The Best Friend Incident (Driven to Love)

by Melia Alexander

  Grant reached between them and stroked a thumb over her nipple before lowering his head to cover it with his tongue.

  Stacey moaned. He made her feel like she had one foot in reality and the other in a mind-blowing world of pure sensation.

  Holy wow.

  Electric pulses arced through her, centering on the sensitive spot between her legs. She closed her eyes and allowed the pulses to cascade, circulating around her on a wave of emotion so intense, she wanted more.

  She squirmed and leaned into him a bit harder, but he pulled back. “More,” she gasped. “I want more.”

  “Soon, I promise.”

  She gritted her teeth, her body craving his touch, craving the pleasure only Grant could bring.

  With each pass he came a millimeter closer to the spot that begged for him. Her eyes drifted shut, and she concentrated, willing him toward the spot she so wanted him to touch.

  He hauled her upright and stood, taking her with him. Her eyes opened as she gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist. “What are you doing?”

  “Making it easier to get a condom on.” He settled himself on the bed and she eagerly arranged her body on top of his, making sure his ridge was nestled in the perfect spot between her legs. From this angle she could move over him, coating him with her moisture. “This better?”

  “God, yes.” She sighed, leaned forward, and planted a kiss along his jawline. She did this to him. She made him hard, she made him want her. The knowledge was heady…powerful…humbling.

  He reached into the nightstand, then handed her a foil packet. It didn’t take long for her to tear open the package and sheath him. “Where were we?” she asked, straddling him again.

  “I think you’re in the right zip code.”

  With their gazes locked, Stacey lifted up and positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance. She bit her lower lip and pushed down and over him, then stopped. That first entry was always a thrill…a shock…a desire for more. She hissed out a breath, adjusting to his length and thickness.

  Closing her eyes, she relished the rush of emotion tumbling through her, the lust that mixed with something she couldn’t quite put a finger on, wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

  “Mmmm…” How was it possible that sex could be playful and fun as well as seriously intense? Or was it just that way with Grant? It certainly hadn’t been with anyone else.

  She opened her eyes, moved her hips forward, and rose slightly above him. Up and down and up and down… Grant filled her fully. Completely. They shared a rhythm that strummed at her soul, that made her believe in the rightness of this moment, at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, a lifetime of moments like this were possible with Grant. And just as she was getting used to the rhythm, to the feel of him in her, he held her tight, then quickly turned them both until he was on top of her.

  “Oh.”

  “You okay?” But even as he asked the question, he pumped deep inside her.

  “Perfect.”

  There were no more words after that as his strokes first lengthened, then shortened, catching her senses off guard and keeping her off-kilter so that the pressure built inside her, pushed her higher, harder, faster.

  “You ready to come? I don’t think I can hang on much longer.” He gasped the words out, lowered his head, then gave her a hard kiss.

  Tilting her hips, she let him in deeper still and the tension in her body multiplied, edging her even higher until, with one hard thrust from Grant, the world splintered, sending her down in a haze of fireworks.

  With a long, loud groan he drove into her. “Stacey.”

  He lowered his head until his forehead rested on hers, their breathing hard and fast.

  “God, that was good,” she finally whispered.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Would it always be this way between them? Like two lost lovers who’d found each other over a continent and a lifetime away? Didn’t matter. None of it mattered beyond this moment. At least, that’s what Grant would say.

  Maybe it was time she believed it, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grant stared at the large, empty bins that would hold the mash for what would become the next batch of bourbon. He pulled the clipboard down and read through the notes. Whiskey. He was blending whiskey. The bourbon was already being distilled.

  After the night he’d had with Stacey, focusing on anything but her was becoming a real challenge. Not that he minded the images drifting through his mind. Or what they were inspiring him to do the second he could get his hands on her again.

  “You okay?”

  Grant turned toward the voice. “Yeah.” He waved off Patrick Donovan, one of his partners. “Why?”

  “You seem pretty happy.”

  “I’m always happy.”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I know you better than that.”

  Grant shrugged, but he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

  “Is this about a girl?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well.” Patrick pulled his glasses off and rubbed them clean with the edge of his white T-shirt. “Don’t let yourself get too distracted since, you know, you’re behind production schedule.”

  Grant’s smile faded, but he remained silent. Underneath the light tone was an underpinning of hard truth, one that his partner wouldn’t let him miss.

  One of the reasons Patrick was a shrewd businessman was his ability to read people. Whether one-on-one, or an entire population, he had this uncanny knack to gauge habits and form an intelligent business decision based on his observations. Grant had watched him do it since college. It was one of the reasons he liked the guy and found him annoying at the same time.

  Hiring Grant and subsequently making him partner had been Patrick’s idea. Part of his “strategic plan,” the man had said. All the more reason for Grant to make sure the business continued to gain ground in the spirits market. This meant staying loose, staying focused—and keeping his brain away from Stacey, at least while he was at work.

