Loving My Best Friend Page 5

  She looks like a princess. When we find our seats at the banquet, her skirt is so big that it pushes up against my leg, and I like it more than I should.

  I try to distract myself by focusing on the conversation.

  “So, Eva,” my mom asks, “what on earth is it like working for Jack? The one time I tried to help his father out at work, we almost ended up in marriage counseling.”

  Eva laughs. “He’s actually not as bossy as I thought he’d be.”

  “Hey,” I protest. Eva winks at me over her wine.

  “In any case, it’s so good to have you back at a family event again,” my mom says. She sighs sentimentally. She’s already a few glasses of wine in, and unlike my dad and me, she loves weddings. “I always hoped you and Jack would end up together, but we’re happy to have you as the friend who rescues him when he’s dateless, too.”

  The table falls silent.

  “She’s joking,” I say quickly. Meaningfully. “Mom, you know Eva and I are friends.”

  “That’s the best way for a relationship to start,” my mom says dreamily. “And really, who could you possibly find that’s better than Eva?”

  Next to me, Eva’s cheeks have gone as pink as her dress.

  “I’m just going to … go say hi to some of the other hotel workers over there.” She stands up hastily. “Lovely seeing you all again.”

  Then she flees to the other side of the room where a group of Rose employees that are friends with Ally, including Gabriel, are clustered around the bar. The group opens seamlessly as Eva reaches them, and Gabriel hands her a cocktail immediately, startling a laugh out of her.

  God, she’s got a great laugh.

  From the look on Gabriel’s face, he knows it, too.

  My dad affectionately switches the wine glass in my mom’s hand for a water glass and drops a kiss on her cheek. “I told you, dear. They’re not ready yet.”

  “I didn’t say anything!” my mom protests. “Just that Jack’s never going to find someone better than Eva. That’s just the truth.”

  “No one’s ever going to find anyone better than Eva,” I say irritatedly, trying not to notice the way my dad’s eyebrows go up. “That doesn’t mean we should date.”

  The conversation moves on, but I’m having trouble focusing on it. Gabriel’s pulled Eva onto the dance floor, and dammit, he’s a good dancer. Eva beams up at him, delightedly, and the wineglass in my hand cracks, causing a mess on the table. Everyone at the table stops talking and stares at me.

  A waiter rushes up and cleans up the mess as best he can. “Don’t worry, sir, it happens all the time.”

  I stand abruptly. I feel like I’m running a fever.

  She doesn’t want a relationship, I tell myself. She just wants a quick fuck.

  That thought is horrible, too.

  “Jack, what on earth is wrong?” My mom asks, but I can’t answer.

  Meanwhile, my dad is looking at me like he knows exactly what’s wrong. He passes me a napkin as the rest of the table goes back to their conversations.

  “I’d wipe your hand off before you ask her to dance,” he says, biting back a smile.

  I take it, automatically doing what he says. “What makes you think I’m going to ask her to dance?”

  “Because she’s yours, and you’ve known it since you were fifteen,” he says matter of factly, and I expect to feel annoyance—or terror—at that presumptuous statement.

  Hell, just a second ago, I was telling my mom …

  Maybe it’s being at a wedding, maybe it was the kiss last week, or maybe it was the story my grandpa told me about dancing in a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s how many times I’ve looked away over the years as she danced with someone who wouldn’t last, and that was bad enough, but now that it could last, everything in me revolts against the idea of letting it start.

  But the only thing I feel is how right my dad’s statement is.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  It’s a drumbeat in my veins, drowning all the old refrains of don’t risk it, and don’t change, and I need to get laid, and she trusts you, dammit.

  I drop the napkin and start moving across the ballroom, across the dance floor. I don’t have a plan. I’m not trying to make a move or change the arc of our relationship. All I know is that Eva Price is mine, and I’m done sitting on my hands and being a gentleman while she smiles up at another man.

  “May I cut in?” I ask Gabriel, and it feels positively medieval, going over Eva’s head like this, but I’m not about to give her a choice in the matter.

  Gabriel’s about to protest when he sees my face. Something registers behind his eyes, and I know he understands.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  He’s more of a gentleman than I am because he checks with Eva. “Do you mind? I want to go check on the kitchens before they bring out dessert. I’m not working today, but you know how it is.”

  Eva blinks, confused, but she nods. Gabriel releases her with a twirl, raising her hand to his lips for a wistful, chivalrous kiss before he winks at me and retreats to go terrify his staff. I catch Eva’s hand and pull her into my arms before she has a chance to think about what just happened and get pissed at me.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “What was that about?” she asks dangerously. “Protecting my honor?”

  “No,” I say, pulling her in. “You can protect yourself. You and Gabriel are adults.”

  All true, and yet …

  “Then what was that about?” Eva asks again, her breath warm against my neck, sending shivers down my back. For once, I don’t fight it.

  “I wanted to dance with you,” I say, which is both true and woefully short of the truth. “I was done waiting.”

  * * *

  We dance song after song, slow and fast, and as I hold her in my arms, something inside me slowly rights itself.

  This is where she’s supposed to be. This is where I’m supposed to be.

