The BFF Bride Read online

  “Because I told him it was stupid when you ran everything else there, and he agreed. Why are you looking all pissed off?” He closed the puppy inside and headed toward her on the sidewalk. “I thought you’d be happy. You don’t have to wait on Erik every time you need to pay a bill.”

  “How many times do I have to say that our system worked just fine? And why are you suddenly acting interested in the way the diner is run?”

  “I thought you’d be happy,” he repeated. “Dammit, Tabby, what do you want from me? You act like you still hate me. Then you think I lied about Gillian. Then you plant that...that kiss—”

  “It was a mistake,” she said quickly, before he could go any further. “A stupid mistake.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve really got to go. You know how mom hates dinner to be late.” A ridiculous statement, considering her mother’s easygoing personality. Tabby continued backing away. “Evan can get you a kennel. Maybe even loan you one while you’re here.”

  “Tabby—”

  She turned on her heel and jogged the short distance to her car, proving she really was a coward after all. “I’ll talk to Erik about the bank account,” she said and quickly got in, cranking the engine so hard a belch of smoke came out the tailpipe.

  She backed out onto the street and drove away.

  * * *

  She saw the red glow of his cigarette before she made out the shape of him sitting in the dark on her front porch.

  She’d killed as much time at her folks’ house as she could without drawing suspicion. As it was, while she helped her mother wrap Christmas gifts, she’d had to derail Jolie’s none-too-subtle remarks about “things” she’d been hearing around town concerning Tabby and Justin. Hiding out there any longer than she had would only have made it worse. It was nearly ten and her parents knew she was the poster child for early to bed, early to rise.

  And, evidently, Tabby could only be a coward for so long before even she found herself intolerable.

  She closed the car door and clasped the sides of her coat together in front of her, walking slowly toward him. “You don’t seem to be giving them up.”

  The red glow moved upward and flared briefly as he took a drag. “Don’t seem to be,” he agreed. “You going to talk to me now, or what?”

  It was annoying how quickly her throat went tight.

  She reached the porch step and sat down beside him. The second she did, she felt a wet canine nose nudge at her hand. “Hi, Beastie.” The puppy climbed onto her lap, and Tabby rubbed her fingertips against her smooth coat.

  “It’s a fitting name,” he said. “She ate one of my shoes this afternoon.”

  “Get a proper kennel cage.”

  “I did. She figured out how to unfasten the latch.”

  “Admittedly brilliant on her part.” The dog started crawling up her chest. “But more likely that you didn’t fasten the latch properly.”

  “You want to tell me what that was about the other night?”

  She shook her head, which, given the darkness and the fact that her porch light wasn’t on, was pretty useless as a form of communication. “Not really.” Then she sighed and pushed to her feet, still holding the pup. “I don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, but my butt is already freezing.” She stepped around him and unlocked her front door. “If you’re coming in, leave the cigarette outside.”

  A moment later, he followed her inside, squinting a little at the light she turned on. She set the dog on the floor. “Be nice.”

  “That a warning for the dog or for me?”

  She pulled off her coat and dropped it over one of the couch arms, and then toed off her tennis shoes. “Maybe for all three of us. You want something to drink?”

  “What’re you offering?” He removed his leather jacket and left it on top of her coat.

  “Arsenic?” She smiled thinly and went into the kitchen. “I have water and—” she pulled open the refrigerator door “—diet soda and one beer.” She reached for the beer before he even answered.

  “Beer.”

  She closed the refrigerator and twisted off the cap, handing him the bottle. Then she filled a cereal bowl with some water and set it on the floor for Beastie. “I’m sorry about the other night,” she said abruptly. She made a face. “Kissing you like that. It was—” Dumb? Foolish? Fruitless? “Was, um, wildly inappropriate.”

  He straddled one of her bar stools. His violet eyes studied her while he took a drink from the bottle. “Why?” he asked when he lowered it.

  “Why what?”

  “Why inappropriate?”

  She pressed her tongue against her teeth, searching for an answer. “Because.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Because...why?”

  She let out a breath and left the kitchen, restlessly going down the hall into her studio.

  He followed, scooping up Beastie when she tried to go between his feet. Holding the dog, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. She didn’t know if he did it to block her exit or not, but the result was the same either way. She plucked several brushes out of the empty can where she’d left them to dry and began organizing them.

  “Tabby.”

  She abruptly swept all of the brushes into a drawer and slammed it shut. “It’s inappropriate because we’re not—” She didn’t look at him as she waved her hand. “You know. Not that kind of friends. Kissing kind of friends.”

  He remained silent, which only added to the embarrassment burning through her.

  She switched her restless attention to the closest stack of paintings against the wall. Her throat felt tighter than ever as she moved them needlessly from one wall to another.

