by J. Kenner
No. Oh, God, what was she thinking?
Thinking? What was she feeling? This was Reece. This was innocent.
This was her body talking when her mind knew better, all because she'd drunk too damn much.
Her mind flipped again, and he was drying her off and helping her into her favorite fuzzy robe. Then she was in bed, curled up next to him, still cocooned in the robe.
"I've got you," he murmured. "Just try to sleep."
She answered, her voice muddy. Thanking him. Telling him she loved him. That she'd miss him. That she was so sorry she'd ruined their last night out.
But he just brushed her cheek and told her to hush. She didn't. Instead, she looked up at him, her mouth pulling into a smile. "I like it," she said, reaching out to rub her palm over his newly shaved head. His skin felt cool and smooth. "It suits you."
"You think?"
She pushed herself up onto her knees, feeling a little wobbly, then bent and kissed his head. "For luck, okay?" She pulled back, looking earnestly into his eyes. For a second, she thought she saw a burning ember, but then the moment passed, and she felt the heavy weight of disappointment fill her.
"You need to sleep," he said firmly, as she sagged back against the pillows, her body surrendering to exhaustion. Then he pulled her blanket up and stroked her hair, and the touch soothed her even as it sent shivers coursing down her spine.
Sleep was drawing her under, pulling her down into the dark. But she didn't want to go. She wanted more. Him. His body hard and heavy above her. His mouth tasting every inch of her.
She wanted the fantasy turned to reality.
But she couldn't have it, and so she kept her mouth shut and her eyes closed tight and surrendered to the lure of sleep, afraid that if she looked at him, he'd see her desire.
Then everything would change, and she'd lose her friend forever.
And that was something that she'd never, ever let happen.
Chapter Five
Jenna woke in a tangle of sweaty sheets and lingering dreams so wicked she feared she might set the bed on fire. She blinked, trying to remember the details, knowing only that her mind had been filled with Reece, and telling herself that she was allowed only a few more minutes to savor the heat before she locked the dreams away in the vault and never, ever spoke of them.
A quick rap on the bedroom door made her squeal, and she sat up, pulling her hand out of her panties as she did and biting her lower lip with mortification.
And with frustration, too. She really wished she could remember some specifics.
"Jenna?" Brent's voice filtered through the door. "You up?"
"Yeah," she called. "Well, I am now."
"Sorry. But it's time to rise and shine. Breakfast with Reece, remember?"
She groaned.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," she called, climbing out of bed and putting on the bathrobe he'd set out for her. She padded across the room and opened the door, revealing a sweat-slicked Brent, shirtless and fresh from his morning run. "I feel like I've only slept for an hour," she continued. "Oh, wait. I pretty much have only slept for an hour."
"A few minutes more than that," he said wryly.
"One or two, maybe." She looked him up and down. "You look far too awake."
"Curse of the job," he said. "Well, the job plus parenthood."
"Which means that this morning you've already taken Faith to school, gotten in a run, and answered at least a half dozen emails. I feel like a slug."
"You don't look like one." He nodded toward the attached bathroom. "Go ahead and take a shower. You'll feel better."
She eyed him. "Don't you want to get cleaned up and dressed before Reece gets here?"
"We've got time. I'll grab my clothes and go shower and shave in Faith's bathroom."
"You're shaving your beard?" She hoped not. It wasn't heavy, and she liked the way it defined his jaw.
"No, just cleaning it up. Part shave, part trimming."
"Good. But I can shower in there if you'd rather. I peeked in last night, and Faith's bathroom has a serious pink theme going."
"I'm man enough to handle it," he teased. "Besides, I'm guessing all your makeup is already laid out in there." He nodded toward the master bathroom.
She shrugged, sheepish. "We have so known each other too long."
His grin flickered. "I'll take Faith's bathroom. Go on and take your shower."
"Fine." She headed toward the bathroom, then paused and turned back. "But shave in here, okay? I don't think any little girl wants to see daddy whiskers in her girlie pink bathroom."
