Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) Read online

  It wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure. Rachel was not an easy woman. She was strong, tough, and sarcastic, but he actually liked that about her. His other girlfriends had been sweet and gentle, and he’d spent a lot of time trying to protect their feelings and keep them happy. With Rachel, he didn’t have to do all that. He could relax.

  Whatever it took. He was all-in.

  He kept walking, wishing he was the kind of guy who could do casual hookups. It had been embarrassingly long since he’d gotten any. It was part of the reason he’d started lifting weights at the gym. Looking good for Rachel, hoping she’d see him as more than a friend. Not that it did him any good. The other part of the reason he’d started working out was his brother Ry’s relentless teasing about his ice-cream paunch. Ry had been right about that. He did feel better now that he’d lost the gut. As if conjured from his thoughts, Ry called from behind him.

  “Hey, bud.”

  Shane turned to see his brother out for a jog. Ry was four years older and had been more like a father to Shane than a brother. Their father was an unpredictable alcoholic, and their mother had been severely depressed. Their mom had always seemed fragile, like anything could set her to crying. She’d committed suicide when Shane was thirteen. Ry had been solid as a rock, helping him and Trav through that hellish time.

  “Run with me,” Ry said, jogging in place. He grinned. “I’ll go slow so you don’t get winded.”

  Shane hated running, but he rarely got to see Ry without Liz glued to his side, so he set off at a slow pace next to him. Not that he didn’t like Liz. It was just that he didn’t always want to feel like the guy on the outside of Loveland.

  “How’s Rachel?” Ry asked, picking up the pace.

  “It was just a sprain,” Shane said. “After a couple of days she can move to an Ace bandage and hiking boots. Then she has to do exercises at home.”

  Ry nodded. They ran in silence for a few minutes.

  “How far you going?” Shane asked. He hoped Ry was on his way home.

  “Just another couple miles. I’m circling around, going up to the high school and back.”

  Shane inwardly groaned. The high school was on top of a hill. But what else did he have to do? He didn’t want to go home and wallow in the bitterness of rejection. Rachel was so damn stubborn too. He’d have to balance working around her stubbornness and pushing through it. Why couldn’t she just see how right they were for each other? It was so damn obvious to him.

  “You okay?” Ry asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Ry said nothing more. That was his way. He was just there for you: solid, strong, silent.

  Thoughts of Rachel tumbled through his head. Her surprised expression when he’d kissed her, when that towel dropped and he’d glimpsed paradise, her stinging rejection. I value our friendship…friendship…friendship. Shane couldn’t take the thoughts on repeat anymore.

  “Did you hear the new fro-yo place opened?” Shane asked just to say something, anything to distract him from Rachel.

  “Yeah, The Dancing Cow opened in April.”

  Shane grunted. It was July. But his irritation with Barry Furnukle was a good distraction.

  “I heard Barry’s giving away wacky glasses now,” Shane bit out. “Bastard.”

  Ry glanced over. “So?”

  “So he’s stealing business from me. Kids are excited about stupid wacky glasses and ask for frozen yogurt instead of ice cream. It’s not the same! Those probiotics are dead by the time it gets into their bowls. It’s not even healthy! I bet he doesn’t even make it fresh!”

  Ry’s brows shot up. Shane never raised his voice. But Rachel had gotten under his skin, and now that he thought about it, Barry was a real pain in his ass too.

  “Pick up the pace,” Ry said. “You need to get some endorphins kicking in to counteract all that bitchiness.”

  Shane picked up the pace. His feet were going numb, sweat poured down his face, and he couldn’t suck in enough air to talk. Finally they made it to the hill. He bent at the waist, panting. “I’ll wait here.”

  Ry pulled at his arm. “Come on, pokey. It’s just one hill. If you get to the top, I won’t even make you spit out what’s really bugging you.” He coughed out, “Rachel.”

  How did Ry know?

  “Race ya,” Ry said, taking off.

