A Tempting Friendship (Clover Park #10)

by Kylie Gilmore

  “Yes, thank you,” Julia said.

  “Anything else?” the woman prompted. “We have the Fierce trilogy in paperback.”

  Julia flushed and shook her head.

  Hailey piped up. “If you change your mind, you can buy the e-book.”

  “I’m fine,” Julia said, forcing a smile for Hailey and the other woman’s benefit. She handed over her credit card. A few minutes later, book in hand, she headed out, Hailey hot on her heels.

  “All sexy books aside,” Hailey said in a low tone, “you do want help changing your single status, don’t you? I mean, that’s why you called me. Everyone else showed up here today because of a flyer I posted in the bookstore, except Mad and your friend. Anyway, I got the feeling you really needed my help.”

  Julia stopped and took a deep breath, her stomach already tightening with anxiety. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “It won’t be hard to find someone who wants to take you out. I mean, look at you!” Hailey lifted a lock of Julia’s hair. “Gorgeous long chestnut brown hair—”

  “It’s just dark brown and shoulder length.”

  Hailey went on as if Julia hadn’t spoken. “With blue eyes and flawless skin, a captivating combination!” Julia flushed as Hailey continued to wax poetic, waving her hands all around Julia like she was showing off the features of the newest sports car. “High cheekbones, adorable little pointed chin, and I know you’ve got curves hiding—”

  “Hailey, I’m begging you, lower your voice. And your hands.”

  Hailey dropped her hands and asked in a fervent whisper that surely carried throughout the store, “You remember Josh from cooking class? Mad’s older brother the bartender?”

  Julia nodded. Josh was handsome, but extremely flirty with all women. Clearly experienced and used to playing the field. She wasn’t ready for the likes of Josh. “I don’t think Josh is a good choice for me.”

  Hailey leaned in conspiratorially. “You can practice on him. He thought you were pretty, and he’s not looking for serious. Could be fun, right? A good icebreaker to step back into the dating pool?”

  And, though Julia could surely use the practice (she’d only ever dated her husband), she feared Josh was just too big of a first step. “I don’t think so.”

  Hailey put a polished pink finger to her pink lips and studied Julia.

  “Thanks anyway,” Julia said in what she hoped was a breezy but firm tone. “I should be going.” It was difficult enough to get up the nerve to go to Singles Book Club without Hailey insisting on a setup with Josh. Besides, Julia was still revved up from that sexy first chapter. She needed to take the edge off with her trusty vibrator, Bob the III, far away from other women.

  She took a step toward the door when Hailey stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Clover Park doesn’t have a lot of single men. At least, none that I’m acquainted with. Why don’t you cast a wider net?” Hailey pressed a small folded piece of paper into Julia’s hand. “It’s an online dating site that comes highly recommended.”

  Julia held the paper with the tips of her fingers like it was on fire. “Oh, I don’t know…online dating doesn’t seem all that safe.” And the thought of meeting up with a stranger made her nauseous.

  Hailey snagged the paper and shoved it into the gap at the top of Julia’s purse. “You meet them in a public place and let a friend know where and when you’ll be meeting them. It’s just as safe as any other date.” Hailey gave her a little shove toward the door. “Go forth and hook a good one!”

  “Bye,” she said instead of what politeness kept her from saying—no way in hell I’m doing this.

  “I’ll follow up next time I see you!” Hailey caroled in her cheerful dictator voice.

  Julia hugged her new book to her as she stepped into the bracingly cold winter air and headed around the corner to where she’d parked her car. Rejuvenation was what she needed, not blind dates. But then she remembered her goal. The whole reason she’d reached out to Hailey. She needed to find someone long enough for Angel to move on. His future happiness meant more to her than any uncomfortable nerves.

  She slipped into her black Honda Civic and started the car. She gave it a minute; the old car always ran choppy on cold days. Angel was her rock, and she couldn’t risk losing him as a friend. Their attraction in weak moments was something she acted on and neither one of them could control.

