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  JUST FRIENDS

  Mira Lyn Kelly

  About the book

  Best friends. Roommates. A secret crush twelve years in the making. ONE. HOT. NIGHT. What could go wrong?

  * * *

  Nichole...

  All I want is one night with Matt. He's the epitome of sexy--I'm talking underwear model fine, brains that go on for days, and a way of feeding my fantasy file that's keeping me up nights. The problem? Not only is always-in-control Matt my best friend, he's also my roommate...and he’s been shutting me down for twelve years.

  * * *

  Matt...

  I know better than to lust after his brother’s ex. Nichole is off-limits. She’s the kind of gorgeous that makes reasonable guys reckless, and that's just not me. Except this time, Nikki isn’t playing fair…and I can only resist for so long.

  * * *

  **Please note: This book has been previously published under the pen name, Moira McTark. It has been edited and updated to first person POV, but the story remains unchanged.**

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Hard Crush Ch 1

  Hard Crush Ch 2

  Hard Crush Ch 3

  Also by Mira Lyn Kelly

  About the Author

  JUST FRIENDS © 2018 by Mira Lyn Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Foreword

  Dear Reader,

  For years readers have been asking me about my sort of secret first pen name, because yeah, I haven’t always written as Mira Lyn Kelly lol. In the early days of my career—even before Harlequin and Waking Up Married—I wrote the dirty, dirty fun stuff as Moira McTark. As my career moved forward, my pen name changed along with the heat level and way I structured my stories… and Moira was mostly forgotten.

  The thing is, I love those early books. I love the characters. And I love that somehow readers keep finding out about Moira and asking for a chance to read her stuff lol!

  Now anyone who’s read my current series (The Back To You books) knows I love a second chance… Which is why I’ve decided to give my McTark backlist a fresh look, new titles, and a change to first person POV (Okay, and I adjusted the heat level a bit, but not that much lol!)

  First up is JUST FRIENDS, formerly titled GETTING FRIENDLY.

  It’s been a blast getting to spend some time with my very first friends-to-lovers duo again, and now it’s time for you to meet Matt and Nichole!

  * * *

  Happy Reading!

  * * *

  ((hugs))

  Mira

  * * *

  PS… I’ll be releasing the other five McTark books as time permits in the coming year

  * * *

  And PPS… if you haven’t read my Back To You series, you can get HARD CRUSH (Book 1) for free by signing up for my newsletter at https://www.subscribepage.com/MLKFreeBook

  1

  February 14th

  Matt

  Twelve years of friendship. In all that time, I haven’t done it. And I sure as fuck won’t do it now. No way.

  The limits of platonic stretch thinner with every warm breath feathering past the collar of my shirt. I shouldn’t be holding her, but Christ, she was so upset. Even now her blue eyes glisten beneath a damp fringe of lashes as she peers up at me.

  “My company. My reputation. It all hinges on tonight. Everything was falling apart.” A tiny furrow pulls between her brows, and her gaze drifts to my mouth. She wets her lips, lingering in that suspended state of indecision, before bringing her questioning focus back to mine. “You’re saving me.”

  The model hired for Nikki’s club opening tonight broke his leg, putting her into a panic she wouldn’t be able to deliver on her proposal. I’m not a model, but I’m the right size and build, so I agreed to step in as a replacement.

  I’m bailing her out of a jam because she’s my best friend, but now she’s looking at me like her own personal hero. And that breathy, almost-whisper is doing shit to me it shouldn’t. This is a mess. Nikki shouldn’t be looking at me like that, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be standing here with my arms around her, pulse jacked, and body on the fringe edge of giving away just how wrong this hug between roommates has gone.

  I swallow hard, reminding myself this is gratitude. Misplaced emotion under the guise of attraction. Nothing more.

  So just let her go, man.

  Nichole is my best friend. Without benefits. The cornerstone in my life. The one who gets me. Who understands. Who makes me laugh and listens when I need to talk. She ribs me about my dates, and trash-talks everything from Scrabble to her fantasy football team kicking the crap out of mine. She’s one of the guys—albeit, one who comes stocked with a wholly different set of amenities. Enticing amenities.

  She’s my friend.

  In my head and heart I know exactly how she fits. Where she belongs. What I want between us. Only when she looks at me like she is right now, my dick gets ideas about how else we might fit together. Ideas I won’t risk acting on. Not even for a taste of the sweet, wet mouth that’s been tormenting me on and off since high school…and ruthlessly for the last couple months.

  I clear my throat. “Anyone would have done it. Any one of the guys.”

  “But it’s always you,” she murmurs softly. “It always has been.”

  Her fists unfurl between us, resting too damn hot against my chest.

  Don’t do it, man. Don’t even think about it.