  Shane watched his brother go. Geez, running was for the birds. He never got anything but tired from it. He must be missing whatever triggered those feel-good endorphins. Ry made it to the top and carefully worked his way back down.

  “Come on, keep up,” Ry said, elbowing him.

  Shane reluctantly started running again back toward Ry’s place.

  “Let me guess,” Ry said, not even out of breath. “She just wants to be friends.”

  Shane stumbled, and Ry’s arm shot out to steady him. “How did you know?”

  Ry raised a brow. “Because if she wanted more than that, you wouldn’t be bitching about wacky glasses.”

  “So what’s my next move?” Shane asked.

  Ry shook his head. “Friends is your only move unless she starts giving out a different signal.”

  “That’s what’s so frustrating. I swear it’s not one-sided, but she’s pushing me away.”

  “She’ll let you know when she wants more.” A ghost of a smile crossed his brother’s face. Probably thinking of Liz again.

  Shane sucked in air. Where were those damn endorphins?

  “You know what would make you feel better?” Ry asked.

  Shane panted. “What?”

  “A daily run. It’ll give you something to focus on, and it’ll help your mood too.”

  “Fuck that,” Shane managed to wheeze out.

  Ry laughed. “Language, my dear.”

  Shane bent over as a cramp hit his side. They were almost to Main Street, where he lived in the apartment over his shop. “Augh…” Pant. Pant. “I’m gonna…” Pant. “…walk home.” He waved him away. “You go.”

  “See you tomorrow at seven a.m. sharp for our run,” Ry said with a devious smile before hightailing it home. Shane knew his brother would carry through too, pounding on his door until he got up and joined him.

  Shane groaned. Fucking older brothers with their fucking advice. Ry told him to cool it, but Trav probably would’ve told him to do the opposite. He’d pursued Daisy for a good six months before he caught her. Now they were on a honeymoon in Bermuda.

  He walked slowly, trying to breathe through the pain in his side. He got to Rachel’s shop and saw her sitting at the front register, head bent over her papers.

  He broke into a run. At least if she looked up, she could see him running, not staggering like an old man. He made it across the street, up the stairs, and into his apartment.

  He collapsed on the floor, where he planned to stay for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter Four

  Rachel moved off crutches just in time for her loan meeting at the bank. Shane had been, um, helpful with all that carrying her up and down the stairs gallantry, but she was an independent businesswoman who needed to face this next step alone. Her mind flashed to Damon or, as she liked to call him, Demon. Her old boss at the accounting firm. She’d worked her ass off her first two years in no small part due to his demands on her time, his harsh tirades against even the smallest error, his constant micromanaging over her shoulder. Until one night in the late hours of a long day she’d finally snapped and told him off good.

  Instead of firing her or yelling at her, he got up, walked around his massive desk, and stood very close to where she was standing clutching a client’s folder. He stroked a finger down her cheek. “I wondered when I’d break you.” He flashed a predatory smile. “You lasted longer than most. Come home with me. I’ll show you what you need.”

  “I’m not going home with you.” She backed toward his office door.

  “I want you. And when I don’t get what I want, it shows.” He put a hand on the door above her head, blocking her exit. �
�You think I was tough on you before?” He shook his head, an evil smile playing there. “Make the easy choice and you will be richly rewarded.”

  “Okay.” She kneed him in the groin, and he dropped like a rock. She made her escape and filed a sexual harassment suit the next day. Demon lost his job.

  Work was no picnic after that. The mostly male management gave her a wide berth, and no matter how hard she worked, she was passed over again and again for the higher level jobs. She couldn’t wait to own her own business and work only for herself. She took another job at a competing accounting firm out of necessity and spent the next several years squirreling money away for her dream of owning her own bookstore. Finally, she’d broken free. Book It was all hers, and she answered to no one.

  She took in a deep breath of still-cool early morning air, feeling optimistic as she made the short walk down the street to the bank. She’d dressed up a bit with a black pencil skirt and white button-down short-sleeve shirt with a purple floral scarf. The ensemble was unfortunately less than stellar because she had to wear hiking boots for the ankle support.

