Promise You: A friends to lovers romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Fabiola Francisco

  Social Media

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Write You A Love Song

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Fabiola Francisco

  Cover design by Amy Queau, Q Designs

  Editing by Rebecca Kettner, Editing Ninja

  Cover photo by Big Stock Photo

  Interior Design by Cary Hart

  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.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Standalones

  Perfectly Imperfect

  Red Lights, Black Hearts

  Twisted in You

  Memories of Us

  All My Truths & One Lie

  Promise You

  Restoring Series

  Restoring Us (Complete Series)

  Resisting You (Aiden and Stacy Novella)

  Sweet on You Series

  Sweet on Wilde

  Whiskey Nights

  Rebel Desire Series

  Lovin’ on You

  Love You Through It

  All of You

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  Newsletter

  To everyone who has had their heart broken and still had the courage to give love a second chance.

  Reese

  I lean against the bar at Riot, my favorite place to listen to live music in this city, and cradle my beer bottle in my hand. The smooth voice singing into the microphone sweeps over me in a gentle caress that tempts me to follow it into any private room. I’ve been coming here on Thursdays for weeks, sneaking away from everyone in my life saying I have work plans just so I can hear him sing. My best-kept secret.

  Music has been a part of my life since I can remember. Having a brother who is a musician, it became an even more important part of my life when he and his band became Nashville’s hottest group. For me though, it’s the words. The symbolism, the declarations of love, the emotions that are pulled out of me.

  My eyes flutter closed as he sings a new one, a slower tune. I only know that his name is Dex from the introductions that come from that stage. My body sways against the bar to the rhythm his guitar is creating, a flawless sound that would make any of the big names in the industry envious.

  When I open my eyes, Dex is looking at me, his eyes piercing mine as if he were only singing to me. As if this bar were empty and I’m receiving a private show. Captivated by him and his voice, I allow myself one moment to forget the past.

  I’m jolted back to the present when the song ends, and Dex sets his guitar down. As if on cue, a group of women rushes to him like fleas to a filthy dog.

  I shake my head and leave my half drank beer on the bar, heading home. I remind myself of the one rule I set in my life a long time ago: No more musicians.

  Dex

  I look over the top of the heads of the women clawing for my attention to find the woman who was leaning against the bar. I’ve seen her come in the last few weeks, always alone and she always leaves as soon as my set is done.

  “Excuse me,” I try to weed through the crowd, but they create a barrier, calling my name. This is why you don’t shit where you eat. They don’t understand the meaning of one-night-stands. I made no promise to commit to any of them.

  Now that brunette…

  Where did she go?

  I run a hand through my hair and scan the other side of the bar. She’s gone.

  “Fuck.”

  “What’s wrong, baby?” A blonde moves in to stand next to me.

  “Nothing.” I step away. For the first time, none of these women appeal to me.

  When I looked into that woman’s eyes, I wanted something more than just a night of fucking. I wanted a woman to sing to, someone to give my songs meaning.

  “Hey,” Riot’s manager, Steve, walks over to me, shaking my hand. “Great set.”

  “Thanks, man. Hey, did you see the brunette standing by the bar? She left as soon as the song ended.” I take the risk to ask him.

  “Nope, sorry,” he grins. “But you’ve got your posse.” He tilts his head to the group of women. I shake my head and sigh. I bet I can dodge them if I leave out the back.

  “Thanks. Maybe she’ll come back in another day.” Steve places his hand on my shoulder and nods without conviction.

  “See you tomorrow,” he shakes my hand and gets back to work.

  I spin around the bar one last time, avoiding wandering hands, in case she was in the bathroom and came out, although I know that she left. For the last month, she’s been showing up and leaving. Today though, I saw her. Not just her face or her body but her emotions. I got a glimpse of something more than a just woman at a bar, something I want to uncover with more than my dick.

  I’m so screwed.

  Eight months later

  Dex

  Reese: 911!

  Dex: What’s wrong?

  Reese: can u come over? pretty please with sugar on top and a million cherries?

  Dex: on my way

  Reese: door’s unlocked

  I stare at her final words, curious as to what the hell is going on. I jump in my car and race to Reese’s apartment, heart pounding in my chest as every bad scenario jumps through my mind. I slam on my breaks and take a sharp right into the apartment complex parking lot. Parking, I jog up the stairs to her apartment, the door cracked open.

  “Reese?” I call out, worried someone has her held hostage or something. Doubtful since she texted me, but she sounded helpless.

  “In here,” her voice calls out, and I follow its path. I walk into the kitchen and find her standing on the counter with a rolling pin in her hand.