  I never let myself make a move because I thought that meant I’d lose her, but we’re older now. I know how to court a woman. I know how to court this woman. I know how to keep what’s mine.

  My heart pounds at the enormity of what I’ve just decided. I want to drag her off the floor, press her up against the wall, and kiss her until she’s so wet and needy that only I can fix it.

  I can’t rush this, though. When my mom suggested we’d be a good couple, Eva basically bolted from the table. Just like she fled up her apartment stairs after that achingly innocent kiss.

  I need to ease Eva into the idea of us while slowly clearing away every reason she’d say no.

  Obviously, I can’t make a move until she stops working for me. Not after the lecture she gave me about the political risk. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t ease her into the idea with romantic dinners. Gifts. Movie nights at her place like we used to do in college so that she can get used to having me in her space again. Also, so I can make sure no other man is in that space until Eva’s done working for me and I can make my move.

  Magazines talk about how I’m an ethical leader, using Rose Hotels to push for good, but here’s the secret—you don’t succeed in business without being a bit of a bastard. If that’s what it takes to finally get Eva, so be it.

  We dance until the lights dim, and as the older guests head home for the night, the DJ switches to club music. Eva automatically tries to ease back, putting space between us, but I let my hands find her hips and pull her back into me. I know it’s risky, but it’s going to be at least a month and a half before I can touch her like this again, and I’m not ready to let go.

  She shoots me a questioning look, but I just smile back cheerfully like I haven’t noticed that, when we’re this close, her breasts keep brushing against my chest and her hips are a single, torturous inch away from where I really want them.

  I’m about to give up and let her go when Eva surprises the hell out of me and closes that last inch of difference, sliding her hand up to grip the back of my neck. Her hips do miraculous th
ings against mine that are going to cause a serious problem really soon.

  Her whole body rocks and twirls and softens against mine, giving in to the music, and if I were a religious man, I’d be thanking God right now.

  Because Eva Price loves to dance.

  7

  Eva

  How do you tell heartbreak from the stomach flu?

  —Eva Price, Google search, age seventeen

  At first, I’m doing it just to get a rise out of Jack. To remind him that he’s the one who’s kept our friendship purely platonic over the years, not me. He doesn’t get to stride over here all big and wonderful like he owns me just because another man is finally interested.

  So when the lights go down and the music shifts, I call his bluff. I run my hands up his back like a girl who’s watched a lot of YouTube salsa videos, and woah, he’s got some muscles there. That doesn’t scare him off, so I press into him, letting him feel every inch of the curves he’s always so careful to keep at arm’s distance.

  Well. Almost always.

  His fingers bite into my hips, but instead of pushing back, he keeps me where I am. It’s the kind of thing that would be deliciously erotic if he actually wanted me.

  I should stop, but at this point, I’m desperate to break him. I’m not even sure why, but I’m pretty sure I know how.

  I turn in his arms, so my back is to his front, and luckily, it is now dark in the ballroom—better to show off the rainbow lights flashing at the front of the stage—because I’m full-on grinding on him, working my ass like a stripper who needs rent money.

  Or maybe just some goddamn vindication, I think as I take his hands and draw them up my torso, stopping just short of my breasts. When his thumbs brush up of their own volition, skimming the underside of my softness, I know I have him.

  I let go of his hands and start to step away, having made my point—I’m just as desirable as every other woman you’ve goddamn fucked, and you don’t get to treat me like a kid sister in need of protection—when he pulls me back, forcefully, not giving a goddamn inch, and his hard, thick cock presses into my ass.

  Oh. I feel horny and weak and delicate all at once, and I’d regret starting this game if it didn’t feel so damn good to be held and wanted, and safe, and dangerous all at once because it’s Jack.

  We’ll blame it on the alcohol, I reassure myself. It’ll be like that costume party. If I pretend I don’t notice what I’m doing to him now, I can pretend it didn’t happen on Monday.

  Then he spins me around, palming my breast in the dark shelter of our bodies, and I gasp.

  So we’re not pretending, then.

  I wait for him to pull his hand away and apologize. Instead, he pinches my hardening nipple through the silk.

  “Jack,” I protest, or maybe I moan. I don’t know anymore.

  “You started this,” he says unrepentantly, and I thought I was over this need, this pathetic crush, but something about that arrogant tone still makes me want to sink to my knees and suck him off. “I was going to wait.”

  “What?” I frown, not sure if I’m confused because he’s talking nonsense or because I’m distracted by fantasies of going down on him. What does he mean going to wait?

  “Jack, what are you talking about?” I ask, and something about my question seems to penetrate his own concentration because he relaxes his grip, his hands falling back to my waist, forcing space between us.

  Not so much space that he can’t drop his forehead to mine, breathing deeply like he’s trying to get himself under control. Like for once, I’m the one tempting him.

  “Jack, what’s going on?”

  Then he says the worst thing of all. “I’m sorry, Eva. I lost control. That’s not fair to you. We can’t do that until …”

  “Until?” I ask, my heart pounding.

  “We can’t do that,” he says more firmly, which is bad enough, until he adds, “It’s you.”

