Best Friends with Benefits ONLY
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a Most Likely To novel by Candy Sloane

Best Friends with BenefitsSeven minutes in heaven never felt so good…

Valerie Barkin and Alec Rogers survived bullies, awful parents, and seriously shitty social standing the only way best friends can—together. But with the unexpected sexual tension suddenly flaring between them, surviving their ten-year high school reunion might be a different story…

Val hasn’t changed. She still feels like the stringy-haired band geek the popular kids teased, but Alec has definitely changed. He’s now the front man for the Grammy-winning rock band Chronic Disharmony, with the sexual reputation to match. And he’s more than willing to help Val rock the reunion.

And then it happens—a drunken game of Seven Minutes in Heaven—and their fourteen-years-long foreplay comes crashing to the forefront…changing everything.

Seven minutes turns into a weekend of mind-blowing, no-strings-attached sex. But these best friends won’t be able to leave their hearts out of it forever, not when the most meaningful benefit could change their relationship for good….
 

Information:

Title: Best Friends with Benefits
Series: Most Likely To, #1
Author: Candy Sloane
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Length: 245 pages
ISBN: 978-1-63375-578-9
Release Date: March 2016
Imprint: Brazen
 
 
Price listed is for the U.S. digital format. Please confirm pricing and availability with the retailer before downloading.
 

 
 
 

An Excerpt from:

Best Friends with Benefits
by Candy Sloane

Copyright © 2016 by Candy Sloane. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
 

Chapter One

Valerie had hit empty on her daily supply of exasperated groans. Over the past three hours, Alec’s lateness had ratcheted up from charming to maddening to code-red-level dick. Hanging out in baggage claim with her elbow propped on her upended suitcase and her face in her hand wasn’t how she’d planned on starting her high school reunion weekend.

Her chin was going numb and her neck ached. She shifted position and glanced down. While it alleviated her pain, the view rekindled it. Hours of waiting had wreaked wrinkled havoc on her tan linen skirt and fitted white button down.

She was going to kill him.

Her silent phone mocked her, though she was thankful for the excuse to have it glued to her hand. She’d been stalking her inbox all day for an email from the London Philharmonic.

She couldn’t will an acceptance email for their year-long residency program into her inbox any more than she could check one of the arrival screens for an update on where the hell Alec was. He was traveling by private plane—a smirk tugged at her lips—just like anyone would to his ten-year high school reunion.

Alec had taken the time they spent hanging out in the Kenmore High School band room and become the lead singer and lead guitarist of the Grammy-winning rock band Chronic Disharmony. Valerie had taken it and become the second flute chair for the Philadelphia Philharmonic.

For now. She snuck another furtive glance at her inbox.

She and Alec had been so similar in high school—Val and Al—but they were polar opposites now, at least in the music world. Well, Valerie seethed as more minutes ticked by, in etiquette, too.

She noticed a lanky guy with brown hair in the distance and perked up—finally—but the relaxed smile she’d pasted on as camouflage before she ripped Alec a new one stiffened.

It wasn’t him.

She crossed her arms and grumbled. Apparently he was going for induction into the Penis’s World Record Book.

She had timed their expected arrivals to coincide with dinner. Walking in fashionably late would assure that the people she wanted to avoid would be occupied. But now, the Opening Night Dinner had long since ended. Her stomach clawed and whimpered. She riffled through her carry-on for the last of her plane peanuts.

She hadn’t seen Alec in person since they’d graduated from Kenmore High, but lately his face had been everywhere: on TV, all over the internet, and on the cover of the magazine jutting out from her purse. She’d been browsing the airport newsstand in Philly before her flight when she saw him: Alec Rogers, her best friend, on the cover of Rolling Stone. They’d poured him into leather pants and nothing else. The museum of tattoos on his chest and shoulders was framed by taut arms. Two ladder rungs of ab muscles laced up his stomach, a concave at his belly button the perfect size for some lucky lady’s lips.

She shook her head, a stress headache nipping at her temples. Why am I thinking about that?

Maybe because she’d bought the copy of Rolling Stone to give Alec crap about being such a rock star pretty boy, but instead she’d stared at it, at him, from the time she boarded the plane until she had reached cruising altitude. It might have ended up with a ring of drool around that belly button had the flight attendant not interrupted to see if she wanted a drink.

She had. Vodka straight.

Her phone finally dinged with a text from Alec.

