Friends with Benefits Read Free

car, a classic 1967 platinum Mustang convertible—hers to drive as long as she worked for Platinum. Kiley had been nervous, wondering if he’d kiss her. She definitely wanted him to, even raised her face to his, hoping he’d get the hint. But he’d just given her a friendly hug and casually said he’d call her when he got back from his cross-country press junket to promote
The
Ten.
That junket was supposed to last ten days, so—
    Bong. Bong. Bong.
    Kiley’s state-of-the-art Nokia cell phone—bestowed by Platinum so that she could reach Kiley at any time—rang with its characteristic chimes of London’s Big Ben clock. Kiley picked up, thinking it was Lydia. It wasn’t.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œKiley, hey, it’s Tom.”
    Tom. It was Tom.
The
Tom. She willed her heart to stop pin-wheeling and tried to sound casual. “Hey. Welcome home. How are you?”
    â€œWhipped,” he said. “I talked up the movie to so many reporters in so many cities, I didn’t know where I was half the time.”
    â€œWow!” Kiley exclaimed, realizing she couldn’t think of one single cute or funny thing to say. “So . . . you’re back now, huh?”
    â€œYeah, got in last night.”
    Last night? He’d gotten back last night and was calling her the next morning? She’d known he had to be back in town to model in FAB, the yearly L.A. fashion extravaganza, but still, to call her so quickly? Oh my God, that was fantastic.
    â€œI’m still so crapped out, I’m going to crash for a while,” he continued. “But I thought maybe you’d like to go to a party with me tonight. I know it’s not much notice—”
    â€œOh no!” Kiley interrupted eagerly. “I mean yes, I can go. And it’s okay. About the no notice, I mean.”
    Shut up,
she told herself.
Just stop babbling.
Now.
    â€œGreat. It’s out in Malibu. So I’ll pick you up around eight, okay?”
    â€œSure, great, fine!”
    Then Kiley had a moment of panic. What if he didn’t remember where she lived? “My address is—”
    â€œPlatinum’s mansion,” Tom put in. “I bought a Hollywood star map when I first came to town, even went on one of those bus tours of the stars’ homes—don’t let it get around.”
    They said goodbye and hung up. Kiley lay on her bed, replaying the conversation in her mind. Had that really just happened? Had gorgeous, famous model Tom Chappelle actually just called her and invited her on a
date
?
    Kiley sat up quickly. Wait. Maybe it wasn’t a date. Maybe it was a kick-back-with-a-bud kind of thing. Kiley remembered the friendly hug that had ended their all-night gabfest only too well. She grabbed her backpack. She’d run the whole thing by Esme and Lydia; they’d help her figure it out. Meanwhile, she sent up a quick prayer:
    Dear God, please don’t let him think of me as a friend, which is the
kiss of death. But if he does think of me as a friend? Help me find a
way to change his mind.

2
    Lydia Chandler
    Clad in her burnt orange Delfina nylon-spandex print bikini, Lydia stretched out on her chaise longue at the Brentwood Hills Country Club. Then she reached into her Trina Turk beaded raffia bag with bamboo handles and took out a dog-eared book. Both bikini and bag had been borrowed from her aunt Kat. Borrowed, as in: intended to return. As Lydia saw it, so long as she put said things back where she’d found them, Thou Shalt Not Steal did not apply.
    The book was borrowed too. She’d found it in her aunt’s closet, buried under a neat pile of T-shirts. And she did what anyone raised in the Amazon basin would do when faced with something curious. She investigated.
    The book cover featured a heaving bosom–type young woman whose globe-shaped breasts were semi-clad in a lacy push-up bra, and who sat on the lap of a naked guy with rippling muscles.