Best Laid Plans Read online

I start to move, and we find a rhythm quickly as I anchor myself at her waist, wrapping an arm around her. The angle is damn near perfection, and like this I can slide my hand between her legs, stroking the delicious rise of her clit.

  She shudders as I fuck her. As I move my hips at a steady pace. As I sink deeper.

  She makes the most enticing sounds the whole time, noises that spur me on. Relentless pleasure pounds in my body as I fuck her harder.

  “Does this feel good?” I know she loves to talk. I need to give her every chance.

  “Yes. It’s so good, so good.”

  I grunt. “You like the way I fuck you?”

  “I love the way you fuck me.” Her voice is cracking, and I love it. I fucking love it.

  She tightens around me, as she cries out, “I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming.”

  Glorious music to my ears.

  I drive into her, fucking her through her orgasm, and once she comes down, I pull out, gripping the condom. “Couch. Now. Ride me.”

  A few seconds later, I’m sitting on the couch and she’s straddling me again, lowering herself on my cock, and hell, this is even better.

  I’m back inside her, and now I can look at her, run a hand through her hair, touch her face. “I want to see you. Want to watch you when I make you come again.”

  “Do you think I can come again?”

  “I have no doubt.”

  I move her hips up and down, helping her find her pace, seek her pleasure. I yank a handful of her hair, and she groans.

  “Get your mouth on mine. Let me kiss you.”

  She dips her face to me, and our tongues collide, my pulse slamming higher.

  We’re kissing as we’re fucking, but soon it’s too hard to keep kissing. Our mouths fall away, and she rides me, meeting my gaze.

  For that second, it seems like she might look away because it’s too intense, too much. But she doesn’t. She stares into my eyes and whispers my name.

  “Gabe, it’s so good with you.”

  I swear fireworks go off inside me. In my heart. In my body. “It’s so fucking good with us, Arden. With us.”

  I want to tell her more. Tell her why. Tell her it’s because I’m so in love with her. But the pleasure rides roughshod over my skin, stealing brain cells, stealing breath.

  Soon, she’s cresting the hill again, and I’m right there behind her, coming hard inside the woman I want to love like this every night.

  After we clean up, the time on my phone laughs at me. It says I need to get the hell out of here. Good thing I slept during the day, so I can be ready to tackle whatever comes our way tonight at the firehouse.

  But I don’t want to simply walk out. I want to build on this foundation that’s most decidedly not friendship anymore.

  After I pull on my clothes and she grabs a skimpy little robe that makes me wish I could stay and rip it off her, I decide to take a chance. I’ve wanted to ask her out for so long. I’ve been planning to since last week. Her request derailed my strategy, but only temporarily. It’s time to drive this train out of the station.

  I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and dive into the deep end. “I had a good time tonight. Did you?”

  She laughs then rolls her eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

  Okay, so we’re going with humor, with keeping it light. “What if we tried this again?”

  Her eyes widen in surprise, as if I’ve spoken Portuguese. “This?” She gestures to the living room, the scene of the orgasmic crimes.

  “Yes. This, and other things. We could go on a date, I thought. Go out.” Isn’t it obvious what I’m saying?

  Her expression shifts to worry. “I’m not sure . . .”

  That’s not entirely the answer I was hoping for, or expecting, to be honest. “You’re not sure of what? If you want to date? Or something else?”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I’m not sure because what if it doesn’t . . .”

  She doesn’t finish the sentence—work out.

  As much as I’m dying for a yes tonight, I don’t want to pressure her. I brush a soft kiss to her lips, tasting her breath. “Don’t answer tonight. Think about it.”

  “It’s all I’ll think about.”

  “Me too.”

  I leave, because soon enough I’ll be at work and inevitably there will be a call coming in and I won’t be able to think about her. But maybe that’s for the best.

  36

  Arden

  Perri is on traffic duty.

  Vanessa is shopping for balls.

