Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (5 page)

O
n Tuesday night after work
, Billie drove up to her grandmother’s—no,
her
—house and was surprised to see two enormous metal containers in her driveway. An open-topped, squat, green container for garbage, and a boxy white enclosed one for storage, as Ian had promised.

She just hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon. After he’d helped her out all day Saturday and Sunday, she’d thought he’d be busy with his real job until at least the following weekend. Billie had started cleaning on Monday night after work, but there was only so much she could do with so much clutter in the house. The worst of the garbage was now bagged up and dumped with the rest of the stuff in the backyard. She’d been unable to find a square foot within the house to move anything. It was like one of those little plastic puzzles with squares that you had to move around into the proper order, except there was no empty square.

Yawning, she got out of the car with her takeout Thai and portable tea mug and braced herself for inhaling the smell inside the house again.

Then she glanced across the road and saw a familiar pickup. Ian’s.

He was here again? Did the man never rest?

She sipped her cold tea. He was a gift from the heavens, and she was so, so grateful for his help, but…

She was tired. Sleeping on a makeshift camp bed in the kitchen had been a challenge. And then today she’d had a series of angry citizens to deal with in the permit center, and afterward she’d had her weekly volunteering stint at the library as a homework helper, where the ten-year-old boy in her charge told her she had nice boobs. And then expected her to thank him for the compliment.

So she had. Manners were important, right?

Yes, it had been a long day, and she’d been looking forward to curling up on her air mattress with her green curry and a beer as she scoped out home decorating pics on the internet. Doing imaginary work, not the real thing. But Ian wasn’t imaginary.

She shook her kitty keychain to hear the meow before fitting the key in the lock and trying to open the door. It wouldn’t turn. She tried again, but it didn’t open until Ian pulled it open for her.

“Sorry, I changed the locks. That’s why I’m here.” He held up a set of keys. “I thought you’d want to be able to come in.”

“You can do that? Just change the locks on somebody’s house?” She took the new keys and tripped over the threshold. The carpeting was peeled back, exposing chunks of matted foamy material and shards of plywood.

“Careful.” He took the Thai food and held her arm. “Great timing. I was starving.”

Her spirits fell. But she had to share. Manners again. “Hope you like Thai,” she said weakly.

He laughed. “Just kidding, Bill. I won’t take your dinner. I ate hours ago. I brought us both a pizza, actually. Where’ve you been? I thought you’d be here around six or so. Don’t city employees clock out right at five?”

“Hey, watch it. Public servants deserve your respect.” She rescued her Thai and climbed over the roll of carpeting to get to the kitchen. “I volunteer on Tuesdays.”

“I didn’t know that. Where?”

“Library. Homework club. They need all the Spanish speakers they can get.” She pointed at him. “I know what you’re thinking. I wasn’t exactly the best student myself, so how can I help?”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“Sure you weren’t, Mr. Valedictorian,” she said.

“Salutatorian. And I was thinking it was a nice thing of you to do. I should do something like it myself.” He went over to the fridge. “I’ll pour you a beer.”

“Don’t bother, just give me the bottle. I don’t want to get a glass dirty. There’s enough to clean as it is.”

He got her a glass anyway and poured in the beer. “I’ll wash it. It’s better this way.”

There was no arguing with him. Taking the glass, she looked down at the bare linoleum underfoot. “Hey, where’s my bed?”

“Is that what you called it?”

“What’d you do with it?” she asked. “I’m not going to Jane’s tonight. I’m sleeping here. I’m too tired to—”

“I’ve got a little surprise for you. Follow me.” He led her out of the kitchen to the smallest bedroom—a room that previously had been filled with boxes, plastic bags, a treadmill, and several ancient televisions—and was now cleared away on one side, making room for a twin bed. A pink and yellow My Little Pony comforter and throw pillows were arranged on top like a department store display.

She handed him her beer, jogged forward, and flopped onto the pastel-encrusted mattress. “Where’d you find this?” She laughed. “Oh my God! I used to sleep on this when I was little. In this room, whenever I slept over. Then one day she closed the door and told me I couldn’t come in here anymore.”

“I found the bed under the treadmill. The bedding was in a plastic crate with your name on it. The cats didn’t seem to be allowed in here.”

She hugged a pillow to her face. “It doesn’t even smell.”

“She’d double-bagged it.”

“Ian, I owe you. This is amazing.”

