Touch & Go (4 page)

“How'd you get that hole in your pants? I got mine when I fell off my bike, but my mom sewed a patch on it,” she said, pointing to the big strawberry on the knee of her white jeans. “I don't fall a lot anymore. Not much. We moved here in summer but we lived in Iowa before that and then my dad got a promotion, and it was good even though we had to move because now I have a bigger room. You have your own room? Which house is yours?”

Sam blinked, because no one talked to him that much. Then he realized she was waiting for an answer. His neck got hot and he didn't know what to say.

But then the other Meyers kid got up off the ground, his game momentarily forgotten. “You live over here?”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded in the direction he'd come from. One question he could handle.

“Down the road. Other side of the river. Last house,” but then because he thought they might go down there and that would be really bad, he added, “but my dad works different hours so he doesn't like to have company.”

Ava nodded and then pointed a little finger at him. “Because this is your first time at our house and I'm a gracious hostess, you can hide first. The backyard is in bounds but my dad's office is off-limits and if you hide inside, you have to leave your shoes by the door. I'll give you until sixty, starting now.”

Eyes closed, Ava started counting aloud, but he didn't move.

If Sam was still walking and his dad decided to go to the liquor store, he'd drive past and see. But if he was hiding…if he was in the back, or even—

One accusing brown eye cracked at him. “Why aren't you hiding?”

Ford stared back at his sister. “Why are you peeking, cheater?”

She sucked a breath and crossed her arms, leaning into her brother like she wasn't half his size. “Because I didn't hear you leave. I wasn't cheating, Ford.”

Sam lifted his hands between them and made himself smile so everyone would see things were okay. “Sorry, I wasn't ready. Start again and we'll hide.”

And he did. And his father hadn't found him, but Ava had. And she'd liked him enough to decide to keep him for the next twenty years.

But this, tonight.
Hell.
What they'd done tonight—what she'd given him tonight—he didn't know if it was something she should have let him have or not. Yeah, yeah, their friendship was solid and they were more than good, but the fact that he was still holding the remains of her panties in his fist, pretending that he was on the fence about whether to toss the evidence or save the souvenir when he knew exactly which way it was going to go—it didn't sit right with him and he wasn't sure why.

“So how'd it go last night?” Maggie asked, sliding into the booth beside Ava.

Sam was sitting on her other side, his glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth when he set it down untouched, causing Ava's heart to skip and a slow heat to build around her neck.

If it were just her sitting there talking to Maggie, there'd be no risk in this conversation at all.

Ava had twenty years' experience guarding the kind of secret girlfriends were notorious for nosing out, and this latest bit of hush-hush would be cake to keep quiet,
if
it were just her. But it wasn't. Sam was a key player in the goings-on of the night before and even though they'd agreed to keep the sordid details of their extracurricular activities private…well, this was Sam, and he could be a bit of a wild card.

So as he turned to her, stretching his arm along the back of the booth, she didn't have a clue what he was going so say.

“Good,” he answered casually, waggling his head to the side as if in further consideration. “Actually, I think last night went pretty great. I was happy with the turnout. What about you, Ave?
Satisfied?
”

Ava felt the corners of her mouth tugging up, warm heat spooling through her center at the suggestive response.

But she wasn't biting.

“Yeah, it was good,” she answered to Maggie. “There were a few moments where it was looking a little touch-and-go as to whether Steven was buying it. But Sam stuck by my side and by the end of the evening, I think Steven got the idea.”

Sam nodded, raising a hand toward the front of the crowded diner, signaling the guys who'd just walked in. “Turned out to be a good time too. Gotta say, I'm glad I went.”

The corners of her mouth were twitching, fighting desperately against the cat-who-ate-the-canary grin attempting to break wide across her face. She was glad too. And even though a part of her ached at how easily they'd slipped back into “friendly,” she'd been relieved when Sam dropped onto the couch beside her without a moment's hesitation. Because that was important to her. Being able to argue over whether they watch
The Hangover
again or
Kick-Ass
and filing through the merits of each was
comfortable,
and no matter how amazing it was to finally be with Sam intimately, sex wasn't worth losing that comfort.

The guys, Ford, Tyler, and Tony, piled into the booth, grabbing up menus and nodding to their server for coffees. The extra bodies shifted everyone down into closer contact, so Ava's thigh was pressed firmly against Sam's, her body tucked close beneath his arm.

They'd eaten like this a hundred times without her blinking an eye over it. But this morning the proximity was distracting. Unnerving. It was good in a way she needed to put behind her and fast. A task that would be significantly easier if Sam hadn't chosen that moment to duck his head to hers and whisper, “But were you
satisfied
?”

