Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter One

Tom already knewbefore he’d finished closing the front door what Chelsea was talking about. First hint? She stopped talking the second he stepped inside.

She sat tight-lipped on the sofa, holding a potato chip in one hand and toying with a strand of her shoulder-length light blonde hair with the other. She always got hungry for junk food when she was complaining about the latest douchebag to treat her like crap. His eyes settled on the open bottle of wine and the two glasses on the coffee table. And drunk. She always got a little drunk.

‘Hi, Tom!’ Chelsea’s friend, Nadia, wiggled her bright red nails at him in a greeting.

Tom flashed the raven-haired, man-eating vixen a quick smile and made his way into the open-plan kitchen overlooking the apartment’s lounge area. Best not to encourage Nadia more than necessary. The woman was stunning, there was no doubt, but he was pretty sure the dating websites issued a warning in relation to her these days to enjoy at your own risk.

Tom saw Nadia pout out of the corner of his eye as he unpacked his lunch cooler from the day’s shift. As far as shifts went, it hadn’t been too bad. But that last guy . . . On second thought, he could do with some of that wine.

Forgetting the cooler, Tom grabbed a glass out of the nearby cabinet and made his way over to the sofa, collapsing into it. He managed to swipe the bottle of wine from the coffee table as he sat down and had already poured half a glass by the time his backside hit the cushion.

Nadia’s dark eyes widened, while Chelsea shot him a worried look. Their reaction was warranted, he supposed. He rarely chose wine over beer, but right now, he wasn’t in the mood to be picky.

‘Bad shift?’ Chelsea asked softly. It was the first thing she’d said to him since he’d arrived home and it was just like her. Whatever she was upset about was now completely forgotten because there was someone else to be concerned about.

‘It was alright . . . until the ice addict who was having an overdose tried to punch the other paramedic.’

Nadia swore. Chelsea cringed, then reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across his arm in sympathy.

He resisted an involuntary shiver. It had been like this ever since Chelsea had started sharing his apartment. An unexpected touch here, an accidental bump there. It was enough to wear down his toughest defences.

Oh, who was he kidding? Tom had no defences when it came to Chelsea. He’d always had a soft spot for his best mate’s youngest sister. Case in point—he’d hesitated all of two seconds before agreeing to her brother’s suggestion that Chelsea move in with him so he could keep an eye on her. He’d already been living in Newcastle for a year by that point, and Chelsea had just moved out of home, so it made sense.

If only keeping an eye on Chelsea didn’t mean standing back and listening to her complaints about whatever the latest guy had or hadn’t done.

Chelsea’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘Is the other paramedic alright?’

‘Some bruising, but she’ll be fine,’ he told them, not willing to go into more detail. Tom preferred to leave work at work.

Nadia swore again. ‘I’m the biggest hard-arse I know, and I have no idea how you guys do it.’

Tom shrugged like he always did when someone questioned his choice of career.

Chelsea bumped Nadia’s shoulder with hers. ‘You’re a nurse, stupid. You’re not a hard-arse.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Tom said with a grin, ‘the word around the hospital is that she has a pretty mean bedside manner.’

Nadia’s dark eyes danced and she matched his grin. If he didn’t have such a soft spot for Chelsea, he might have been moved by the beauty of it, but it barely registered.

‘Good to know I have a reputation,’ Nadia replied, appearing satisfied.

Chelsea bumped her shoulder against her friend’s again. ‘In more ways than one.’

That set them off into a fit of giggles. Tom rolled his eyes and relaxed against the sofa, taking a long sip of wine. He had to admit, having Chelsea and her friends around was much better than coming home to an empty apartment. How long had it been now? One year? More like two years, when he thought about it. The number of guys Chelsea had been through since she’d lived here meant that it had to be closer to two years.

‘So, what’s the douchebag done this time?’ Tom asked casually.

Chelsea narrowed her eyes at him. ‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Know exactly what I’ve been talking about when you weren’t even here.’

He looked at her over the wineglass. ‘Seriously? It’s kind of obvious.’

