Just Friends Read online

  Instead of spending the little money I had on lift tickets, I planned to bank the memories of today for days when life got too hard, and go back to my new life in Seattle. Back to writing uninspiring tech manuals and searching for a better job.

  I couldn’t afford to ski again anytime soon, anyway. And rebuilding our friendship when we lived in different towns would be too difficult.

  My heart went heavy, dropped into my gut and settled there like a brick. Ignoring it, I kicked through the deep snowdrifts toward my car.

  The snow had piled more than a foot high while we skied, making it impossible to open my rocket box. Leaning my skis against the side door, I cranked Bessie up, and grabbed my scraper from under the seat. Curtains of white rained down with every stroke as I cleared the windows, hood, lights, and roof.

  Gear stowed, I peeled off my shells, and slipped into my favorite old snow boots for the drive home. Then I settled into the driver’s seat, cranked the heat, and stared at the heap of snow piled in front of my car by the snowplows.

  Shifting into first, I gunned the engine. The car rolled forward a foot then stopped. Reversing, I drove backward as far as possible, then forward again, rocking back and forth until we finally punched through and fishtailed into the aisle.

  “Good girl, Bessie. I knew you could do it.” I patted her faded dashboard, glad to be on the road.

  ****

  Taya’s round ass swinging from side-to-side as she crossed the lot hypnotized me like a watch on a chain. She’d gotten a little curvier and it suited her. And me.

  With one hand, I adjusted my semi-hard cock. I might not be nineteen-years-old any more, but my dick hadn’t matured one bit. And it was having major difficulties remembering that Taya and I were just friends.

  As soon as I lost sight of her behind a sticker-covered SUV at the end of the row, I climbed into my camper, yanked off my boots and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Much as parts of me wanted her to stay, it was better for her to go home. I needed a break from ignoring the irrational attraction that had ripped through me all damn day.

  Hell, she’d been gone a good ten minutes and my cock was only just going soft.

  ****

  The dark gray storm clouds and heavy flakes made the day darker than it should have been at this hour. I inched Bessie out of the lot and on to the main road, my chin almost on my steering wheel as I strained to see.

  B, C, and D lots passed at a crawl. As I approached the head of the canyon, orange and white lights flashed through the gloom. I drew closer. The shadowed, hulking shapes of a fleet of snowplows appeared, parked behind a blinking Road Closed sign.

  I banged my palm into my steering wheel.

  Dammit.

  All I wanted was to go home and get my mind off Jordan and on to my tech manual. Then make dinner for Dan, my sister, and the kids. Fit myself back into my new routine. My new life.

  Now I was stuck up here for who knows how long.

  A woman in full winter gear and a reflective vest waved me over with her flashlight. I rolled down my window, shivering as a blast of snow-filled air swirled around my head. “How long is the road going to be closed?”

  “Not sure. They’re blasting now, but we’ve received five and half feet in the last thirty-six hours.” She shrugged as a loud boom, followed by the echo of a sizeable avalanche, punctuated her words. “A few hours at least.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I rolled up my window and tuned the radio to the local AM highway report channel.

  A monotonous, crackly male voice blared through the static. “…as of 2:41, Sunday, December fifteenth State Highway 421 is closed for avalanche work until nine p.m., when the westbound road is scheduled to reopen for twenty minutes—” I turned down the volume, not needing to hear any more, and worried my lower lip as I drove back to the base area.

  The bars were packed beyond capacity, and I couldn’t afford a hotel room, even if one was available. I could hunker down in Bessie. It wouldn’t be the first time. I did have a sleeping bag in the back, but it wasn’t rated down to the eighteen degrees showing on Bessie’s dashboard.

  The light in Jordan’s camper taunted me as I drove across A lot and pulled into a spot two rows away. His shadow flickered in the side window.

  The last thing I needed was to spend more time with Jordan. Not before I had the space and time to move him back into my internal friend zone where he belonged. Then again, it seemed silly to sit in my freezing car when my old friend had a comfortable, heated camper just a few feet away.