  Julia had been a terrible wife. A terrible girlfriend too. But, dammit, she needed to be a good widow.

  Chapter Two

  After Julia got some orgasmic relief from the firestorm Damon had ignited, she stayed up late reading Rejuvenate Your Life Through Decluttering. The next morning, New Year’s Eve, she rolled out of bed, inspired by the book to get started on the decluttering. A New Year always made her want to do something to improve herself. Last year it had been to eat healthier, and she’d lost twenty pounds.

  She quickly showered, grabbed a piece of toast, and did a slow tour of the small cluttered two-bedroom ranch house she’d lived in for most of her adult life, eight years now, trying to decide which room would give some immediate results. She wanted to accomplish something before Angel arrived at six to celebrate a quiet New Year’s at home with appetizers and a movie.

  She stopped at the door to the master bedroom and stilled. This was the room that still held most of Brad’s things—his half of the dresser, his nightstand, the closet. She hadn’t touched his things and wouldn’t now either. She crossed back to the living room and decided to tackle the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases dominating one wall. They were filled to overflowing with books, old magazines, various knickknacks she’d collected over the years, framed pictures, and DVDs. Everything was stacked in two rows, one in front of the other or piled on top. It was something she looked at every day, this wall of clutter. She picked up a small Statue of Liberty from when she and Brad had toured it. They’d only had a month after the wedding before he had to go to boot camp and then ship out for his mandatory three-year tour of duty with the army (he’d been ROTC in college). She couldn’t throw this out, could she? Everything associated with Brad seemed sacred now. But she had to start somewhere. She’d put it in a box. She had plenty of boxes in the basement.

  She headed through the kitchen and stopped short at the basement door. A chill ran through her, thinking of all the reminders of Brad down there—his boxes of stuff from his parents’ house and the home gym. She whirled and started rummaging through kitchen cabinets instead. They had tons of wedding gifts they’d never opened or used, mostly appliances. Bingo! She emptied a large box that held a breadmaker. She’d donate this! A sudden lightness filled her as though some of the heavy cloak of grief slipped from one shoulder.

  With renewed enthusiasm, she returned to the bookcase with the empty breadmaker box and began two piles—donate and Brad stuff. It was mostly donate. She was ruthless, wanting to see empty shelves and only her most prized possessions, like her battered copy of Wuthering Heights, a small collection of favorite books, and the framed pictures. She didn’t need DVDs. She could always stream it. And with each item she released, a small bit of light leaked into her dark life. She opened the living room drapes for the first time in forever, the harsh sun reflecting off the snow blinding her for a moment.

  She looked out to the other ranch houses on the street, built in the 1950s, and wondered what her neighbors were doing. Fieldridge, Connecticut, was a sleepy, suburban town not far from where Angel had grown up in Clover Park. Brad had bought this house as a surprise wedding gift for her, reasoning there was plenty of Angel’s family nearby to look in on her while he was away. His logic at the time hadn’t made sense to her. It was like Brad expected to die and expected Angel’s family to take her in. Only why would they? She wasn’t married to Angel. Anyway, it didn’t matter because Angel never invited her to join his family for anything. Not since Brad had first died and it had been too painful for her to be alone.

  Dammit. Stop thinking about Brad. She was so tired of carrying the h
eavy cloak of grief on her shoulders. She honored her husband’s memory on the anniversary of his death every November nineteenth. She’d lived in a state of quiet remorse for years. When would she ever be able to move on?

  She returned to the bookcase and stopped in front of the three framed pictures—her wedding picture, Brad in his army fatigues, and her favorite, Brad, her, and Angel on their graduation day (Brad and Angel were two years older than her), enclosing her in the safety of their arms slung over each other. She lingered on the wedding picture. She looked so young, smiling for the camera all while racked with guilt over her attraction to the best man, Angel, who she’d slept with only eight months before, and her near panic that Brad was heading out to a war zone much too soon. She’d been too young to marry, but she’d convinced herself, in her confused emotional state of guilt and worry, that marrying Brad was the right thing to do. He needed someone to come home to. A shocking surge of anger over her fucked-up life had her snatching up the picture frames, tossing them on the sofa, and then with huge sweeps, she cleared every damned shelf. Sweep, crash! Sweep, crash! Books, DVDs, shells, every piece of crap she clung to piled on the floor in a mountainous mess.

