More Than Friends Read online

  Published by Tabetha Thompson

  Copyright © 2014 by Tabetha Thompson

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Jaimie Rivale, Brittany Alexander, Wendi Lynn, Kristen Switzer

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the owner and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Reference to people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are only intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All events, people, as well as dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Putting my thoughts on paper for the world to read and judge is, without a doubt, the scariest thing I’ve ever done!

  I never would have been able to achieve this dream without the encouragement of my loved ones. I love you more than you will ever comprehend. Thank you for believing in me.

  Jaimie, without all of your tough love and opinions, I know that More Than Friends would have failed. I look forward to working on future projects with you if you can tolerate me long enough. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Jilly, Jilly, Jilly, I love your silly self. Thank you so much for all you have done. I have enjoyed our video calls, which always take unexpected turns. I appreciate all of the things you have done to make More Than Friends a success.

  Once again, I would like to thank all of the bloggers and readers for the kind words and feedback on More Than Friends. You will always have my gratitude and love for your support.

  To my Street Team THANK YOU LADIES! Thank you for putting up with my shit. Thank you for taking time out of your day to support me.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  Domestic Violence Statistics

  Contact Me

  “Get your ass to the bar! You were supposed to be here 30 mins ago! Sent at eight fifteen p.m. From Tom,” the annoying as hell robotic lady on my phone yells through the speakers of my docking station. Poking my head out of the shower curtain, I catch a glimpse at the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand just outside the bathroom door. Shit! It’s after eight. Tom’s going to kick my ass.

  Tom is not only my boss, he’s also my childhood best friend. He had asked me on Wednesday if I could come in early this evening to meet with Skye and his band before they take the stage tonight.

  When Tom graduated from college three years ago, his dad, Chris, decided to retire and gave Tom his bar, The Watering Hole. As soon as Tom had the deed in his hand, he gave me a job. He took ownership and decided to do a major remodel of the bar. It still maintains a honky-tonk type atmosphere, but now has the addition of a stage, three new liquor bars¸ and a new dance floor.

  He also thought it would be a genius idea to add a stripper pole and a mechanical bull. He said, and I quote, “come on, Chloe, drunk people love that shit.” Honestly, I think he loves it more than they do, but that’s just my opinion. Tom thought a new name was in order considering all of the changes, so The Watering Hole became BAR. Original I know, but no one has ever accused him of being creative.

  Throughout the week, we host different events depending on what day it is. Wednesdays we have country line-dancing lessons along with food and beer specials. On the weekends, it can get a little wild. Tom likes to have wet T-shirt contests and mechanical bull-riding competitions. We also book different bands to play on Friday and Saturday nights. Tom will do anything, and I mean anything, to draw in a crowd.

  We hired two new girls a month ago to accommodate the growing crowd. BAR was in the red prior to all the changes, but now that the renovations are finished and we’re hosting concerts every weekend, business is booming again.

  After getting out of the shower, I text Tom back.

  Running late. Give me 30 more mins and I’ll be there.

  “Put your porn up and get your ass here. Band’s setting up already,” the robotic lady replies.

  It’s not porn and you only say that because you wish you could read. Have I told you you’re an ass?

  You can read it to me. And yes, every day since you learned how to cuss. You’re such a lady.

  Okay, that’s just gross. Be there in a few.

  Most people wouldn’t get away with talking to their boss like I do, especially if their boss is Tom. He has a reputation for being a stick of dynamite with a very short fuse. Thank God he loves me, because I have a mouth on me and it has been known to get me into trouble more often than not.

  My sailor’s tongue and quick wit developed after years of being the fat kid in school and being pushed around. It didn’t help that all my friends in school were guys. If you listened to anything other girls said about me, I was the school slut. It didn’t matter that I was still a virgin at nineteen.

  Since my dreaded high school years, I have done a complete physical overhaul. I consider myself average looking, but back in school, I was a big girl. I didn’t put much effort into my appearance. If you looked up the definition of a tomboy, my picture would have been under it. My strawberry-blond hair was always pulled into a sloppy ponytail and covered by a ball cap. My wardrobe consisted of jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers or boots. Most of the time, I was covered in grease or mud.

  Tom lived next door to me from the time we were six and is like a brother to me. I can’t even remember how we became friends; it just kind of happened. One day he came over to get something for his dad and the next day we were playing with army men in the driveway. We’ve been inseparable ever since. We did everything together from playing on the same soccer team to fishing. I even helped him and his dad restore a ‘66 Chevy Nova SS. That was a badass car. At least it was until Tom wrapped it around a tree.