You busy?

It was the same message he sent her daily, usually after midnight. She had thousands just like it and thousands of other texts from him filling her phone like confetti.

No, she typed, her fingers taut with annoyance, just waiting at the airport for some dick who’s more than three hours late.

“Want me to kick his ass?”

She knew that rough song-worn voice, knew the composed breath that waited for her response. Alec stood above her. As she took him in, her stomach seemed to float up like a balloon she’d just let go of—a cocktail of excitement and nervousness buzzing and zinging as it launched into her throat.

His signature dark brown fauxhawk was hidden under a baseball cap, his torso and arm tattoos shielded by a leather jacket. But it was him, her Al, and at the same time it wasn’t. His combat boots made him appear taller than she remembered, and his shoulders seemed broader, even more so than when she’d seen them bare on the cover of Rolling Stone.

She finally remembered to smile, to do something other than stare.

His kind brown eyes lit up. “Val.” He set down his guitar case and pulled her into an embrace so forceful she almost lost one of her pumps.

He smelled of leather and alcohol, of a rock star.

“Al,” she replied, hugging him back. Forgetting her annoyance for the moment and remembering how they did this—said each other’s names with different inflection dependent on their mood.

She snuggled into him. The slight frame he’d had in high school was as well-built as it looked. Her abdomen stiffened against the muscles of his own. The stubble on his chin bristled at her cheek.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you kick a dick’s ass. Does it even have one?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should ask the dick.”

He let out a dry laugh. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He squeezed her again. “If Dante were still with us, he would agree that L.A. traffic should be the tenth circle of hell.”

“I’d nominate high school reunions for that illustrious spot.” Her stomach pitched. She’d hated having to wait all those hours for Alec, but now that he was here, they would have to go to the reunion. See all those people from high school. Worse, they would see her. “I can’t believe you convinced me to come to this thing,” she continued. She parsed out her anxiety from the dizziness of talking to Alec in person, being in his arms. Her heart panted like a dog begging for a treat. She forced herself to let go of him.

“Val, we’ve made good. We deserve to be here.”

He certainly had. She wasn’t so sure about herself. She used to be a girl who played flute, and now she was a woman who did. While Alec’s star had risen, hers had barely even begun to gather up the dust to be born.

He inclined his head at her purse. “I see you got my Rolling Stone debut. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Ten more minutes of waiting and I was going to draw donkey ears and domino-sized teeth on it.”

Alec’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Like we used to do to yearbook photos of people we didn’t like. I know I was late, but you still like me, don’t you?” His voice was thick, pointed.

He had the same gentle face she knew, the same wide jaw and honest chin, but there was a hint of something mischievous behind his eyes. Alec had always had that to some degree, but now he had the swagger and sex appeal to match. The way his brown eyes sampled hers, the way his body shielded her view from everything in the world but him—it was unsettling and not at all the way she expected to feel around him. The discrepancy almost made her stumble.

“You’re not remembering right. It was people we thought were asses,” she corrected, “and three hours late, that makes you officially an ass.” One of the pictures from his magazine spread flashed into her mind—Alec, his strong back to the camera, a guitar sandwiched between his legs and his plump figure-eight ass in those leather pants. It was enough to give any woman daydreams for days, fantasies forever. But not her—she was not supposed to be thinking about that. She blinked, bringing herself back to the real thing standing right in front of her.

“I know it might seem dumb to someone waiting to hear about a chair in the London Philharmonic, but I’m proud of making the cover.” He pointed at the magazine again.

“It doesn’t seem dumb,” she admitted.

Their gaze held. She considered telling him she was proud of him, too, but he knew. He knew every little thing her mind ever thought. She winced, hoping he’d missed the whole figure-eight ass in leather pants segment.

“Let’s get the car before someone recognizes you,” he finally said, leading her out of the airport.

A black Maserati convertible as dark as the night sky above sat out front waiting for them.

“They shipped it up for me special,” Alec said as he opened Valerie’s door. The inside reminded her of her flute case, black and soft. Valerie had known the minute she’d seen him, but sitting in this two-hundred-thousand-dollar car, there was no doubt Alec was a rock star. Successful beyond even the dreams he’d shared with her while they lay on the carpet of her high school bedroom staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling.

“It’s amazing, but a bit much for Kenmore, don’t you think?” she said as he started the engine.