  I was a grown woman, and perfectly capable of being just friends with a guy. I’d been just friends with Jordan for years. Surely I could handle a few hours hanging out, like old times.

  I grabbed the door handle and stepped out before I could change my mind.

  As I slammed the door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the car window and almost crawled back into my seat. I looked like a drowned rat, braids coming undone, straggly hairs plastered to my forehead, bright pink nose. Somehow, I was the only woman on earth whose butt looked bigger in black leggings.

  Not that it mattered. Jordan had seen me with helmet head plenty of times before. And he wasn’t interested in my butt.

  I sighed, pulled off my hair bands, finger-combed my braids, and walked to his camper.

  At the door, I hesitated. In just a minute it was going to be Jordan, and me, all closed up in that cozy little camper together.

  ****

  The spare radio I kept tuned to the Ski Patrol channel crackled from its charger.

  “Garfield 22188. Head’s up, if anyone one was thinking of heading down canyon early today, make yourself at home. Road is closed for bombing until at least nine p.m. Garfield, out.”

  Grabbing my phone, I texted Mom I’d be late picking up Peyton. Then I touched my calendar icon and reviewed my hectic two-jobs-plus-a-kid schedule for next week.

  Footsteps crunched in the snow next to my camper. I glanced out the window. Taya. My cock twitched.

  Shit. I stood and scrambled to straighten up, grabbing boxers and long johns and stuffing them into the under-bench storage. Then I stopped and laughed. The time for making a first impression with Taya had passed years ago. And it wasn’t like I was trying to get laid.

  I couldn’t hear her footsteps any longer. Just silence. A silence that stretched on until I wondered if I’d hallucinated. Until a tentative knock sounded on the thin aluminum door. I waited a beat, and turned the handle.

  “Hey.” The word came out gravelly. I cleared my throat and started again, trying for smooth and casual. “I heard they closed the canyon. Come on in. Beer?”

  She nodded and climbed up the metal steps, sexy as hell in tight leggings and old boots, honey-blonde hair flowing down in soft waves. My fingers itched to touch it. To wrap my hands in the silky strands, pull her head back just a little, and kiss her senseless. Flick my tongue across her lips until she opened her mouth to me. Let my tongue slide into her hot mouth—

  My cock twitched again.

  Shit. Bob the Builder. Bob the Builder.

  No way could I let Taya see me with a semi. I untucked my wool undershirt so it hung down in front, and sang the Bob the Builder theme song in my head. On repeat. If that didn’t kill the mood, nothing would.

  “Looks like I might be here for a while. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” How could I turn down my friend in her time of need?

  Just keep it in your pants, buddy. You can do that, too.

  “Nice place.” Her smile brightened the space. Made it seem nicer than the slightly used but aging camper it was.

  “It isn’t much, but it works. Make yourself at home.” I waved in the direction of the gray Formica table surrounded by three, wide padded benches.

  She brushed past me. Her striped wool thermal hugged her curves like nobody’s business. In this small space it would take all of two seconds to have her tits cupped in my hands, full and heavy and warm—

  Bob the Builder
. Bob the Builder. Bob the Builder.

  I spun toward the fridge, hoping she hadn’t noticed my growing stiffie, and pulled out two cold beers.

  ****

  “To old friends.”

  “To old friends.” I clinked Jordan’s bottle across the table, brought mine to my lips, and took two long, cold swallows. Mustering up my courage, I set down my beer with a thunk.

  “So, you never did tell me… Do you live alone, or did some gorgeous girl finally manage to catch you and keep you?”

  Jordan sat silent, peeling the label off his bottle. I sipped my beer and watched a kaleidoscope of indecipherable emotions play across his face.

  Smooth, Taya.

  “Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You weren’t prying.” He glanced at me, then down again. “I don’t live alone.”

  My sharp intake of breath was involuntary. Not that I cared if he lived with his girlfriend. “I’m glad you found someone—”

  Jordan looked up again, reading my mind. Or maybe just my face.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. I mean, I was married. Briefly. She was an alcoholic. It was pretty bad for a while. I haven’t seen her in years.”