  He frowned. That almost sounded like he was blaming her, or labeling her a distraction, but really, it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t keep his head on straight. Being with her last night, with that awesome dinner and the more than awesome sex after, made him feel… He didn’t know what word to give it besides Patrick’s “happy,” as lame as it sounded.

  Why wasn’t he panicking about how she made him feel? Where was the well of fear that edged up higher and higher, the voice of caution that practically screamed at him whenever he was too close to having one foot into a serious relationship?

  “Whatever it is that’s going on in your personal life,” Patrick began, “just remember that you’re our spokesperson. Do your job, schmooze people, and don’t taint our reputation.” He frowned. “Oh, and keep making the best bourbon around.”

  “Do my job. Best bourbon. Schmooze. Don’t mess up rep. Got it.”

  Something about his tone and the hard look he shot him made Grant’s skin prickle. The guy was serious, but Patrick had a job to do, considering how much money he’d borrowed to open the distillery in the first place.

  Patrick headed for the door that separated the distillery from the tasting room. “I’m off to give Stephan a break before he ends up mauled by the bachelorette party.”

  Grant blew out a breath. Stephan was the third partner who worked with the marketing team and handled the tasting room. Thanks to his playboy lifestyle, Stephan refused to mix business with any place he might run into an ex-girlfriend. That’s when Grant was tapped to represent the distillery, thus earning him a piece of the company.

  So it was time to get his head out of his ass before he gave his partners a reason to bail on him. He’d had enough of that in his life. No need to tempt fate.

  Was he tempting fate with Stacey, though? Even in the absence of his usual fears, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was, and he knew better than anyone how stupid that made him. No. He needed to pull his head
out of his ass before he fucked everything up. As much as he hated the idea, one way or another they’d have to bring things back to normal. More nights in her bed weren’t worth the loss of their friendship, were they?

  He knew the answer to that. Had known it from the start.

  How in the hell had he let himself forget?

  He shoved a hand through his hair and remembered too late that he’d worn gloves. Though why he even had them on was beyond him, now that he thought about it. He was pulling ingredients for the mash, for God’s sake.

  Shit. He really was distracted. At this rate he’d start thinking he was making another batch of gin even though the juniper berries weren’t in yet.

  His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He grabbed it, his chest giving a funny little twist at the possibility of chatting with Stacey, and glanced at the screen.

  Meredith.

  Meredith? Who the hell was Meredith? He hadn’t handed his phone over to a woman for her number since… Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time. He scanned the text message. Oh, right. The woman Isaac had introduced him to at the Winters’ get-together. She was available to meet for dinner tonight, then had a tight travel schedule after.

  He frowned. Tonight was Tuesday. Therapy Tuesday. Table 13B would be set as it always was for them, and Mei-Ling would put them through the paces again, reminding them of all the reasons they were practically already a married couple.

  Even as his heart warmed at the idea, he knew going down that path was a mistake.

  He needed to do something to save him and Stacey from themselves, and fast.

  He looked at the text message again. Maybe this was the universe’s way of handing him an opportunity that would fix everything.

  He blew out a breath, knowing what he had to do. It was as much for Stacey’s good as his. At least, that’s what he told himself. After all, he’d encouraged her to keep looking for Mr. Long Term despite what was happening between them. By going on a date with Meredith, even if he wasn’t interested in the woman, even if the idea made him feel queasy, he’d prove to Stacey that he meant it. If a best friend couldn’t keep his word, who could?

  He thumbed a quick text to her, asking if they could skip this week’s dinner, and almost immediately got a response back.

  Why?

  He hesitated, but if he was going to preserve their friendship, he had to do it, right?

  Meredith’s got time tonight before she heads out tomorrow morning. Won’t be back for three weeks. If you’re not okay with it, say the word.

  And even though it made him the biggest idiot, his heart whispered, Please say the word…

  Ten seconds later came the one-word response: Fine.

  He frowned and texted back: Are you sure? I don’t have to go.

  He couldn’t help it—masochist that he was, even knowing he could never do anything with it, Grant was desperate to hear Stacey tell him she didn’t want him to go. If she couldn’t—if this was headed the way every other relationship he’d ever been in had gone, he wanted to know before what felt suspiciously like love turned into a nightmare that ripped his heart out of his chest.

  Please tell me not to go…

  Stupid heart.

  When she didn’t respond right away, he set his phone down and headed to the storage area for a sack of barley to start the whiskey. His hands shook as he reached for the bag. Why was he shaking, damn it? He needed to get a grip. No matter what she said, he had to get the batch blended before he left for the day.

  After he’d hauled the sack into the room and dropped it on the floor far less carefully than he should have, he picked up his cell.

  Go. Have a great time! Catch up with you later. XOXO

  A strange, achy sensation struck him dead center in his chest.

  There it was.

  And he wasn’t surprised.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stacey sucked in a deep breath as the hospital elevator gradually came to a complete stop. She could do this. Julian and Martha depended on her. They’d hired her to create a good experience, a memorable experience. A fun experience. Julian’s orders.

