Brock’s thoughts all morning.

  “Uh, I’m happy to do whatever you need, but you do the ordering and paperwork and everything.” He barely recognized his own voice as it took on a pleading edge. Shit! This is gonna be a fucking disaster.

  Ryan chuckled and shook his head. “You’ll be fine. Like I said, if you need my help, give me a call. I’m heading to the courthouse. I’ll pull the permits for you. Shouldn’t be a big deal since we’re not changing the structure at all. If you get an order in to Whaley’s today, they’ll have everything out here by Monday. You can start then.”

  Hope was giving him her sweet, beaming grin, like she was somehow proud of him. His jaw clenched, and his mind scrambled. What the hell was he supposed to say with her looking up at him like he could rule the world if he wanted to? He could never disappoint her.

  “Uh … I guess I can do it.” His voice shook more violently than his heart. You’re an idiot. You cannot do this. You’ll screw it up just like everything else!

  “I have no doubt.” Ryan offered Hope a wave and headed out of the shop.

  “That’s so great! I’m so proud of you. You just started working for him back in the spring. He’s really impressed with you.” She threw her arms around his neck, and he held her to him. He needed desperately to cling to something, some stabilizing force, because his entire job was probably going to be on the line after this. And she was proud of him? This was precisely why he could never tell her. This was why he had no business getting more involved with her.

  “Hope, I’m probably gonna screw this up. This isn’t a good idea.”

  She stepped back out of his arms, and he begrudgingly let her go. Every fiber of his being wanted to draw her back in. Dammit, he was tired of all of the hiding. Not telling her was the worst. She was his best friend. She knew more about him than anyone. He trusted her completely. Walking a tight-wire of tension, the confession formed on his tongue. He wanted so badly to be honest with her. You’ll not only disappoint her, you’ll disappoint the entire fucking town. They’ll realize what a sham you’ve always been. It’s not just your name on that stupid trophy. Never forget that, his father’s hate-fueled voice rang in his head.

  Hope stared up at him like she could somehow see into his soul. He was certain if she possessed that power she certainly wouldn’t want to sleep with him, or even continue their friendship. Every single thing about him was a lie.

  “Brock, you can do this. You’ve reroofed half of this town. You’re amazing. I’ll help you do anything you need help with. I mean, besides actually getting up on the roof and doing the roofing stuff. Okay, so now that I’m completely unhelpful, you can still totally do this. I believe in you. You can do anything.”

  His body reacted to her vow, but her belief in him was far worse than vinegar in an open wound. As he swallowed down bitter regret, her smile faded into a concerned frown.

  “I guess I need to head down to Whaley’s to get the order in.”

  “Okay.” Her bottom lip slipped through her teeth as she studied him. “You still want to have pizza tonight while we pack everything? You don’t have to help me. I can do it.”

  “No, no, I want to help. I’ll be here. You know that. We’ll get it taken care of.”

  She gave him another confused nod as he made his escape.

  Okay, get it together, Camden. Think! Brock let the whir of his F-150 work through hi
s body. I’ll just talk to them. I’ll tell them what I need. They can fill out everything. It’ll be fine. No one will ever know. His heart managed to locate a steady cadence. All wasn’t lost. Ryan was pulling the permits. At least he didn’t have to do that.

  He turned his thoughts back to the endless debate that had kept him up most of the night. Should he confront Hope about her feelings? If she was hellbent on sexual exploration, there were any endless number of douchebags that would gladly step in as her guide. Thoughts of some unnamed asshole touching her, tasting her, and bringing her to climax made him sick. She’d told Sophie she wanted it to be him. If that’s really what she wants, then dammit, that’s what she’s going to get.

  Pulling the truck into the parking lot of Whaley’s Builder Supply, Brock stomped on the emergency brake pedal, letting it bear the brunt of his morning. His head mired with emotion and more memories than he could sort through. Confusion was the only thing he recognized, and as he’d spent thirteen long years in school being confused, it was an emotion he fully accepted.

  His mind spun and landed on the memory of himself as a child, standing and staring sullenly up at Ms. Fitzgibbons, his third grade teacher.

  “Brock, you misspelled every word on the spelling test again. Didn’t you study, dear?”

  “No, ma’am.” He shook his head. He’d never been a kid to lie. He’d never seen the point. There were glaring red marks all over the paper. There almost always was.

  “Why not?” Her voice had been kind, but laced with concern.

  “Me and Luke was helping Uncle Ev with the calving ‘cause we’re the oldest cousins. My horse, Lucky, and I are gonna be in the rodeo this Sunday. I named her that so’s we’d win more, but I still needed to practice.” He hadn’t understood at the time how sad and ridiculous that sounded.

  Ms. Fitzgibbons smile was sympathetic. “That’s fantastic, Brock, but I think you really need to study more. You haven’t done very well this year. I’m a little worried. Couldn’t your father have helped with the new calves?” At nine years old, Brock was aware that she already knew the answer. Letters on paper made no sense to him. Most of them looked the same. But people were different. He could read people with ease. She knew his daddy was a no-good alcoholic with a mean left hook. The whole town knew. Everybody knew everything there was to know about everyone else in Pleasant Glen. That was just the way it was.