Losing You (Stars On Fire #4)

by Ryleigh Andrews

  “And . . .” he pushed, wanting an answer.

  “I messaged Marc . . . and told him goodbye,” she said, toying with the label on the beer bottle.

  “Really?” he asked, surprised at that.

  “Time to move on,” she said.

  Yeah . . . didn’t he know it. Tom needed to do the same exact thing.

  “Need a partner?” he asked because he sure as hell needed help.

  A thankful smile touched her mouth. “I do. Thanks, BFF.”

  He laughed at her use of that term. “You’re welcome. So . . . whatcha got planned this week?”

  “I don’t know but I’ve got tomorrow off . . .”

  “Hooky! Let’s go to a baseball game!”

  “Sounds like a perfect plan.”

  Lizzie got up from her chair. He watched her as she put down her beer and turned towards him. He didn’t move when she sat down on his lap, nor when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Not until she spoke did his arms hold her to him.

  “Thanks, Tom. Somehow you knew I needed you tonight.”

  With his lips to her hair, he corrected her. “That wasn’t the case . . . I needed you tonight.”

  Her head fell to his shoulder, and a little, almost silent sigh escaped her lips. “We’ll help each other move on because that’s what best friends do.”

  Lizzie

  January 13, 2009

  The Cubs had one of their best years in such a long time. She and Tom pretty much watched every single game, either at the actual ballpark, at bars, or at home—his or hers. And when she was away on business, she’d make sure to check in on the score. He’d grumble about her interrupting the game, but he’d keep talking to her. The Cubs were healing her best friend and, in turn, healing her.

  Lizzie was pretty sure they hadn’t gone a day without either seeing or talking to each other since the night Tom had found her crying a river in her bedroom.

  Depending on the Cubs’ schedule, they’d go out to dinner or stay in and get drunk. If they did that, the guest wound up spending the night. At first, it’d been nice . . . innocent, snuggling up with Tom, feeling safe with him.

  Until tonight.

  Baseball was over and the football season was winding down. They’d spent the day watching football then they watched the tail end of the Golden Globes. When the show finally ended, it was past midnight so she invited him to stay. With a yawn, he gladly accepted. He went up to her room before her while she put her laptop in her office.

  When she reached her bedroom, Lizzie froze. In front of her stood a very naked Tom with his back to her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his finely chiseled ass above which was his equally fine back. Tom was quite ripped with lean, sinewy muscles that moved and lit something inside of her as he leaned over to pull up his shorts—without underwear!

  Holy shit!

  She jumped out of the room, leaning against the hall wall.

  Tom was hot.

  Oh dear Lord almighty was he ever hot!

  Shaking her head repeatedly, Lizzie tried to get the image out of her mind. His ass and the sneak peek of what lay between his legs.

  No. No. No! Not helping, brain. Not at all. Tom is my best friend. We can’t think about him like this. We can’t want to know what his damn kickstand looks like.

  He’s Tom. Her best friend. Lizzie repeated that and with a deep, clarifying breath, she returned to her room. Tom sat in bed, a sketchbook on his lap and a pencil in his hand, and a shirt covering his chest.

  Boo, her brain said.

  Hush, she ordered it.

  “I thought you were tired,” Lizzie noted as she walked across her room to her closet. While she searched for pajamas, he answered her.

  “I am, but while I was changing I got an idea.”

  “Ooh, do tell!” she exclaimed as she slipped out of her clothes, wondering what type of inspiration comes while removing your pants.

  “A long trunk for your wall over there,” he said, pointing to the empty space beneath her window. “It’s so bare there.”

  Did he say trunk?

  Lizzie burst out laughing. Did he see his cock and then think, “Yeah, Lizzie needs a trunk in her room?” Fuck, how big was his trunk if that’s what he thought?

  “What the hell are you laughing at?” he called out.

  Lizzie returned to the bedroom, standing in the doorway. “You thought about a trunk while changing!”

  “Yes. What’s so funny about that?”

