Chapter 58

He was flirting with her. Michelle could tell. It was very clear from his voice, body language and the way he was staring at her. Did she like it? Maybe. Did she want to pursue it? She wasn't sure. “I should go,” she said and turned to Nick, “I'll call you tonight,”

“Why?” he rasped.

He felt rather than witnessed her shrug. The same with the small kiss she gently pressed to the middle of his shoulder blades. He locked his muscles, forcing his head not to fall back. Ordering his throat to imprison the moan scrabbling up from his chest. Commanding his dick to stand down.

“Because something is going on with you and you need me,” she said.

So simple. So goddamn true.

He did need her. Her friendship. Her body. Her heart.

But since he could only have one of those, he’d take it. With a woman like her—generous, sweet, beautiful of body and spirit—even a part of her was preferable to none of her. And if he dared to profess his true feelings, that’s exactly what he would be left with. None of her. Their friendship would be ruined, and she was too important to him to risk losing her.

Carefully, he turned and wrapped her in his embrace. Convincing himself if this was all he could have of her—even if it meant Stoner or another man might have all of her—then he would be okay, he murmured, “You’re really going to have to remove ‘rescue best friend’ off your résumé. It's beginning to get too time-consuming.”

She chuckled against his chest, tipping her head back to smile up at him. He curled his fingers against her spine, but that didn’t prevent the ache to trace that sensual bottom curve.

“Where would be the fun in that? You’re stuck with me, Nick. And I’m stuck with you. Friends forever.”

Friends. The sweet sting of that knife buried between his ribs.

“Always, sweetheart.”

________

Michelle stood on the sidewalk outside the hair salon and scanned the Avenue for a glimpse of the familiar car through the heavy foot traffic.

On a late Saturday morning, near the riverfront and with the Park not far away, people teemed outside, enjoying the unusually warm day. Didn’t stop people from wearing everything from sweaters to shorts as they strolled in and out of the book café next to the hair salon, or the tattoo shop and restaurants along the street. Already, music was pouring from some of the bars. Some people bought and enjoyed fresh lemonade from the cart parked on the walkway. To a tourist, it probably seemed like a big block party, but no.

This was just...Quinley.

She glanced down at her watch, impatience streaking through her. No, not impatience. Well, maybe just a little.

But mostly, nerves. Because she was doing this. Taking this step. Making a change she’d been contemplating for a while but had been hesitant about doing because... There were so many reasons.

“Michelle.”

The sound of her name and the touch at her elbow jerked her from her thoughts of imminent damnation. She glanced up at Nick, who arched an eyebrow. Rather than answer, she ruefully shook her head.

“Hey.” Lifting her phone, she tapped the screen. “You’re late.”

Showing a marked lack of remorse, he shrugged a cream, cable-knit-covered shoulder. “Since you didn’t deem it important to share what I’m late for...”

“Does it ma—” She narrowed her eyes, really seeing him. As in the five-o’clock shadow that ticked closer toward six, since it didn’t appear as if he’d shaved since the night before. Silky hair dusted the sensual bow of his upper lip and a small patch dotted the dip beneath the almost ridiculously full bottom curve.

Either he’d been burning the candle at both ends, which was definitely a possibility, given his recent promotion. Or... Or, he’d just rolled out of a woman’s bed and hadn’t taken the time to go home and shave but had come straight to her.

Another distinct possibility. Because now that she knew he was single… Had been single for a while but she didn't know, she knew he was free to go out with anyone he wanted. If she leaned in, would she catch a whiff of the other woman’s perfume or the musk of their sex on his skin?

A blaze, like a hundred fire ants, streamed through her, rippling across her scalp and down her spine, before reversing course and pouring into her chest. Her breath caught, and that went up in smoke under the flames of... Of what? Anger? Yes, but it didn’t feel as...clean, as simple as that. But she refused to latch onto the other word her mind seemed so eager to supply. No.

This was stupid, silly. Why did she care who Nick fucked? She didn’t. It wasn’t her business. Never had been.

Then why are you squeezing your phone so hard? Deliberately, she loosened her grip.

“Does what matter?” He cocked his head.

“Nothing.” She waved a hand. “So the reason I asked you down here...” She turned and looked at the beauty salon in back of her. “I’ve scheduled a makeover.”

He stared at her. “A what?” he asked, voice low. Almost...menacing.

She shivered. Then ignored it. She was being ridiculous. “A makeover,” she repeated. When he didn’t say anything more, just continued to stare at her with that unblinking, bright stare, she stumbled on, even though she didn’t owe him an explanation. “Look, I can practically see what you’re thinking. And, no, I’m not changing for a man.”

“No?” He crossed his arms. “Then what do you call it?”

“Changing for me.” She tapped her fingertips to the middle of her chest. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You know, since I've been on a mission to find Mr right, I've been considering a change of clothes too. Maybe they've contributed to my bad decision making about men and I wanted to change that. Don’t do that,” she snapped, when his full lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not lying. There are things I’ve wanted to change. My hair too.” She reached up, touched the ends, then dropped her hand and glanced down at her form-fitting but plain green V-neck sweater and dark blue skinny jeans. “My clothes. I want...different.”

She wanted to stand out. To be noticed. When she entered a room, she wanted men to stop in mid sentence because they forgot their train of thought, and women to glare in envy. Was that so wrong? Shallow maybe, but wrong?

Possibly, but at this moment? She didn’t care.