Summer's Road Read Online Free Page B

room. So poised. So controlled. So beautifully broken, my best friend.
    And damn those blue eyes of hers. They looked like the edge of twilight.
    “How’s Matt?” I asked, not giving an actual shit to the answer.
    Matt . I used to like him a lot more when he was just her summer romance down at Seasmoke. Since last year’s trip to the coast, Matt and Summer had been dating somewhat seriously. I figured as long as Matt was still living a couple of hours away in Greensboro, that’s all it would be.
    “He’s fine. I drove out there today.” Grabbing the beer from her nightstand, she handed it to me and walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “He said he loved me.” She looked at me, stopping my heart mid-beat. “He’s coming over on Sunday.”
    Crap. Matt was taking it to the next level. “You sleep with him yet?”
    She sighed and whipped me one of those none-of-your-business looks. I grinned and shrugged. That meant no. No meant there was still hope for… “You know, you could be counting your blessings one day, too.”
    She picked up her shoe from the side of the bed and threw it in my general direction in response to my sexual innuendo. I laughed, barely dodging it, and disappeared from her doorway to leave her sitting on the bed, contemplating.
    And she would do just that , I thought, think about it.

    Summer
    I growled deep in my throat and flopped back on my bed. I snuck a glance at my bookshelf, gaze landing Ian’s photo. His sharp facial features and chiseled chin. His eyebrows were low, almost masking the deep brown color of his eyes. He always looked somewhat dangerous until he smiled. He was a good looking man. But he knew he was attractive, as did the entire female population of Wylie.
    Wasn’t it against the laws of nature and rules of friendship to think of a best friend that way? Issue the I could eat you alive, but wouldn’t dare look? We’d grown up next door to one another. It wasn’t a brother-sister kind of relationship, but it wasn’t the kind to get all hot and bothered between the sheets either. Sex between us would ruin everything. Sex killed friendships.
    So what was up with him lately? All the innuendos and wink-winks?
    When we were fifteen, and I was dating one of the high school football players, I’d run next door to tell Ian about Scott Michaels kissing me before the game. I had been so very upset because he’d broken up with me right after.
    “Maybe I’m really bad at kissing,” I’d confessed to Ian later.
    Ian had looked pissed off. He’d hauled me against him, kissed me deliberately and thoroughly, and backed away from me quicker than a blink. “You’re not,” he’d said.
    He’d acted like he wanted to say more, but the bubble of laughter rising in my belly couldn’t be swallowed. It had erupted in my throat, exploded out of my mouth, and caused me to grab my sides and double over. Ian had kissed me. To prove I was a good kisser. It had been hysterical. It was just like him to do something like that, too. I hadn’t even had enough time to process if the kiss was any good. But the absurdity of the situation and, I must admit now, the anxiousness I’d felt at the time, caused the frenzied laughter to envelop me. It had just been him proving a point, after all. But Ian’s eyes had narrowed to a sliver, jaw muscles clenching. He had not been happy by my reaction.
    It was the only time, the one and only time, we had ever crossed that line.
    I pinched my eyes closed now and banished all images from my mind, wondering where on earth that memory had come from. I blamed Ian and his damned counting your blessings comment. I hadn’t thought about that kiss in a long time. I’d hardly thought about it when it had happened.
    Most people were wary of his occasional bad temper and black moods, which changed faster than I changed my mind. That was Ian, broody as all get out. He could also charm the pants off anything with breasts. I would never fear Ian or his doldrums,