Modern Girl's Guide to Friends With Benefits (13 page)

"I'll keep the air compressor off until you return," he said with a salute. "Be sure to mind the walk. It's icy."

One of the things she loved most about her house was the location. There was shopping and restaurants within walking distance. People in the neighborhood got to know her. When it was nice out, she'd go up the street to pick up fruit from the vegetable stand and get the latest neighborhood gossip from the vendor. She'd grab one of the fantastic sandwiches from the deli on the corner for lunch and sit on the patio brainstorming. The little butcher a few blocks away even saved scraps for Benny. It was almost like living in a small town, with all the conveniences of the greater Chicago area.

The XXX Coffee House was one of her mainstays. The little bell over the door called out a happy greeting as Megan came in out of the cold. "Morning, Patrick," Megan called out.

"I'm glad you're here." A tall, hulking man came out from the back room. "I need to skip lunch today. Would you let Connor know?"

"Sure thing. Something going on?" she asked as she reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The scratch of his bushy mustache tickled and she wrinkled her nose. Megan wondered how it would feel other places. She was going to have to think on that some more for her writing. Would it feel good, an extra sensation, or would it distract from the moment? Maybe Peter would grow a mustache and let her get some firsthand experience. Then again, she could always ask Connor? She made a mental note to talk to him when she got home.

"It's that stupid book club again," Patrick said, breaking the current rabbit hole her brain had fallen into.

"I thought they came on Thursdays?" Megan knew, because she always avoided the coffee shop on book club days, just in case they were reading one of her books. The last thing she wanted was to get pulled into a discussion about why one of her characters wore a red shirt on the day they died or if she picked the name Rocco to signify something.

"They rescheduled last week, and I forgot. I promised Emily I'd stay. She threatened to quit if I left her alone with them again."

"If they're that bad, why do you let them use the space?"

"They really aren't that bad, just demanding. Several of them are regulars and they buy a lot. If you give me a sec, I'll get together a lunch box for you to take back with you." He disappeared into the kitchen and Megan grabbed a couple of the glazed donuts he had under a glass dome and a couple scones, shoving them into one of the to-go containers.

"Grab some of your blueberry muffins while you're back there," she yelled, just for good measure.

While he was busy packing lunches, Megan noticed a car pull up outside. She recognized the driver right away as Sarah, the fan she'd run into over the weekend. Screw the muffins. She needed to leave before that woman came inside. With the other pastries in hand, she decided to slip out the back door unnoticed, hoping to avoid a replay of Saturday.

Megan hurried behind the counter, still watching Sarah through the window. That was probably why she ran straight into Patrick, dropping the box on the floor. She would have ended up flat on her ass too if Patrick hadn't caught her.

"Whoa there. What's the hurry?"

"I'm sorry. I really need—"

"Hi, Patrick. I was wondering if we could push back the meeting today. Lisa's daughter might have strep throat. She has an appointment this morning, but by the time they finish up with the doctor and stop by the pharmacy, she is going to be late."

The woman was furiously texting on her phone as she spoke, and she hadn't noticed them yet. Megan tried to get around Patrick, but he was still holding her arm.

"Normally, I wouldn't bother changing the time for just one person," the woman went on, unaware of their struggle, "but since Lisa picked this month's book and is running the discussion, I thought it was best she actually be here. You know what I'm saying." She laughed and finally looked up from her phone. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were……uhm, with someone."

Megan pulled harder, finally breaking his hold, and stumbled backward into the counter.

Patrick steadied her again and frowned. "Megan, is something wrong?"

"Meg?" Sarah said, finally noticing her. "Oh, my God. I can't believe it. Twice in one week. I mean, what are the odds? I can't believe you're here in my coffee shop. This is so great." The woman snapped a photo of the two of them.

"Please don't take any photos," Megan finally managed to say as she stepped away from Patrick. She leaned down and picked up the battered box of pastries, trying hard to compose herself.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot." She put away her phone with a sheepish grin. "Are you dating Meg Wylde? I know it's none of my business, but the girls are convinced that you and that Irish guy who's here all the time are an item."

"You're right. It isn't any of your business," Megan grumbled quietly. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. The woman was just a fan. Megan dealt with overzealous fans all the time. "Sarah, right? It's nice to see you again, and so soon."

"I know, right? It's such a small world." She gave Patrick a once-over and started to laugh. "Oh, my God, he's Victor, isn't he? Of course, he's Victor. Those thick, strong arms, that broad chest, and those dreamy blue eyes."

The woman let out a sigh, and Megan felt a hint of remorse at the way she was undressing poor Patrick with her eyes.

"Victor is just a character in my books. I can assure you that Patrick is not Victor."

Sarah gave Patrick one more long look and sighed again. Great, now she was going to tell every woman in her book club. They were all going to imagine Patrick as Victor in leather pants and a skin-tight black shirt, wielding a flogger. Megan was going to need to leave him bigger tips.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you guys," she said, blushing as though she'd caught them in the buff groping each other. "I thought you were alone. I didn't see a car parked on the street."

"You didn't interrupt anything. I came for donuts and was actually on my way out." Megan clutched the box of pastries to her chest and backed away from Patrick. No need to give Sarah anything else to fixate on.