  She would put her own heart, still crushed after Grant stomped all over it, aside.

  There would be no tears, no sadness, nothing to remind them that they were having their last dinner together in a hospital room instead of in their backyard like he’d hoped.

  She clutched the insulated picnic basket in one hand and adjusted the strap of a shopping bag over her shoulder. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped past two nurses in hospital scrubs, talking animatedly in a foreign language.

  How Julian had managed to convince hospital administrators to let her cater a meal was beyond Stacey, but she’d have fought for it herself if the older man hadn’t been successful. Fortunately, he’d been an influential member of the Milestone community for decades. No doubt hospital administration was eager to accommodate one of their best patrons.

  Walking down the brightly lit hallway, she glanced at the door numbers, and did her best to keep her mood as elevated as she possibly could. Julian’s orders. Martha had enough to deal with as it was.

  “You must be Stacey,” a man said when she passed the nurses’ station.

  “I am.” She retraced her steps. “I think I’m headed the right way?”

  “You are.” The nurse indicated a hallway off to the left. “Julian’s waiting. He’s very excited about having you here.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Hanging in there.”

  Probably code for “no improvement.”

  “Not great, huh?” Not that she expected the guy to divulge anything.

  The nurse gathered up some paperwork and straightened them. “He’s a fighter. With the privacy laws, that’s all I can say,” he added. But the sad smile on his face told Stacey all she needed to know.

  She bit down on her lower lip. She was on the brink of wanting to know, and not wanting to know. Curiosity won. She eased in a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. “How much longer?”

  The nurse hesitated, scrubbed a hand over his neatly trimmed beard, then nodded as if making an executive decision. “A day, maybe two. Hard to say exactly, but it’ll be soon.”

  Oh, God.

  Stacey nodded. She needed to get a grip. On top of losing Grant, this was going to be tough, but she had to do it. Julian and Martha depended on her.

  “Thanks for taking good care of them.”

  He flashed an easygoing grin. “Thank you. Julian’s talked nonstop about how much joy you’ve brought him and Martha, about how much the two of them have been able to recreate some of their fondest memories because of you. Not too many people have that kind of outlook when they’re…faced with these circumstances. But you’ve been instrumental in making it a little bit easier on them.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” She’d started Dinners for Two for hapless guys who couldn’t cook and still wanted to impress a date, but she’d come to understand it was for so much more than that. “I guess I’d better go set up.”

  She walked the long hallway, concentrating on the preparations she’d have to make, and mentally cataloging the ingredients she’d brought with her. Foie gras and french bread. Pumpkin soup with crème fraîche. Goat cheese for the beet salad. Some good olive oil and aged balsamic vinegar that Julian had raved about in the past. Lavender shortbread cookies and a carafe of decaf coffee.

  Thank God Carly could squeeze in the time to throw this last-minute meal together.

  Yes, she’d brought them all. Including the vase with the single red rose that Julian wanted to give Martha. Just like the red rose he’d given her on their first date all those decades ago.

  She stopped just outside his room. Okay, it was time to get her game face on. With a bright smile, she entered the old man’s room. “Hey there.”

  “Hello, love,” Julian whispered. He held out a hand to her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He looked so fragile, cradle
d among pillows, with an IV line connected to a point on his arm and an oxygen line placed underneath his nose. Yet through it all, he smiled as if there was nothing unusual about where they were or why they were there. “Did you bring the foie gras? Martha loves foie gras.”

  “I did.” She dropped her bags and set the rose on the corner table, then walked the short distance to his bed. She clasped his cold hand between her own, and an odd sense of peace surrounded her, a feeling that she was helping and not helpless. “She’s gonna love it.” Stacey looked around the room for a place to set up.

  “I’ve asked for a table to be brought in,” he said. “Should be here any minute. Now,” he squeezed her hand, “tell me, what’s going on with you and your young man. Quickly. Before Martha gets back.”

  And just like that the mood was shattered. Reality intruded, and along with it was the realization that time was nothing but an illusion. An illusion born of necessity, but an illusion nonetheless.

  “Julian, don’t worry about me.” She smiled. “I’m going to be fine.”

  His shrewd eyes latched onto hers. “Are you?”

  “Well, sure. I mean, it’s not like Grant and I won’t ever be friends again.” A sharp stab struck her chest, and she quickly glanced away. Were they even friends now?

  “You’re no longer friends?” His voice was gentle, caring, the way it always was. How could he be even remotely concerned with her relationship with Grant under the circumstances?

  Julian smiled weakly, and as if he could read her mind, he said, “We know what’s going to happen to me. Right now, I’m more concerned about what’s going to happen to you. You’ve a whole lifetime to walk through, and a lot of experiences waiting for you. One of the experiences I don’t want for you, young lady, is regret.”

  Would there be regret if she broke things off with Grant for good? To not be friends anymore? No more Therapy Tuesday. No more Netflix. No more hikes or bike rides or kayaking down the river. Could she really do it?