  New bowling balls, that is.

  My friend Finley is holed up inside her little yellow cottage trying to meet a deadline for her TV script.

  As for me, I’ve sold three wine country cookbooks, two copies of The Wife Between Us, a handful of Stephen Kings, Frederick Backman’s newest, a bunch of journals, and countless Diary of a Wimpy Kid hardcovers. That Wimpy Kid never goes out of style. I guess as long as humans keep multiplying, their offspring eventually enter the Wimpy Kid fan club.

  But even with the steady stream of customers, I wish my girls were around. I’m tempted to call an emergency lunch to discuss Gabe’s do-this-again proposal, but I know they’re both busy today, and really, I should sort through it on my own for now.

  To have sex and date or not to have sex and date. That is the question.

  “Think this is useful?” A bright-eyed, lip-glossed blonde slides a pink hardcover on the counter, on top of another book, a guide to the best drinks for any situation.

  I smile. “I think no one should ever order a wine cooler or a Jack and Coke on the first date.”

  She arches a brow in curiosity. “Is that one of the guidelines?”

  “No, but it should be. It’s one of my personal mantras.”

  She lifts a curious brow. “What would you order at a bowling alley?”

  “Beer.”

  “At the new bistro down the street?”

  “A Cab, some kind of great, full-bodied red.”

  “And what if you were stalking your ex?”

  Laughing, I answer, “A Moscato. It’s delicious at first, then leaves a bad taste in your mouth, so it’ll remind you why he’s the ex.”

  She laughs harder and flicks her hair off her shoulders. “You do know you just made it so I don’t need to buy this book?”

  I shrug. “You should report me to the Committee of Bookstore Owners, then. Let them know I misbehaved.”

  She laughs harder. “Actually, you just made me want to read this even more. I hope it’s as good as the warm-up act.”

  I nod approvingly, tapping the book. “I’ve thumbed through this. It’s hilarious. You’ll enjoy it, and if you don’t, come back and exchange it.”

  “Thanks.” After I ring her up, she says, “You know, I’m not going to report you to the Committee of Bookstore Owners. I’d rather tell them that you helped convince me to buy this book. In fact, I’m going to snag another as a gift for my best friend.”

  “She’ll love it too,” I say confidently.

  The woman laughs, shaking her head. “He’s a guy. But he’ll like it just the same.”

  A flush crosses my cheeks. I swallow down my awkward reply as I ring up two books. Of all people, I should have known better. I’ve bought books for a guy friend. I’d like to keep buying books for him.

  When she leaves, Henry saunters by, swishing his tail. “What would you do?” I ask him, since I’m alone.

  He lifts his furry chin, parks his rear on the floor, and proceeds to take a bath.

  “You’re no help.”

  My first instinct is to tell Gabe about that customer. To share the moment with him. If I’m dating him, can I still do that?

  The unmistakable sound of a delivery truck pulling up in front of the store lands on my ears, and a few seconds later, the UPS man pushes open the door, a big box in his arms. “Shipment for you, Ms. East.”

  “Thanks, Barney.”

  “Where do you want this? It’s a heavy one.
” He reads the name of the publisher, and my eyes light up.

  I nearly jump for joy. “That must be the new Robert Galbraith.”

  His brow knits. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It’s J. K. Rowling. That’s her pen name for mysteries.”

  “The lady who wrote about the wand choosing the wizard?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I saw the movies.”

  I die a little inside. “You can set them right here.”

  After he leaves, I grab my X-Acto blade and slice open the box, squealing with delight to find the new book. It releases early next week. I run a hand reverently over the jacket, reveling in the smooth finish, then gently open the book and draw a deep breath and inhale the scent of paper.

  This is better than perfume.

  This is my favorite scent.

  I sneak a glance at the first page, and chills sweep over me, chased by giddiness. I can’t wait to share this with Gabe’s mom, to sneak a copy over to her and delight in the look in her eyes when she sees the booty I’ve plundered for her.