  After high school, I was determined to lose the extra weight, so I started working out and taking better care of myself. Now I am at one hundred and twenty-six pounds. My wavy, strawberry-blond hair still sits just below my shoulder blades. I just wear it down now and actually brush it these days. My almond-shaped eyes are the only part of me that I have always loved. They’re a vibrant green color with small flecks of yellow, which give them an eerie glow. Tom refers to them as cat eyes and after all the years we’ve known each other, he still won’t make eye contact with me for more than a few seconds at a time. He says they freak him out.

  The song playing on my phone changes to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and I sing along while I quickly dry my hair and then move on to my makeup.

  Doing my makeup
is the quickest part of my routine since I’ve always opted for a natural look. My olive skin never needs much foundation to make it look smooth and flawless. What can I say? I have good genes. A swipe of mascara and some lip-gloss and I’m all done.

  Tonight my outfit’s easy enough. I choose a simple brown, form-fitting dress with a sweetheart neckline. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I slide into my brown boots that have turquoise flames embroidered on the sides. I pair my outfit with a turquoise cuff bracelet and matching necklace to complete the look and I’m ready to go.

  I grab my purse on the way out the door. After securing the deadbolt, I fire up my guilty pleasure and begin walking. Working two blocks away from my small, two-bedroom apartment is definitely convenient. It allows me to get some exercise and gives me a few minutes of peace and quiet before work, which is usually loud and crazy.

  Opening the doors and entering BAR, I greet several of our regular patrons seated at the round, cherry-stained bar that sits in the middle of the room. Anna is passing out beers and Tanner is behind her, stocking coolers and replacing the kegs. Crystal and Erin aren’t due to come in until nine thirty.

  Looking at my watch, I notice it’s already eight forty-five. “Hey, fella’s. How are y’all?” I ask.

  “We’re better now you’re here. Do me a favor and make him get down from there,” Darrell, a frequent fixture around here, asks while pointing at his friend who has commandeered the microphone. Sam is at the deejay booth singing Darius Rucker’s rendition of “Wagon Wheel” with a laughing Paul.

  “Always the sweet talker, and no. You brought him. You deal with him. Or just leave him be until we open.” I take a step in the direction of the office but then, as an afterthought, I turn back and warn, “You mind yourself, Darrell. Don’t go gettin’ in any trouble tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says with a salute. Darrell may be a drunk, but he is the sweetest man you will ever meet. A while back, Darrell was in the Marines and was deployed to Afghanistan. When he left Bartow, he had a wife and two children under the age of five. When he returned, he was a shell of his former self and suffered severely from PTSD. Instead of his family sticking it out and trying to help him, his wife kicked him out on the street and won’t allow him to see their kids. Tom and I have been looking out for him ever since. We take him to his doctor appointments and help him do whatever he needs.

  My boots click against the hardwood floor as I walk across the bar to Tom’s office. Glancing over at the giant stage to the right of the bar, I notice two guys setting up the band’s gear.

  “Hey, Tanner! Where’s Tom?” I call across the room. Startled, Tanner drops the beer he’s been holding to the floor. It explodes on impact, spraying everything within its reach. Luckily for Anna she was just outside the line of fire, and the look on her face is almost comical.

  “Damn it, Chloe! You scared the shit out of me! He’s in the office.” He mutters another slur of curses and starts to clean up the mess.

  I offer a half assed “thanks” over my shoulder, not really caring if he hears me or not.

  Tanner’s cool, but he has a cockiness about him that grates on my nerves. He fits the All American Golden Boy cliché to a T, standing at six-foot something with blond hair and blue eyes. With him being all lean muscle, he usually has girls eating out of his hands and crowding around the bar to fight for his attention. I think I am the only woman alive immune to his charms.

  Nearing the office at the back of the bar, I can hear Tom’s thick-as-wool southern drawl though the thin wall. “Chloe should be here soon. I’ll let her give you the run down on how we do things here.” I hear another voice, but can’t make out what is said.

  I open the door without bothering to knock. Tom stands up from behind his desk with arms stretched out in front of him, and being the smartass he is, says, “Ta da! Here she is! Chloe, thank you so much for joining us.”

  Giving him an overly dramatic eye roll, I narrow my eyes at him. “You survived, didn’t you? Hell, I’m not that late.”

  Tom laughs and glances at the two guys sitting to my left. “You remember Skye, don’t you?” Nodding, I look to the two men. I’m able to tell which one is Skye straight away. His dark hair and green eyes are a dead giveaway.

  Skye went to high school with us our junior year. He hung out with Tom’s circle of friends but he wasn’t loud and obnoxious like all the other guys. In school, he was tall and gangly with acne covering most of his face. He dressed gothic which was the complete opposite from the camo and boots all the other guys wore.

