For Better or Worse (18 page)

Chapter Twenty

H
EATHER WOKE UP TO
a large male hand on her breast and a large male penis against her butt.

Even before sleep had totally faded, she rolled her eyes and turned toward Josh, but he scooted closer, keeping her back to him.

“Stay,” he ordered. “I don't want you to start fussing about morning breath and early-morning details.”

“The only early-morning detail I'm caring about at the moment is coffee,” she grumbled.

His thumb flicked over her nipple, and she sucked in a breath.

“Coffee first,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and trying to pull his hand away.

His hand slid down her body, a finger sliding between her legs.

In about ten seconds, she was wet and squirming against him.

“Coffee first, or . . .”

“Coffee second,” she said on a gasp as two fingers slipped inside her. “Coffee second.”

Josh reached over her head and grabbed a condom—­their fourth—and put it on, before hooking a hand behind her knee.

He lifted her leg slightly and positioned himself, pausing for a heartbeat before plunging inside her.

It was good. Always so good.

“Damn you,” she said on a gasp.

“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, lifting onto his elbow as he looked over her shoulder and down the length of her.

Heather bit her lip. She wasn't unadventurous in bed, but she usually felt a hell of a lot braver when it wasn't the early morning with sunlight displaying imperfections and all.

Josh's mouth dropped to the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck, and he licked her lightly. “You're beautiful,” he whispered.

It was all the encouragement she needed. Her hand slid down her stomach, hesitating only briefly before she let her fingers rub over her sensitive flesh.

Josh groaned and quickened his pace as he levered himself up once more, watching her hand. Watching them.

She couldn't help it. She looked down, too, at the sight of him plunging in and out of her while her own fingers circled and stroked. It was so blatantly sexy, so unapologetically carnal that her orgasm was upon her far faster than it had any right to be.

“Josh—”

“Come.”

She did. And he came with her, his groan low and growly and pure man.

They both slumped back into the pillows, his arm heavy on her waist, his breath ruffling the hair that she knew had to be, in his word, enormous.

Eventually, she rolled onto her back and glanced toward him, holding a hand over her mouth. He was right about the morning breath thing. Sure, it was just Josh, but she still had standards.

“Coffee,” she said, the world muffled by her ­fingers.

“I'd love some,” he said, not opening his eyes.

She reached out and slapped his stomach, which probably hurt her more than it did him considering he had an honest-to-God six-pack.

He grunted and rolled off the bed into a standing position in one motion, pulling off the condom before ambling toward her bathroom. She heard the flush, and then he ambled back into the room for his pants, putting them on commando as he studied her.

“You look hot like that.”

“Hot mess,” she corrected.

“Nope. Just hot. Don't let it go to your head though, you're already insufferable enough with that big ego.”

She gaped at him. “
I
have the big ego?”

“You do.”

Then he was singing “Deck the Halls,” a favorite of his, apparently, and banging around in her kitchen.

A second later his head poked into the bedroom. “I just realized we never made our banana bread.”

“For the hundredth time, quit acting like that's a thing that we do.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “But only because I've
discovered another thing that we do that's slightly more interesting than banana bread.”

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. “
Slightly?
Exactly where does sex rank next to your precious banana bread?”

“Depends. Does the banana bread have nuts?”

Heather reached behind her, picking up a candle she kept on the nightstand and lifting it like one might throw a football. “Speaking of nuts, you'd better watch yours.”

“I forgot what you were like without coffee,” he said. “Put the weapon down, 4C. I've got some Italian roast with your name on it.”

He disappeared again, and Heather smiled as she went to the dresser, pulling on underwear—non-thong this time, since he had a weakness for them, and her lady bits needed a break—and then tugged on gray sweatpants and a tank top.

Ordinarily she might have combed her hair, but this was Josh. And wasn't this the entire point of having sex with someone that would never turn into something romantic? She didn't have to worry about things like frizz.

She walked into the kitchen just as he was pouring them each a mug.

