Page 1 of More Than Friends

ONE

CHARLOTTE

“Why doI never get good karma?” I whine, looking down at my lap, which is covered in the vanilla latte I bought ten minutes ago.

I steer my car to the side of the empty road and put it in park, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. I’m supposed to be at work in thirty minutes, and since I can’t afford to rent in this part of the Hamptons, that’s how long it’d take me to get back to my apartment and change.

If I were responsible, I’d have a spare uniform in my locker at Pembroke Hills Country Club, where I work. Most of the time, I do have a uniform in there. But my washing machine has been out of order recently, making it hard to keep up with laundry. I’ve been meaning to ask Jude, my best guy friend, if I can do laundry at his place, but I keep forgetting.

Jude!

Hope blooms in my chest at the thought of him. I pull my phone out of my cup holder and immediately call him. He only lives five minutes from Pembroke. Maybe I can stop by his house and get myself cleaned up before starting my shift.

“Good morning, Char,” Jude drawls. I can’t even see him, and I know he’s wearing that typical grin of his that charms every woman he meets.

“I have an emergency,” I tell him, switching the phone over to my car speakers so I can get back on the road. I head toward his house without even getting confirmation that he’s home.

It’sJude. He’d do just about anything for me. I know that even if he isn’t home, he’s not going to have an issue with me using his place to get ready for work.

“Are you okay?” Jude asks, his voice void of its usual humor, concern taking its place instead.

“No,” I complain, glancing down at my clothes again. This is only my second week as a cart girl for Pembroke’s private golf course. The job is a coveted one—especially the weekend shift—and I’m about to jeopardize it because I was stupid and picked up my coffee by the lid.

“Tell me what happened,” he rushes to get out. There’s movement on the other side of the phone. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

I try not to smile. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Jude so concerned. He’s not a concerned kind of guy. He lives life as if nothing can go wrong. “Are you home?”

“Yes, but where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just have an entire iced latte in my lap and have to be at work in thirty minutes. Can I swing by your place and wash up? I don’t have an extra uniform, and I can’t show up looking like this.”

Jude lets out a long sigh before I hear a low, familiar chuckle. “Fuck, Char,” he begins. “You had me worried something was wrong.”

I frown as I make my way to his house. I’ve been to his place countless times. I could get there with my eyes closed. I just hope I have enough time to get myself pulled together beforemy shift starts. “Somethingiswrong, Jude. I splurged on a very expensive coffee this morning because, for once in my life, I wasn’t running late, and I wanted to treat myself, and of course, I didn’t even get two sips of it before my lap got to taste it instead.”

Jude snickers. “Oh, I’d love a taste of that, then.”

I roll my eyes. If it were any other man, I might be flattered by the obvious flirting, but because it’s Jude, I’m not putting much weight into the comment. If you looked up “playboy” in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of Jude Kensington. He flirts with everyone. I’m no exception right now.

“Jude,” I scold, turning on my blinker and waiting to turn onto the street that leads to his house. There are more people on the road this morning than I was expecting. We still have a month before the summer busy season begins. I smile at how close it is to my favorite time of the year. I love the Hamptons in the summer, and it’s even better because it means all of my closest friends will be here for three months.

I can’t wait.

“You didn’t really tell me I could come over, but you should know I’m two minutes from your house. Time to put your pants on.”

He laughs. “You know you don’t ever need an invite, Char. You’re welcome anytime. And what if I want to keep my pants off? Think of all the fun we could have.”

My body heats at his words. I wish I could say that his flirting doesn’t have an effect on me, but it does. It has since I met him, but I do what I always do—I ignore it.

“You better have pants on when I get there.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“Be there in a minute,” I respond before pressing the button on my steering wheel to hang up.

It doesn’t take me long to make it to his house. I type in the code to open the gates at the end of his driveway and pull my car around. I’ve been to Jude’s house numerous times since we struck up a friendship last summer, but every time I see the Hamptons home he spends a lot of his time at, I can’t help but marvel at it.

I fell in love with the Hamptons when I was eighteen, flipping through a magazine in a hair salon in Arizona, when a feature on some reality TV star’s Hamptons home caught my attention. At first, it was the photographer’s laid-back, inviting style, not overly styled or posed, that drew my eye—I’d always loved photography, and the cozy beach oasis captured in those photos stirred a reaction in me that would ultimately become a fixation. Once the idea was in my head, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I told myself that if I ever got the opportunity to move out there, I would.