  She coughed like crazy from the dust and stepped back. Wow. That felt good.

  An hour later, she’d scrubbed the hell out of the wood shelves, the scent of lemon Pledge filling the air. She put only her favorite books and the picture frames back, took one look at the pile of stuff on the floor, and knew she needed more boxes. Her knees locked.

  That meant the basement.

  Just go!

  She whirled, took a step, and nearly did a face-plant as she tripped on her own damn coffee table, slamming her shin against it. Ouch. She righted herself and continued through the kitchen to the basement door, her legs moving in a jerky stride, like they were frozen and it was only sheer will that had them moving. She opened the basement door, flicked on the light, and descended slowly into the dimly lit space.

  She shivered at the damp and took in the piles of boxes from when they’d moved in. The movers had packed for them, and they weren’t labeled other than “storage.” A lot of them held Brad’s childhood stuff. In the corner was a small home gym—punching bag, rowing machine, treadmill—that he’d used religiously. He needed to keep fit to be a soldier, he’d always said. She hadn’t wanted him to be a soldier, but it was what he wanted, so she’d supported his decision. She snagged a couple of empty boxes and found herself frozen in place as a chill wrapped its ghostly arms around her like Brad wanted her to stay. Goosebumps broke out all over her body. She half expected to hear his voice, though it had been so long she couldn’t even remember what he sounded like.

  She blinked in the dim light, straining to hear him, but all she heard was the roar of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Suddenly the heater kicked on with a growl of machinery, and she whirled, racing back upstairs. She slammed the basement door and paced the kitchen, catching her breath.

  Okay, okay, it’s just your overactive imagination.

  A full-body shiver ran through her, and she bolted to the living room. Music would help. She got out her phone, plugged in earbuds, and got back to work to the soothing tones of Coldplay. When she finished, she ate a quick lunch and flopped down on the beige sofa, staring at her handiwork—two clean, uncluttered bookcases with only her very favorite things. She was tired, but in a good way. One room a day was the most she could do by herself. It was too physically and emotionally draining for more. Her cell phone buzzed in her nearby purse. She retrieved it and saw a text from Hailey. She sorely regretted giving her cell number to the woman. She was like a bulldog with a pretty princess face. Did you set up your profile? Hailey asked.

  What profile?

  For eLoveMatch.com?

  Julia bit her lip. Not yet.

  Want me to help?

  I got it.

  Text me when you get it set up, and I’ll help you pick matches.

  Her world faded to a weird distant buzz in her ears, her mind overwhelmed and shutting down. She promptly lay down on the sofa, curled up on her side, and napped.

  When she woke, she closed the curtains again, took a deep breath, and retrieved her laptop. She had to be strong for Angel’s sake. She pulled up eLoveMatch.com, scanned it quickly for the instructions, and set up her profile. The minute she hit send, she broke into a clammy sweat, ran to the bathroom, and threw up. Damn, this moving-forward stuff sucked.

  Three hours later, Julia had cleaned up and calmed herself down by snacking on crackers and getting ready for her annual New Year’s Eve celebration with Angel. She cooked up some appetizers and chilled the champagne. Then she put on her favorite black polka-dot fleece pajamas.

  Angel showed up right on time and politely knocked, though she’d given him a spare key years ago. He lived in the same town, only a five-minute drive away.

  She opened the door, took in his familiar features—dark brown tousled hair, warm chocolate brown eyes, classically handsome Italian nose and cheekbones—and a surge of affection rushed through her. Just seeing him made her world right itself again. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him, but she knew she couldn’t. He hadn’t touched her in five years, and she would not be the one to cross that line again. Still she lingered, the warmth of his gaze holding her in thrall. Nothing mattered except that Angel was here.

