What Happens Between Friends (17 page)

James stabbed a hand through his hair. “Just shoot me now,” he muttered.

Guess Sadie’s assessment of his mother’s feelings about her were on the money. Sadie always had been able to read people.

“It was a lovely surprise,” Rose told Frank, relenting with a sigh, “and I appreciate you thinking of me, of giving me that extra time for my studies, but you went about it the wrong way.”

“It was my decision,” Frank insisted, as stubborn as always.

“That’s the problem,” James said quietly. “It’s all about what you want. Your choices. You’re not the only one who has a stake in Montesano Construction. The only one who puts your heart and soul into that company day in and day out.”

Frank stood. “I’m the one who started it. Who made it what it is today.”

Rose groaned. “Oh, Frank.”

“Yes, you started it,” James agreed. “Yes, you built it up from nothing. But for the past sixteen years, I’ve busted my ass helping to keep it a success. Eddie and Maddie and I have done everything in our power to help Montesano Construction grow. Because it’s important to us. Because it means something to us—it’s our past and present, but obviously not our future.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his dad asked.

“It means that you’ve never, not once, so much as brought up the idea of taking us on as partners—full partners. We’ve never discussed what your plans are for when you retire.”

“When I retire, you and Eddie and Maddie can take over, but until then, I run Montesano Construction.” Frank’s face was red, his voice unsteady. “I’ve seen what happens when families go into business together. It tears them apart. I won’t let that happen to us.”

“I think you’re too late for that,” James said, needing space to get his thoughts together, some breathing room.

He kissed his mother’s cheek, shook his head at her soft plea for him to stay. There was no reasoning with his father when he got like this, no way to find equal ground.

“We’re not done discussing this,” Frank said, his voice brooking no argument. James kept going, had opened the door when his father’s voice, a mixture of hurt and anger, stopped him. “I am your father. I deserve your respect.”

James turned. “You’re my father, and I love you. More than that, I’ve looked up to you. My whole life all I ever wanted was to be like you. I’ve given you respect. Always. And now it’s time you gave me some in return.”

* * *

I
T
WAS
ALL
James’s fault.

Sadie was sure of it. Everything that sucked in the world—global warming, the crappy economy, her bad mood and ruined dinner and the fact that she’d inhaled a half dozen of her mother’s really excellent oatmeal-raisin cookies in a ten-minute time period.

James’s fault. All of it.

She pulled into O’Riley’s lot, her tires squealing, found a spot near the far corner and parked. If the number of vehicles was anything to go by, it was another busy night. There was a good chance that if she walked in, Kane would want her behind the bar even though it was her night off. That thought, and that thought alone, had her pausing, had her considering taking her money and her dangerous mood somewhere else.

It was the thought of James and Anne wrapped around each other by the end of the night that had her moving once again.

She glanced at her phone as she stepped into the building. Seven o’clock. They were probably at the restaurant right now. A twenty-something guy smiled, started her way—her quick sneer had him doing an about-face.

Though she’d come dressed for it, she wasn’t here to troll for a man. She had every right to wear her favorite black skirt, the high-waisted one covered with faux feathers. The one short enough, tight enough, to guarantee she’d garner plenty of second—and third—looks. She’d topped it off with a sedate cream-colored tank and long beaded necklace that swung when she strode across the room to the far end of the bar.

She had every damn right to look her best. For herself.

And, well, if James just happened to stop by here like he had with Charlotte, if he just
happened
to see Sadie looking truly excellent, that was okay, too.

Not that he would. He probably took Anne into Pittsburgh to some fancy restaurant. Somewhere cozy with dim lighting and classy food, one of those places where they served small portions, barely enough to fill a real live person. After, he’d take her to a show or, better yet, dancing. James was an excellent dancer and he wasn’t afraid, embarrassed or too shy to get out on the dance floor. To be the first person out there if necessary.

He had moves, Sadie thought, sliding onto an empty stool next to the wall. She remembered him at their school dances, at weddings here or there and the few times they’d gone out as friends to a club or to hear a local band play.

Yeah, she thought bitterly, he had moves. Hadn’t he used them on her two weeks ago? Shocked her with his words, tempted her with his touch. Seduced her with his kiss.

He had moves and tonight he’d be putting them on the long-legged Anne.

Tears stung, but she blinked them back. She’d cried over men before, had shed buckets of tears, had her heart broken plenty of times.