Alec had removed his hat and leather jacket. A white T-shirt played tug of war with his pectoral muscles and was losing. The tattoos she’d studied on the cover of Rolling Stone were like pieces of artwork in person—a wing emerging from his left elbow, black feathers exploding up and down his arm. A black vine of thorns wrapping up his right, binding against his taut, solid…

“Wait until you see the suite I got us. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms.” He beamed, waking her from her trance, the dimple that fans fainted over peeking through.

She’d agreed without question when Alec suggested they room together for the reunion. But how could she have anticipated being near him would make her feel this way? Tongue-tied, nervous, confused as hell…and a little turned on. In high school, they would lie next to each other on her bed for hours talking, the thought of touching him never crossing her mind—but now that thought needed an army of crossing guards.

“Things must have changed a lot since high school. I can’t believe hotels in Kenmore have suites now.”

“The Sheraton is the poshest hotel in Kenmore.”

“Now that’s an oxymoron.”

His eyes scraped boldly over her. “Doesn’t mean I can’t throw a little money around for you, does it, Val?”

She shifted in her seat, hoping the thrum she sensed between her legs was just the roar of the engine.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring a date.” She’d not only seen Alec all over the media alone, but with women, lots of them, each one as much like artwork as his tattoos.

Valerie, on the other hand, had dated exactly three guys since high school: one throughout college, one six months after she graduated, and the last, Charles, she’d broken up with because he couldn’t commit to marrying her. He used to say: “The word commit makes me think of an insane asylum.”

Valerie understood. Trying to get Charles to comply had made her feel like she was locked up and straight-jacketed in one, but she had learned her lesson. Keeping an unwilling man was like keeping a bird. You just ended up with an empty cage and a bunch of crap you had to clean up.

No more. Hopefully she would move to London and never look back. Still, she couldn’t help staring at her naked finger. A ring was supposed to be the frosting on the cake of the woman she was now. Without it, she had no physical proof that men actually found her attractive. That she wasn’t the same girl she used to be in high school.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your flute,” Alec finally replied as they pulled onto the Thruway.

Her cheeks bloomed despite the evening wind. “Hilarious.” Valerie’s teeth felt too big for her mouth, even though this was where their conversations went eventually—slid into jokes about their sex lives. Val’s “boring” one and Alec’s “excessively hot” one. “The next time you masturbate with your guitar, call me,” she continued, trying to keep up.

Alec opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

“You like to keep that stuff private?” she pressed, pleased she was winning this round.

He glanced at her, his eyes sharp. “Watching is optional, but once you do, participation is mandatory.”

Her heart seemed to stammer, her lungs suddenly an inferno. Wow, she was not even close to winning. Lava spread up her belly, wound around her neck. She searched her mind for a response.

“Besides, I probably won’t need my guitar for that this weekend,” he said. “I’m thinking I’ll find someone at the reunion.”

She sensed a lump in her throat, but there was relief, too. He might look different, her body might be reacting differently, but he was Alec and she was Valerie. They were being Al and Val. She just wasn’t used to jousting with him when he was so close. All their conversations since high school had been virtual; they’d just have to learn how to be physical again.

Physical?

She fought wooziness at her slip. Not that kind of physical. There was no doubt being inches from a man who millions of women wanted was making her delirious. Or maybe it wasn’t Alec at all. She hadn’t touched anyone but herself since she and Charles broke up three months ago. She was bound to have booty on the brain.

“Well, if you bring someone back to the room,” she finally replied, lifting the hair off her neck, needing the tickle of cool air, “put a necktie on the door or something to warn me.”

“Maybe that’s what they use in the Symphony; rock stars go with a bra.”

“Classy.”

“Why change what works?”

Valerie couldn’t deny, even though it was baffling the hell out of her, that this new Alec worked.

He took his hand off the wheel and lowered it, his fingers hovering inches from her bare knee. Her skin prickled, goose bumps screaming to life. He changed gears and gripped the wheel again. The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding burst out. Wow, this was going to be one long weekend.

They entered the yawning mouth of suburban Kenmore, NY. Strip malls and Starbucks reigned with farms and the start of New England woods sprinkled around for greenery. Valerie hadn’t been back in five years, since her parents followed the migration of most of the older set from their temple and moved to Florida. Even in the dark, the suburban status quo had changed very little.