  Her small-business contact, Zach Cukor, already knew her well from when she’d applied to start Book It two years ago. He’d been so friendly and helpful the last time she’d applied for a loan. Most independent bookstores were struggling with the ease of online shopping, but he’d agreed with her that Clover Park needed a bookstore. Plus, there was no competition within thirty miles of her shop.

  She stepped into the air-conditioned lobby and crossed slowly to Zach’s office in the back, still limping a bit. “Hi, Zach, how are you?”

  He stood in a sharp navy suit and shook her hand. “Good. But what happened to you?”

  She maneuvered herself into a chair and blew out a breath. “Sprained my ankle when a wave hit me on the beach. I’ll be okay in six weeks.”

  He sat across from her. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zach shuffled some papers on his desk, then folded his hands across the top of them. “Rachel, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  Her heart started pounding. “Was there a problem with my paperwork? I thought I had everything in there you asked for. The business plan, the store’s financials, my old tax returns—”

  “The paperwork was fine.” His mouth set in a flat line. “I’m sorry, the bank turned down your loan. Book It’s financials are not good. You haven’t turned a profit in two months. Banks don’t like risk.”

  Her mind reeled. She needed this. Book It needed that extra something to draw customers. Something they couldn’t get from browsing online. She knew good coffee, snacks, and tables to hang out would make people linger. She used to love to do that at the Borders in Eastman before they closed down.

  “What about that line of credit you told me about when I opened Book It?” she asked. “Could I get one of those?”

  Zach brightened. “You could still do that. But I’m afraid that would be capped at twenty-five thousand due to your current financial situation.”

  She needed more than that to open the café. She’d applied for a hundred-thousand-dollar loan. She’d need equipment, décor, inventory, employees. What was she going to do?

  “That’s not nearly enough money,” she said. “Any suggestions?”

  “You could find some investors.”

  Investors. Ha! She didn’t know anyone with that kind of money. Well, there was her dad, but she already knew his answer would be no. He thought her bookstore was a bad financial move from day one, and he never let her forget it. Her head throbbed. All of her plans, her dream for Book It, all crushed. She pushed up unsteadily from the chair. “I guess that’s it, then.”

  Zach held up his palms. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

  Rachel waved that away and made her stiff-legged, hobbling way out the door. Fricking fuckity-fuck-fuck. She was screwed. Book It was screwed. She’d end up living with her parents. Her store would go out of business and be turned into a nail salon or a sub shop or something equally more horrible than picking out the perfect book.

  Tears stung her eyes. She quickly blinked them away as she walked back to her shop. She was not a crier. She pushed open the door, and the bell overhead jingled cheerfully.

  Her only employee, Janelle Wilcox, looked up from the book she was reading at the register, where no one was buying books. “How’d it go?”

  “Not good,” Rachel replied. “I didn’t get the loan.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rach.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be in my office.”

  “Don’t worry,” Janelle called over her shoulder. “I heard a new book club is forming with some of the seniors in town. I’m sure they’ll order from us every month.”

  “Great,” Rachel managed. She went into her small office and sat at her desk. She took a few calming breaths before opening the laptop and pulling up the accounting system. She looked at the next three months. It was bad. She’d have to break the lease on her apartment. She’d rather sleep in the storage room of her shop than go back to her parents’ cold war of pleasantness.

  Or she’d have to let Janelle go. Her friend. Her loyal employee, who’d been with her from the very beginning.

  She dropped her head in her hands and moaned. Why had she opened a bookstore? She’d left a perfectly respectable soul-sucking job doing recordkeeping for retirement plans. Her older sister, Sarah, had gotten her the job at her old firm. Luckily for Sarah, she hadn’t had Damon for a boss. Who was she kidding? Her accounting career was laughable in light of her degree in literature. She hadn’t wanted to be a teacher, and she couldn’t do much else without an advanced degree. All she’d ever wanted was to live and breathe books.