  Justin watched the overhead light shining on her dark hair as she worked. Until he’d messed things up with her four years ago, she’d been a staple in his life. But he wasn’t a complete idiot. She was beautiful. He’d always been aware of that. But as she’d said, they weren’t that kind of friends. So, aside from his enormous onetime transgression, he’d always done his best to ignore her appeal. Because that’s the way she wanted it.

  Or so he’d thought.

  She’d moved the paintings back to their original places. There were only half the number he’d seen last time. As she crouched down and fussed with them, he could tell that the blizzard painting was gone.

  “Maybe that’s what our problem is,” he said quietly.

  She went still.

  He set the dog on the floor and reached down to grab Tabby’s hands, pulling her to her feet.

  Her eyes were wide. Dark. And full of wariness.

  “Pretending we weren’t the kissing kind of friends,” he added, just to be clear. Something in her gaze flickered, and he felt the resistance in her hands. “Don’t pull away.”

  She didn’t, though she spread her fingers, almost experimentally, as if she were still planning to. “Justin, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “What isn’t a good idea?”

  Her fingers curled. “What, uh, whatever it is you’re thinking about doing.”

  He could read her thoughts as clearly as his own.

  And damn straight she knew what he was thinking.

  He released one of her hands and slid his palm along her jaw. Felt her jerk a little, but not away from him. He pushed her chin up with his thumb and leaned closer. “I think it’s one of the best ideas I’ve had in a really—” he leaned even closer “—really long time.” Four years, at least.

  He closed the last few inches of distance between them and pressed his mouth against hers.

  He didn’t close his eyes.

  Nor did she.

  So he saw in her eyes what he felt in the kiss.

  The kick start of blood.

  The sudden blast of heat.
>
  The urgent desire for more.

  He moved his hand, sliding it behind her neck, threading his fingers through her thick, silky hair, angling her head. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her hands roved over his shoulders, fingertips kneading. Then she made a soft sound, and her lips parted against his.

  Whatever he’d planned—an experiment, a test, a challenge—went up in smoke. Any thought beyond getting more of Tabby Taggart was impossible.

  More warm flesh beneath the sweater he dragged over her head.

  More of the pulse beating like a wild thing below her ear lobe.

  More of the sweeter-than-sweet taste of her tight nipple through the lace covering it. She inhaled deeply and yanked at his shirt so forcefully that he heard it rip and buttons pop. He dragged down the zipper on her jeans and pushed his hands inside.

  She twined herself around him, gasping against his neck as he lifted her onto her messy worktable and buried himself inside her. She cried out, arching against him sharply as her sweet, hot spasms gloved him, luring him into oblivion.

  Justin wasn’t sure how long it was after that before his good sense started to return.

  He was sure, however, that Tabby wasn’t as slow in that regard as he was.

  His heart was still pounding and the sweat on their bodies hadn’t cooled before she was unwinding her legs and pushing away from him, reaching for her clothes that somehow had spread out from corner to corner of her studio.

  “Tabby—”

  She shook her head, throwing out her palm. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.” She picked up her bra, took one look at the lace that had been torn in two and tossed it aside before yanking her sweater over her head, pulling it down past her bare thighs. “If I hear another apology from you after—” She broke off and waved the jeans she plucked off the floor. “I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

  She might have ended up gloriously naked, but he hadn’t gotten that far. He hitched up his jeans. “Well, then relax, because I’m not apologizing.” He wasn’t sure where the stamina came from after the sex storm that had just flattened him, but he was abruptly and wholly pissed. “You were more than willing, Tabbers. And neither one of us has the excuse of being drunk this time.” Not that there really was any comparison to the last time.

  Hell, after he’d unintentionally, drunkenly mumbled another woman’s name to her four years ago, that particular party had screeched to a dead-as-a-doornail stop. There’d been no spectacular finish. No daunting fear that he might actually be in over his head where she was concerned. And damn sure no haunting suspicion that no woman was ever going to fit him as perfectly as Tabitha Taggart did.

  Which was a suspicion that freaked him out more than anything else.

  “Yes, well, I don’t need pity sex from you, either,” she said thickly as she left the room.

  “What?” He followed her, stepping over his shirt on the floor as she headed down the short hall and into her bedroom. “Where the hell did you get that stupid idea?”

  She didn’t look at him. Just dumped her jeans on the bed and yanked open one of her dresser drawers to pull out a folded shirt. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face.

  His head started to pound. He matched it beat for beat with the palm of his hand against the wooden door. “Dammit, Tabby!”

  “Go home, Justin.” Maybe it was the door between them that made her voice sound thick. “Take Beastie with you.”

  He didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to leave her.

  The fact that she didn’t want him, though, was too obvious to ignore.

  “This isn’t over,” he warned through the door.

  “There isn’t anything to be over,” she yelled back at him. “Do you want me to watch your dog in the afternoons or not?”

  His head pounded even more. “Yes!”