“And you thought I would hate you in the morning,” she said, greedily grabbing at the cup he held out.

“So you don't, then?”

“Don't what?” she asked, taking her coffee into the living room and sitting on the couch.

“Hate me.” His voice was casual, but his eyes
were just the slightest bit wary as he searched her face.

She shrugged. “This doesn't feel awkward-morning-­after to me. Does it to you?”

“No,” he said. “But how do I know you're not waiting until I leave to start your shame cycle.”

“Shame cycle? What the heck is that?”

“You know, when you women start overthinking things, wondering why I didn't ask for your number, wondering if you made a mistake, wondering which notch on my bedpost you were . . .”

“Yeah, I'm not going to do that,” she promised, taking a sip of the coffee. “Although out of curiosity, how many women have you slept with?”

“A lot,” he said without apology as he plopped into a chair across from her.

That didn't surprise her. Heck, she'd seen plenty of them. And speaking of . . .

Heather glanced at the clock on her wall. “Hey, how long until your mom gets here to make pancakes? That's what she does for your one-night stands, right?”

Josh groaned. “Trust me when I say that is not how I was hoping that morning was going to go.”

“What, your mom catching you in the act?”

“She just caught the aftermath, thank God.”

“So the pancakes aren't typical.”

“God, no. Usually I just offer cereal only to tell them that I'm out of milk if they say yes.”

“Are you
actually
out of milk?”

“Hardly ever.”

Heather shook her head. “Josh.”

“What? It's not like I promised them breakfast in bed when I invited them over. They know the score.”

Heather wondered if there was a hidden message there. A gentle reminder that Heather too should know the score and not expect anything more than he wanted to give.

Heather leaned forward, cupping her mug in both hands as she waited for him to meet her eyes.

He did so, warily. “You look like you're about to give a speech.”

“I am, so listen up and take notes if you need to. I meant what I said last night. I'm not reading too much into what happened. I didn't wake up in the middle of the night to watch you sleep. I didn't punch holes in all the condoms in hopes of having your love baby—”

Josh laughed. “Jesus, 4C.”

She leveled him with a look. “I am, however, hungry. Your mom's not here to make us pancakes, I'm not making pancakes, and I don't want your stupid cereal.”

“Pie?” he asked hopefully.

“I was thinking more like brunch,” she said. “I hardly ever get to go out to brunch. The wedding business almost never provides a free weekend, and the Belles have an event-free day today before all post-holiday hell breaks loose tomorrow.”

He said nothing, and she felt a flicker of disappointment. “It's okay if you don't want to,” she said quietly. “I'm perfectly happy going to brunch on my own. I have zero qualms about drinking mimosas by myself.”

“You'll do no such thing,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “I know just the place. The hash browns are straight from heaven, and the French toast is stuffed with mascarpone, if that's your thing.”

“Really?” She didn't bother to hide her happiness. “You want to go with me?”

“Of course,” he said, standing and finishing the last bit of his coffee. “What better way to listen to you talk about how I was the best sex you ever had?”

Heather pursed her lips as she watched him amble into the kitchen, all broad shoulders and trim waist.

“I don't hear any denials,” he said.

“I'm not going to feed your voracious ego,” she said climbing to her feet. “So don't hold your breath.”

“I don't suppose you'd let me go to the gym before brunch?” he asked hopefully.

“You watch your mouth,” she said as she headed toward the bathroom to shower. “I'm leaving in thirty minutes. You'll have to decide what you want more, to bench-press or that French toast.”

“What about sex?” he called after her. “Is that on the table?”

“Seriously? We went at it, like, four times.” She tugged the tank top over her head, unsurprised to see him watching her.

“How about five?” he said, his eyes locked on her bare breasts.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely,” he said, giving her a crooked smile as he ambled toward her, hooking a hand behind her neck and forcing her to look up.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. “You're the best I've ever had, too, you know.”

