Be Patient: The Waiting Game (Escaping the Friend Zone Book 4)

by Sierra Hill

  I’m being absolutely ridiculous. I know I am. But I can’t help it.

  Deacon texted me over an hour ago saying he’d be here soon, that he just had to drop Bethany off at her house.

  I have no idea why that has set me off so much or why Bethany’s appearance shook me to the core today. Sure, no one likes being confronted by their old high school nemesis and bully or being surprised with the flash of bad memories that their appearance evokes.

  But that’s not what has me in a snit.

  I mean, yes, I remember all the bitchy remarks she made to me when I was a teen. But back then, I shrugged it off and ignored it because I knew Kari and Deacon always had my back. I was a skinny, nerdy swim-team girl who didn’t hang out with the popular kids like Bethany.

  And either did Deacon. But from the intimate familiarity in the tone she used with Deacon earlier, it sure seems that’s changed. It’s so obvious that Deacon and Bethany have hooked up.

  I knew it instantly, the moment she strutted in like she owned the place and owned Deacon. Only a woman who has carnal knowledge of a man would act so possessively over him in front of another woman.

  Dammit. Why am I so upset by this?

  Deacon and I are friends. Not even friends-with-benefits. We are neatly stashed in the friend zone and he has never made any outward attempt at changing that.

  He’s dated plenty of other women through the years. Aside from Kari, he dated Shayla. And three or four others who I now forget the names of. But regardless, I’ve never felt jealous over his exploits. In fact, he’s always told me about them. Whether it was a random hookup or he was getting serious – he shared it all and vice versa.

  But he never mentioned a fling with Bethany and that’s what hurts the most. Why the hell did he never tell me about her?

  And why, for the love of all that’s holy, did he ever sleep with that bitchy woman in the first place?

  She was an evil, mean girl in high school. A bitch of epic proportions. She was even nasty to Deacon, making fun of his shaved legs that were required as a swimmer. In fact, one time as an April Fool’s joke in our senior year, she led the task of taping up his locker with hundreds of pink razors.

  I mean, who does that and then not even ten years later, sleeps with the guy?

  Headlights shine through the front window, lighting up the darkness and scattering my negative thoughts away as I grab my clutch and keys from the hall table.

  “Bye Mom. Night Dad. Don’t wait up!” I holler from the doorway, as they both sing out their own goodbyes from their spots in the family room.

  My parents have been great to allow me to live back in their home again. I’m sure it’s a difficult thing for any parent to do, to have their adult child back under their roof, but I think we’ve worked through the glitches pretty well.

  Closing and locking the door behind me, I turn and run smack into Deacon’s chest.

  “Umf.”

  Deacon’s arms clutch around my shoulders and I take a moment to sniff his clean, crisp scent. He smells of laundry detergent and soap. Freshly showered.

  “Oh, hey,” he greets, stepping back and dropping his hands so I feel the loss of his warmth immediately.

  And then I remember I’m kind of mad at him for making me wait and putting Bethany first, and I nearly scowl.

  “I was going to pop my head in and say hi to your parents.”

  I shove my purse under my armpit and hook of my thumb toward the door. “Nah, some other time. They’re watching Law & Order: SVU. You wouldn’t want to interrupt their favorite show.”

  He laughs at what he thinks is a joke, but in all reality, they take that show very seriously. Have for almost twenty years. I don’t think they’ve ever missed an episode.

  Deacon places a hand at the small of my back and I shiver. Not from the chill in the air, but from the delicious feel of his palm against my lower back.

  Although it’s June, the temps on the Oregon coast this time of year can be pretty chilly at night. During the day you’re lucky if you hit a high of seventy. And in the evenings, it can dip down to the low fifties. The trick is dressing in layers, which I have become an expert at. I drape my jean jacket over my shoulders in an effort to stave off the goosebumps and remove his distracting touch from my body.

  He allows me to walk in front of him as we approach the car. Deacon leans down to open the passenger side door for me, brushing my shoulder with his chest.