  Reaching across the table, I gathered one of his hands in mine. Warm. Strong. His callouses rough under my fingertips. “I’m really sorry, Jordan.”

  “It’s okay.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t been with her I wouldn’t have Peyton. My son. He’s four. I’ve got full custody.” His smile warmed. “He’s got some issues to work out from all that, but he’s an incredible kid. Smart. Funny. Athletic. Already turning into a helluva skier.”

  Love shone in his eyes. A four-year-old. So much responsibility. More than I wanted at this point in my life. I couldn’t even finish a novel let alone raise a kid. But I had no doubts about Jordan stepping up. I imagined him playing catch, and snowboarding down the bunny hill with the face of a proud papa, and tucking a cute, brown-eyed boy into bed at night.

  “I bet you’re an amazing dad. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Sometime.” He squeezed my hand then pulled away, focused on sweeping up the bits of label he’d piled on the table and tossing them in the garbage. “So what about you? How did your novel turn out?”

  I choked on a laugh. “What novel? I’ve got a hundred pages I don’t like, and I haven’t written a word in three years. Unless you count software manuals.” The words spewed out. Though I’d managed not to tell my sister or my parents the horrible truth—at least not about that—I couldn’t stop myself this time.

  “Damn, Taya. I thought you’d be a New York Times bestseller by now.”

  A shard of self-pity pierced my soul with a searing hot pain. I was nothing but a failure. And now Jordan knew it too. I stared at a dark spot in the Formica tabletop and tried to keep the despair out of my voice. “It’s hard, you know. And not everyone who finishes a novel even gets published. In fact, most people don’t.”

  “Hey. Hey. That’s not what I meant.” This time he reached for my hand, twining his fingers in mine, sending heat into my veins. “It’s just… You’ve got stories inside you that need to get out. You’re an amazing writer.”

  Back in the day I’d let Jordan read a few of my stories, and he’d become my number one fan. But no one had supported my writing since grad school. Hell, no one had even seen my writing since grad school. Not even me. It was too hard, too much to tackle. The last thing I wanted was to revisit my crappy excuse for the start of a novel.

  My eyes prickled as I sipped my beer. I turned my gaze out the partially fogged window, barely registering the falling snow as I struggled not to let the tears slip out.

  ****

  Studying Taya’s face, I wanted to make all of her hurt and fears go away. Let her know she was the most amazing woman I’d ever met. She could’ve run when I told her about Peyton. When she found out I wasn’t the carefree guy she’d known in Jackson. Just like every other woman I’d dated over the past four years—not that there’d been many. But Taya had never been like other women.

  She brought the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back to swallow, exposing the length of her neck. The tip of her tongue slid out to lick a bit of foam from the corner of her mouth, but missed some.

  I wanted to kiss it away. I had to kiss it away. Not just the foam, the sadness.

  Standing, I leaned over the table, slid a hand around her neck, and pulled until our lips were millimeters apart. I kissed the corner of her mouth, my tongue tracing the same path hers had blazed seconds before. She tasted like hops and yeast and fresh snow.

  Her free hand balled the fabric of my shirt, and I couldn’t tell if she was pushing or pulling. I backed off, searched her face, hoping to hell I hadn’t just ruined everything.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, Taya. I didn’t mean—”

  Her mouth swallowed the rest of my words. The heat of her lips on mine shoved the worries out of my head.

  I didn’t want to scare her away. Still, I tried to tell her how incredible she was, how much I wanted her, through that one point of physical connection.

  She pulled back again and looked me in the eye. “The only thing you should be sorry for is not doing this sooner.”

  Then she nipped my lower lip. The sudden, white-hot jolt made my cock stand at full attention. This time I didn’t fight it. I pressed my lips against hers with more force. Groaned when they parted and I slid my tongue into her hot mouth, just like I’d imagined.

  Maybe Sophie was right.

  I set my beer down blind and reached across the table to cup Taya’s face in my other hand. Needing to get closer. The bottle toppled with a clatter, foamy liquid racing right toward her lap.