  Skye was the guy in the corner of the room that would stare at everyone. I swear every time I looked at him, he was looking back at me. It always creeped me out and I secretly thought he would end up on America’s Most Wanted for being a serial killer or something.

  He was always quiet and distant from everyone, Tom being the exception to the rule. Tom has a way of bringing people out of their shell and making them comfortable, so once Tom and Skye became friends you never saw one without the other.

  Since Tom and I were always so close, I completed the trio. Day after day of spending time with them and Skye hardly ever said two words to me. Tom said Skye never shut up except when I was around.

  Skye’s dad died a couple of months after his family moved to Bartow, and Skye and his mother moved away. It’s probably been ten years since the last time I saw him, and long gone is the awkward, pimple-faced kid that scared me and made my skin crawl. Now he’s sex on legs.

  Skye is wearing dark jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a tight Jack Daniels T-shirt. Thick brown leather straps adorn each wrist. Those mesmerizing eyes are scanning the length of my body, starting at the floor and slowly moving upward until they stop at my eyes. There is admiration etched all over his face.

  Lord, what a face it is. He’s got full, pink lips, a strong jaw, and long dark eyelashes that fan around his wide, tropical green eyes.

  Rubbing my hand over my arms, I try to cover up the shiver that starts at the base of my spine and rapidly works its way up my body. Goose bumps spread across my skin. “Tom, what’s the thermostat set on? It’s freezing in here.”

  Skye’s lips curl up on the end, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s running his large hand through his shaggy, dark brown hair, and my eyes move from his, zeroing in on his large biceps. They look like they’re trying to break free of the restraint the tight sleeves have on them. Damn.

  Realizing that he caught me checking him out, I quickly look away. “Hello? Did you hear me?”

  Oh, shit. Someone’s talking to me. “Huh?” I mutter.

  “I said, What. Do. You. Think. About having the guys as our full-time house band?” Tom drags out each word as if I’m not capable of comprehending them.

  “Oh. Well, I guess you should ask me that after their show tonight,” I reply, still trying to shake off the effects of seeing Skye again.

  Tom turns to Skye. “If y’all do well tonight, then you’ve got the job.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I glance in the direction the voice comes from. The guy to the left of Skye is looking at him, waiting for his approval. Skye nods in agreement, never taking his eyes off of me.

  “Chloe, that’s Brady.” Tom motions toward the man who has just spoken. I extend my arm behind Skye to shake Brady’s hand. His large, firm hand meets mine, and I use that as an opportunity to take in his appearance. Damn it if he isn’t just as hot as Skye, but where Skye is dark, Brady is light. He has strawberry-blond hair styled to perfection in that just-fucked kind of way. His blue eyes, full lips, and pale skin with strategically placed freckles are prominent against his porcelain skin.

  His navy blue T-shirt stretches over his broad chest. The words “Momma Tried” span across the front. The jeans he’s wearing fit nice and snug, but the boots he has on are so worn I’m surprised they don’t have holes in them.

  I have a hard time snapping myself out of the trance I’m in, at least until Tom decides to open his big a
ss mouth and embarrass the shit out of me. “Um, Chloe? Whenever you’re done eye-fucking the guys, will you show them around? Give them the run down on how we do things?”

  Instant fucking mortification! Judging by the way it’s burning, I’m sure my face is a very unattractive shade of red. That ass! He’s a dead man walking. I’m going to turn him into a fucking speed bump in front of his own damn bar.

  Okay, so maybe I was eye-fucking them a little. I’m not dead. It probably doesn’t help that I haven’t been laid in forever. After my last relationship, I had the bright idea to go on a man-ban. Swearing off men and sex for two years probably wasn’t the smartest thing I have ever done, but I needed a break after the last asshole I dated.

  Skye stands and his movements drag me back from my little bubble. “Some things never change, huh?” he says to no one in particular, and then moves to the door. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Skye has to walk past me to leave. With the room being so small, I take a step back, bumping into the wall behind me. He slides past me, our chests skimming each other’s, and his fingers lightly graze across my hip. His mouth-watering cologne invades my nose, making my mouth water and my thighs press together without my permission, desperately trying to find some sort of relief from the steady pressure building between my thighs. I feel my nipples tighten and my breath catches in my throat. A surge of electricity courses through me, shocking every one of my senses. I look into Skye’s dilated pupils and know that the attraction is mutual. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  All sorts of naughty thoughts are running wild through my head and every one of them stars this sex god and yours truly. Note to self: no more reading BDSM books before work, especially if I have to work with him from now on.

  Tom clears his throat, bringing me back to the here and now. With his arms crossed across his chest, his blue eyes narrow on me. Uh-oh. Boss man doesn’t look too happy.