Indecent Suggestion

Because Becca didn’t feel the same way about him. Yeah, she loved him, but it was in the same way she loved her other—female—friends. She wasn’t in love with him. And he wasn’t about to bare his soul to her and tell her how he really felt, because he was afraid he’d lose her if he did. She’d always been the one to put a stop to things whenever the two of them had gotten physical in the past. And she’d always made such a big deal of telling him how lucky she was to have a guy friend like him, and how they were both too smart to mess it up by getting sexually involved. Because she’d seen too many good girl-guy friendships turn sexual, and after they did, everything just went to hell, and the friendship dissolved completely.

And Turner had to admit that maybe she was right about that. Sex, for being such a basic, natural act, did have a tendency to screw up relationships for some reason, sometimes beyond repair. It was probably best just to keep things the way they were. He’d rather have Becca for a friend than not have her at all. And if that meant he had to carry a torch for her for the rest of his life…

He’d just do his best not to set fire to anything. Unless it was an ancient castle full of zombies.

As he studied her more closely, he realized she was carrying a bigger bag than she usually carried. A bag big enough to hold, say…a change of clothing. And maybe something to sleep in. And girl stuff like makeup and a toothbrush. Like maybe she was planning to…

“Oh, no,” he said when he realized her intention. “No, no, no, no, no. No way. No how. Nuh-uh. Não. Nem. Ikke.”

Hey, he’d known those cassette tapes from the “How to Talk to Any Girl in Any Language” correspondence course he’d taken in college would come in handy someday. Except he’d planned to use all the “yes” words instead of the “no” words. He’d bagged the whole Grand Tour of Europe thing, though, when he ended up spending most of the money he earned waiting tables to buy cigarettes, instead of socking it into a Grand Tour bank account, the way he’d promised himself he would.

Oh, well, he thought. Maybe he’d still meet a woman named Deolinda or Sziszi or Frøydis someday. It could happen. Hey, Indiana was a huge draw for European women. Everybody said so.

“You are not spending the night here,” he finally concluded.

“What makes you think I plan to spend the night?” Becca asked innocently.

He eyed her warily. “Then why are you here?” he asked flatly.

“I’m spending the night,” she told him, taking a step forward.

Immediately, Turner braced his forearms against both sides of the doorjamb. Hard. Then he leaned forward to crowd into her space, which was really his space anyway, on account of he rented it.

“Why?” he asked.

Becca halted when she realized he had no intention of letting her in. But she didn’t back away, something that left her standing barely an inch from him. Turner could smell the faint soapy scent of her and knew she’d showered before she came over. Her skin was probably still warm and rosy from the hot water gushing over her naked body, and she was probably soft and silky to touch. She was standing close enough that, if he’d wanted to, he could have slipped a hand right under her sweater to find out. He could have moved it up over her torso to her breast, could have caught her nipple in his fingers and thumbed it to life while unbuttoning her jeans with his other hand and slipping it between her legs. She’d still be damp there, he thought, but not from the shower. And he could make her wetter, raking the pad of his thumb over her sweet little clit, driving his long middle finger in and out of her, again and again, until she came in the palm of his hand.

He bit back a groan. Dammit, he had to stop thinking about her like that. She wasn’t interested in him as anything but a friend. Even if she had sighed with pleasure the night he had licked and sucked on her nipples, and even if she had cried out with delight the night he’d stroked her sweet little clit. Even if he could think of no greater pleasure in the world than going further still, and making love to her, just once.

Of course, once would never be enough with Becca. But, hey, it would be a hell of a start.

“I don’t trust you,” she said. “That’s why.”

Well, hell, that made two of them, Turner thought. Then he remembered she was talking about something completely different from what he was thinking about. He just wasn’t sure what.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Our bet,” she said.

Oh, right, he thought, still dreading having to go the whole day tomorrow without lighting up.

“Of course you can trust me,” he said. Lied. Whatever.

“Hah.”

“Becca…”

“From the moment you wake up tomorrow morning,” she reminded him. “Until the moment you go to sleep tomorrow night.”

“I know. I will. I mean, I won’t.”

She nodded. “I’m here to make sure of that.”

He expelled an incredulous sound. “You don’t trust me.”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Becca, I’m crushed that you could think of me as being untrustworthy.”

“Stow it, Turner,” she said as she reached for one of his arms and shoved it down to his side. Then she breezed past him into his apartment, toward the very couch he had just vacated. “I’m going to be here the minute you wake up tomorrow,” she said as she tossed her bag onto one end of it, “and I’m still going to be here the minute you go to sleep. Just to make sure you don’t renege.”

He gaped at her. “I have never reneged in my life,” he assured her. “I do not now, nor will I ever, renege. I am not a reneger.”

She didn’t look anywhere near convinced. “Got any popcorn?”

In response, Turner growled something under his breath that he hoped she didn’t hear and slammed his front door.

It was going to be a long Saturday.

“I JUST LOVE THIS MOVIE,” Becca sighed as she thumbed the volume up on Now, Voyager and stuffed her hand into the popcorn bowl—the second batch she and Turner had shared so far tonight.

Before Now, Voyager, he recalled distastefully, she’d insisted on watching Camille. He hated to think what other sappy—crappy—sentimental movies she’d brought with her. He’d bet good money there wasn’t a rubber monster to be had in any of them. Give him a Wasp Woman or Fresno Fiend over this stuff any day. At least the death scenes in his favorite movies had some action. And there was a hell of a lot more honor going to meet his maker by eye socket heat lasers than some disease-of-the-week. Not to mention his obituary would be a lot more interesting.

“Go easy on that popcorn,” he said. “It’s all that’s left.”

It was his way of telling Becca that 1:00 a.m. was a good time to start winding down, but she didn’t take the hint. Instead she reached for the cigarettes on the end table and shook free the last one. Not that Turner was concerned. Like any good smoker—or alcoholic or drug addict, he couldn’t help thinking—he had stashes all over the apartment. And at work. And his car. And the basement laundry room.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Be my guest,” he told her.

“But it’s the last one in the pack. It could be your last one, ever.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“If you light up tomorrow—today—after you wake up in the morning, then you have to go to a hypnotherapist with me, and that’ll be the end of the smoking,” she reminded him. “Are you sure you don’t want this last one?”

“Number one,” he said, thrusting up his index finger to punctuate what he was about to say, “that’s not the last cigarette in the apartment. I mean, what kind of smoker would I be if I let myself run out of cigarettes? Number two,” he continued before she had a chance to comment, bringing his middle finger into the action, “even if we go to a hypnotherapist, it ain’t gonna work, so I don’t have to worry about never smoking again. Number three,” he concluded, flicking his ring finger up to join the other two, “you said I have to not light up from the moment I wake up Saturday until the moment I go to sleep.”

She nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. “Yeah…”

He dropped his hand back into his lap. “I’m not going to sleep tonight. Which means I won’t wake up tomorrow, something that rather blurs the terms of the bet. I could go so far as to say it negates the terms of the bet. So I can smoke all I want tomorrow…today…whatever.”

She emitted a rude sound of disbelief. “What?”

“If I don’t go to sleep, then I won’t wake up, and then you can’t hold me to the bet.”

“But that’s not fair!”