My phone rings, pulling me from the inappropriate fantasy about my best friend. I feel like I’ve been caught stealing cookies from the forbidden cookie jar.
Blaire’s name flashes on my screen. I didn’t expect to hear from her again until tomorrow. The unexpected call doesn’t help my hard cock behave any better.
“Blaire, everything okay?”
“It’s over,” she snivels into the phone.
Anger pulses through my entire body, like a surge of electricity. My fingers balls into a fist at my side, furious that any man has brought my Blaire to tears. “What happened?” I force myself to ask in as calm a tone as I can manage. Inside, I’m screaming and ready to rip out a throat.
“He—he’s cheating on me.”
“Right now?”
“In—in the hot—hot tub.”
I spring into action without any forethought, grabbing my wallet and keys off the kitchen counter. Packing for the field can wait. Blaire is all that matters right now. “Get your stuff together. I’m coming to get you.”
I make the two hour drive in ninety-three minutes, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. Getting arrested for reckless driving wouldn’t go over well with my new commander, but I took my chances anyway.
I’ve kept Blaire on the phone the whole time, wanting to make sure that the asshole doesn’t try to talk her into staying or forgiving him. From what Blaire described to me, what that asshole did is unforgiveable.
“I—I’m ready,” she says to me when I’m two miles away. “I’ll meet you outside, okay?”
“Blaire, hon, please stay on the phone with me.”
“I need to tell him I’m leaving.”
Every muscles bristles, but I’m close enough that I don’t tell her not to confront him. He won’t have enough time to beg for her forgiveness, or worse, make a fool out of her. I’ve learned from Blaire’s past breakups that she moves on a lot faster if she gets closure.
Finding a parking spot is damn near impossible, so I block in the asshole’s car, leaving just enough room not to get clipped by someone driving down the packed road. The music is deafening the second I jump out of my truck.
I hurry to the back of the cabin, searching the crowd for Blaire. Because a schoolyard mob has definitely gathered around what I can only assume is the hot tub. I march across the deck, not paying attention to any of the looks I draw. I’m not exactly a small man. My steps are loud and deliberate.
“It’s over,” Blaire says through a stream of tears.
“Come on, why don’t you join us babe? Three’s more fun than two right? Dena here’s never made out with a big girl before.”
I tense at those horrid words, just as stunned as most of the crowd that the asshole was dumb enough to use them. But I move before any of them, yanking the man out of the hot tub by his scrawny arms. The topless woman shouts at me as she topples into the water, but I’m not paying attention to her.
“What’s your problem man?” Brett says, wiping water out of his eyes. When he finally sees me—and no doubt my size—he starts to backpedal. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”
“You’re Brett?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Blaire’s best friend.”
“You’re Sawyer?” The terror in his eyes is impossible to miss.
“You cheated on the wrong girl.” My fist connects with the side of his face. Brett drops. The half-naked woman from the hot tub screams. “He’s alive,” I say with an eyeroll. I’m not sad about the headache he’ll no doubt have tomorrow. Might even clear the hangover.
“Sawyer, you’re here.” Blaire rushes into my arms, holding on so tight I almost forget we have an audience.
I fight my way back to reality through the lovely lavender cloud that is my Blaire. “Hon, let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
3
BLAIRE
It’s no surprise I shake the whole drive home. Tears falls in droves, then dry, then fall again. It’s not even all, or even mostly, about Brett. I just…dammit, I got it wrong again. I really do have the worst taste in men.
“Is there something wrong with me, Sawyer?” I don’t brave the question until I see the outskirts of town illuminating the night sky a few miles ahead. My best friend always knows what I need, and he let me cry and think in silence as long as I needed to.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with you, Blaire.” He reaches a comforting hand across the center console, wrapping my small fingers in his large ones. The simple gesture makes me feel so safe and comforted. “How could you possibly think that?”
“I—I—never mind.” I’m too embarrassed, even with Sawyer.
“I can’t say that I understand what you saw in that guy,” Sawyer says, staring straight ahead as we hit the first stoplight. Too soon, I’ll be dropped off at home and left alone in my misery. “But don’t think for a second that there’s anything wrong with you.”
I let out a sigh, happy to keep my hand in his. I shouldn’t let myself enjoy his touch so much, but I can’t help it. I blame it on the desperate need for affection I’ve experienced all day. Brett ignored me most of the day, and the few moments of his time I did get were because he wanted something—a sandwich, a beer.
The heat from Sawyer’s hand spreads up my arm and settles in my chest. He’s familiar. That’s all this is. The deep bond of friendship we share. I’d trust Sawyer with my life. But the fluttering of my heart is new.
“Where are we going?” I ask when Sawyer drives past the turn to my neighborhood.
“You think I’d let you stay alone tonight?”
Uh-oh. I think something between my legs just tingled. It’s that damn protectiveness he has over me. I never thought I wanted that quality in a man. I mean sure, I want to be with someone who’d beat up a mugger if it came down to it. But Brett didn’t smother me. He didn’t demand to know where I was every moment or care that I took a walk along the lake road in the dark.
“You don’t want to be stuck with me,” I say, though I really hope I don’t succeed in talking him out of his plan. “I’m probably just going to cry all night.”
“Then you’ll cry on my shoulder.”
Oh damn, I think my nipples just hardened. There’s no way to smooth them out without Sawyer catching me. With that extra protectiveness lingering in his gaze, I don’t know what doing such a thing would lead to.
My eyes drop to his lips, lingering for longer than a second.
Shit. I really, really want to kiss him right now. This can’t be happening.
“Besides,” he says to me, “I have to finish packing. I wouldn’t mind the company.” He pulls into a gas station a few blocks from his new house.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“Because you’re in no shape for midnight milkshakes unless I make them at my house.” He lifts my hand and presses his lips to it. The tingles that erupt are undeniable. “I’ll be right back.”
I catch myself panting hard as I watch him enter the gas station. I follow the outline of his big, muscular body. Denying that I’m attracted to him would be futile. Sawyer is—and honestly always has been—the very definition of sexy. I just never let myself admit that when we first met. He was engaged to someone else.