  “What the hell is goin’ on?” I scratch my head, my eyes scanning the room in case someone is about to attack me.

  “Mouse!” She points to the floor with the rolling pin.

  “What?” My eyebrows bunch as I process her words.

  “I saw a mouse,” she screeches.

  My hand lands on my chest and I shake my head. “I thought someone broke in and had you tied up or something. Where did the mouse go?”

  “I don’t know. I think it ran under the fridge. Also, hel
looooo mice are scary. I almost prefer someone had broken in.”

  “Reese, that’s not something to joke about.” I cross my arms and look around until I find the broom and dustpan. “I’m going to move the fridge.”

  “Kill it!” she screams like a maniac. I look over my shoulder to see her standing on the counter hugging the rolling pin. I hold in my laughter, pretty sure she’d hit me across the head with it if I laugh at her.

  I scoot the fridge forward, squeaking against the tile. Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, I turn on the flashlight and shine it on the space behind the fridge, looking everywhere. Nothing.

  “Over there.” I jump back, hitting my back on the counter. Reese roars in laughter, and I turn around to glare at her.

  “I can just leave.” She clamps her mouth shut, biting down her smile.

  “Sorry,” she murmurs between closed lips.

  “Where did you see it?”

  “Under the stove.” She points to the appliance in front of her.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to destroy your kitchen by removing every appliance from its place.”

  “I promise.”

  I pull the stove forward, and sure enough, a little creature is hiding in a corner. I look at Reese and put my finger over my lips. “Don’t scream. I need it to come out of its hiding place for me to grab it.”

  “So, it’s there?” Her blue eyes light up with hope, and I can’t help but stare at her a moment, taking her in.

  I nod and swallow hard before focusing back at my task of trapping a mouse on a Saturday morning. I lift the broom and cover the corner, the mouse trying to sneak away.

  “Did you get it?” Reese whispers from behind me.

  “Shhh…” I press the broom harder against the corner when the mouse tries to run from under the bristles. “Do you have a box or something?”

  “Here.” She leans over from her spot on the counter to the sink, reaching for a plastic container. “Use this.”

  I catch the it with one hand, pushing the stove further out so I can squeeze in to get a better angle. I carefully lift the broom and drop the container, but it lands sideways. Quickly, I brush the broom again, catching the mouse before it makes a run for it.

  “Did you get it.”

  “Almost.”

  “You better get it, Dex. Please. I’ll buy you breakfast because I can’t cook until I disinfect this entire apartment.” I chuckle and focus on the mouse. Bending, I grab the Tupperware, angle it against the side of the broom, slowly removing it. When the mouse tries to escape, it runs right against the side of the box.

  Grinning proudly, I slide the dustpan under the container and lift it, keeping one hand on top. “Got it,” I brag.

  “Great, now get rid of it.” She points out of the kitchen and waves her hand frantically.

  “Be back.” I walk out of her apartment and down the stairs. Once outside and far away from the building, I drop the dustpan and lift the box, letting the poor animal scurry away. I’m surprised it didn’t have a heart attack or play dead like those videos I’ve seen scrolling through Facebook.

  Shaking my head, I head back into Reese’s apartment and find her still standing on the counter.

  “It ran off outside, far away from the building,” I add, knowing she’ll ask.

  “You’re the best.” She sits on the counter and rests the rolling pin next to her, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I take in her long legs hanging down the side of the peninsula. We’ve built a friendship these last few months, but I’ll be lying if I said I’ve never imagined what it would feel like to have her in my arms and bed.

  “As promised, breakfast is my treat.” Her bare feet with dark-painted toes slap the ground. “Just give me a few to shower and change.”

  “No rush.” I walk to the fridge and begin to slide it back. Then, I do the same with the stove, arranging everything back to its place. Grabbing the rolling pin, I laugh as I stare at it, tapping it against my palm a few times. What the hell was she going to do with this? Hit the mouse like a baseball?

  I wash the rolling pin and set it on the drying rack next to the sink. I look around the kitchen while I wait for Reese to get ready and imagine cooking with her in here.

  “You put everything back. Thank you,” Reese stands in the kitchen’s entrance wearing jeans and a sweater, her long hair in a ponytail.

  “Ready to eat?” I move in her direction.

  “Yes.” She picks up her purse from the couch as we pass the living room and we head out.

  “My car?” I lift my brows in question.

  “Yeah.” She opens the passenger door and climbs in. “Let’s go to Frenchie’s,” Reese suggests as I pull out of her parking lot.

  “Sounds good. Now, tell me what your plan was with that rolling pin.”

  “I don’t know. Swipe the mouse off the counter if it climbed up to attack me?” She shrugs, but her face scrunches up, doubting her own plan. “It was the first thing I saw that I could grab.”