  Somehow Rachel made it through the rest of the day, greeting each of the five customers with the enthusiasm of a long-lost family member, trying not to sound desperate. Please buy a stack of books. Just one, really?

  She let Janelle go early and closed up the shop herself. She had some hard thinking to do. Hard decisions to make. And for that she needed chocolate. She headed across the street to Shane’s Scoops for a fudge brownie sundae.

  Shane’s shop was hopping. People came from all over for his homemade gourmet ice cream. And this was the season for it. She waited in a long line and checked the whiteboard for today’s flavors—cherry vanilla, chocolate, vanilla, salted caramel, cookies and cream, blueberry sorbet, and lemon sorbet. Her mouth watered. She knew Shane used fresh, in-season ingredients, each flavor an intense burst on the tongue. Everything was made in-house, the ice cream, the cones, the whipped cream, even the cookies and cream had fresh-made chocolate cookies that were mixed in. Today was a chocolate day, so those other flavors would have to wait.

  “Hey, Rach, the usual?” Shane asked when she got to the counter. She normally went for the cookies and cream.

  “Nope. Fudge brownie sundae with chocolate ice cream.”

  His brows drew together in a look of concern before he snapped into action. “You got it.”

  That was how well he knew her—fudge brownie sundae meant a really shitty day.

  A few minutes later, she sat on a cushioned stool at a counter lining one wall of the shop, with an orgy of chocolate in a large cup. Chocolate ice cream over a homemade brownie, all of it covered in hot fudge, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles. Shane had given her extra hot fudge at no charge. She closed her eyes and let it roll over her tongue. Heavenly. The rich chocolate transported her for a moment from the darkness weighing her down.

  When she opened her eyes, Shane was sitting on the stool next to her. She startled. The man was forever sneaking up on her.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The pure caring she heard in his voice made her throat tight. If she spilled, she’d likely break down right in the middle of his busy shop with all these innocent children.

  “Don’t you have to work?” she asked. “Your shop is crazy busy.”

  She felt a stab of jealousy that her shop was empt
y while his was so busy. Obviously she was in the wrong business. She jabbed her spoon in the ice cream.

  “I can take a fifteen-minute break,” Shane said. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  It was a measure of how low she felt that she picked up her sundae and followed him out the door without a second thought. The last time she’d seen him he’d carried her down the stairs of her apartment while they’d awkwardly tried to pretend the kiss from the day before had never happened. But it couldn’t happen. She’d meant it when she said she couldn’t lose him. His friendship was everything to her. He was the only guy she’d ever known that was really there for her, day in, day out. She could tell him anything, absolutely anything, and he never judged. He was her rock.

  When they got to the back staircase leading to his apartment, he took the sundae from her and set it on the step. He bent down, offering his back. “Climb aboard.”

  She stared as his T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and bulging biceps, and felt herself flush. Also, she was wearing a skirt. She didn’t want to dry hump his back. Friends don’t let friends hump each other.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I can do the stairs. I’ve been doing them at my place.”

  “Not on my watch. Climb up.” He peered over his shoulder at her. “Or should I carry you?”

  Did she want to feel like a princess carried in his arms again? No way. They. Were. Friends.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, hiked up her skirt, and boosted herself on. He stood, reached under her bare legs, and boosted her up a little more. Omigod, this was a huge mistake. His large warm hands on her bare thighs, the heat of his back burning through the thin fabric of her panties. Was she really going to ride his back to orgasm up a flight of stairs? She was just about to pound his back and demand he put her down when he snagged her sundae and began to climb the stairs.

  She hung on and bit back a moan as the friction of rocking up and down his back made her go damp. She needed to spend more time with her vibrator if she could get off on a piggy-back ride. Dear Lord, she’d never even hugged him before she sprained her ankle. She prayed he didn’t notice. At least he only touched her with one hand on the back of her upper thigh—the other hand held her sundae—though that one hand did seem to be spread wide for maximum skin contact.