Alec parked at the hotel and began to exit the car, but Valerie paused. He would get a king’s welcome, but she would still be the same band-geek Valerie she was ten years ago.

“You’re not seriously nervous, are you?” Alec grabbed her upper arm, his rings pressing through the fabric of her shirt and into her skin.

“No.” Valerie sighed. But she was. All her old insecurities came flooding back—dorky, knock-kneed, stringy-haired Valerie, the kind of girl who could only get lucky with her flute.

His chestnut eyes held her gaze. “Just follow my lead.”

“You mean until you find the person wearing the bra you’re going to hang on our door knob.” Her lower lip quivered slightly.

He squared his hand tight on her shoulder, his eyes deepening. “There’s no Al without Val.”

It was what people used to say about them back in high school. They were inseparable besties. One was never without the other. Well, at least they had been until the day after graduation—the day it took Alec years to forgive her for.

Who would have known that ten years later she would be struggling to stop picturing him with his shirt off? Maybe it was good that once they were finally talking and texting again, life got in the way of them visiting each other.

She blew her bangs up. One issue at a time.

“If you hate it, we can go to the room and watch movies like we used to in high school.”

“It’ll be fine.” Nothing was like it used to be in high school. If she had trouble being in the car with Alec, being alone in a room with him “watching movies” was out of the question.

“I can make it finer,” Alec said, digging into the center console and unearthing a metal flask. He swayed it in front of her, hypnotist style. “It’s vodka, your favorite.”

She shook her head. She’d had a drink on the plane, but they were here now. She was with him now. She’d need her wits about her, that was for sure.

He unscrewed the top, brought it to his lips, and took a long gulp. He grimaced slightly but didn’t cough. “You want to go into your high school reunion sober, that’s your choice.” His voice was syrupy from the liquor. “But there is no way in hell I’m facing those jackals unarmed.”

He had a point.

Alec watched Val take a long, determined sip. Her lips teased the mouth of the flask, her throat opened and closed for a good five seconds. She must have learned to handle her liquor since high school. He remembered a similar scene starring a bottle of pilfered gin in her backyard gazebo sophomore year. The night had ended with them hosing out the gazebo, hosing off each other, and finally running around the yard in the summer dark having a water fight.

If he’d been trading gin shots with one of the women he spent time with now, that scene would have ended with them wet and naked and fucking. But he had been a different boy then—shy, quiet, insecure—and Valerie one of his only friends.

He and Valerie only friends.

He hadn’t thought about that night in years, and he definitely hadn’t replayed it with a XXX filter, ever. He wondered if it was because of how much he’d changed, or because when he saw Valerie waiting in baggage claim, instead of running to greet her, he found himself pausing and staring—amazed and speechless that the girl who had never even seemed like a girl to him was such a woman now.

She’d had one heel off, her chocolate brown bangs in her eyes, a pale pink bra peeping out from her button down when the light hit it just right. She was his Val, but she was also her own woman. A woman if he’d met in a bar now, he would have made sure they ended the night wet and naked and fucking.

She lowered the flask, her eyes watering and her neck tight. She wanted to cough but was holding it in. He laughed. Not at her, but because he missed this—the two of them just being the two of them. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, remember?”

“Thank,” she croaked, a string of coughs exploding from her like the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun, “God.”

He snuck a glance at the way her tits pitched and fought against her white shirt as she caught her breath. Almost choking to death wasn’t sexy, and Val definitely was not supposed to be, but there was something about the way she kept herself so buttoned up that intrigued him.

The women he partied with since Chronic Disharmony became a household name did not wear button-down shirts, and if they did, they were his. Usually the morning after, open and framing their curves while they beckoned him for round two, or three, or four.

He lifted the flask to his mouth and took a burning swig. While he saw that in his mind, it wasn’t a specific memory. All those women were running together now, all those nights, all those drinks.

The single anchor was Valerie. The only person in the world he could count on—his one constant. Even back in high school when things with his dad got to be too much, he had Valerie. He had her room where he slept on her floor until his father calmed down, if he ever calmed down.

She’d always been there for him. He shouldn’t have been staring at her tits. Staring would inevitably lead to wanting. He couldn’t go down that road with her. She deserved better than a meaningless fuck with a rock star.

He focused back on the flask. “More?”

“Maybe in a minute,” she replied. “I can’t believe I took four days out of my life for this.”

He put the cap back on and set it down. “I’m counting and I’m only up to three.”