She’d never, not once, thought that James would make her cry. Would make her feel so sad, so lost.

Kane noticed her, headed her way.

“I’m not working,” she said when he was close enough to hear her over Rush’s “Fly by Night” blaring from the jukebox behind her, “so don’t even ask.”

“I don’t need you to work,” he said, wiping the already-spotless bar. He inclined his head toward the two female bartenders. “Julie started tonight, remember?”

He’d hired Julie, a law student, to help cover the weekend shifts. “Good, because tonight I’m here as a patron.” She set her purse on the bar, crossed her legs. “Don Julio Blanco,” she said, ordering her favorite tequila. “Neat.”

“Drowning your sorrows?” Kane asked, his cool green eyes assessing.

“I will be once you get my drink.”

He flicked his gaze over her. “You sure you don’t want that mixed with some fruit and crushed ice? I’m not sure you can handle a grown-up drink.”

With a laugh, she leaned forward. “I’ve tended bar from here to Seattle and back again. I can not only handle it, I could drink you under the table.”

“That’s what they all say. Until they puke all over my clean floor.”

“No puking.” She held up her hand. “I promise.”

Kane poured her drink and set it in front of her. She picked up the glass in both hands, inhaled the notes of lemon and spice.

And downed it.

It was smooth and warm as it hit the back of her throat.

“That’s a sipping tequila,” Kane said.

Resting her elbows on the bar, she held her chin in her hands and smiled. “Then I’ll be sure to sip the next one.” When he didn’t move, she waved her fingers at him. “Go on. Shoo.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Did you just shoo me?”

In answer, she gave him another finger wave then turned, leaning back against the bar, her legs crossed, her foot swinging.

Another song started. “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Not her favorite, but if she was there spending money instead of making it, she sure as hell wasn’t going to put so much as a quarter in the jukebox. She swiveled slightly, brushed her hair off her shoulder. Most of the tables were full, the long bar crowded. Both pool tables were in use, as was the dartboard.

She could go over, find someone to play, hustle them out of a few bucks or more, but she didn’t want to be sociable. Didn’t want to chat or be delightful. She wanted to sit here in the corner and sulk. Drink until her vision blurred and her thoughts grew fuzzy.

That, most of all, was James’s fault.

The song changed. She watched a group of pretty twenty-somethings laugh brightly and send flirtatious glances at a couple of guys two tables over. But they only reminded her of Charlotte, of how her sister hadn’t spoken to her in a week. After a few minutes, another song played.

Sadie turned, but Kane was nowhere in sight. Where was he? More importantly, where was her drink?

Finally she spotted him as he came out through the swinging doors from the kitchen. He laid a plate in front of her.

“What’s this?” she asked, frowning at a burger the size of her head and a pile of thick-cut fries.

“You want to drink here? You’ll eat first. Unless you’re going to tell me you already had a full meal....”

She would have, except she’d burned the scrambled eggs she’d made for dinner. Who the hell burned scrambled eggs? They were in a nonstick pan, for God’s sake.

The nonstick pan that had accompanied the eggs into the trash.

“Do six cookies count as a full meal?” she asked.

“Six cookies is a snack. A full dozen equals a meal.”

“Ha.” She picked up the burger. Lord, but the thing was huge. And smelled really, really good. “There’s that hidden charm. I knew it was in there somewhere.”

“That so?”

Nodding, she bit into the burger. Chewed and swallowed then wiped her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “Anyone who looks like you has charm. It might not be polished, but it’s there. This is good,” she said around a second bite. “Really good.”

“I’ll pass your compliments on to the chef.”

“We have a chef?” That was new.

He pulled a draft beer. “There’s no
we
in this equation. Me boss. You lowly employee.”

She snorted, held up her empty glass and wiggled it. “Tonight me thirsty customer.”

“You eat at least half of that and I’ll get you another drink.”

She wanted to complain. Worse, she wanted to pout. But she wouldn’t stoop that low.

Besides, now that she had food in front of her, she found she was hungrier than she would have thought.

She dipped a fry into some sort of ketchup–ranch dressing sauce. “So,
boss,
what’s your policy on sleeping with employees?”

If the question shocked him, he hid it well. “Considering that out of the five female employees I have, one is old enough to be my mother, two are married, one is a lesbian and one is you, I didn’t think I needed a policy.”

She narrowed her eyes. Sat up straighter. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. But you’re not interested.”