  My heart sinks. I feel like a toy that’s been put back in its collector’s edition box. To be looked at and protected. Never played with.

  I think after that long-ago college party, after the way he responded to my kiss, a part of me thought that Jack could want me if he just knew he wanted me. I just threw cold water on that theory, though. Sure, his dick gets hard in the dark when I rub it. That doesn’t mean he wants me. That’s just a thousand years of evolution throwing out a false positive.

  We stand there, foreheads pressed together, until we can get our respective hearts and bodies under control.

  Finally, he lets me go, and it’s probably just wishful thinking that he seems reluctant to do so. “Come on,” Jack sighs. “I’ll get you a cab.”

  I follow, understanding I’ve been dismissed, wondering viciously what kind of apology basket I’ll be getting tomorrow.

  * * *

  Despite everything, the city still seems oddly, coldly beautiful as we step out onto the sidewalk. Whereas Jack seems as warmly beautiful as ever.

  I feel a pang near my heart as he signals a cab. I’ve been fooling myself. I don’t think I ever got completely over my crush on him. It was always lurking there, waiting to rise to the surface at the right opportunity. Or, in this case, the wrong opportunity.

  Maybe it’s not just my bankrupt company I need to move on from. Maybe it’s Jack. The thought is so physically painful, it’s like a knife to the gut. As I watch Jack bend over to pay the driver and tell her where to take me—Jack’s staying at the hotel tonight like the rest of the wedding party—I know I have to do it.

  After the next month and a half is over, I have to move on and let go of Jack. For real this time. If this is ending, there’s something I need to do. Now, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to do it again.

  Jack turns back to me. “Apparently, there’s a traffic jam by your place, so it might take a while, but—”

  I grab the lapels of his suit jacket, rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him with everything I have.

  I kiss him goodbye and good luck. I kiss him with the wish that he’ll finally find someone to love, and I kiss him with the wish that I’ll be able to be genuinely happy for him when that happens. I let myself linger in his warmth, in his scent, in the taste of him. I try to soak up enough strength and hope to step back, let go of him, and know I’ll be okay.

  Except it slowly dawns on me that he’s not stepping back.

  No, he’s plunging his hands into my hair, kissing me back. My fingers relax, spreading tentatively across his chest, and I can feel his heart is racing as fast as mine.

  The cabbie coughs politely.

  When Jack raises his head, I expect to see regret, or at the very least mixed emotions. Instead, all I see is determination. Determination and hunger.

  “Fuck it,” he all but growls. “I’m done waiting.”

  A thrill runs through me as he sends the cab off, not even stopping to get his money back. Instead, he kisses me again, soft and slow, like he’s trying to tell me not to be scared. He can be as gentle as I need.

  I don’t need his reassurance, and I don’t need gentleness, but his kisses are seductive, and by the time he raises his head, I feel thoroughly drugged.

  Drugged, claimed, and his.

  “Come on, Eva,” he says. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  He holds out his hand. I take it. Then I follow Jack McBride into his hotel.

  8

  Eva

  Bought my first vibrator today. Which was embarrassing enough, until I ran into Jack on campus. He grabbed my shopping bag, teasing me for going shopping during finals week as he peeked inside. The look on his face when he realized what he was holding was priceless.

  —Eva Price, journal, senior year of college

  The little click of his hotel room door closing behind us might be the most erotic sound in the world. The whole way up here, my heart’s been racing. I was waiting for him to change his mind, to put space between us.

  He didn’t. Instead, Jack steered me with little touch
es. A hand on the small of my back to guide me through the hotel lobby. A kiss on the base of my neck in the elevator. His hand in mine as he led me down the hall to his suite.

  It’s like he knows I can’t think when he’s touching me like that, and he doesn’t want to risk that I’ll start thinking again. Which is why it surprises me that as soon as we’re in the hotel room, Jack lets go of me. He loosens his tie, heads over to the minibar, and pours two glasses of whiskey with his back to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was nervous.

  I’m done waiting. That’s what he said downstairs. What did he mean by that?

  I sit down on the foot of the opulent bed, the silk of my skirt crinkling around me. He takes a sip of his own whiskey, then turns and hands the other glass to me.

  I’m expecting him to sit down next to me but he stays standing over me so that I can’t ignore the simple fact of his physical power. My lips part, and he reaches out to run his thumb across my bottom lip. I’m already so turned on. His eyes are dark and hot, but he takes a sip of his whiskey, casually, like he doesn’t want me to know I’ve gotten to him.

  “So, pretty Eva,” he says, “what do you want?”

  My stomach does a swoop. What do I want? I thought we were … unless this isn’t …

  I stand, my whiskey sloshing in my glass. My face is hot. Of course, I misunderstood. Why would he suddenly want to have sex with me after years and years of not being interested in me? I need to get out of here. I get why Jack wants to have a conversation now, in private, after I threw myself at him on the sidewalk, but I can’t bear to stick around and have a mature, adult conversation about how he doesn’t want me after all.

  This was a mistake.

  I down the whiskey so fast it burns and put the glass down on an antique side table that’s probably more expensive than anything in my apartment. I’m almost to the door when Jack’s voice slices through the thick silence of the glossy room.