  But as quickly as that thought arrives, another one slides in. Can I do that?

  Sure, if we’re dating, I can easily give his mom a gift. But what if it doesn’t work out between us? What if the dates peter away? That’s his MO. He dates and moves on, and more power to him. But he hasn’t exactly indicated he wants more than sex and a date.

  And if our dates fade away, would I still set aside books for him to give her? Would we still be friends in the same way?

  Or at all?

  That’s why I said, What if it doesn't work out? I don’t want to risk our friendship for a casual string of sex dates. I don’t want to risk it unless we’re both taking a chance at the biggest of prizes.

  My stomach pitches, churning with that abhorrent thought. I try to shake it off. We’d be fine, right? We’d stay friends. It’d be the same—we’d make sure of it. We’d have sex again, and date, and then . . .

  I don’t know what would happen next, so I focus on the now.

  I lug the box to the storeroom in the back, safely stowing the treasures away until I can sell them.

  I head to the new fiction shelves and begin arranging the books, when a shelf wobbles the slightest bit—the one Gabe texted me about the other day, asking if it was okay.

  It was okay then.

  Or so I thought.

  I glance around for a cat, in case one of them knocked it looser somehow.

  But Henry’s moved his hygiene to the window and is giving his boy parts a very thorough licking for the whole town square to see.

  “Get a room,” I say to him, then scan for Clare, finding her sprawled out on the floor, napping luxuriously in a ray of sunlight. I fiddle with the shelf again, trying to figure out where it’s loose, but I’m not handy. I can cook, I can clean, but I’m not known for my skills with a hammer and a nail.

  I turn away from the shelf, heading to the counter to text Gabe.

  He’s my go-to guy, after all.

  But I stop when I open his contact.

  How will he be my go-to guy if we take the chance of dating? Or, more so, how will he be my go-to guy after?

  Because, I gulp, remembering his words.

  I had a good time tonight. What if we tried this again? This, and other things. We could go on a date.

  He asked me to date. But he asked me to screw again too.

  For all I know, that’s how he asked out Darla, and look where she is. She’s not hanging in the friend zone. She’s in the cold zone.

  Fact is, I like the friend zone. The friend zone is safe. I don’t want to be unfriended, and that’s a distinct possibility if our dating goes haywire.

  He only said he wants to do it again. He didn’t say he wanted to be mine. I didn’t speak my truth either, yet now as I look at last night in the clear light of day, I don’t think there was a reason to put myself on the line like that. To let him know I want much more than sex and dates.

  There wasn’t, because he didn’t say he wanted to go all in.

  He only wants to go all in with sex.

  And I want it all.

  That’s when I realize I’m in this way too deep.

  The only way to save myself, to save the friendship, is to stay friends.

  I find the hammer in my office and fix the shelf myself, but it’s still a little loose, and that leaves me with a tight, cold knot in my throat.

  37

  Gabe

  Let the record reflect that I’m not happy that anyone suffered an asthma attack, was struck by a vehicle, or experienced a mild seizure.

  I am thrilled none of the incidents resulted in serious injuries.

  Selfishly, I’m also glad that all of them, as well as the brush fire on a hillside by the highway that we extinguished in twenty-five minutes, kept my mind off Arden.

  There’s no room for thinking about women when you have to put out flames.

  But now my shift is ticking near to closing time. As Shaw and I check the equipment on the truck, he gestures toward Charlie, who’s hanging out with us at the end of his shift. One of his last shifts. “Did you hear Charlie’s boss says he found a new guy already?”

  “That so?”

  Charlie affects a frown. “They don’t let the bodies get cold in our field.”

  “He’s not starting for another week or so, but yeah, the boss man found someone from . . .” Shaw stops and scratches his head. “Hell, he told me when I saw him at the ER, and I already forgot.”