Her belly went into free fall as she jerked back, her eyes locking with his and catching that single flash of mischief before he'd cleared his expression completely. A skill Sam was remarkably adept at and one she'd better brush up on herself if he was going to be goading her in front of their friends.

Only another look at him and she could see the reassurance in his eyes. He wouldn't.

“So what do you do now? Pretend to be dating for the rest of your career? Sam going to start checking the grocery store aisles for signs of Steven before he propositions the frozen-food stock girl?” Maggie asked, her eyes on the menu. Then added, “Shoot, what's fast? I've got to get over to open the gallery pretty quick.”

Tyler was pointing out a couple of things on the menu—probably stuff he hoped she wouldn't have time to eat so he could finish her plate when she had to run. But Ava was still caught on the first part of what she'd said.

Not because she was anticipating a repeat performance, or because she was worried about Steven plaguing her future now that they'd given him a good reason to turn his attention elsewhere. But because suddenly Ava was wondering how long it would be before Sam brought another woman back to his place. Before she had to deal with the reality that he was a single floor beneath her, putting his mouth on another woman, running his fingers through someone else's hair, moving inside a body that wasn't hers.

She winced, then tried to cover with a cough, but she could feel Sam watching her, so it was high time to get deeply involved in the skillet section of the menu.

It was going to happen, Sam bringing someone home. And chances were good it wouldn't be that long before he did. He was a physical guy and always had been. So the best Ava could hope for would be to get that buffer back around her heart. The one she'd been slowly reinforcing since high school and had, up until the night before, been so sturdy, Sam picking up his female du jour hadn't cost her more than a twinge in years. Now she just hoped to hell that buffer still held.

Sam could see the wheels turning in Ava's head. She was damned lucky none of their friends had a freaking clue what had gone down with them the night before or they'd have been able to read it as easily as he could.

She was probably thinking about him picking up some piece of ass and feeling a little less than stellar about her slot in a string of casual encounters that had never bothered Sam before Ava became a part of it.

Only even as he thought it, he knew that wasn't right.

What had happened with Ava wasn't the same. It was fun, yeah. And it was a one-time thing, definitely. But his single night with Ava packed more meaning than all the nights that had come before. Combined.

She ought to know it too, but the thing about sex and girls, and especially girls like Ava whose overnights tended to be few and far between, was that they sometimes didn't see even the most obvious things as clearly as they should.

Unfortunately, sitting around at breakfast with her brother and their friends wasn't exactly the time to clarify. But there was something he could ease her mind over.

“About the Steven thing,” he started, winking at Georgia when she offered more coffee. “Figure I'll lay low on the dating thing for the next few weeks.” A month. Maybe two. “Then if Steven's path ‘coincidentally' crosses with ours another time or two, it won't be while I've got someone who's not Ava sitting in my lap.”

Taking a sip of the fresh cup, he noticed the quiet around him. “What?”

Ford stared at him and then shifted his focus back to Ava, a different look in his eyes than Sam had seen since…
shit,
since the last time he'd been on the receiving end of what could only be described as a pissed-off brother's overly protective glower.

“Just exactly how serious is the problem with this guy, Ava?”

Maggie was reaching for Ava's hand. “Do we need to get the police involved?”

Jesus,
because he'd said he wasn't going to date for a few weeks? What kind of man-whore did they think he was?

Only then Ava looked at him, and it was there in the softness of her eyes and gentle curve of her lips. She knew. And it didn't matter what the rest of them thought.

“Excuse me, Ava? Phillips is looking for you in Conference B,” her assistant, Reni, whispered from where she was leaning into the office, too timid to venture even a step inside. As if the beige carpet and neutral walls were somehow going to swallow her whole if she set so much as a single toe beyond that threshold.

On the average day, that kind of hesitance would have rubbed. After all, Ava had been doing everything short of cooking the mousy little thing breakfast trying to get her to loosen up just enough so Ava could at least hear the girl without straining.

But this week?

Not a problem.

She hadn't been sleeping and when she did, she woke up tense and sweaty, her breath ragged. The feel of Sam so fresh and real on her body, it took minutes before she could accept the guy wasn't actually there. Then minutes more to talk herself into putting the phone down instead of doing something crazy like texting him with a plea for one more night.

Eventually she'd end up taking a shower, getting a snack, and then tooling around her apartment, distracting herself as best she could until her mind calmed enough to where sleep became a possibility.

Last night had been the worst. She'd tried working on her Perfect Push-up program. She'd used the foot spa. She'd even gotten the Bacon Bowl maker out and made herself one that she'd then filled with ice cream…only every one of her favorite distractions had the same problem. They were all gifts from Sam. They all made her think of him. Of his enthusiastic explanation as to why she was going to love each one. How he'd watch like a kid on Christmas morning, only all that ramped-up enthusiasm was for
her
.