  My body reacts as electric sparks shoot through my veins, causing even more goosebumps to ripple over my sensitive flesh.

  As I maneuver myself in the seat, adjusting the seatbelt strap over my lap, Deacon reamins at the door looking down at me. It’s as if he wants to say something but hesitates until he finally shuts the door and walks around the front of the car.

  “Ellie,” he begins as he takes his seat in the driver spot, closing his door and turning toward me. “I wanted to talk about earlier.”

  I adamantly shake my head, holding up my hand for him to stop. “None of my business.”

  He grabs for my hand and places it on my thigh, the end of his pinky finger dusting at the skin of my leg.

  “Yes, it is. I feel like a shithead for not telling you about her. It was only a few times last summer. It was so stupid of me. I knew better than to get involved with her. But it ended when she left town and I haven’t given her another thought until she walked in today. I swear, it meant nothing.”

  And then it dawns on me. Maybe Deacon fell for her and was hurt when she left. Maybe he wants to start something up with Bethany.

  “Deac, it’s fine. Granted, she’s not my most favorite of people, but I won’t stand in your way if you want to date her.”

  Deacon laughs hard, a big burst of sound rumbling from his chest. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? I don’t want anything more to do with her. It was a foolish and stupid thing for me to do. It was only sex.”

  He removes his hand and turns toward the front, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands.

  “I’ll admit, I wasn’t in the best place last summer. I was lonely. You were with Tom, and I guess I needed someone, and she was just, there.” He says the word with distaste and remorse.

  I reach to touch his shoulder. “You have me, Deacon. You always had me to talk to.”

  While I want that to be the truth, it may not be reality. I look back now at where things were at a year ago and realize I probably wasn’t always there for him as much as I would’ve liked to have been. Between ending things with Tom, which was messy and complicated, I was just getting started with my new job; and my life was in Portland, not back home where Deacon was.

  “I know, Elle. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. I just knew…well, I knew you didn’t like her and it was just a fling, so I didn’t mention anything. Will you forgive me?”

  It doesn’t take me more than a second to decide. Based on the remorse in his voice, and the earnest look in his eyes, I know I’ll forgive him. I can’t remain mad at Deacon. He’s just too good of a guy and I know he never meant to hurt me.

  Leaning over the console, I place my palms over his beard-covered cheeks and turn his face to look at me. Deacon is not only the most kind-hearted guy I’ve ever known, but he’s beyond handsome. He has a rugged, masculine face, his skin sun-kissed from all the work outdoors. His eyes are a smooth brown, like they’ve been laced with whisky. And his jaw is angular and strong, the stubble a little rough against my palms.

  “Deacon, there is nothing to apologize for and you don’t owe me any explanation. If you wanted to keep seeing her, I’d pull up my big girl panties and accept it.”

  He places his own palms over my hands and chuckles.

  “Are big girl panties the same as granny panties? ‘Cause if they are, that’s an image I do not need in my head about you.”

  His reply makes me chuckle and I make a raspberry noise with my tongue. “Oh, shut up and just drive. Let’s go have some fun tonight.”

&nb
sp; What I don’t say out loud, but am thinking is, “let’s get drunk and make you forget all about Bethany.”

  Chapter 6

  Deacon

  Hanging out with Ellie is one of my favorite things to do.

  We’ve always had fun when we’re together, ever since we were kids, because she has an easy-going personality. She laughs, can make dirty jokes with the best of them, enjoys playing pinball and foosball, and is an avid college sports fan.

  Ellie is my dream girl.

  And on top of that, she has a smokin’ hot body – one that seems to have gained the attention of all the dudes in the bar tonight who keep ogling her, even though I’m standing right next to her.

  “You ready for another beer?” I ask, sliding my empty glass to the side of the table for the waitress to pick up on her next return. “Or maybe you want to get your ass kicked in shuffleboard.”

  I tip my chin toward the table that’s just opened up, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. Elle drains her glass and nods with a smirk.