Though even three days was a long time to be back in his hometown. Of course, he wasn’t just here for this, or for her. He planned to check on the house he’d purchased for his mother on Niagara Road that he still couldn’t convince her to move into. He’d been trying for a year with no luck. She’d agreed to come back to Kenmore, but not without the man who’d made his life hell for eighteen years.

“Not everyone can call their private jet to come and pick them up the minute they’re done Sunday night.”

“They can’t?” He shoved the flask at her. “You need to drink more. We both do.”

“I’m not about to say yes to everything you ask, Alec.”

He already knew that. It was one of the reasons they were still best friends. She was always truthful, real. He wondered if some of their closeness came from the fact they were both only children—she because her parents wanted one perfect child and he because he suspected his father hadn’t wanted him at all. His head pounded, the phantom pain of his father’s blows pelting down like it did from time to time when he thought about him.

It was why he avoided thinking about him. Why he avoided everything. Why he had the flask that Valerie was still squinting at.

He set it down. Her friendship was a salve, too, and he hoped being near her would keep the barrage of memories at bay. He reached for his phone. There was a text from his manager about a contract negotiation and an email from his publicist stating the paparazzi didn’t know he was at the reunion as of yet but who knew how long that would last.

Nothing that couldn’t wait, so he put it away. He realized Val hadn’t checked her phone since he arrived, which seemed odd to him. There were people in her world besides him, most recently her boyfriend Charles, a vice president at a shipping and packaging company.

“What’s Mr. Peanut doing this weekend? Aren’t you guys engaged by now?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

He loved how the name he’d chosen for Charles based on the Styrofoam peanuts his company used by the truckload made her bristle. He’d also chosen it for what he hoped was the size of his dick.

“Where are the other guys in the band this weekend? Aren’t you married by now?”

She was deflecting, but fine, he’d play along. “Since we’re not starting our new album until fall and our next tour isn’t until after the holidays, we’re on hiatus. I think Jessie is in Ibiza, Ryan is at his lake house in Tahoe, and Scott is working his way through the single Kardashian sisters. Do you need me to continue, or are you going to stop avoiding my question?”

She took an immersive breath, like she needed fuel to keep talking. “I broke up with him.”

They sat in silence for a moment, until Alec realized she wasn’t going to keep going without a push. “Is that the whole story?”

She forced her eyes into her lap. “He didn’t want to marry me”—she paused—“now or ever. That’s the whole story.” She managed to look up at him with a scowl. “I know you think marriage is a joke.”

Valerie knew better than anyone that the M word made him laugh and laugh. Considering the family he came from, it was either laugh and laugh or cry and cry, and he’d chosen not to dwell but to dodge. Valerie, however, had bought the fairy tale; she believed in forever.

“It’s not a joke to you,” he said quietly.

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

At this point he wasn’t sure what it was. When he’d attempted to offer her forever the day after graduation, she’d rejected him. But he hadn’t asked her to get married. He’d asked her to move to New York City. It had been impulsive and stupid and made him even less of a fan of the word “forever” now than he was then.

It took almost two years for him to be able to take her calls after that, but in the end he was glad she’d been smart enough to see what he’d blinded himself to. He hadn’t been asking her to come with him because he couldn’t live without her. He had been asking because he was afraid to be alone.

“It’s not like I’m about to buy a mail-order groom or anything. I just want to finally find a man who is willing to make sacrifices for me.”

“Easier said than done, huh?”

She sighed. “Maybe I would do better with a mail-order groom.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he was and he wasn’t. He’d never met Mr. Peanut, but he was clearly a total douche. Anyone who didn’t want to marry Val would have to be. Just look at her. And in that moment he realized he was. The dark sky seemed an extension of her long, dark-umber hair, the skin of her heart-shaped face rivaled the moonlight, and her caramel-colored eyes pulsated with the heat of stars.

Fuck, he needed to stop.

She was telling him she broke up with a guy who couldn’t commit, and he was gawking at her like she was one of his groupies. He put a pause on his thoughts before he compared her tits to distant planets or something.

“So, are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She looked away. “It was three months ago.”

Three months ago? A vise went to work in his chest. They had spoken, texted, or FaceTimed almost every day. Why hadn’t she said something? Was she embarrassed?

She finally turned back. “I know, I know,” she said, holding up a hand, “I should have told you. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person.”