  “Did you look down for inspiration?”

  A shit-eating grin broke out on his face when he realized what she meant. “Yeah . . . I did. This cock,” he said, gripping himself, “inspires all kinds of things. Furniture. Daydreams. Orgasms.”

  She had to roll her eyes to check the words that almost came out of her mouth. He continued to laugh while still focused on his sketchbook as she hopped into bed.

  “You have one weird sense of humor, Bits.”

  Yeah . . . weird or corrupted by lust?

  January 18, 2009

  Luckily this past week had been super busy, and Lizzie had been able to drown out the visions of Tom’s fine ass that kept trying to crop up in her head. She hadn’t seen him at all this week, nor had she spoken with him. But on Saturday morning, he called to ask if he could come over since they hadn’t seen each other.

  “You sure you want to hang out with me?” she asked.

  “Yes, Bits. I would very much like to hang out with my best friend.”

  Tom was her best friend. He didn’t desire her. So if she wanted her best friend in her life, which she very much did, she’d have to learn to tamp down these lustful feelings she’d developed towards him.

  “Okay. Come over whenever.”

  “Cool. See ya, Bits.”

  About an hour to the minute later, Tom and Foxy showed up at her door. The dog knew the drill and went to the living room and laid in front of the fireplace. Tom leaned in and kissed her cheek like he normally did and followed his dog. He’d brought his bag with him. Since he brought work, Lizzie went to her office, snagged her laptop off her desk, and joined man and dog in her living room.

  Tom already had his designs laid out on her coffee table and on the cushion on one side of him. As she went to sit beside him, she glanced at his pictures. A couple different kinds of tables, chairs, and some awesome looking bookcases. All very modern pieces—not really what he did and she mentioned that to him.

  “Yeah . . . I’m experimenting, I guess. I’ve got a new client who wanted to hire me despite the fact that she wanted very modern pieces. She said to me, ‘Let’s see what you got.’ So . . . yeah, experimentation.”

  “Well, I think they look amazing. Has she seen these?” Lizzie asked, gesturing to the drawings.

  “Some of them, but I’ve been tweaking them.”

  “I can see,” she said, her arms sweeping out in front of her, causing him to laugh.

  “TV?” he asked.

  “Yes . . . movie, please.”

  He found Iron Man and then went back to his work while she chilled and watched Tony Stark build his suit of iron, and she occasionally went on her laptop to check Facebook.

  About halfway through the movie, Tom tossed his sketchbook aside, then stood up and tore off his sweater, his T-shirt a casualty of the sweater removal, revealing the light strip of hair leading into his pants.

  Lizzie couldn’t look away. Not from his abs or from the goddamn V. She cried internally. Tom had a very defined V.

  Oh dear Lord.

  She turned away and focused on the TV where things were blowing up like freaking fireworks. Maybe this was why Tom was affecting her like this. Her complete lack of fireworks the past eight months. Lizzie needed to get laid and she needed it bad.

  Tom

  “I need to get out of this place,” Lizzie said loudly, pulling Tom out of his head. He’d been engrossed in these different versions of the same design. Glancing over at Lizzie, she seemed extremely agitated, sitting forward a
nd rocking a little.

  “What’s up?” he asked, picking up his designs and putting them and his sketchbook in his bag. He hadn’t been a great guest today so focused on his work, but he’d also just wanted to be with Lizzie. He’d missed her this past week. It’d been awhile since they’d spent that much time apart.

  “If I stay any longer . . .” she left the rest hanging in the air and leapt off the couch and turned to face him, her face a little crazed. “Want to go shopping with me?”

  Shopping?

  “Not really,” he answered. Work had been crazy busy. He just wanted to chill with his best girl and play catch up.

  “Please?” she begged, taking his hands in hers. “I need out of here.”

  “Fine,” he grudgingly agreed, wanting her happy. She squealed and it hurt his ears but then she laid a quick kiss to his lips.