He was watching her, smiling, then abruptly turned away. “Well, I’d better go. I just wanted to give you the keys.”

“You don’t have to…” Although she’d been unhappy to see his pickup, now she wasn’t eager to see him go. In fact, it made her decidedly more unhappy.

“I’ll be back first thing Saturday morning,” he said. “Eight. We’ve got a lot to do.”

“Eight is great.” She’d survive getting up that early again, probably.

“Great.”

They went to the door, he handed her the glass again, and they lingered there for a few extra seconds before he was gone.

I should’ve thanked him more
, she thought as she locked the door and turned the shiny new dead bolt.

Later, when she was curling up under her pastel comforter, she swore she’d make it up to him on Saturday. Somehow.

H
aving arrived
in front of the house almost fifteen minutes early, Ian parked his pickup across the street and waited, staring at the deceptively tidy front yard while he thought about the way Billie was in high school.

Growing up, he’d never really noticed her, primarily because she was a few years younger, and he’d seemed to have more in common with Jane. But then, one night, when he’d been making out with Jane on the Garcia’s front step, Billie had waved at them through the window and flickered the porch light on and off, laughing.

He should’ve been annoyed, but it had made him laugh. He’d decided then that he liked her. And he still did.

Breaking up with Jane had meant not seeing Billie much over the next few years. He stayed at MIT, with summer internships in New York, and only came home for quick visits. From his mother, he heard about Billie’s extended journey through community college. He heard about her classes in psychology and art because Sandra was worried they wouldn’t lead to a lucrative career. But now, although she never had finished school, and working for a small city’s building department wasn’t making her millions, Billie seemed happy. Her boss sounded like a jerk, and she didn’t like her job, but she insisted she didn’t care. All in all, Billie was a happy person. Being happy was her default condition, and he admired—and envied—her emotional resilience.

And, of course, he’d always thought she was cute. Maybe more than cute.

He frowned at himself in the rearview mirror.

Don’t go there
.

Billie was absolutely, totally off limits. Dating Jane had done enough damage. Over the past ten years, with their mothers so close, family events had frequently forced him and Jane together. By unspoken agreement, they’d avoided each other as best they could, never fighting but never making small talk, either. Being quiet was typical for him, but not for her, and her sisters teased her about it.

Nobody, other than the two of them, knew why they’d broken up. He’d wondered once if Billie suspected, but a few tentative, off-base remarks over the past few years showed she had no idea.

Thank God for small favors.

Because Jane had always seemed more upset about the breakup than he had, everyone assumed it had been his fault. And they were right. But it had been unpleasant for him, too. In fact—and he’d rather stick metal splinters under his fingernails than admit it—he’d had recurring nightmares about their last moments together.

Therefore, every time he ran into Jane, he enthusiastically renewed his vow to stay far, far away from any woman who was already well-known to his family, friends, or colleagues. Because when things ended, and they always ended, he’d never be able to really, completely break free. As it did with Jane, events would keep bringing them together, often at the worst of times: holidays, weddings, birthdays. His family was the one place he could relax and be himself, not the hot-shit financial guy, just a guy. When Jane was around, it was less relaxing and he could be less himself. If he messed around with Billie, too… her
sister
… he’d never be able to go home again.

He could imagine what the sisters’ family would say about him. They’d probably lock up the two younger half sisters, Holly and Rachel, whenever he came by. At the very least, it would become a running joke.

So then, why had he let himself become friends with Billie? He did wonder sometimes if it was worth putting up with the suspicious look his mother already inflicted on him whenever he and Billie drove up together.

But then he’d remember the day he told Billie that he’d quit his corporate job and given away his multi-thousand-dollar suits. And unlike everyone else, even his usually supportive mother, she immediately declared it was a great idea. In spite of all evidence to the contrary. It was long before he’d proven he could start his own firm, long before his own business was off the ground.

She’d sent him
flowers
. The cheapest, smallest ones the florist had probably had, and he didn’t even like flowers, but he’d known that whatever they’d cost was more than she could afford. And there was a foil balloon that declared “CongraDulations, Graduate!” Which was exactly how he’d seen it; not an ending, but a beginning.

He’d appreciated the gesture more than he could say.

Which was nothing new; he wasn’t good at expressing himself.

Except with actions. Hauling out clutter and updating an old bungalow—this was how he could show his gratitude for their friendship.