His body tensed. “Forget about the dick who kept you waiting at the airport. Now, I want to kick his ass.”

“He’s not worth it,” she said, her eyes downturned. “You don’t have to make a big show.”

“It’s because I care, Val.” He pictured stuffing Mr. Peanut’s mouth full of that Styrofoam shit until he choked on it.

“I know.” She leaned back in the seat.

The buttons at the top of her shirt stretched open. The view of curved, soft skin combined with vodka was making him lightheaded.

“Seems like you’re the only one who does sometimes,” she added.

It was how he felt, too, and was all the more reason he needed to stop staring at her tits. Needed to remember that the kind of man who should be staring at them was someone who could give her what she wanted—a ring, a house, a life.

“At least now you can get some while you’re here,” he said, desperate to bring back the balance of them—Al and Val, joking, playing, giving each other shit. It was what he would have said to one of the guys in the band after a breakup. It was what he should say to his best friend regardless of how great her tits were.

She crossed her legs, her skirt applying a dangerous line on her thighs. “With who? The only guy I talked to in all of high school was you.”

The back of his neck burned. Did he want her to be with anyone else when he was in ass-kicking distance? Hell no. But he couldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say that, so instead he said, “We’re different people now.”

“You are. You’ll have every woman in our class lining up. Knowing Reece, she has a sign-up sheet going already for her pretty friends.”

He laughed. Reece Freedland, valedictorian, planner extraordinaire, and one of the most popular girls in school. He thought of the itinerary she’d sent via snail mail. Everything had been scheduled for the weekend down to the millisecond. Hell, she probably did have a sign-up sheet.

“I can teach you my ways.” He lifted his brows up and down comically. “The best way to get over a breakup is to fuck someone new.”

“Thanks, Confucius.”

“That’s Cock-fucius,” he tossed back with a wicked grin.

She shook her head. “I can only imagine what your fortune cookies might say.”

He opened his mouth to reply, and she pressed a hand over it.

“If you say it’s fortune nookie you get a punch to your namesake.”

He swallowed a laugh. She knew him too well.

“Besides,” she said, removing her hand, “I’m over it. Like I said, it’s been three months.”

She was lying. She might have been over Mr. Peanut, but she was not over wanting what she must have thought he could promise her.

“I’m done with men,” she announced, as if sensing his train of thought.

One side of his mouth perked up. “See, you have changed since high school.”

“That’s not what I meant!” She slapped his knee. It was innocent, but her touch felt anything but, considering what they were talking about.

“Just because you’re done with men doesn’t mean you’re done with sex, right?”

“I’m dejected, not dead.” She threw her head back, exposing the soft skin of her neck.

His mouth watered. He forced himself to take a swig from the flask, trying to dull his taste buds. “You need to find someone to fuck Mr. Peanut out of you.”

He thought she’d say forget it, and he wanted her to. What the hell am I doing? He was going to find someone to fuck her? This had gone sideways fast. But what else could he do, fuck her himself?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. No matter how goddamn hot she was now, he wouldn’t. She was not just some woman he could fuck and leave. She was the one person who’d made his life livable in high school—the one person who knew all his secrets and didn’t judge him now.

He couldn’t fuck that up with sex.

And who said she was interested anyway? He might be able to get any woman he wanted, but that didn’t mean he could get Valerie. She hadn’t taken him seriously in high school and there was no way she would now. She was out of his league—beautiful, successful, driven, and, most importantly, his best friend.

She seemed to ponder his suggestion. “Who?”

Fuck my stupid man-advice. Now we’re doing this.

“It doesn’t matter, really.” He took another swig from the flask in the hopes it might make his words appear genuine. “But since I’m here, I’ll help you pick him out.”

“Won’t you be too busy finding someone for yourself?”

“I’m not here for them, Val. I’m here for you.” The way her eyes dampened let him know he needed to keep talking. “It’ll be fun.” If she wanted his help, he would give it to her. Get her a guy to make that faraway look disappear, if only for the night.

“Finding me someone to fuck the Mr. Peanut out of me will be fun?” She smirked.

He knew she was only repeating what he’d said, but hearing her voice around that word was something he felt in every cell in his body, every beat of his suddenly off-the-charts pounding heart. “Do you want to get him out of your system or not?” he asked, trying to shake the hum in his veins.

She reached for the flask and took a long swig. “Looks like I’m going to need a necktie for our doorknob.”