@Mira Lyn Kelly
Chapter One
February 14th
Matt
Twelve years of friendship. In all that time, I haven’t done it. And I sure as fuck won’t do it now. No way.
The limits of platonic stretch thinner with every warm breath feathering past the collar of my shirt. I shouldn’t be holding her, but Christ, she was so upset. Even now her blue eyes glisten beneath a damp fringe of lashes as she peers up at me.
“My company. My reputation. It all hinges on tonight. Everything was falling apart.” A tiny furrow pulls between her brows, and her gaze drifts to my mouth. She wets her lips, lingering in that suspended state of indecision, before bringing her questioning focus back to mine. “You’re saving me.”
The model hired for Nikki’s club opening tonight broke his leg, putting her into a panic she wouldn’t be able to deliver on her proposal. I’m not a model, but I’m the right size and build, so I agreed to step in as a replacement.
I’m bailing her out of a jam because she’s my best friend, but now she’s looking at me like her own personal hero. And that breathy, almost-whisper is doing shit to me it shouldn’t. This is a mess. Nikki shouldn’t be looking at me like that, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be standing here with my arms around her, pulse jacked, and body on the fringe edge of giving away just how wrong this hug between roommates has gone.
I swallow hard, reminding myself this is gratitude. Misplaced emotion under the guise of attraction. Nothing more.
So just let her go, man.
Nichole is my best friend. Without benefits. The cornerstone in my life. The one who gets me. Who understands. Who makes me laugh and listens when I need to talk. She ribs me about my dates, and trash-talks everything from Scrabble to her fantasy football team kicking the crap out of mine. She’s one of the guys—albeit, one who comes stocked with a wholly different set of amenities. Enticing amenities.
She’s my friend.
In my head and heart I know exactly how she fits. Where she belongs. What I want between us. Only when she looks at me like she is right now, my dick gets ideas about how else we might fit together. Ideas I won’t risk acting on. Not even for a taste of the sweet, wet mouth that’s been tormenting me on and off since high school… and ruthlessly for the last couple months.
I clear my throat. “Anyone would have done it. Any one of the guys.”
“But it’s always you,” she murmurs softly. “It always has been.”
Her fists unfurl between us, resting too damn hot against my chest.
Don’t do it, man. Don’t even think about it.
What the hell was I thinking suggesting she move in with me? If I’d had even an inkling of what having this place saturated in her pheromones would do to me, I never would have come up with such an “excellent” idea.
Sure, at the time, it all made sense. Her lease was up, my roommate had just moved cross-country for a new job, and no two people on Earth get along as well as we do. Hell, we were spending part of almost every day together anyway, so why not share the rent?
Why not? Because for months now—ever since that damn morning when the world turned upside down—I’ve been fighting the need to sink inside her. Fighting hard, since the fallout from giving in would be devastating.
Sex with Nichole could never be casual. There’s too much history between us to believe that kind of intimacy wouldn’t lead to something deeper. And when it comes to my girl, deeper means dangerous. Nikki is notoriously fickle, evading commitment with the determination of a lifelong bachelorette. And her track record when it comes to hooking up with friends—Christ.
Somehow, she always believes this time it’ll be different. But to the best of my knowledge, the only survivor to escape a go at Nikki unscathed is my brother, Jack. And that was back in high school.
Since then?
My gut knots thinking about the last friend she dated. It took that sad sap years to get over her, and “friends” is about as far from what they are now as two people can get.
Yeah, no thanks on joining those ranks. I know better.
“Matt.” That single breathless plea comes straight out of the darkest corner of my mind, pushing buttons I don’t want pushed.
The fabric of her thin tee bunches in my hands, and she pushes to her toes, curving her fingers over my shoulders and—oh yeah—sliding them into the hair at the base of my skull. Her head angles back, spilling silky curls over my forearms and the fists I want to wrap within them.
Shit!
Working my hands open, I rub them roughly over her back, effectively replacing the previous embrace with a buddy hug.
“Just relax.” The strain in my voice is pathetic. “I’ll always help you. That’s what friends are for.”
She stiffens as I chafe my palms over her shoulders and set her back a step.
I silently will her to play along, praying when her eyes meet mine again, they won’t be begging me to put my mouth on her.
A few seconds pass, and I can’t stand it any longer. I’ve got to see her—know she’s okay, we’re okay.
Tilting her face to mine, I catch a fleeting glimpse of hurt that lands like a blow to the gut before she shakes it off with a dismissive laugh.
She knows better too.
“You’re right. That’s what friends are for.” She nods, her expression clearing along with the tension in the room.
That’s my girl.
She’ll be glad things didn’t go any further. And once the ache in my sac eases up, I’ll be glad too. Friendships get lost between the sheets. We’ve both seen it happen before, and with clearer heads, neither of us would be willing to take that kind of risk.
Nichole scuffs her foot over the floor, her brow crinkling as she moves to the couch and drops into the deep cushions. “I just hope you still feel friendly toward me after you put on your outfit for tonight.”
“I’m always happy to help. Stop worrying and give me a smile instead.”
A gorgeous grin splits her face as she tucks her legs beneath her and raises her arms overhead in a languid stretch that pushes her breasts against the threadbare shirt covering them. Fuck. My mouth goes dry, and for a moment all the blood in my brain is diverted south.
Carefully modulating my voice, I tell her, “You’ve got to get rid of that T-shirt, babe.”
She pulls at the cotton stretched across her chest. “But you gave it to me, and it’s so comfy.”
Comfy and thin. God help me, she needs to get out of that sexy thing before the blood loss causes permanent damage to our relationship.
Be strong. “Don’t you need to get dressed?”
“Not yet.” Then quirking a mischievous grin that’s pure Nichole, she arches her brow. “You sure about this, tonight?”
I nod. I might look silly waltzing around dressed like Eros in some droopy toga with wings and a frilly crossbow, but I’ll do it for Nichole. Hell, she would do it for me.
T-shirt be damned, I cross to the couch and graze her chin with a gentle chuck. “Of course, I’m sure. How bad can it be?”