‘How?’ Chelsea demanded, crossing her arms and getting that cute furrow in her brow.

Tom would never admit it, but he enjoyed the way her light blue eyes went all cool and frosty when she was annoyed.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded at the coffee table. ‘Food. Wine. No plans. You usually meet up in town for drinks after work mid-week.’

Chelsea waved a hand in the air. ‘This—these are plans. We plan to be here tonight.’

‘Complaining about the douchebag,’ Tom finished for her.

‘He does have a name, you know.’

‘I suspected as much, but why bother learning it when “douchebag” applies to all of them?’

‘He’s got a point,’ Nadia agreed.

Chelsea turned towards her friend. ‘Not you, too!’

Nadia held up both of her hands. ‘Hey, I’m here for moral support, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate their douchebaginess.’

Chelsea levelled Nadia with a stern look. ‘Douchebaginess?’

Nadia raised a shoulder in an offhand shrug. ‘If the shoe fits . . .’

Chelsea sighed and flopped back against the sofa cushion. ‘Why, why do I always attract the jerks?’

Here we go, thought Tom.

‘What’s this jerk done?’ he asked, not really sure he wanted to know. Call it morbid curiosity.

Chelsea sighed again. ‘So, a few weeks ago I lent him some money for his business—’

Nadia groaned. ‘You didn’t!’

‘I did. His business is legitimately good, but he was having cash flow issues and—’

‘How much?’ Nadia demanded, and Tom was glad she had asked, otherwise he would have felt compelled to.

Chelsea snatched up her glass of wine and muttered something into it as she went to take a sip.

Nadia shot her an unimpressed look. ‘You might need to repeat that.’

Chelsea bit her lip, then spoke. ‘Three thousand dollars.’

‘What?’ Nadia shot up off the sofa like something had bitten her and stared down at her friend. ‘You did not!’

Chelsea appeared close to tears. ‘I did. To be fair, he really needed it to buy some new equipment for the gym and—’

‘There are business loans for that,’ Nadia told her. ‘You know, banks?’

Chelsea put the glass down and started picking at her nails. Tom resisted the urge to reach over and stop her from doing it. She had such beautiful hands, but her fingernails were regularly worn to jagged edges from her worrying at them.

‘So, he promised to pay you back?’ Tom asked her softly. He could already tell she was feeling stupid about what she’d done. There was no point rubbing it in.

‘Of course he has,’ Chelsea said quickly. ‘It’s just that when I dropped by the gym to see him today, he was out the front . . .’

‘Drumming up business to repay your kind and generous loan?’ Nadia suggested hopefully, sitting back down.

Chelsea picked up her glass again. ‘Standing next to his new car,’ she said hurriedly, then finished the rest of the wine in one gulp.

Tom reached over and took the glass from Chelsea’s hand.

‘Oh for . . .’ Nadia growled. ‘Let me guess, he bought it using money one of his other pretty customers lent him?’

Tom shot Nadia a dark look, and Nadia shrugged.

‘No! I don’t know,’ Chelsea admitted. ‘I was too angry to ask before I stormed off.’

Nadia sighed and offered the bowl of chips to Chelsea. They were all silent as Chelsea crunched on a mouthful.

Shit. Tom found himself draining the rest of his wine, too. Chelsea’s problem was that she was just too damn nice. And generous. This wasn’t the first time her caring tendencies had put her in a difficult situation. Last year there had been that guy she’d been seeing who had used her car more than she did. Then when he’d damaged the rear bumper in a car park, he was suddenly nowhere to be seen. It was Tom who had arranged to get her car fixed. Thankfully, Chelsea had dumped the loser after that, but she’d never bothered to chase him for the repair money.

Tom didn’t dare ask how much of her savings she had left after this favour. Probably not much. She was always complaining about how poorly paid her job in childcare was and how she was concerned she was never going to get ahead.

‘Right,’ Nadia said. ‘We need to go over there and demand that he pays you back.’

‘But I told him he could have a couple of months when I first gave him the money—’

‘Well, then he can damn well sell his nice new car to repay your generosity,’ Nadia said with a sneer, and Tom felt a prickle of unease.