  What the hell was I thinking suggesting she move in with me? If I’d had even an inkling of what having this place saturated in her pheromones would do to me, I never would have come up with such an “excellent” idea.

  Sure, at the time, it all made sense. Her lease was up, my roommate had just moved cross-country for a new job, and no two people on Earth get along as well as we do. Hell, we were spending part of almost every day together anyway, so why not share the rent?

  Why not? Because for months now—ever since that damn morning when the world turned upside-down—I’ve been fighting the need to sink inside her. Fighting hard, since the fallout from giving in would be devastating.

  Sex with Nichole could never be casual. There’s too much history between us to believe that kind of intimacy wouldn’t lead to something deeper. And when it comes to my girl, deeper means dangerous. Nikki is notoriously fickle, evading commitment with the determination of a lifelong bachelorette. And her track record when it comes to hooking up with friends—Christ.

  Somehow, she always believes this time it’ll be different. But to the best of my knowledge, the only survivor to escape a go at Nikki unscathed is my brother, Jack. And that was back in high school.

  Since then?

  My gut knots thinking about the last friend she dated. It took that sad sap years to get over her, and “friends” is about as far from what they are now as two people can get.

  Yeah, no thanks on joining those ranks. I know better.
>
  “Matt.” That single breathless plea comes straight out of the darkest corner of my mind, pushing buttons I don’t want pushed.

  The fabric of her thin tee bunches in my hands, and she pushes to her toes, curving her fingers over my shoulders and—oh yeah—sliding them into the hair at the base of my skull. Her head angles back, spilling silky curls over my forearms and the fists I want to wrap within them.

  Shit!

  Working my hands open, I rub them roughly over her back, effectively replacing the previous embrace with a buddy hug.

  “Just relax.” The strain in my voice is pathetic. “I’ll always help you. That’s what friends are for.”

  She stiffens as I chafe my palms over her shoulders and set her back a step.

  I silently will her to play along, praying when her eyes meet mine again, they won’t be begging me to put my mouth on her.

  A few seconds pass, and I can’t stand it any longer. I’ve got to see her—know she’s okay, we’re okay.

  Tilting her face to mine, I catch a fleeting glimpse of hurt that lands like a blow to the gut before she shakes it off with a dismissive laugh.

  She knows better too.

  “You’re right. That’s what friends are for.” She nods, her expression clearing along with the tension in the room.

  That’s my girl.

  She’ll be glad things didn’t go any further. And once the ache in my sac eases up, I’ll be glad, too. Friendships get lost between the sheets. We’ve both seen it happen before, and with clearer heads, neither of us would be willing to take that kind of risk.

  Nichole scuffs her foot over the floor, her brow crinkling as she moves to the couch and drops into the deep cushions. “I just hope you still feel friendly toward me after you put on your outfit for tonight.”

  “I’m always happy to help. Stop worrying and give me a smile instead.”

  A gorgeous grin splits her face as she tucks her legs beneath her and raises her arms overhead in a languid stretch that pushes her breasts against the threadbare shirt covering them. Fuck. My mouth goes dry and for a moment all the blood in my brain is diverted south.

  Carefully modulating my voice, I tell her, “You’ve got to get rid of that t-shirt, babe.”

  She pulls at the cotton stretched across her chest. “But you gave it to me, and it’s so comfy.”

  Comfy and thin. God help me, she needs to get out of that provocative thing before the blood loss causes permanent damage to our relationship.

  Be strong. “Don’t you need to get dressed?”

  “Not yet.” Then quirking a mischievous grin that’s pure Nichole, she arches her brow. “You sure about this, tonight?”

  I nod. I might look silly waltzing around dressed like Eros in some droopy toga with wings and a frilly crossbow, but I’ll do it for Nichole. Hell, she would do it for me.

  T-shirt be damned, I cross to the couch and graze her chin with a gentle chuck. “Of course, I’m sure. How bad can it be?”

  2

  Matt

  Two hours later, I know.

  “I’m going to kill you.” I glower into the full-length mirror.

  Eyes flashing with impish glee, Nichole peeks around my shoulder. “Who me?”

  She knows exactly who and exactly why. By her hand, I’ve become Eros, gigolo extraordinaire. We’re talking serious humiliation.

  “I tried to warn you.”

  “Yeah, not that hard.”

  Her eyes roll, and I start fighting images of turning her over my knee.

  “As if something as little as skin-tight, cherry-red, spandex, short-shorts could come between us. Where’s your mythological enthusiasm, you hunky god of love, you?”

  With a resigned sigh, I pick up the rest of the costume and shrug it on. The three-foot wide wings secure with thick black leather straps across my chest. And perfect, Eros is into bondage.

  Only for Nichole would I suffer through this. “I thought the costume was a toga or something. I didn’t realize I’d be so…exposed.”