"Fair enough," he said, then grabbed some jeans and a T-shirt out of his dresser and headed into the hall.
She was showered and back in the robe when he returned and knocked on the bathroom door, now wearing jeans and no shirt, presumably so he could shave without worrying about his clothes.
"All yours," she said, grabbing her hairbrush and heading into the bedroom to rummage in her suitcase. The clock said eight forty-five. Reece was coming at nine, and she had a job interview at eleven. She'd packed a dress for today, but in her discombobulated state last night, she hadn't hung it up. Now, of course, it was a wrinkled mess, and she didn't have time to iron, have breakfast with the guys, and get across town to the interview on time.
Frowning, she laid the dress out on the bed as she eyed the bathroom, thinking that she'd turn the shower on full blast and steam the wrinkles away as soon as Brent was out of there. In the meantime, maybe a little coffee would dissolve the rest of the cobwebs in her head.
With a quick tug on the sash to tighten her robe, she moved into the hallway that led to the kitchen. As she passed the living room, the front door opened, and Reece walked in, calling out, "Hey, I'm here," and then stopping short when his gaze landed on her.
Jenna froze, last night's fantasies and dreams rushing back to her—along with the awkward realization that she was naked under her robe. A completely uninteresting fact five minutes ago, now it seemed like the most important thing in the world.
"Hi," she said, her hand rising to hold the neck of the robe together. "So, um, hey." God, she sounded like an idiot. "Aren't you early?"
"A little. That a problem?" He took a step toward her, his brows knit and his mouth a thin line. He looked confused, and why wouldn't he be? When had any of the three of them ever cared if the others were early?
"Duh. No. It was just an observation. Um, I was just about to put on some coffee. Want some?" Her smile felt wobbly, and she hurried into the kitchen, wishing that she could pull the fantasies out of her head, crumple them up, and throw them away. Barring that, she wished that she could at least act normal.
He followed her into the kitchen, then leaned against the pantry door, still looking wary. She opened the cupboard then said a silent thank you that Brent didn't have any beans ground. It gave her an excuse to fill the grinder, turn the gizmo on, and think.
When she released the button and the racket stopped, she turned back to Reece just in time to see his eyes go wide. He was looking down the hallway at something outside her line of sight, and she stepped around the counter so she could see what had caught his eye.
The what was Brent, coming toward them as he pulled a T-shirt over his head, a dab of shaving cream still on his face. "About your dress on the bed," he was saying. "Do you want me to hang it up for you?" His head emerged, and he looked at Reece with surprise. "Oh, hey. I didn't know you were here alread—"
But that was all he said. Because the next second, Reece's fist flew out and landed—pow!—on Brent's jaw.
Chapter Six
Reece pulled his arm back, appalled by what he'd just done—and at the same time, certain he'd do it again in a heartbeat.
"Reece!" Jenna's scream cut through the rage and jealousy and betrayal that clung to him like mist. He turned to see her staring him down, Brent's robe tight around her body. She was probably naked underneath, and the image of Brent's hands on her filled his mind. Bre
nt stroking her, taking advantage.
Taking what was his.
No. Reece clenched his fist again, this time as much in defense against his own thoughts as against the fury that still bubbled inside him.
"Christ, man." Brent rubbed his jaw, manipulating it from side to side like he was checking for broken bones. "What the hell was that for?"
"We're supposed to be watching out for her, not fucking her."
"Have you lost your mind? We haven't—"
"Watching out for me?" Jenna's voice rose with indignation. "Who elected you to the posse?" She stepped in front of him, her back to Brent. "Because in case you missed the memo, I can sleep with whoever I want to."
Bile rose in Reece's throat. He'd been right. Oh, holy fuck, he'd been right.
"And what the hell do you think you're doing coming in here like a warden and throwing punches?" She took another step and got right in his face, so close he could count her freckles, dark against her pale, angry skin. He was struck by an overwhelming urge to taste each one. Either that or grab her by the arms and shake her.
