Rainy Day Friends Read online

  And once again, Wildstone claimed my heart. So stay tuned—more from the old Wild West town is coming soon. And thanks again for coming along for the ride!

  Happy Reading!

  Jill Shalvis

  Reading Group Guide

  What would you do if you found out the person you loved had been living a double life?

  If Kyle hadn’t died, would Lanie have stayed married to him? Would River?

  Would you be able to be friends with your husband’s mistress?

  After such a big betrayal, would you be able to trust and love another person again?

  Was Lanie right in running away from her home?

  What do you think Holden’s backstory is?

  Do you think Lanie and River would want to meet the other women Kyle was “married” to?

  Do you think Lanie and her mother could ever be close? They made amends somewhat, but could they ever be a real part of each other’s lives?

  If you were in Lanie’s position, how would River being pregnant affect your feelings toward her? Would you be able to accept the baby and not be jealous when you had also wanted children?

  Read On

  Coming Soon . . .

  An excerpt from Hot Winter Nights

  Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at Jill’s next book in her New York Times bestselling Heartbreaker Bay series, Hot Winter Nights, on sale fall 2018.

  IT TOOK LUCAS KNIGHT longer than it should have to realize he had a woman in his bed, but to be fair, he had a bitch of a hangover.

  He took quick stock. One, last night was a complete blur. Two, other than the bundle of sweet, soft curves against him, his head was threatening to secede from the United States of Lucas, and his side hurt like . . . well, like he’d been shot.

  It had been two weeks since he’d gotten caught in some crossfire on the job, and he hadn’t yet been cleared for more than light duty—something he’d obviously managed to ignore last night, given that he was palming a nice, warm, feminine ass.

  Think, man, he ordered himself. He did remember taking a pain med before going to O’Riley’s Pub to meet up with some friends. A client had been there, someone he’d recently helped save from multimillion-dollar corporate espionage. The guy had ordered shots to toast Lucas and . . . shit. He’d hesitated, knowing better than to mix pain meds and alcohol, but everyone had been waiting on him, glasses in the air. Thinking one couldn’t hurt, he’d knocked back the drink, which had clearly been enough to mess him up big time.

  Something that he hadn’t been in years, not since his brother had been killed. Shoving that thought away for another time—or never—Lucas cracked open one eye, but when his retina was stabbed by a streak of sunlight glaring in through the window, he immediately slammed it shut again. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to suck it up, and he opened both eyes this time.

  Okay, so he was naked and completely uncovered. The woman snuggled at his side was rolled up in his comforter like a burrito.

  What. The. Hell.

  But some images from the night before began to filter into his brain. Kicking ass at the pool table and winning two hundred bucks from his boss, Archer, who ran Hunt Investigations, where Lucas worked as a security specialist. Dancing with a sexy brunette. And then making his way upstairs . . . but not alone. His head was pounding too hard to remember more, but clearly the brunette had come home with him. She was cuddled up close, but he couldn’t see her face the way she had the entire blanket wrapped around herself. Just a mass of shiny brown waves peeking out the top.

  So not good.

  Holding his breath, he slowly pulled away until he could slide off his bed.

  The brunette’s hair never so much as quivered.

  Letting out a relieved breath, he shoved on the clothes he’d so thoughtfully left for himself on the floor—seriously, he was never taking another pain pill or drinking alcohol again—and headed for the door.

  But unable to do it, unable to just leave her, he stopped, detouring to his kitchen to make her a coffee. Leaving her caffeine was a nice gesture, right? Right, and . . . he was out of coffee. Not surprising, since he usually grabbed his at work because Molly, who ran the office at Hunt Investigations, made great coffee. And since one of the benefits of living on the fourth floor and working on the second of the Pacific Pier Building meant convenience, he texted the coffee master.

  Any chance you’d send up a cup of coffee via the dumbwaiter?

  A few seconds later, he heard a cell phone buzz an unfamiliar tone from his bedroom and froze. If his plan was to leave before the awkward morning after—and that was always the plan—he was on borrowed time.

  Since he hadn’t heard back from Molly, he was moving on to Plan B and scrawled out a quick note: Had to get to work.

  Then he hesitated. Did she even know his name? Having no idea, he added: I’m leaving cash for an Uber or Lyft—Lucas.

  He dropped some money next to the note and grimaced at himself for being a complete asshole. He stared down at his phone.

  Still nothing from Molly, which meant she wasn’t going to save the day. She was smart, sharp, and amazing at her job, but for reasons unknown, she wasn’t interested in pleasing anyone, especially him. Locking up behind himself, he left.

  The Pacific Pier Building was more than a century old and sat in the center of the Cow Hollow district of San Francisco. Five stories of corbeled brick, exposed iron trusses, and big windows built around a legendary fountain. Retail stores and businesses took up the ground and second floors, with residential on the third and fourth. The fifth-floor penthouse belonged to his friend Spence Baldwin, who owned the building.

  All of it, thanks to the building’s manager, decorated for the holidays like it was about to star in a Hallmark movie.

  Lucas jogged down two flights of stairs to Hunt Investigations, fully prepared to be blasted by Molly at the front desk. Not just for his text, but for his appearance at all. Off duty since the shooting, he wasn’t supposed to be back at work until next week, and that was if his doctor cleared him.

  But he couldn’t stay home another day, a fact that didn’t have anything to do with the stranger in his bed.

  Or at least not all due to the stranger in his bed.

  He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw, feeling incredibly tense, which, for a guy who’d apparently gotten laid last night, didn’t make much sense.

  Nor did the fact that sitting on a bench outside Hunt Investigations’ front door were two old ladies dressed up as elves. Knitting elves.

  The one on the left looked to be making a Christmas stocking. The one on the right was working on something too small to see. They smiled at him in greeting, lips coated in bright red lipstick. Left Elf had a smudge of it on her teeth and her little elf cap seemed to quiver on top of her white hair. “Hello there, young man,” she said. “We were hoping you were Molly. We’ve got a problem involving a bad Santa, and she said to meet her here.”

  Lucas blinked. “A bad Santa.”

  “Yes. We work for him at a small Christmas village in Soma. Obviously,” she said, gesturing to herself.

  Oh, good. So they didn’t believe they were real elves.

  “Santa promised us a certain cut of the profits,” Right Elf said. “But we’re not getting them. He says there aren’t any profits, but that can’t be true because he just bought himself a brand-new Cadillac. Molly’s my neighbor, you see.”

  Lucas didn’t see at all. He was good at certain things, such as his job of investigating and seeking out the asshats of the world and righting injustices. He was good at taking care of his close-knit family. He was good, when he wanted to be, in the kitchen. And—if he said so himself—also in bed.

  But he was not good in social situations, such as those that required small talk, especially with old ladies dressed up as elves.

  “Do you know when Molly might arrive?” Right Elf asked. She was looking at him even as her knitting needles continued to move at the speed of light.