"So does that mean you live nearby? Within walking distance?" She looked out the front window as if she could actually see Megan's house and smiled. "That's fabulous! You know that book club I was telling you about? We meet here once a month. You said you might be able to stop by. Why not today? We read another book for our meeting, but I'm sure the girls wouldn't mind if we deviated from the schedule. Everyone has read at least one of your books." She pulled her phone out and started typing out a message.

"I can't come to your meeting, Sarah. And I really can't stay and chat." She shot Patrick an apologetic look and started walking toward the door. "I have a guest waiting at home and I really need to get back."

"Oh, okay," she said, looking crestfallen. "I know it was last minute and everything. Maybe next month? We'll talk about it at our meeting today and I'll send you that email."

"That sounds like a good plan." Megan waved to them both and left.

Some people just didn't understand boundaries. There was no way Megan was ever going to go to one of her book club meetings. She didn't care if the woman was disappointed. This was her space. She enjoyed meeting fans, but she kept her worlds separate for her own sanity. This was her neighborhood where she could relax and just be a normal, everyday person. Here, she wasn't the senator's daughter or the famous author. She didn't have to wear a mask or play a part. She had friends and led a quiet life outside the spotlight. And that's just the way she liked it.

The fact that her private space had been invaded put a sour taste in her mouth. All she wanted to do now was get back to the safety of her home and her privacy.

Peter woke up and stared into the inky darkness of Meg's room, not ready to face the day just yet. Last night had gone better than he'd ever planned, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this whole thing was going to backfire on them. Too many things could go wrong. There was no way they were going to make this arrangement work.

He heard Meg moving downstairs. Unfortunately, he couldn't stay in bed today, away from the world, kindling this new flame of passion until it was safe to burn on its own. There were a couple accounts that needed his attention, and he had to go into work. The only saving grace was that he wouldn't have to face Simon. The only Shelton he had to deal with today was Meg.

However, when he finally decided to face the morning and venture downstairs, Peter came face to face with a guy he'd never met, cutting insulation. Logically, he knew it had to be Meg's contractor, but he still had a surge of possessiveness overtake him.

Peter coughed loudly to get his attention and the guy looked up.

"Ah, you must be Megan's guest. I hope I didn't wake you because she'd have my head." He put his right hand under his arm to pull off his glove and extended his hand. "Connor."

"Peter." He took his hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary. "Have you seen Megan?"

"So you're Peter," Connor said with a nod, as if mulling over the information. He gave Peter a once-over. "Well, that certainly explains a lot."

The room was still freezing, and Peter became suddenly aware that he was clad only in his boxers. He took a step back, putting the kitchen island between them, and eyed the stranger. "And what exactly does that explain? Where's Meg?"

"Crap, you're up," Meg said from the front of the house. "I was hoping to get back before you got out of bed, but I had a bit of a complication." She strolled into the kitchen carrying a crumpled box and tossed it on the counter. She slapped Connor on the ass and said, "That's from Pat."

Connor shook his head. "I highly doubt that."

"You're right, it was from me, but I was thinking of Pat the whole time so that counts. Right? I was going to get some muffins, but all I managed were a few donuts. I hope that's okay."

What the hell was going on? It was like he went to bed after a night of mind-blowing sex and woke up in "The Twilight Zone."

"Fuck, I didn't get coffee either," Meg said. She pointed to one of the sheets that covered the cabinets. "But don't worry, there's coffee and a coffeemaker under this plastic somewhere, and Connor makes a mean cup."

"Sorry, lass. You put everything in storage when I took down the wall," Connor reminded her.

"I wasn't prepared for an overnight guest." Meg sighed and opened the battered box. Four abused donuts and two completely crumbled scones sat in the box, looking less than appetizing.

"Next time you have a guest, ring me. I'll grab extra," Connor said. He turned to explain to Peter, "I bring Megan breakfast in the mornings."

Peter pulled Meg over and put his arm around her, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the whole scene in the kitchen. In a low voice, he asked, "Can we go upstairs and talk?"

"Don't mind me, mate. I'd better get cracking," Connor said, putting back on his gloves. He turned to Meg and tipped his head to a large yellow device at the edge of the room. "If you don't mind, I'll be turning on that compressor now."

"Well, that's settled, I'm leaving. I can't hear myself think with that thing running." Meg grabbed the box of ruined pastries off the counter and headed up the stairs. "I'll be in my office if you want to talk."

Peter glanced back over at Connor and couldn't help but wonder if there was something going on between the two of them.

She'd never been like any of the other socialites he knew. She wouldn't let the fact that he was just a contractor color her opinion of him. If she liked Connor, it didn't matter who his family was or what he did for a living. He was good-looking enough, and she'd been awfully friendly with him earlier. She might even have an arrangement with him as well.

By the time he found Meg in her office, Peter wasn't sure what to think about Connor, except that he didn't like any of it. The small room across the hall from her bedroom was a perfect reflection of Meg's personality. Unlike the orderly framed art that lined the hall, the walls in here were littered with pictures of family and friends. There were pages from magazines taped to the wall, mixed in with Post-it notes and notebook paper. Her desk was a chaotic mess, stacked high with books that looked ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. And tucked in the corner was an overstuffed club chair surrounded by stacks of books.