  Then he scooped up Beastie, who’d been chewing on his ankle, and looked the puppy in the eye. “God save me from freaking crazy females,” he said through his teeth. “And that includes you, too.”

  Then he walked out.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Justin’s here. He’s asking to see you.”

  When Paulette made her announcement, Tabby didn’t pull her hands out of the bread dough she was kneading. After the insanity in her studio the night before, she had been clinging to every shred of normalcy she could find.

  Which, to her, meant baking rolls at Ruby’s.

  She was on her fifth batch even though it was the lunch rush and she should have been working the front along with the other servers.

  “Just tell him to chain the dog up out back until I’m finished here,” she told Paulette.

  “He doesn’t have a dog with him.”

  “Then tell him I’ll pick her up at his place when I’m through. So I hope he’s got her contained in her kennel.”

  Paulette shrugged, adjusting her apron around her waist and disappearing through the swinging doors.

  “You punishing that bread dough for something?”

  Tabby didn’t look up. “Not now, Bubba.”

  “Just sayin’.” He slapped a burger on the grill and reached up to the pass-through to grab the next order. “You get one of Miz Templeton’s party invitations?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.” Which was fine with her. The last fancy-dress event she’d attended had been the hospital fund-raiser. Her emotions had been spiraling since.

  The swinging door pushed open again. “Paulette—”

  “I am not Paulette.”

  Tabby’s fingertips dug into the dough. She glanced at Justin standing in the doorway and looked away just as quickly. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. A CNJ-logoed ball cap covered his head, the bill pulled low over his eyes. But the memory of his thick blond hair standing in spikes because of her fingers twisting through it was just as vivid in her mind as the reality of him now. “I told you last night I’d take care of Beastie.”

  “That’s about the only thing you told me last night,” he countered. He took another step farther into the kitchen, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

  She dashed more flour over the sticky dough. She was excruciatingly aware that Bubba was watching the two of them. “It was the only thing that needed to be said.”

  He snorted and moved next to the rolling cart where she was working. “What happened was unexpected, but not the end of the world,” he said under his breath. “You’re acting like an outraged virgin or something.”

  Her face caught fire. She looked from him to Bubba, who was adding more burgers to the one already sizzling on the grill, and back to Justin again. “This is neither the time nor the place,” she hissed.

  “Then when is the time and place? You were gone before dawn this morning. You had the diner locked up tight when I came by before I went to work.”

  She faltered for half a moment. She hadn’t heard him come by this morning. “You’re the one who wants me to keep the door here locked until opening. Or have you already forgotten?”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  She scooped up the heavy mound of dough, flipped it over and slapped it back down hard against the floury board. A cloud of white exploded over the front of Justin’s clothes. “Give it time,” she advised.

  “You used to say exactly what was on your mind,” he said, swiping his hand over his jeans. “What happened?”

  You. She turned away from the dough that she was going to have to throw away because of the punishment she’d been giving it and tossed a clean towel at him. “When you finish slumming it here in Weaver, you’ll go back to Boston and everything’ll return to normal. You won’t give a thought to this place until you come back for the next holiday. Is that clear enough now?”

  His expre
ssion darkened. “This is my hometown, too, Tab. I’ve never once considered it slumming. If that’s the word in your head, maybe that’s how you feel!”

  Her jaw loosened. “I love Weaver. I’m not the one who is always leaving it!”

  “And why is that? Maybe you’re really just afraid to go out and see what else the world has to offer. Instead you stay here, comfortable ruling your Ruby’s roost, dabbling with your painting and playing spinster poker!”

  The music coming from Bubba’s ancient radio suddenly shot up in volume, startling them both. Tabby gave her cook a look.

  Bubba gave her a look back. “Folks around town are already talking about the two of you. You want to give ’em even more fuel?”

  Her shoulders drooped. She went over to the sink and washed away the dough clinging to her fingers. She could feel Justin watching from behind her; it was like the point of a firebrand pressing between her shoulder blades.

  Then she heard the scrape of his shoe, and a moment later the door was swinging hard after him.

  She blinked against the burning behind her eyes, turned off the water and blindly reached for the paper towels.

  Bubba handed the roll to her.

  She avoided his concerned look and tore off a few sheets to dry her hands.

  “Wanna tell ol’ Bubba what that was about?”

  She shook her head and went over to the worktable, where she scraped the dough into the trash barrel.

  “Ever consider just telling the guy how you feel?”

  She frowned, continuing to scrape the wooden board with the edge of her metal spatula. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. You got it bad for the boss. Looks like he’s got it bad for you, too.”

  Her jaw ached from clenching it. “I can tell you that he definitely does not.”

  “Then what happened last night between the two of you? ’Cause something sure as shootin’ did.”

  “Nothing happened,” she lied. Because as much as she loved Bubba Bumble, she wasn’t about to tell him what had happened the night before. “Your burgers are starting to burn.”

  They weren’t.