“I could be,” she said, though that was such a lie, she was surprised her nose didn’t shoot out and knock the bottle of gin from his hand. “I should be. After all, you’re perfect for me. Just my type.”

“That so?”

“You bet.”

He gave a woman in a sundress her gin and tonic then wiped his hand on a rag he kept in his back pocket. “What’s your type?”

“You. Haven’t you been paying attention? Oh,” she said, picking up the burger for another bite. “You mean specifically. Well, let’s see...brooding, rebellious, cranky, smoldering with repressed emotions...you know, your typical bad boy. In other words—” she took a huge bite, chewed and swallowed “—you.”

He lifted one golden eyebrow. “Smoldering?”

“Blazing, baby.”

“And that’s your type.”

“From the top of your artfully mussed hair to the tips of your scuffed biker boots.” She sighed. “You’re just the kind of guy I usually go for. Emotionally unavailable with a mysterious past and dozens of ex-lovers—”

“More like legions,” he said so soberly she wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not.

“Legions. That’s even better. I’ll fall hard and fast and convince myself I can fix all that’s broken inside of you, and you’ll steal my credit cards, sleep with a few of my friends and break my heart.”

“The great sex might just be worth it,” he said, sliding another drink in front of her.

She looked down, surprised to find she’d finished most of the burger. And felt better for it. “It might be.”

She thought of James, out with some other woman, charming her with his easy laugh, his slow, sexy grin.

She raised her glass in a toast. “Before the night’s over, maybe we’ll find out for sure.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Z
OE
BARKED
.
And barked. And barked some more.

With a groan, James rolled over and read the clock on the bedside table.

Three-forty.

His dog kept up with the histrionics, yapping and racing around. “All right, all right,” he muttered, tossing the covers off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “But if this is your way of telling me there are deer in the backyard, I will kill you.”

It wasn’t until he stepped into the great room that he realized why his dog was in such a frenzy.

Someone was knocking on the door. Pounding, actually, like they’d break it down if he didn’t answer soon enough.

Flipping on the porch light, he opened the door.

And almost slammed it shut again.

It was Sadie, pretty as a picture in a fuzzy black skirt, her loose hair blowing in the cool, night breeze, a small smile on her pink lips.

Or, at least she would have made a pretty picture if her hair wasn’t frizzing, her body wasn’t swaying and her smile wasn’t that of someone who’d had too much to drink.

If she’d been alone instead of leaning heavily on the tall blond man beside her.

“Hi, Jamie,” she said, cheerily drunk. “I’m home.”

James squeezed the door handle so hard, he was surprised it didn’t snap off in his hand. “You’re not staying here.” He looked at Kane. “She’s not staying here.”

“I don’t care where she stays,” the bar owner said. “But as of now, I’m off the clock. I’ve babysat her long enough.”

Sadie tipped her head back and sent Kane a quizzical look—almost toppling over in the process. “We’re not going to have sex?” she asked.

He righted her. “Not tonight.”

“That’s probably for the best.” She patted his cheek. “I’d only ruin you for other women. I’m pretty darn amazing in bed. Isn’t that right, Jamie?”

James held Kane’s gaze. Wasn’t sure which one of them he wanted to strangle more—her or him. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars to take her with you.”

“Not if you tripled that amount,” Kane said, shoving her at James.

She staggered, so he wrapped his arm around her waist. She curled into him, sent him a sloppy grin.

Shit.

“Since I doubted she’d be able to stay on the back of my bike,” Kane said, “and I wasn’t sure she’d even be able to get on in that outfit, I drove her Jeep out here. She can pick it up at the bar. I live upstairs.”

Without looking back, he walked away.

Leaving James with a drunk blonde plastered against his side.

He sighed. Looked at his dog, but she was no help. “Come on,” he said, leading Sadie into his house.

“Where are we going?”

“Inside so I can get my truck keys. I’ll take you home.”

She pushed away, stumbling a bit before regaining her balance. Her long necklace swung then settled back in the valley between her breasts. “I don’t want to go home. That’s why I had sexy Kane bring me here.”

Sexy Kane.

Son of a bitch.

She stepped up to James, bringing her warm, curvy body way too close to his. “Let’s have a drink.”

“It’s late....”

But she’d already turned and walked away.

Leaving him to stare after her and wonder how she could even stay upright in those chunky heels. And wondering why she had on what appeared to be leg warmers when it was warm outside and not 1985.

What had he done to deserve this fresh bit of hell?