He continued to gaze at the house, remembering the weekend before when they’d torn the curtains off the wall. The fresh sunlight pouring in had highlighted the golden flecks in Billie’s big, warm brown eyes. He’d forgotten to breathe for a second.

He rubbed his thighs. Maybe his motives weren’t entirely about gratitude and friendship.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

A knock on the passenger-side window made him jump. Turning his head, he saw Lorna waving at him through the glass, saying something he couldn’t hear.

He rolled the window down. “Morning,” he said, noticing she had two guys with her, both young and strong-looking. He’d offered to pay for some muscle, and she’d found some that was going to suit everyone perfectly. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were having second thoughts,” she said.

“Second thoughts about what?”

She smirked. “Nothing.”

“Just waiting for you to get here.” He rolled up the window, got out, and walked around the back to greet the heavily inked guys in their early twenties. “I’m Ian.”

“Shawn and Marco,” Lorna said, waving at them but not specifying who was who. She had the same inconvenient habit when she brought people into his office.

“I’m Shawn.” The guy adjusted his glasses, then held out his hand. Ian shook it, trying not to cry out in pain when he squeezed it. The man had a grip. That would be useful.

He’d have to remember not to shake his hand again.

“Marco,” the other guy said. “But you don’t need to be a genius to figure that out.”

Ian met Lorna’s gaze for a second, guessing she’d exaggerated his qualities to them before bringing them over. Still smarting from Shawn’s greeting, Ian only gave Marco a wave and a friendly nod. “Hi. Great. Glad you’re here.”

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Enough with the small talk. Which house is it?”

Ian handed everyone a bag from the back of his truck and led them across the street to Billie’s front door. As he knocked, he unzipped one of the bags and pulled out gloves. “Everyone has to wear these. And a mask. It’s good you’re already wearing long sleeves. Keep them rolled down. Broken glass and cats are a bad combination. Don’t want anyone losing an arm because they got an infection.”

“Damn, Ian. How bad is this place?” Lorna asked.

“There’s no precise way to answer that question,” Ian said just as the door swung open to show Billie in her underwear. Or a guy’s underwear—a pair of green-striped boxer shorts hugged her round thighs, and a white sleeveless undershirt strained to cover a chest it hadn’t been designed to cover.

Ian began to sweat all over.

“Crap,” Billie said, squinting at them. Messy curls covered one eye. “Is it morning already?”

Perhaps it was the chilly morning breeze, perhaps it was the sight of two tatted-up dudes leering at her, but Billie’s nipples visibly hardened beneath the thin, stretchy undershirt.

Ian stopped breathing. Just like he had last week.

“Nice outfit,” Lorna said.

Eyes widening, Billie crossed her arms over her chest and bent over slightly, as if the slight change in height was going to hide any part of her they hadn’t already seen. All it did was give them a better view of her cleavage. “Sorry. Sleeping.” She held up a finger. “One second.” The door slammed in their faces.

“Keep it in your pants, boys,” Lorna said. “Ian has dibs.”

“Nice,” said a low voice behind Ian.

“There are no dibs,” Ian growled.

“Excellent,” said the other guy.

Ian turned and leveled a hard stare at each one of them. “But you will definitely be keeping it in your pants anyway,” he said.

They both threw up their hands, grinning as they nodded.

Ian turned his back on them to glare at the door, but all he could see was nipples. For the rest of his life he’d be remembering those nipples. When he was meeting with clients, crawling through traffic, getting his teeth cleaned, dying of old age—the nipples would be there.

“Dibs,” Lorna mumbled.

He couldn’t remember ever being so angry. He didn’t usually get angry. But at that moment he wanted to break something. And then fix it and break it again. For everything he was doing for her, the least she could do was wake up and put on some clothes that covered her nipples. That was all he asked. She didn’t even have to work. She could curl up with a gallon of tea and catch up on the latest news about Lady Di in her grandmother’s vintage periodicals, and he wouldn’t be the least bit angry.

But coming to the door half-naked?

Nipples
. Damn it.

The door swung open a second time. “I am so, so sorry,” Billie said. “Thank you so much for coming.” Now in an oversized hoodie and dark jeans, she stepped back and gestured them inside. Lorna went in, then Shawn and Marco. Ian hung back, struggling to regain his calm. Just another few deep breaths and he’d be fine.

Billie was frowning at him. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”