  One slender shoulder hitches against the tilt of her head. “Think of it as a swimsuit, only skimpier.”

  “I wear trunks.”

  “Talk about a travesty.”

  I answer with a growl, but Nichole shakes her head, enjoying this way too much.

  “Oh come on. Take a little credit here,” she taunts. “If you’d been some dedicated couch potato, no matter how much I’d still love you—you’d be ineligible for the role. You want to blame someone…blame yourself. Blame that triathlon you knocked out in San Diego last month. I mean I didn’t hone that athletic bod to its current state of perfection.”

  My frown is starting to cramp. “You’re right. Get me a bean bag chair and a bottle of corn syrup, stat.”

  Shaking her head, she looks me up and down. “Too late, I’m afraid. Next year consider letting yourself go a few months ahead of time.”

  Right, like there’ll be a next year.

  At my grumbling, she cocks her head. “Matt, it’s Valentine’s day and the opening for Brink. You’re playing Eros. What did you expect?”

  “Something that would leave me with a modicum of my pride when the night ends?”

  Nichole snickers. “Sorry, you’re going to be shooting sprays of candy flavored rubbers from your ‘chariot’. Pride doesn’t play into this gig.”

  Yeah, I’m giving her a hard time, and I don’t love how this bail out is shaping up. But we both know, for her, I’d do it again in a second.

  Nikki walks around me, adjusting the fabric of my shorts here and there as her attention drags over every inch of me in scrutinizing detail. It’s unnerving as hell and takes everything I’ve got not to flex just a little.

  Spandex snaps against my ass.

  “I’d say you pass muster.”

  Oh no, she did not…

  Except that unrepentant smirk confirms, oh yes, she did. And worse she’s daring me to do something about it. Goading that part of my psyche she knows loves to go head to head with her.

  “Nichole…” I stalk after her until the flare of anticipation in her eyes brings me to a stop. No good will come of catching her, that’s for damn sure.

  Realizing the chase is over, she backs toward her bedroom door, smiling as she goes.

  “Tonight’s going to be great, Matt. You’ll see. Just give me ten minutes to get ready.”

  Tonight’s going to be something, all right. The way Nichole is pushing my buttons, I just hope like hell it isn’t a disaster.

  Nichole

  Retreating to my bedroom, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, waiting for my heart to stop racing.

  Why, why, why can’t I stop this?

  Matt is not my plaything. He’s my best friend and the best person I know. And ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time I’m one-hundred percent sure that’s all we’ll ever be.

  For more than a decade, the soul deep bond between us has been strictly friendship. A limit imposed by Matt, and one I’ve both respected and adhered to. Back in college, I summoned the nerve to broach the subject of more, and I even got so far as to rest my palm against his chest and ask if he’d ever thought about the two of us together. He shut me down with a single word. No. Then he gave me a hug and walked out of the room.

  I’d accepted it and moved on. Mostly. And in those rare moments where my heart got away from my head and I wished and wondered? Well, I learned to stifle those renegade thoughts. Pushing them aside with such ruthless efficiency, it’s all but second nature now. Or at least it was until a few months ago when Matt inadvertently gave me my first taste of more. That taste hit me like a drug, sliding hot through my veins and permeating my senses as it hooked me on a rush so devastatingly addictive, I haven’t been able to stop craving more since.

  And it’s killing me. Because being with Matt has always been the easiest, most natural thing in my life. But now, I can’t relax. Suddenly every breath my friend takes is feeding my fantasy file, ratcheting a tension within
me I can’t ease alone.

  Of course, he has no idea.

  He has no idea I had to change my panties after catching him with one arm braced against the freezer door while he drank orange juice straight from the carton. Or that I nearly came when I found him shirtless under the kitchen sink—jeans loose around his hips, his abdominal muscles flexing as he worked the wrench. Cripes. I nearly dropped to my knees right there, and then spent two weeks fantasizing about what I would have done to him with my mouth.

  He has no idea I can’t sleep at night because the memories of him— stretching out his shoulders after a game of hoops with the guys or walking around in a towel with beads of water dotting the narrowing trail of curls beneath his navel—leave me trembling with a need that borders on pain. Or that I’ve burned out the motors in enough battery operated buddies to earn a bulk discount from my local retailer.

  He has no idea, because we’re friends. Best friends. Lifelong, touchy-feely friends. But still, just friends.

  That ought to be the end of it. It would be, if it weren’t for these incredibly rare, possibly imagined moments that make me wonder if maybe that’s not all.

  Like this afternoon. There was something different in the way he was looking at me. Fine, the way I thought he might be looking at me. Standing within the circle of his arms, I would have sworn he’d been about to kiss me. That fully awake, conscious of who he held—Matt was a hairsbreadth from taking another taste. That in that moment, on at least a physical level, he’d wanted me.