  He flashed a dimpled smile, white teeth bright against olive skin and a dark five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. “You going to let me in?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Yes! Come in.” She stepped back. He slipped past her, close enough she could breathe in his scent; leather, ocean from his cologne, and Angel. Honestly, she was shocked he hadn’t found anyone yet. At thirty, he still looked young and fit with defined muscles from his workout routine. Maybe it was because he’d never been the party or club type. He’d never even touched alcohol in college, though now he had the occasional beer. He’d been their designated driver. That was Angel in a nutshell—always the good one.

  He peeled off his black leather jacket, revealing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt that showed his lean, muscular frame off to perfection. She sucked in a breath. Why was she suddenly ogling her best friend? Was rejuvenating her life through decluttering waking up her libido? Her vibrator served as stress relief more than an outlet of desire for anyone. Woo! That book was dangerous.

  Or maybe it was Damon in Fierce Longing that woke up her libido.

  Either way, when Angel turned to hang his jacket on a hook by the door, she couldn’t help ogling his ass too. He turned back, and she jerked her chin up, meeting his eyes. He didn’t look like he’d noticed. She had to get herself under control. They were best friends. She couldn’t afford to screw things up any more than they already were between them. And she definitely couldn’t handle him bailing on her again.

  “Happy New Year,” he said.

  “Happy New Year. What’re we watching?”

  He held up the DVD. “The Martian That Ate Manhattan.” He loved bad B-movies, found them hysterical.

  “That sounds terrible.”

  He grinned, and her pulse kicked up. “It got the worst rating in nineteen seventy-three.”

  She tore her gaze away. This was not the plan at all.

  She fluttered a hand in the air. “Well, you sure can pick ’em.”

  He slowly walked over to the bookcases. “Wow. Julia, it looks great in here. I like the way you put the books by color and height. And all your favorites.” She was a total bookworm and had been scribbling her own stories in notebooks since she could hold a pen. It was a necessity with her overactive imagination. Either that or go nuts from the chaos in her head—voices, scenes, bottled emotions—they had to come out somehow. Angel knew about her stories, though she’d never shared them with him.

  She joined him, pleased he’d noticed her efforts and pretty damn proud of herself for what she’d accomplished. “It was like a little rat warren before, right?”

&nb
sp; He turned to her, a small smile playing over his lips. “Not that bad. Just cluttered.”

  “I got this new book, Rejuvenate Your Life Through Decluttering.”

  He raised a brow. “And did it rejuvenate you?”

  “Actually, yeah.”

  He stepped closer to the shelf with the three framed pictures standing alone in their place of honor. “You look so young in this wedding picture.”

  “I was young. Nineteen.”

  He stared at the picture of the three of them, carefully avoiding the solo picture of Brad. “Now you’re an ancient twenty-eight.”

  “Hey, you’ll always be older.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “True.” He sniffed the air. “What’d you make? Something cheesy?”

  “Cheese popovers.”

  “Yes!” He set the DVD on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. “What else?”

  She shuffled along behind him in her socks, careful to keep her gaze above the waist. “Mushroom caps, mozzarella sticks, and mini hot dogs.”

  He turned and patted his flat stomach. “Not on my healthy diet.”

  “It’s a holiday.”

  He flashed a smile that lit up his face. Her breath caught. “So it is. Any New Year’s resolutions?”

  She brushed past him, busying herself checking on the popovers through the lit oven window. “Actually, yes.”

  “Well, you don’t need to lose weight, so cross that one off.”

  She straightened. “Thanks,” she said dryly, setting the timer for a couple more minutes. That had been her resolution last New Year’s, and Angel had helped her by adopting the same healthy diet. She’d lost twenty pounds to his five. It had taken her ten months; him two weeks. So unfair.

  Angel mumbled something.

  “What?” She turned and stepped closer. He jumped back. She hadn’t realized how close he’d been standing. He was so damn careful not to touch her. A constant reminder of the shameful regret they both carried. That only steeled her resolve to carry through with her plan, which meant online dating.