  That skimming of her mouth against his caused him to pause. She’d never done that before and he was going to say something, but she never gave him a chance to think about it. She threw his sweater in his face.

  “Let’s go!” she said.

  They both got bundled up to head over to the mall where Lizzie burned a hole in her wallet. She dragged him into most stores, but he went willingly. Tom carried her bags . . . along with a few of his own. He couldn’t resist getting some new Cubs gear. But when Lizzie tried to pull him into the lingerie shop, he adamantly refused.

  “Why do you need to go in here?” he asked as they stood outside of the store.

  “I need something to make me feel pretty.”

  “No, you don’t. You just bought bags of stuff,” he said, lifting the purchases in the air for added emphasis.

  “Come on,” she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the store. “Help me pick something.”

  “I will not,” he protested, but followed her through the store anyway, standing by her side as she pulled things off the rack to look at them. One in particular shocked him. It was hot as hell and he couldn’t imagine her wearing it . . . well, he could and that was a problem.

  “I like this,” she said, studying it closely.

  “What’s the point of a black see-through bra? You don’t need that. Put that back!”

  “You don’t like it?” she frowned. “I do and I’m going to try it on,” and she stalked off to the dressing rooms.

  What had sparked this sudden desire to feel pretty? Didn’t she feel it every single day . . . because, hello, Lizzie was gorgeous.

  He watched her move through the store and when she looked back at him and raised her brows, looking in the direction of the dressing area, he immediately shook his head. She put her hands together in a pleading fashion, even mouthing the word “please.” Raising his own eyebrows, Tom dug in, and shook his head again, hoping she’d believe that he meant it. Again, she mouthed “please,” her lips perfecting a sexy pout.

  It was the pout that got him. It was the pout that had very inappropriate visions popping up in his head. It was the pout that had him picturing her on her knees in front of him. His cock really liked that, Tom thought, feeling the damn thing come to life.

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered as he made his way towards her, watching her face light up with her smile. I am a sucker for her, being led about by the leash she doesn’t even know she has attached to my cock. When the hell had this happened?

  “You can sit down over there,” she said, motioning to the bench in front of all the rooms. She went inside the one nearest the bench and closed the door. Placing the bags against the wall beside him, Tom waited in silence, staring at the door, picturing that damn bra on her, seeing her nipples so clearly through it. The unbelievably wicked thoughts of Lizzie making their way through his mind made him feel so strange. It’s not like he’d never appreciated how beautiful and sexy she was. It was the fact that his body was reacting to it . . . overwhelmingly so.

  Tom glanced up when the door inched open and her cute little face peeked through.

  “Come here,” she whispered.

  “Why?” he asked, seeing himself in there with her and fighting the impulse to do so at the same time. He didn’t know what he’d do in there . . . he didn’t want Lizzie to freak out because he had these sexual desires for her all of a sudden. Best friend . . . remember that. She is your best friend.

  “Just come—please?”

  Again with her begging. Hell, he rose from the bench and made a quick look around the area—no one about—and continued to Lizzie’s changing room.

  “I need your opinion,” she started out, once he was close enough.

  “My opinion?” he asked nervously, feeling a little flushed. He was a smart man; he knew what would happen . . . her showing him that bra.

  “Yeah,” she said, opening the door wider. “What do you think? Pretty? Or does it make me look too small? It seems a little big . . .”

  He stood speechless as he stared at her in the bra and her jeans. The bra definitely didn’t cover anything up—he could see her hardened nipples jutting against the fabric.

  Crowding her back into the little room, he let the door shut with a bang. “One . . . it looks fantastic, and two . . . do you not care who sees you? You were basically out in the hall—”

  “Great. I’m going to get it,” she announced and with a flick of her finger, she undid the front bra clasp, letting it fall open to reveal her breasts.

  Guess that’s the answer to my question, he thought, staring at her, completely shocked. When she shrugged out of the bra, his hands ached to help.

  “I can’t believe you just did that. Whipped your breasts out like it’s nothing. How’d you feel if I just whipped my dick out right here?” he asked, moving his hand to the top button of his jeans, pulling it through the hole then went on to the zipper, tugging it down.