  “Challenge accepted. Although, it’ll be you, my friend, whose ass will be used to wipe up the floor.”

  Pushing back her chair, she signals to the waitress for another round and then walks behind me, sliding her hand against the back of my neck. The touch of her fingertips leaves a trail of shivers down my spine and an electric shock that shoots straight to my balls. My dick has been rock hard since we got in the car together and I had one touch of her flawless skin against my fingertip.

  Seriously, I’m fucked.

  As we add the necessary sand to the table and wait for our beers, I ask her how things are going with work. I realize her job with me at Powell’s isn’t her long-term career goal, and I don’t expect her to stay here forever. But I’m selfish and I want her here as long as possible.

  Having her back home and spending time with her in the shop every day has been everything I could want. Ellie brings a sparkle and female flair to the testosterone-filled shop. Not to mention, Cody’s surly and often times lousy work ethic, has somehow turned around in the presence of Elle.

  “Ladies first,” I offer, gesturing with a wave across the table. She lifts her beer in a toast, taking a long gulp, where I watch her throat constrict and have to look away because the action has my balls tightening up.

  She sets down the glass, broadsides me with her shoulder to make me move out her way, lines up her puck, and sends it sailing down the length of the table, where it flies off the edge and into the galley.

  “Dammit.”

  I lift my eyebrows skyward. “Oops. Do you want to concede now?”

  The floor seems to shift underneath me as she turns to look over her shoulder at me, her blouse curtaining open, so I get a perfect glimpse of her tits popping out over the edge of her bra. If someone held a gun to my head right now and told me to recite the National Anthem, I’d have to opt out and go to an early grave due to my inability to concentrate on anything other than the lush flesh of her cleavage.

  “Not a chance, sucka,” she crows. “Your ass is mine. In fact, I’m just warming up and feel a little wager is required.”

  She grasps the edge of the table and does some sort of wiggle dance, shifting her hips from side to side, garnering the attention of a few onlookers, including me. My eyes are glued to her ass.

  Clearing my throat, I call her out on her bet.

  “You think you can take me on, Ellie Belly?”

  Yeah, there’s a little innuendo in that carefully crafted response. I want her to take me on…in bed.

  The corners of her beautiful lips curl up in a challenging smile.

  “You name it, I’ll take it.”

  Fuuuuck.

  My head spins from all the dirty and inappropriate things swirling in my head. Like, playing strip shuffleboard (although that’d probably be discouraged in public). Or getting her naked on the table and going down on her until she comes so hard she blacks out.

  The wave of her hand in front of my face and her “yoohoo” brings my attention back to the game.

  I rub the bearded scruff across my chin and pretend I’m thinking about a bet.

  Snapping my fingers, I point my index in her direction.

  “Okay, I’ve got it. If you win, you get to take the new kayak out for a spin next week.”

  I’d just gotten in a new shipment of sea kayaks yesterday and she practically drooled over them, stating she’d die for a chance to give them a whirl.

  Ellie smiles excitedly and jumps up and down next to me, only ruining more of my concentration because her boobs are now bouncing, and my mouth has gone dry.

  “Yes! I’m down with that. And if you win?”

  Oh shit, this is gonna get messy. Because what comes out of my mouth next isn’t exactly a wager one friend would make with another. And it’s definitely not one a boss would make with his employee.

  But fuck it. I’m having fun, I’m feasting on Elle’s gorgeous body, and I’ve had a few beers. So all bets are off, so to speak.

  “If I win, we go skinny dipping tonight when we get home.”

  The surprised, and dare I say, dumbfounded look that sweeps across Ellie’s face makes me believe I’ve just made a very fatal mistake.

  Until her features soften, she tilts her head to the side and she bites down on her lips as a coy smile appears that makes my knees weak.

  She holds out her hand in acceptance, which I shake vigorously. “Okay. You’re on. I accept your bet. Now get ready to hand over that new kayak of yours, Powell.”