God,
he was the best guy.

He was her best friend.

And now she couldn't close her eyes without thinking about all the more-than-friends ways she wished she could have him. The sexy ways. The heart-holding ways.

“Umm, Ava? Should I tell him you'll be down?” Reni asked so quietly, Ava was surprised she'd even heard her with the downward spiral her mind had just taken.

Getting it together, she straightened and locked in her focus. Flipping over to her calendar program, she shook her head. “I haven't got him on my schedule today. Any idea what it's about?”

Reni swallowed, glancing away. “I believe they have the San Diego office on the line.”

Of course. They were about due for another call, now that she thought about it.

Waving Reni off with the promise she'd be right down, Ava shook her head. These guys just didn't give up.

“But you told them no, right?” Maggie demanded, rounding the front desk—a red lacquer-topped expanse of curves that reminded Ava a bit of a lima bean, but a pretty one—at a clip just short of Olympic sprinting speed, her whisper-hiss already attracting attention from the guests there for the Reading and Wine night the gallery offered once a month. “My wedding is in two weeks and you promised you'd be there for me through every step of the way. You can't take off for another six weeks that suddenly becomes twelve, and especially when I need you. Ava, you can't go. You can't!”

Ava patted the air around her in that way that was supposed to settle people on the brink of being beyond settleable. Then, leading her friend toward one of the chocolaty velvet couches far from the reading, she sat, pulling Maggie down with her. “Relax. I told them no.”

More than a few times. Particularly because they weren't actually asking for six weeks. And hadn't the last several times this discussion had come up.

They wanted six months to a year. Or forever.

Not a clarification Maggie needed right then with her emotions starting to spike about the wedding. An event she'd been remarkably chill about until a few days ago, when suddenly she'd gotten
twitchy.

And considering what happened with Maggie's first go at the wedding thing, Ava was impressed she'd made it this long without freaking.

“Mm-hmm, but you'd already told them no. So what are they still asking for?”

“It's Drew Mitchel.” He was the driving force behind the San Diego office and when Ava had been out last year helping to get the place up and running, they'd spent about three months working closely together. She couldn't deny they'd made a good team. She liked IP law, but it was San Diego and her life was here. “He's one of those ‘knows what he wants' types who isn't really into taking no for an answer. At least professionally speaking.” Personally, she'd shut down the single pass he'd made at her and they'd worked seamlessly as colleagues for months after.

Maggie's arms were crossed, a deep furrow pulling between her eyes. “What is it with you and these stalkers?”

“It's not like that with him. He's just determined and driven. He thinks if he keeps asking, sprucing up the offer, eventually he'll hit the magic formula and I'll give.”

It was one of the things that appealed to her about Drew from the start. The guy knew what he wanted and went after it. And it showed; the San Diego office hit the ground running and hadn't slowed down yet.

“He thinks you'll give, but you won't.”

There were questions in Maggie's eyes her friend really didn't need right then, so Ava did the only thing she could think of to reassure her. She pulled her in for a too-tight hug and didn't let go.

“I won't.” At least not until after the wedding, and not for more than a couple of weeks.

Sam had left the room for thirty seconds to grab a bag of corn chips from Ford's kitchen and this was what he came back to:

“Dude, we gotta do The Admiral.” Tony's fist bump was locked and loaded, just waiting for a taker, but a “gentlemen's club”?
Man,
Sam hoped like hell Tyler's brother Mitch was planning to go a different direction for the bachelor party.

It wasn't as though Sam had some philosophical objection to strippers or dancers or whatever; those places just weren't his thing. When a woman got naked for him, or even partially so, what got him off was knowing
she wanted to.
Not that someone was paying her to do it. But that was just him, and he'd had the bulk of his adult life to get used to the idea that a lot of guys didn't share his way of thinking.

Tony, for instance, lived for his next trip to the “gentlemen's club,” the lap dances he'd lock himself in place for, and the weird-as-shit ritual of watching while his friends got them too.

Not him. No thanks.

Still, Sam wasn't about to be the wet blanket on Tyler's bachelor party, so if
girls, girls, girls
was the way of it, then he'd go along. But he was keeping his lap to himself.

“Forget it, Tony,” Ford answered, checking his phone while Sam reached for another beer from the ice bucket by the fireplace. “We're doing Gibson's for steaks and then a bar with just the guys. It's already squared with Mitch and Tyler.”

Tony slapped his hands over his chest like someone had just shot him and fell over on the sectional. “How can you guys be so lame? Bachelor parties are the shit. And with each one of you bastards who falls, that's one less opportunity out there. You a-holes are blowing them.”