  I’m tempted to make a wisecrack about his mind going to hell, like I usually do, but I’m not in the mood to joke.

  Which is odd, since I usually am.

  But I’m antsy, waiting to hear from Arden. As we wrap up the checklist, my phone dings with a text from her.

  * * *

  Arden: Working late. Doing inventory. Are you almost done?

  * * *

  Smiling, I figure she must want to see me ASAP.

  It’s ten, and it’s been quiet for a spell. Plus, her store is only two blocks away. I clap Shaw on the back. “I’m going to see Arden for a few minutes. Call me if anything comes up, okay?”

  His eyes widen in surprise. “A booty call? You dog.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, exactly. I’m going to her store for a quickie in the stacks. No, you dickhead. But I did finally tell her how I felt.”

  “About time. And what did the future Mrs. Harrison say?”

  “That’s what I’m going to go and find out.” I rub my hands together, a burst of excitement zipping through me.

  “Get the hell out of here, Casanova.”

  A few minutes later, I knock on the door to A New Chapter. It’s dark inside. Only a few lights flicker. She walks to the door, looking as gorgeous as she did when I left her last night. Maybe more. She opens the door, and I half expect a kiss.

  Wait.

  I wholly expect a kiss.

  Instead, she smiles faintly, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

  And no kiss is coming my way. Judging from her serious expression, I’m not getting the yes I was hoping for either.

  My shoulders slump, but I keep my tone light. “No problem.”

  “I thought about what you said.”

  I grit my teeth, trying to swallow my own pending disappointment as I wait for her to speak again.

  “I value our friendship too much. I don’t want to lose you, Gabe.”

  “I don’t want to lose you either.”

  “And today, I was thinking about all these things. Giving books to your mom, and telling you stories about my day, and hearing your stories, and visiting your pops, and rescuing Hedwig, and going bowling. I don’t know how we can do that. Because what if it doesn’t work out?”

  “But . . .” I start, thinking of all the ways I can convince her it’ll work out.

  Except maybe she doesn’t want to be convinced. Maybe she wants an out, and a gracious one. An escape hatch that�
�ll preserve what matters most—the foundation we’ve built of friendship.

  And if she wants an out, I suppose this is the lesser of two evils—her letting me down now before we try to become something more, instead of her letting me down when I’m in even deeper.

  I drum my fingers against the shelf, a little loose. “Hey, no worries. I hear ya. I get it.” I study the wood, grateful for the distraction. “Want me to fix this?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I wave a hand, making it clear this is no big deal. “Nah, it’s easy. I know where you keep the tools.”

  I head to her office, grab the tool set, and fix the shelf in two minutes. I want to show her I do understand. I do respect her boundaries. I don’t want her to think I’m going to vault past them simply because she shared some secrets with me about her sexual fantasies. Besides, she made her intentions clear from the start. Maybe we both crossed a line last night, but that happens in the heat of the moment, sort of like when two actors fall for each other on set. We were playacting, stage fighting, and stage fucking.

  When the curtain falls, the romance ends.

  I try to rattle the shelf, pleased it won’t budge. I pronounce it good as new.

  “Gabe,” she says, like my name pains her. “I’m sorry.”

  She’s not talking about the shelf. But a knife’s nicking away at my heart, and it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t hurt as I stare at the person wielding the blade. I do my best when I answer her. “Fixing it was easy.”

  “I meant about—”

  I slice that notion off at the knees. “Hey, we’re good.” I tuck my finger under her chin. “Never ever worry about us. We are all good. I promise.”

  “You swear?” Her voice trembles.

  I lie. “I do.” I pile onto the lie. “In fact, let’s go bowling on Saturday. Like we always do. Your week of studies is nearly over. I’d say you passed with flying colors, learned all you needed, and we can get back to seven-letter words that lead to pizza being on you.”

  “Or maybe I’ll kick your butt,” she says, and she sounds like she’s faking it too.