He found her in the kitchen, searching through his cupboards. “What are you doing?”

She slammed one door shut. Opened another. “Where do you keep the liquor?”

“Liquor? What are you, a gunslinger from the Wild West?”

She turned, her long, smooth legs crossing, her hair fanning out. Setting a hand on the counter to steady herself, she shook her head as if to clear it. “I’d like a drink.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

And she was already drunk. Had arrived in this condition on his doorstep on the arm of another man.

She resumed her search. “Don’t be such a drag, James. Surely it’s not too late to have one little drink with an old friend. Ah...here we go.” She pulled out a bottle of whiskey, swung it so that the liquid sloshed back and forth, catching the moonlight coming in through the window. “Now, you can either have a drink with me or you can watch while I drink alone.”

He stepped forward as she grabbed two glasses, but there was something dangerous about her tonight, something ill at ease, and he stopped before he got too close. “I think you’ve already had enough.”

She laughed. “Do you? Well, I’ll take that into consideration. Yes, I certainly will.” She poured a generous shot into a glass. “Why, if James Montesano thinks I’ve had enough, then I probably have. And I should listen, right? I should do exactly what the great, oh, so very responsible and superior James Montesano wants me to do, think what he wants me to think, be who he wants me to be.”

Holding his gaze, she tossed back the drink, not batting an eye as it went down.

He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or scared shitless.

She poured more whiskey, set the bottle next to the sink then sashayed up to him, the swell of her breasts spilling out of her top, her bare legs gleaming, her eyes overly bright and determined.

Scared shitless it was.

“Is she here?” she asked in what she probably considered a whisper, but was more like a shout.

“Who?”

“Your date.”

“Anne’s at home.”

“Well? How was it?”

“Huh?”

How was he supposed to think when all he could see was her face? When she was close enough that he felt her warmth, could smell the sweetness of alcohol on her breath?

“The big date. How’d it go? Is Anne ‘The One’? The future mother of your children, the perfect woman for you to make your tidy, perfect life with? Tell your old pal all about it.” She tossed back the drink, raised the glass and almost clipped him on the chin. “Were there sparks? Fireworks?” She frowned. “Or maybe those aren’t a necessary requirement for you?”

He plucked the glass from her to save them both pain and embarrassment. “Why don’t we—”

“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her the way you kissed me? Did you take her home, touch her, make love to her the way you did me?” She kept getting closer—which was weird because he kept backing up. “Did you tell her how much you love her, how you’ve always loved her? Oh, wait. That’s me. Your great love. The only woman you’ve ever loved, and yet, tonight you were out with her. With...Anne,” she said, practically spitting out the name.

And it hit him. She was pissed. At him. Jealous.

Un-freaking-believable.

“You were the one who said you couldn’t be with me that way,” he reminded her, his temper growing. “Your choice.”

“Right. My choice. Well, aren’t you the noble one, letting it all be my choice. My choice whether I could suddenly stop being myself and somehow morph into the person you want me to be. My choice whether we remain friends—but only if I change everything about myself.”

How could she think he wanted her to change when he’d always, always loved her for who she was?

When all he’d ever wanted was for her to love him back.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking hold of her upper arms, bending at the knees so he could look into her eyes. “I don’t want you to change—”

“You don’t want me to do anything
but
change. Well, guess what, James? You win.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. It sure as hell didn’t feel like he’d won.

Until she kissed him.

* * *

S
ADIE
FELT
THE
sharp intake of James’s breath, could taste his surprise. Tension emanated from him, tension and that patience and control she’d always found so fascinating, so frustrating. Under her hands, his shoulders were rigid, his bare chest hot and solid against her breasts.

She might have been a little tipsy—and those last two drinks hadn’t helped, though Kane had cut her off well over an hour ago—but she wasn’t so drunk she couldn’t tell that James was reacting to her kiss, to her body plastered against his. His arousal, hard and hot, pressed against her lower belly; his breathing was ragged. His grip on her upper arms almost painful.

But she also couldn’t miss one vital fact.

He wasn’t kissing her back.

She lowered to her heels, the movement causing her head to spin. “What’s the matter, James?” she asked, her voice harsh, her words only slurring slightly. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” She spread her arms out. “Well, here I am. Come on, what are you waiting for?” she continued when he just watched her warily, like he didn’t even know her, like he hadn’t been an important part of her life, her world, for the past twenty years.