Sam took a cold swallow, fighting his smile. The only person he knew more dramatic than Tony was Ava. No wonder the guy worshiped her. “You make it sound like we're dropping like flies, man. At last count, Tyler was the only one getting hitched.”

The front door swung open and Ava let herself into Ford's, followed by Tyler and Maggie. She had on one of those swingy, wide-legged pant things that narrowed through the waist, so he could see the exact contours of the hips he'd had his fingers wrapped around tight less than a week ago, and a cornflower-blue blouse tied at the waist and probably opened one button too far at the neck, based on the way he was leering.

“Not true,” she said, jumping into the conversation she must have just caught the last bit of. “I've got four weddings I know about lined up for this year. Mandy down from the reception pool at work is marrying some guy I haven't met yet. That's one. Leah and Nick from law school are tying the knot in June. And my second cousin Rayne is marrying her high school sweetheart, Josie, in July, so that's three. And then Maggie and Tyler make four. But I'm betting the invites start rolling in through the next few weeks.”

Ford nodded, his jaw cocked to one side as he looked to be fighting a smile. “And then there's Sam and Ava, right?”

Sam raised a brow, but Ava yanked around so hard she spun out, stumbling into the arm of the couch and then right over the edge and onto Tony, who'd still been lying where he'd been “shot.”

“Ford, look what you just made me do,” she grumbled, shoving up on straight arms and scowling down at Tony, whose wide grin suggested that he had, in fact, been buried in Ava's chest for a minute there. Something Sam would normally laugh his ass off over but suddenly didn't find so funny.

Not only was he half cursing himself for not being the tool flopped back on the couch poised to take that sweet, soft incoming cleavage, but there was something else. Something darker. Something—

“Cripes, Tony, it was an accident, so stop looking at me like I just made your Christmas morning.”

“Serendipity, Ava. And just so we're on the same page, you're welcome to use my face for a landing pad anytime you like.”

“Knock your shit off, Tony.” Sam walked over to where Ava was dusting herself off. “You okay?”

She nodded, an evil grin stretching her lips. “Except for the nightmares to come over Tony's suggestion I use his face for recreation.”

And cue Tony groaning as he jackknifed up to sitting, waving everyone off for the minute he was sure to need after Ava's retaliation.

Jesus,
she was bad.

Sam wanted to brush the few stray hairs of inky silk away from her brow, but that he'd been thinking about it instead of just doing it without thinking? Probably better to keep his hands to himself. But then—

Hold on.
What the hell was Ford talking about?

Ava must have had enough waiting too, because hand on her hip she spun around. “So what are you all Ava-and-Samming about?”

Ford grinned into his beer, an unparalleled look of delight on his face.

“Just thinking about poor Sam here and how I turned him down when he asked me for Ava's hand.”

Tony's head snapped up and Ava's mouth dropped open. But Sam just rubbed his palm over his mouth, giving in to the laugh bubbling up in his chest.

“Oh, that.”

He couldn't believe Ford remembered it—
he
hadn't even remembered it. But now it was as if he could smell the cookies Mrs. Meyers had been making that day. He could still feel that crazy tumble in his chest that, even after a year of being welcomed into Ava's family, he'd only just begun to get used to—excitement, happiness—as he ran up to the door and let himself in like they'd told him to do.

Kicking off his shoes, he'd set them in a neat row with all the others.

“Hi, Sam,” Mrs. Meyers called from the kitchen, where she'd been wiping down the counter with a rag. He'd always liked their kitchen. He'd liked the bowl of green apples on the table and how there was a place for him to sit. He'd liked how many foods were in the fridge and pantry. And he'd liked that Mrs. Meyers had let him help plant the herb garden growing in the window over the sink.

He'd tried to clean up his own kitchen some, but even though he'd been as quiet as he could, the noise from the glass and cans was too loud and then his old man was filling up the doorway, wanting to know what Sam thought he was doing with his stuff. He hadn't been able to breathe right seeing how his old man was looking at him, knowing what was coming next, but he'd tried to explain he was helping out. It didn't matter, and so he hadn't tried that again. Which was probably better anyway, because when he moved the paint can to scrape up the crust from underneath, a piece of the counter came up with it.

What a dump.

Not like the Meyerses' house. Not like the Meyerses.

And he'd started thinking that when his mom came back for him, he'd help keep her kitchen nice. He'd plant an herb garden for her window and she and Mrs. Meyers could be friends. And maybe he'd marry Ava and then Mrs. Meyers could be his mom too. He'd liked the idea of that so much, he'd even gone to ask Ford about it.

Needless to say, the guy had been less than agreeable, and that was the end of that. Until now.

Ford cocked his head. “Now that you two crazy kids are all
in love,
figured it's time we had that talk again, right?”