Or maybe he should gather her up, kiss her hard, and show her once and for all whose bed she belonged in, because, goddammit, if he'd known that Brent would—
"And how is who I sleep with any of your business?" Jenna continued, interrupting the barrage of thoughts that burst through his mind like machine gun fire. "Did I say anything about Megan? Or about the dozens of women before her?"
She had, actually. He distinctly remembered her standing in much the same posture and telling him time and again that he needed to get his shit together, because the way he was going, he'd have dated every woman in Travis County. Of course, she'd been wearing jeans that day. Not a bathrobe.
He drew in a breath and tried to keep his temper in check. "This isn't about—"
"This isn't about anything," Brent interrupted, using the same voice that Reece had heard him use with Faith when she was being particularly cranky. "Jenna slept in my bed, I slept on the couch, and I'm guessing nobody's sleeping with you lately. Because you, my friend, are wound too tight."
"What the hell, Reece?" Jenna snapped. "Do you honestly think I'd sleep with Brent? And right down the hall from his daughter?"
"You told me you were staying with Amanda."
She rolled her eyes, then turned and started walking toward the kitchen. "Oh, right." She paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder at him. "And since I'm not allowed to change my plans without sending you a text message asking permission, I'm in trouble now."
"Dammit, Jenna—"
She whirled on him. "Don't 'dammit, Jenna,' me. Unless I'm camped out on your couch, it's none of your business where I sleep. But for your information, the Franklins are having their floors redone, so Amanda's got her parents in her house. And I wasn't keen on sleeping on the sofa while Mr. Franklin hangs out in the living room at five in the morning watching the news."
"Children," Brent said, "if we could just—"
"Oh, no," Jenna said, cutting Brent off. Apparently, she was still on a very Jenna-like roll. She turned her attention back to Reece. "You seriously thought we'd slept together? You guys are my best friends. You know that. Hell, you're my family, and you know that, too. Besides, I don't think about him that way," she continued, her voice tight and sharp. "But even if I did, do you think I'd risk that? Risk losing the only family I have besides my mom? Damn you, Reece Walker. You're a goddamn idiot."
She was right, of course. He didn't believe it, but damned if an insane rush of jealousy hadn't completely swept him away in a tidal wave of primal, raw emotion.
He couldn't remember a time he'd lost his shit like that, and all he could do now was shake his head, apologize, and hope there wasn't a big neon sign flashing over his head advertising exactly why he'd gotten so bent out of shape in the first place.
"I'm an ass, okay? That's the bottom line, and the sooner we all accept the truth, the happier we'll all be."
"An ass," she repeated, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Care to elucidate?"
"I think he's summed it up nicely," Brent said. Jenna turned to him, her arms crossed and her mouth a thin line of disapproval. She stared him down. One second, then another—and then all three of them burst into laughter.
"Oh, shit," Jenna said. "I mean, seriously, Reece. What the fuck?"
"Sorry. I know." He ran his palm over his head, wishing the contact could help him come up with something even remotely plausible. "It's this bullshit with Tyree. I didn't sleep for thinking about it, and then I walked in and—well, straw, meet camel."
Her mouth twisted with exasperation as she pushed away from the wall. "Idiot," she muttered, then hip-butted him as she moved past him into the kitchen. She paused long enough to point to Brent. "You, go finish getting dressed. And to answer your question, yes, you can hang up my dress. In the bathroom, with the shower on hot. I need to steam out some wrinkles. And as for you..."
She turned her attention to Reece. "Make some coffee, would you? I'll start bacon, and Brent can do the eggs when he gets back."
Reece did as she said, and when the coffee was brewing, he hoisted himself up on the counter and watched as she poked at the frying bacon with the tongs. Her back was to him, and he could just make out the curves of her ass against the thick material of the robe. He wanted to slide off the cabinet, go to her, and cup her ass in his hands as he bent to kiss her neck. She probably tasted like bacon. Either way, he could damn sure eat her up.