  Her gaze fell to his hands and she fought a grin, then licked her pouty lips. “I wouldn’t complain—not one bit.”

  “Fuck!” he said and stormed out of the dressing room.

  He was in big trouble—he wanted to fuck his best friend, wanted to turn her around and pound the ever-living hell out of her.

  Shit!

  Lizzie

  A few days later, Lizzie sat at home, thinking about what had happened. What the hell had she been thinking? She’d played with fire and she had to remember that fire played right back, thinking about Tom unbuttoning his pants. She groaned as she pictured the little bit of stomach she saw as he undid his pants, wanting so desperately to see his table leg.

  No . . . chair rung? Nah.

  Newel post? Maybe.

  His mighty hammer!

  After their shopping trip, dinner had been called for . . . as well as a couple of stiff drinks. Even with the alcohol in her system, all she’d been able to think about at the most awkward dinner ever was that mighty hammer. They’d barely said anything to each other, but she’d felt his eyes on her, and she’d been too chicken to see what was in them—anger or desire.

  When she did look up, Lizzie had found him playing on his phone. After dinner, he had dropped her off at home with a “see ya,” and had driven off.

  It’d now been three days since the seismic shift in their relationship and she hadn’t heard from him at all. She was just a tad frightened that she had completely messed up their friendship. That her stupid little stunt to see whether or not she had any effect on him like he did her had ruined everything. That it would take away her best friend forever . . . because he didn’t like her in that way. And that sucked because she wanted Tom—as in physically let-him-fuck-her-six-ways-to-Sunday wanted him.

  This lack of contact from him only confirmed that he didn’t feel the same, and she had no idea what to do about it.

  Gulping down her wine, Lizzie went to the kitchen to pour herself another glass. The moment she picked up the bottle, the doorbell rang. Sighing, she took a slug right out of the bottle then went to answer the door, wondering along the way who it could be.

  She peeked through the peephole and saw her ve
ry preoccupied best friend, looking very frustrated.

  That didn’t bode well. Not at all, she thought. Her hand froze on the knob when he pounded on the door. She was actually afraid to open it because by doing so she had a feeling her life would change forever and Lizzie wasn’t ready for that.

  Tom

  “Lizzie! I know you’re there. Let me the fuck in,” he ordered, pounding on the door again. All week he had fought what he felt—that he wanted his best friend. He threw himself into work . . . and ended up making her the goddamn trunk for her bedroom. As he finished securing the clamps to hold the base together, Tom wondered why he was staying away. Not talking to her. They needed to talk this out. And with that, he locked up the shop and drove to her house to stand on her porch and wait for her to let him in.

  “How do you know I’m here?” came her quiet voice from the other side of the door.

  He sighed, thankful to hear the sweet sound of her voice. “Your heels. I heard you walking to the door,” he answered.

  “Oh,” she said simply. Yet the door didn’t open. He’d give her one minute and if she didn’t open up, he’d barge the hell in.

  Luckily it didn’t come down to that. The door opened, revealing his best girl.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Tom glanced down and sure enough, wicked black heels on those feet. His eyes traveled up from the shoes, taking in the black skirt that touched her calves to the untucked pale pink blouse. That fiery hair was contained in a makeshift knot on the top of her head. She was fucking hot as hell, and if his mind hadn’t been made before this, just looking at her would do it.

  There was no way Tom could contain how he felt for her. He’d tried to stay away, hoping that the feelings would go away.

  They hadn’t.

  Tom wanted to fuck his best friend.

  Damn the consequences!

  Exploding into the house like a tornado, he kissed her with all the passion he had inside of him, pushing her against the banister with the force of it. Those lips were made for his. He devoured their soft plumpness and when she opened her mouth, he devoured that too. His tongue dueled with hers, her teeth nipping and tugging on his lips. When he pulled away, she tugged him back and recaptured his lips in a demanding caress.