“Let’s sit down,” he said in that annoyingly reasonable tone of his. “I’ll make some coffee—”

She wrenched away from him, slapped his hands when he tried to steady her. She didn’t need his help. She’d stay on her own two feet, would find her balance herself.

“I don’t want coffee,” she said, some distant, sober part of her brain realizing she sounded like a bratty toddler. Thankfully the rest of her brain didn’t care. “You had no right to change the rules like this. It’s not fair.”

The more she thought about it, the more it bugged her. The feelings, her frustrations and anger that had been building inside of her ever since he’d kicked her out of his life, threatened to explode inside of her. The longer he stood there all quietly imposing and sanctimonious and sober, the more out of control she felt.

“You can’t just...throw something like that at me,” she continued, her voice ragged. “You can’t just say you love me and then toss me aside when I don’t fall in line with your plans.” She held her hair back from her face because it kept getting in her way. “Damn you, Jamie. Damn you! How dare you change everything between us?”

“I had to do what was right for me,” he said. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I’ve loved you my entire life—”

“You say that and yet, all those years, you never, not once, let me know that you felt anything other than friendship for me and then, when you do decide to spring it on me, you get pissed off when I don’t react how you want. Well, guess what? I’m pissed, too.” She shoved his chest. He barely moved, which only made her angrier. She growled low in her throat. “You changed everything between us! How could you do that?” Her words were choked, her vision blurred. “Why would you do that?”

Her eyes welled. Too much alcohol, she assured herself. She hugged her arms around herself. She was chilled and not feeling all that well.

He grasped her hands, his touch incredibly gentle, his voice low. “Sadie, I never meant to hurt you.”

She forced herself to meet his eyes, held that gaze even when he blurred at the edges. “Didn’t you?” she asked softly.

He flinched. Dropped her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Her stomach roiled. “I...” She wiped her forehead, her fingers coming away damp with sweat. “I...” A wave of nausea rose. She swallowed it, but another followed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure why she was apologizing when he was the one in the wrong.

But she didn’t have time to worry about it, not when her stomach rebelled. She raced into the bathroom, fell to her knees in front of the toilet.

And cursed herself for those last two drinks.

* * *

A
SHAFT
OF
sunlight speared Sadie’s eyes, seemed to penetrate her skull and set her head on fire. She groaned and rolled over, but that had her stomach turning. Oh, God. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt swollen and fuzzy. Her entire body hurt.

All letting her know she wasn’t dead.

Yippee.

The events of last night rushed into her mind—her anger and frustration, the burger and her conversation with her boss, the few guys who’d come up to her during the course of the evening wanting to buy her a drink, wanting to dance with her, wanting to take her home to bed. She’d refused each and every offer because she hadn’t wanted any other man, no matter what she’d told Kane about them getting together. Not when the only man she could think about was James.

But he’d been out with someone else.

So what did she do? Brilliant mind that she was, when Kane asked for directions to where she lived, she’d led him straight to James’s place, where she’d capped off the night by yelling at him and then puking for an hour.

At least it had been a memorable evening.

Now it was time to face the music—and that damn bright light.

Peeling her eyes open, she blinked, trying to get used to the glare, but that only made her dizzier, so she shut them again. Keeping them shut, she pushed up onto her elbows slowly, let her head acclimate to the change in altitude, then sat all the way up and opened her eyes again. She stared at the painting of a river James had hanging on the wall, done by a local artist. Waited until the room stopped spinning and her stomach settled.

Finally, she stood. At some point last night, James had helped her out of her clothes and had pulled one of his T-shirts over her head. Reaching only midthigh, it was incredibly soft and smelled of him.

She wasn’t giving it back.

She made her way to the bathroom, her steps slow and measured. Washing her hands in the sink, she caught her reflection in the mirror. And groaned again. Her hair was a mess, tangled and frizzy around her pale face, her makeup smudged, dried mascara and eyeliner rimming her bloodshot eyes.

She gargled with some mouthwash, washed her face. It was an improvement, getting that old makeup off, but there was nothing she could do about her hair, not when every pull of James’s hairbrush was pure agony. Pale and resembling a zombie—minus the craving for human brains—she forced herself to leave the sanctity of his bedroom.

Worst walk of shame ever.

And she hadn’t even had sex.

She headed to the kitchen, but stopped when she saw him out on the deck, the morning paper spread out in front of him. With a deep, fortifying breath and a prayer, she went into the bedroom and opened the door leading outside, stepped onto the cool wood.