Heather's heart flipped, and her lust-addled brain clung to the hope that it wasn't a line. “I never confirmed you were the best,” she teased.

Josh rubbed a thumb over her lip. “If you're still unsure, I think I know a way I can convince you.”

“How's that?”

Josh backed her into the bathroom. “Time to make good on my threat of shower sex.”

“Okay, but I meant what I said about leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Not a problem, 4C. I'll only need five for what I'm about to do to you, but I'm happy to stretch it to ten if you find you want more time.”

Turned out she wanted fifteen. And then some.

Chapter Twenty-One

D
UDE, YOU DO THIS
every time,” Trevor said as he flipped open the pizza box and started picking at the pie. “You know I hate olives.”

“Sorry, forgot,” Josh lied. He knew perfectly well his friends hated them, but he loved them, and Trevor had turned the process of picking them off into an art form. It was Wednesday evening, and Heather had a rare weekday evening wedding to work, so he'd invited Trevor over to watch the Rangers game. It was his first Heather-free night in quite some time, and damn if he didn't miss her despite having just seen her the evening before.

He was really up shit creek with this one.

Trevor shoved the olive-free piece in his mouth and shot Josh the finger as he took an enormous bite, then flopped back on the couch. “How you been, man?”

Josh flipped the lids off two beers, setting them on the table before dropping onto the opposite side of the sectional. “Good.”

Trevor smirked. “You've been better than good. You've been practically strutting. And you canceled band practice on Sunday night.”

“Holiday weekend.”

“Sex weekend, I'd wager,” Trevor countered. “A hot broad's the only reason you'd ever cancel practice.”

Guilt flickered, and Josh leaned forward for a slice of pizza so he had an excuse to break eye contact with his best friend. “Were the guys upset?”

“Nah,” Trevor said, taking another big bite of pizza. “It's just a hobby for them. Something to do. They don't care about it like we do.”

Josh glanced up in surprise. “Do you care about it that much?”

“Of course,” Trevor said, his attention still locked on the TV.

“Trev.”

His friend looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Where do you see the band going?”

Trevor stuffed the rest of the crust in his mouth and leaned forward for his beer. “I don't know. I guess getting a few more gigs would be a start. We really haven't done anything since the summer when we played at a couple of those random weddings.”

“What about beyond then?”

Trevor took a sip of beer and studied him. “How about you spit out whatever you're thinking?”

Josh took a bite of his own slice and shrugged. “I don't know. Just been thinking lately.”

“'Bout?”

“The band.”
Life
.
And what the hell I should be doing with mine.

“And?”

Josh rolled his shoulders and reached for another piece of pizza. “I don't know. Never mind.”

“You want to break up the band?”

“I didn't say that,” Josh said quickly.

Trevor's smile was fleeting. “But you didn't not say it, either.”

“I don't know that I see us going big places,” he admitted.

Trevor sighed and set his beer aside, pulling the box of pizza toward him as he started dismembering another slice. “I don't know that I see it, either.”

Josh's chewing slowed for a second. “Yeah?”

“We're good. Maybe even really good. Your songs are awesome, man. But to make it in a way that would enable us all to quit our day-job things and really just go for it, we've got to be better than awesome, you know?”

Josh nodded. He did know. And he didn't take offense. He had a talent, he knew that. So did Trevor, and the other guys. But it took more than talent to make it in music. It took drive and sacrifice and a sort of soul-deep
want
, and he wasn't sure they had that.

He knew that he didn't.

“I'll probably always sing,” Trevor said, flinging an olive onto a spare plate. “And you'll always write and sing and play, being the triple-threat bastard that you are. That's what I meant when I said we want it more than the other guys. I don't know that they'd keep playing if it wasn't easy and they didn't have
someone else supplying the space and the time and the motive. But is it lame to say that I like my day job?”

“No, of course not, man.”

Guilt flickered again, because Josh didn't know exactly what Trevor did for a living. A project manager at some big web design firm, whatever that meant. But Trevor had always seemed to like it. He didn't bitch about
work
the way most people did.

