The Best Friend Zone

I open the door for her while saying, “Nope. She didn’t.”

“She called you?”

“No, Peach. She didn’t call me, either.” I sigh. “Can’t a man decide to bring his friend out for some fun without her crazy granny goading him?”

“Weird how I didn’t get a text from you,” she says once we’re in the truck.

“Right. I must’ve just thought about it and never really got around to doing it,” I admit. I’d only said that to get Granny off the hook at the house.

“Ugh, I do that all the time,” she says, flopping back in her seat.

Goddamn.

Between the soft brown curls, the curves, and the delectable outfit I want to shear right off her with my teeth, I can’t tug my eyes away.

Especially when she looks at me with those sky-blue eyes so bright, her mouth pursed like a ripe strawberry.

“So, are the cupboards painted yet?” she asks.

I cringe inwardly. Keeping track of her and following up on Marvin hasn’t left me much time to hit the house hard the last few days.

“I’ve been busy with other stuff,” I tell her.

I’ll be damned if I let on anything about that grim just-in-case strategy session with my friends yesterday. Or the fact that I’ve been tracking her every move when she’s out with the goats.

“Define ‘stuff?’” Her curiosity only makes her cuter, even as it sends me plummeting to a whole new level of hell.

“Just cases I’m working on. Actually, I need your help tonight.”

“Tonight? A case?” She sucks in a gasp. “You mean you’re doing that private eye stuff at the rodeo?”

“It helps keep the lights on. This is a special job for Grady I took as a favor. So, there’s this lady named Joyce Selleck…”

I fill her in on Grady’s friend and how I need to snap a couple of pictures of the rat husband while we’re there.

It seems to help take her mind off other things. The idea of helping with an undercover surveillance job excites her. Tory keeps looking at me like a bright-eyed chipmunk, reaching over the console to rub her face on my shoulder.

“You’re in luck tonight, Quinn Faulkner. I’ll be the best freaking spy-chick you ever laid eyes on,” she rushes out, already high on the excitement.

“A regular Fuchsia Delaney,” I tell her.

“Huh?” She tilts her face up.

“Nothing.” I’m guessing she didn’t dive into all of those Heart’s Edge stories from the press as deeply as I did back when things went nuts out there. Blake Silverton’s weird radio show also broadcasts out here from Montana, and I’m a sucker for late-night background noise. “I’m happy to have you along for the ride, Peach. Don’t let me down.”

“Never!” she whispers, squeezing my arm, digging her nails into my skin just a tad.

Holy fuck.

I hold in the first of many growls to come.

One thing’s for sure—catching William Selleck up to no good promises to be a cakewalk compared to resisting the frantic, scary, throbbing urges this little firecracker puts in my blood.

Before I can even blink, we’re in line at Kenny’s Taco Truck with our mouths watering.

The smell alone teleports me to Phoenix and Albuquerque, and I overhear Kenny himself comes from Sedona. I can’t shove money at him fast enough as he grills up our food with a couple lanky kids helping assemble burritos big enough to pacify Godzilla.

Then we’re carrying tall bottles of water and these Hatch chili-smothered monsters in their red-and-white-checkered trays to the grandstand.

Ridge sees us and waves us over to join him, right next to Grace. Their baby boy, Levi, bounces on Grace’s lap while Ridge holds their burritos.

“I knew you’d make it, Faulk!” Ridge belts out with a proud grin as soon as he sees us. “And I see you’ve brought the lovely Tory Coffey. Welcome back to Dallas, lady. I’m Ridge Barnet, and this is my beautiful wife and squirmy son.”

I step aside to let Tory shake hands and blush at meeting a famous movie star, which makes me roll my eyes every time.

Don’t care how rich or infamous Ridge Barnet is. He’ll always just be Corporal Barnet to me, one more grunt in the dirt pulling dumb stunts to pass the time with the rest of us in between missions.

There’s some truth to the Army being the great equalizer.

When the bullets fly and mortar shells are bursting too close for comfort, a man forgets his money and class—or lack thereof—awfully fast.

“It’s so good to meet you!” Tory gushes, squeezing in between me and Grace. “I want to hear all about your interior decorating business later, Grace. Everybody in town loves what you do.”

The girls blab on for a few minutes while all four of us eat our grub with plastic forks, waiting for the rodeo show to start.

I’m thankful for the distance from my buddy so he can’t give me any snide shit over showing up with “your girl,” something I know he’ll call her if he’s given half a chance.