And no way could that ever happen, for all the reasons she'd stated.
As if he'd spoken aloud, she looked over her shoulder, her brows rising in question. "Yeah?"
"Just watching you cook and thinking."
"Oh? About what?" She turned back to the sizzling pan, moving the meat around, as he hopped down and came up behind her.
What was he thinking? The truth was something he couldn't tell her, especially after her announcement that she considered him only family, and didn't think of him that way at all.
The truth was that he was thinking about her. About the feel of her skin that night. And he was trying to remember the exact pinkish-brown of her exposed areola when he'd undressed her. And he was probably heading straight for hell because those thoughts spun into a sweet fantasy about sliding his hand between her thighs to cup her smooth, shaved pussy. Not to mention the X-rated movie playing in his mind about what would have happened had he not simply cleaned her up that night, but if he'd laid her naked on the bed then tasted every warm, delicious inch of her.
But those weren't best friend thoughts, and so as he moved behind her now in Brent's kitchen, he said none of it. Instead, he told her he was thinking about bacon.
"Bacon?" She didn't sound convinced, but he didn't have the strength to argue, not when he was right behind her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating him. Brent's shampoo, actually, but it smelled one hell of a lot better on Jenna.
"I'm ravenous." He leaned to one side, his hand resting on the stainless steel edge of the stove as he reached around her with his other hand to snag a piece of bacon off the paper-towel covered plate onto which she was piling the cooked pieces. He paused in the motion, realizing that she was effectively caged in his arms, and it would be so ridiculously easy to brush her hair with his lips, or even spin her around and capture her mouth before she could protest.
"Reece." Her back was still to him, so he couldn't see her face, but he heard an unfamiliar tightness in her voice. An awareness. A heat. And he felt a corresponding tension in his balls.
"What?" He stepped closer under the guise of getting another slice of bacon, and in the process his chest brushed her back. For just an instant, time froze. And in that infinite moment, he felt the fire of a future he craved—and remembered one simple, wonderful, confusing point: she'd said she didn't think of him that way. Not them—not Brent and Reece—just him.
And in the context of that particular conversation, the "him" in question had been Brent.
Did that mean she thought about Reece that way? As more than a friend, and definitely not family?
And even if she did, so what? She was right, after all. How could either of them risk their friendship for something that might be fun, but wouldn't last? Because he knew better than to believe relationships last. He was walking, talking proof that they didn't.
"Reece?"
"Hmm?"
"Can you move?" she asked, breaking the spell. "You're blocking me, and I'm desperate for a cup of coffee."
"What? Oh, yeah." He stepped aside, then watched as she poured a cup for herself, then passed one to him. "I really am sorry."
She took a sip, then lifted a shoulder. The robe swallowed her, and with her long hair parted in the middle, no makeup, and bare feet, she reminded him of a little girl at Christmas sipping cocoa. That illusion, however, faded when those eyes flashed green fire in his direction.
"There are a lot of jerks out there you could have saved me from over the years. But you should know that Brent isn't one of them. I mean, what were you thinking?"
"I'm pretty sure we've already established that I wasn't. Thinking, I mean." He pointed at the stove. "Go. Cook."
"Set the table," she ordered as Brent arrived and went to work on the eggs. It was a routine they'd been through at least a hundred times. And when they each had a plate and were settled at the table, Jenna nodded at Brent. "So what are we going to do about Tyree. And, yeah, I mean we. I know I've been gone for ages and don't work there anymore, but I love him, too. So?" she demanded, looking at them both in turn. "What's the plan?"
"We need to know the problem before the plan," Reece said. "And I mean the details of the problem. More than just the fact that he owes money."
"Must be a shit ton of money," Brent said. "Austin commercial real estate isn't cheap, and it wasn't when Tyree bought the place, either. I don’t know what he paid for The Fix, but I do know the down-payment wasn’t huge."
"So you're saying it's a done deal?" Jenna pressed. She reached for the salt, the sleeve of her robe brushing Reece's arm.