  I chuckle, and she punches my shoulder. “Don’t laugh. I was desperate. Thank you for coming, no questions asked.”

  “I really thought it was something worse.”

  “But you would’ve come even knowing it was a mouse.” She grins with confidence. She’s right; whenever Reese calls me, I’m there.

  “And it was worth seeing you screaming as you stood on the counter,” I joke.

  “I was freaking out. I’m going to have to sanitize everything in my kitchen just in case. Ugh, let me text Taylor and let her know before she gets home.” Reese types on her phone, her fingers racing over the screen.

  “Let me guess, she’s at Mike’s?” Reese’s sister has been dating her boyfriend for a few years now, and she spends more time at his place than her own apartment.

  “Ding, ding, ding. You win a free breakfast,” Reese giggles and tosses her phone in her purse.

  I pull into a parking spot near Frenchie’s and turn off the engine.

  “I’m so hungry and in need of coffee. That creature screwed up my morning.” Reese rubs her hands together as I hold the door open for her. She’s already asking for a table by the time I walk in.

  “She said fifteen minutes.” She turns to look at me with a small smile.

  “Not too bad.” I glance at her and grin. She’s the kind of woman I want by my side. Not just brunch on Sundays and nights at Riot. I want the whole deal with her, beyond friendship, but I’m glad I’ve taken the time to get to know her the way I have. She’s careful with me, brushing me off if I compliment her or hint at my attraction, but she’s not immune to me. She feels something, whatever that something is, I hope to find it and gain her trust.

  We’re seated before the fifteen minutes are up. While we eat, I offer to help Reese clean everything in her kitchen.

  “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?” She sticks a piece of French toast in her mouth.

  “You deserve it without doing anything.”

  Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Can we stop at the hardware store on the way home so I can buy traps?” Her blue eyes open wide as she bites down on her lips.

  “You got it.” Any reason to spend more time with her. These past few months have been great, although I hope we can move past friends soon. Once we finally met at Riot after that night I searched for her all over the bar, we became fast friends, though we both know there’s more to our connection.

  After breakfast, we grab the traps, and Reese and I get to work taking out all of the containers, pans, pots, plates, and cups from her cupboards. It’s a bit excessive if you ask me, but I’m not arguing with the woman who owns a rolling pin and isn’t afraid to use it as a weapon.

  We fill the dishwasher with as many things as we can and wait while it washes, only to fill it again with more plates and cups. I wash what can’t go into the dishwasher by hand as Reese dries them.

  Music starts to play, and I notice Reese’s phone in her hand, a smile brushed on her perfect face as
she scrolls through her phone.

  “This will help make the task less daunting,” she comments. Thomas Rhett starts playing, and she moves back to the sink, grabbing a pot and placing it in a cupboard.

  “Are you going to Rebel Desire’s album release party next weekend?” Reese pauses and looks at me.

  “Yeah, Hunter invited me.” Hunter is one of my best friends. He’s a songwriter who worked with Rebel Desire on this new album.

  “Awesome,” she beams. “Save me a dance.”

  “Wouldn’t miss that.” I think back to the first time we ever danced together. We had only known each other for a couple of months, and she was at Riot for one of my performances. She pulled me out to the dance floor when “Whiskey Girl” by Toby Keith started playing, laughing at my moves.

  I’ll have you know, Dex Monroe can dance despite Reese’s laughter that night.

  I think about that night often, remembering how she pointed out a woman who was checking me out. When I told her she wasn’t my type, Reese was surprised to learn I even had one. I couldn’t answer her when she asked who was my type, though. The only right answer to that question is her, and I didn’t want to risk the friendship we were slowly growing.

  Reese taps my shoulder with her fingers and raises her eyebrows. “Hello?” Her blue eyes widen as if I were crazy.

  “Sorry, zoned out,” I shake my head and come back to the present.

  “I was saying that the album release party will be great for you to meet some people in the industry.”

  “I guess. You know I want to make it on my own.” I pile the plates and place them in their spot on the top cupboard.

  “And you will, but you’ll just meet the right people that can help you.” I run a hand through my hair. I appreciate her always cheering me on and believing in me when I barely believe in myself.

  “If the opportunity arises, then yes.” I drop it. “Now, tell me where the cups go.” She points to a cabinet door.

  Once we finish, Reese drops on a stool at the counter, and her head falls into her hands. “Today has been a crazy day.”

  “Tell me about it, you own way too many kitchen supplies,” I tease as I open a bottle of wine she has set on the side of the counter. Serving her a glass, I stand on the other side of the counter, watching as she takes a drink.