  “Shit! Sorry.” I snatched at the bottle, righted it, and scrambled for a towel, a rag, anything to keep beer from soaking Taya or the cushions. The last thing Peyton needed was quality time with his dad in a camper reeking of beer. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Peeling off my shirt, I flung it on the table and wiped haphazardly. A good minute passed before I noticed Taya staring at me. Then she giggled.

  “Are you laughing at me, Monroe?” I demanded in a mock stern voice.

  “Nope. I’m laughing at us. This.” She waved a hand around and sighed. “Maybe it’s the universe telling us this is a bad idea.”

  ****

  He plopped his sopping shirt in the sink and rinsed his hands. Firefighting clearly was good for him. As much as I’d been mesmerized by his twelve-pack, now I couldn’t stop staring at his broad shoulders and muscled back. I managed to tear my eyes away from his tight ass right before he turned back around.

  He slid into the bench next to me and my heart skipped a beat. “If it is, I’m not listening.”

  I stared at the fogged window. It was so much easier to keep my train of thought when I couldn’t look into his warm, chocolate eyes or see the ridges of his abs tempting my hands from mere inches away. “Jordan, our friendship means too much to me to ruin it with sex. I don’t want you doing anything out of pity.”

  “Pity?” He snorted. “What makes you think I’m not attracted to you? That I don’t want this?”

  “Because you never were before. And now I’ve got a pile of baggage. And I’m not a successful novelist. I’m out of shape, work a crap job, and live in my sister’s basement. And—”

  Before I could say anything else, he brushed my hair behind my ear, tipped my chin his way, and let his lips float across mine like a moth dancing around a flame. I shivered, every cell attuned to the heat of his mouth hovering over mine. Attuned to the promise in his almost touch. Whatever I’d been about to say evaporated from my mind.

  ****

  I brushed my lips over hers once, then twice, and stared into her jade green eyes. They sparkled with tears she wouldn’t let fall.

  So strong. So beautiful. That asshole Gabe must’ve done a number on her. Suddenly I wanted to be the one to repair the damage. I pressed my lips to hers again, harder
this time, then pulled back a few inches, cupping the back of her head in my hand so she couldn’t look away.

  “Taya, you’re gorgeous. Amazing. And I’ve always wanted you.” A single tear slipped from her eye. I kissed it away.

  “So why did you stop, that night?”

  “Because I was a mess and didn’t deserve you. I couldn’t live with the idea of hurting you or losing our friendship. So I pushed you away.” I shoved my fingers against my scalp and exhaled. “I know I should push you away again now—for Peyton’s sake, and because you’re on the rebound—but I can’t.”

  Closing the gap, I kissed her softly again. She didn’t respond. Fuck. What am I doing?

  I backed off and tried to read her thoughts. Eyes clouded, forehead wrinkled; I knew her well enough to guess she had her own issues doing battle in her head.

  Her hand slid up and curled around the back of my neck. She brought my face in close to hers, until our noses touched. “Maybe I’ll regret this, but I can’t push you away any more either.”

  Then she kissed me. Not all soft and gentle. Hard, demanding, and sexy as hell.

  Fuck it.

  If she was in, I was all in.

  I leaned into her, nipped and sucked at her lips, tasted every square inch of her mouth. Heat ran straight to my balls.

  My hand wrapped in her hair, silky as I’d imagined. I tugged until her back hit the bench, all her soft flesh and firm muscles pressed underneath me. I plunged my tongue into her mouth at the same time as I rocked my hard-on against her fabric-covered pussy. She moaned and pushed back, making me even harder.

  Slipping my hand under her shirt, I followed the lines of her ribs until my fingertips teased the crease where her tits met her ribcage, then I traced their shape over her sports bra. I pinched her nipple just a little through the fabric. She moaned and pressed her chest into my hand, asking for more. I almost blew my wad right then.

  Instead, I pushed back onto my knees and peeled her shirt and bra off in one move. I cupped the weight of her bare tit in one hand, round and heavy and soft. It fit perfectly. Just like I’d always imagined. I brushed the pad of my thumb over her nipple. She shivered and my balls tightened.