“What about you?” Trevor asked after a few minutes' pause.

“What about me?”

“I know that you've got a shit-ton of money stashed away. I'm guessing enough to not have to work again if you don't want to, considering you live like an eighteen-year-old kid.”

Josh tipped back his beer and didn't confirm what Trevor had said. He didn't have to. Trevor was one of the few friends from before. One of the friends who'd been there before he was sick, after he was sick, and most important, while he was sick.

“I also know you're bored,” Trevor continued.

Josh shrugged.

“Your old bosses won't take you back?”

“They offered. I passed.”

“I don't blame you. That place nearly ate you alive. But, man, you've got to do
something
. You're too smart to spend your days working out and writing music you don't care about selling and flirting with the neighbor.”

Josh stilled as he remembered the real reason he'd invited Trevor over tonight. “Ah, about said neighbor—”

“You're boning her. I know,” Trevor said distractedly as he glanced back at the TV.

Josh scratched his forehead. “Not the word I'd use, but, yeah, we've crossed that line.”

“The naked line.”

Josh nodded, watching his friend's profile for any trace of tension or resentment. Instead Trevor took another bite of his pizza, reaching across the couch with his other hand in a fist bump, all without glancing away from the hockey game.

Josh returned the hand gesture and laughed. “You're not pissed.”

“Why would I be pissed?”

“You seemed . . . interested.”

Trevor turned and grinned. “I did, didn't I?”

“But then why . . .” Josh's eyes narrowed, and this time when he offered Trevor his fist, it was with a punch to the shoulder. Hard. “You bastard.”

“What? It was obvious you were hung up on her. Thought a little jealousy might get the ball rolling.”

Josh didn't want to admit to his friend just how well his asshole plan had worked. “I am not hung up on her. I just like her.”

“Dude, that's what being hung up means.”

“What, you're telling me you don't have female friends that you like?”

“Sure.”

“And you don't have women you sleep with that you also like?” Josh said.

“Yup.”

“Are you
hung up
on all of them?” Josh asked smugly.

Trevor sighed and rested his head back against the cushion. “Man, you're dumb.”

“What?”

Trevor turned his head and met Josh's annoyed gaze. “Yes, I like my female friends. Yes, I like some of the women I sleep with. But, dude, it's the overlap that's the
gotcha
. She's a female friend
and
you're sleeping with her. That's dangerous territory.”

“It's not,” Josh said automatically. “It's just . . .”

Trevor's eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

“Fuck,” Josh said, slumping on the couch. “Never mind, I don't know. Shut up. I don't know why I mentioned it.”

“Sure you do. You needed to make sure that you weren't falling for your buddy's girl.”

“Oh my God, can we stop with the womanly talk?” Josh muttered. “I'm not falling for anyone. Heather and I are just having fun.”

“Fine,” Trevor said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Whatever. You want another beer?”

Josh nodded, and for several blissful minutes, there was silence, just two dudes watching a game and drinking beer while polishing off an entire pizza.

“Where is Heather tonight?” Trevor asked casually.

“Wedding,” Josh said, not glancing up from his phone. No text from Heather yet. She must still be working.

“Huh,” Trevor said with a smirk.

Josh ignored him, setting his phone aside.

He picked it up again two minutes later. Just to text her that he'd be up late if she wanted to come over later.

This time his friend's silent laughter was too much to ignore. Josh reached into the pizza box and threw an olive at him, but Trevor only brushed it off.

“It's cool, dude, it's cool. But, hey, I'm just curious . . . do you think she's going to plan your wedding for free, or will you have to pay the fee of her fancy wedding-planning company?”

This time it was a handful of olives that hit Trevor's smirking face.

“We're just having fun,” Josh repeated.

Then he forced himself not to check his phone the rest of the time Trevor was there.

But he wanted to.

And damn if that didn't freak him out, just a little.