Chapter 5

Summer

I growled deep in my throat and flopped back on my bed. I snuck a glance at my bookshelf, gaze landing Ian's photo. His sharp facial features and chiseled chin. His eyebrows were low, almost masking the deep brown color of his eyes. He always looked somewhat dangerous until he smiled. He was a good looking man. But he knew he was attractive, as did the entire female population of Wylie.

Wasn't it against the laws of nature and rules of friendship to think of a best friend that way? Issue the I could eat you alive, but wouldn't dare look? We'd grown up next door to one another. It wasn't a brother-sister kind of relationship, but it wasn't the kind to get all hot and bothered between the sheets either. Sex between us would ruin everything. Sex killed friendships.

So what was up with him lately? All the innuendos and wink-winks?

When we were fifteen, and I was dating one of the high school football players, I'd run next door to tell Ian about Scott Michaels kissing me before the game. I had been so very upset because he'd broken up with me right after.

"Maybe I'm really bad at kissing," I'd confessed to Ian later.

Ian had looked pissed off. He'd hauled me against him, kissed me deliberately and thoroughly, and backed away from me quicker than a blink. "You're not," he'd said.

He'd acted like he wanted to say more, but the bubble of laughter rising in my belly couldn't be swallowed. It had erupted in my throat, exploded out of my mouth, and caused me to grab my sides and double over. Ian had kissed me. To prove I was a good kisser. It had been hysterical. It was just like him to do something like that, too. I hadn't even had enough time to process if the kiss was any good. But the absurdity of the situation and, I must admit now, the anxiousness I'd felt at the time, caused the frenzied laughter to envelop me. It had just been him proving a point, after all. But Ian's eyes had narrowed to a sliver, jaw muscles clenching. He had not been happy by my reaction.

It was the only time, the one and only time, we had ever crossed that line.

I pinched my eyes closed now and banished all images from my mind, wondering where on earth that memory had come from. I blamed Ian and his damned counting your blessings comment. I hadn't thought about that kiss in a long time. I'd hardly thought about it when it had happened.

Most people were wary of his occasional bad temper and black moods, which changed faster than I changed my mind. That was Ian, broody as all get out. He could also charm the pants off anything with breasts. I would never fear Ian or his doldrums, though. Possibly because I was entirely too used to them. He'd never laid a hand on me in anger, on anyone. Not unless he was pushed beyond the brink and the other guy had it coming. Usually in my defense. I was known to this small town as his only weakness. Ian was loyal to a fault and took care of those he loved.

But Ian didn't see me as he saw every other woman. How could he? We were best friends. He had a precise way of dropping those irritating little comments now and then, though, that caused my artistic mind to play potential pictures through my head. Like giving him a taste of his own medicine by sliding a finger from his full mouth, down his bare chest, farther still to the waistband of his pants¡­

I resisted the urge to growl again.

Ian was a perpetual bachelor and I wanted a family someday. He wanted fun. I wanted real. It didn't matter how many comments he made while goading or teasing me, or how many quick-flash fantasies popped in my head while he tried to get a rise out of me. He didn't want me in a romantic sense. Which was reciprocal, right? That was the cold, hard truth.

And he was all I had left in this world.

I got up and opened the window a crack to let the scent of summer inside. Not enough to let the heat in, but enough for my mind to clear. I took a moment to linger by the window, wishing I could bottle the humid scent of warm, night breezes and open it whenever I desired.

There wasn't much to disguise the stars tonight. Rick, another of my good friends, used to sit with me counting stars, as he called it. They don't make Cary Grant men like Rick anymore. He once told me God must've hung the moon for me. Yeah, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Where Ian would argue and throw down challenges, Rick would sooth and calm.

Now, if I could find a guy like Rick, who was a one-woman man, who doted on his wife and saw me as the only person in the world, then maybe I'd make that plunge. There was absolutely no sexual chemistry between me and Rick. Never had been. Even if there was, he was married to Dee, and they were so well suited for each other.

Mostly, Ian said all the wrong things and irritated me beyond all comprehensive thought, but he was always there. He knew me better than most people I allowed in. And under all that charisma, he was a good guy who did the right thing. At this rate, me and Ian would wind up in a nursing home together at eighty, still single and still arguing.

And then there was Matt. He looked at me like I was...important. Most of the time. Actually, he acted more like I was a puzzle to figure out. But he was in Greensboro and I had no idea where our relationship was headed. He'd said he loved me today. That had to be good, right? There had only been a few men in my life who'd said those words - my father, Rick, Ian, and Jacob Johnson. Jacob didn't count. It had been fifth grade and he'd wanted me to show him my bra. Yet, I didn't get that ping of glee I figured I should feel at Matt's declaration.

I pulled off my white T-shirt and put on a nightgown. Ian had given it to me years ago and I always slept in it. The soft, navy cotton fit me like a glove and reminded me nightly I still had at least him in my life. Almost everyone else may be gone, but he was still here. He'd tried to buy me others, but I wouldn't have it. It was one of those comfort things I refused to part with. I had very few things these days that comforted me. I unbuttoned my khaki shorts and slid them down to a pile on the floor. They immediately went into the hamper in the closet.

Pewter chimes outside my window sounded musical through the small room and casted shadows across the ceiling in the moonlight. I curled up under my covers and rubbed my legs under the cool cotton sheets. Reaching over, I switched off the lamp.

And then the phone rang. Figured.

"Hey, beautiful."

I secretly loved that Matt called me beautiful. What woman didn't like being reminded she was attractive to her guy? "Hi, Matt."

"Is Sunday still okay for me to visit? We can have a date, talk, you know."

"Yeah, sure." I hated that I need to talk to you line and my stomach twisted. "Anything wrong?"

"No. Well, at least I don't think so. I think it's a good thing and hoping you do, too."

I grinned, but my stomach didn't settle. "All right. I've got class in the morning, so I need to sleep."

"Night, beautiful."

His voice stayed with me as I laid back to close my eyes. Maybe things with Matt would work out. Maybe I'd finally get a chance to have a family again.