What Happens Between Friends. Beth Andrews

his battered leather jacket. And then there was his Harley. Man, don’t get her started on that—talk about sex on a stick. Doug was perfect for her.

      Until he’d found another muse.

      Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

      “Anyway, Doug and I split a few months ago, and since the whole organic beauty products weren’t working out, I decided to come home.”

      Had wanted to come home. To be home.

      “That’s it?” he asked, studying her in that way she hated, as if seeing through all her bullshit, right to her soul. A girl had to have some secrets, didn’t she? “There aren’t any warrants out for your arrest? No ex-boyfriends you owe money to?”

      “Of course not,” she said primly. “You know I don’t borrow money.”

      It was a line, one of few that she refused to cross. Fail or succeed, she did it on her own.

      He linked his hands together behind his head, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge and flex. “What are your plans?”