  Oh, it’s on all right.

  Chapter 7

  Ellie

  I am not sure what possessed Deacon to make this wager, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him know how much it interests me.

  So much so that I’m actually trying hard not to win.

  I realize that may be a very anti-feminist thing to do, but if you knew what Deacon looks like underneath his clothes, believe me, you’d do the same thing.

  Back in high school, I had the opportunity plenty of times to see him at swim meets wearing his tight-fitting speedo. His strong, powerful legs on display, the sinewy cords of his flexing thighs, his ass a solid work of art, and his package…Oh, his package even as an eighteen-year-old boy was something drool-worthy and dream-inciting. There was no hiding what he had going on under that form-fitting Lycra.

  After tonight, I’m done denying my attraction to Deacon. There has been an undercurrent of electricity buzzing between us since I’ve been working for him. The push-and-pull of that connection we have - it’s only grown larger, deeper, more potent, powerful and undeniable tonight.

  The score between us is currently his fifteen to my twelve and we’re working our way to twenty-one. He has three pucks on the board on the opposite end. I have a lonely one the minute the second puck went sailing off into the alley. I line up my shot, knowing he’s next to me, playfully wiggling my ass as I send the puck sliding with crafted finesse down the wood boards.

  The weighted puck strikes one of his at the corner of the table and sends it spinning off the side. Letting out a whoop of excitement, I throw my hands in the air in celebration and I turn to taunt my opponent. Dancing my victory dance, my fingers pointed in the air, I probably look like a 70’s disco queen, as I grin innocently up at Deacon.

  His expression turns dark and surly and suddenly I’m lifted off the ground, my feet dangling in the air, my body crushed against Deacon’s hard torso as his large arms wrap around my waist and he flings me side-to-side.

  I shriek in surprise, but more in delight. “Put me down, you sore loser!”

  My laughter is met with his own, as the sound of his deep rumble vibrates against my ear, his nose nuzzling in the crook of my neck. I can feel the ripple of his ridged abdomen from where our bodies touch, and it floods my panties in eager anticipation for something I’m not sure will ever happen.

  My thoughts grow hungrier and needier when I’m assaulted with his spicy, soapy scent, triggering an even big
ger sensual bolt of desire between my legs.

  Whether he notices the change in my body’s response, or not, he tightens his hold and squeezes me tight as we both groan before he sets my feet back on the ground. Deacon takes a step back, clears his throat and reaches around me for his beer.

  Awkwardness ascends, battling against the electric charge that zips between us. I step to the side and sweep my hand out toward the table.

  “Your turn,” I chirp, sounding very much like the ice-skating character in one of my favorite 90’s movies, The Cutting Edge, when she sarcastically calls out, “Toe pick!”

  Deacon’s lips twist up and he wiggles his eyebrows at me, brushing by my side as he steps up to take his turn at the table.

  As he reaches for his blue colored puck, he angles his head to the side to glance back at me, his brown orbs alight with mischief. And maybe a little of something else. He may also catch me staring at his ass, as I quickly glance away, feigning boredom.

  “You’re going down, Green. You. Are. Going. Down.”

  Honest to God, all I think in this moment is about going down. On him.

  Yes, yes, yes. Please.

  “Whatever, Powell. But can you hold that thought?” I say, raising a finger in the air and then hooking it in the direction of the bathrooms. “I need to go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Yes, I need to pee. But I also need to splash cold water on my face and give my rapidly beating heart a chance to calm the eff down.

  I’m not sure what’s come over me lately, but my feelings toward Deacon have changed. In a significant way. In a manner that has me dreaming of him naked and in varying sexual positions. I swear to God, I wake up sweating and my hand down my pajama bottoms, the lingering feeling of Deacon’s body covering mine.

  I rush down the hallway toward the bank of restrooms and push inside, searching out the first open sink so I can catch my breath and get my body and mind in control. Confusion is a harsh blow as I struggle with my conflicted feelings.