He’d seen a lot as a paramedic, but an angry Nadia was genuinely scary.

‘No, it’s OK,’ Chelsea said quietly.

‘It’s not OK,’ Tom said. It was an understatement. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Chelsea shot him a panicked look. ‘No. But thank you for offering.’ Then she cringed. ‘Actually, can you please not tell my parents or my brother?’

Tom sighed. ‘Chels, you’re twenty-eight. I’m not going to tell them.’ The douchebag, on the other hand . . . He’d like to have a word or two with him.

‘You’re just worried Tom will break out some of his karate moves on the lying douchebag,’ Nadia pointed out.

‘Darren. His name is Darren,’ Chelsea corrected. ‘And it’s not karate, it’s jujitsu.’

Tom felt a secret pang of pride at the last part. Nadia was right. Tom could take Douchebag Darren down no matter how pumped the gym owner was. But unlike him, Tom didn’t feel the need to prance around making a point of how good he was.

‘You’re going to break up with him, though?’ Nadia persisted, then frowned when she registered Chelsea’s hesitation. ‘Far out, girl. Break up with the useless sack of man pride, or I bet you one hundred dollars that he asks you for more money.’

‘He won’t ask me for more money!’

Wanna bet?But Tom stayed silent, holding the stem of the wineglass a little too tightly.

‘What do you think, Tom?’ Nadia asked.

Both of the women’s eyes settled on him. Oh, shit. See, here was the thing. Tom was generally a pretty easygoing type of guy, except when it came to this. For too long Tom had witnessed Chelsea go out with the wrong guys, time and time again. Call it the big brother in him, or perhaps the paramedic, but he found it hard to not want to help her.

Except Chelsea doesn’t want your help.

‘Chelsea’s a grown woman,’ Tom managed, and then stood up. He strode towards the kitchen to put the glass in the sink so he could go have a shower. It had been a long day, and he really needed to unwind.

‘Oh, come on, Tom! You must have an opinion,’ Nadia called out.

Not one that’s appropriate for public consumption.

He set the glass down and moved quickly towards the hallway.

‘Tom?’

Chelsea’s quiet voice stopped him. It held a note of appeal, like she really wanted to hear his opinion.

Damn it.

‘I hate to say it, Chels,’ he told her. ‘But he’s no different from the rest. You’re better off without him.’

Chelsea looked down at her lap and nodded, and Tom felt like a complete jerk. Despite the fact it was obvious, no one ever wanted to hear the painful truth.

Nadia reached over and patted Chelsea’s leg. ‘Why don’t you try going out with a nice guy for a change?’

Chelsea blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You have to admit that you always gravitate towards the bad boys.’

‘I suppose . . .’ Chelsea admitted.

Tom started to scoff, but covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat instead.

Nadia tilted her head to study him, an unsettling twinkle in her brown eyes, before she turned back to Chelsea. ‘I think your problem is that you’ve never experienced a nice guy before.’

‘That’s not true—’

‘Name one nice guy you’ve been out with since I’ve known you,’ Nadia demanded.

‘Well, there was Cameron,’ Chelsea began.

‘Who was more committed to adventure sports than he was to you.’

‘Alright, maybe you’re right. How about Josh?’

‘What? Like you didn’t know where those “I think she’s cute and fun” comments were leading. Three’s a crowd, Chels.’

‘Fine. Andrew wasn’t too bad.’

‘For a lecherous, divorced professor nearing retirement. He was way too old and creepy for you.’

‘What’s your point, Nadia?’ Chelsea said impatiently.

‘My point,’ Nadia replied, ‘is that you should make a dedicated effort to go out with a nice guy for a change so you can see what it’s like.’

‘And you’ve just made it abundantly clear that nice guys don’t grow on trees!’ Chelsea’s voice held a definite edge of exasperation.

‘Tom’s a nice guy,’ Nadia announced.

Shocked silence followed. Well, it was shocked on Chelsea and Tom’s part. Nadia’s was more self-satisfied.

Tom didn’t know exactly where this was going, but he didn’t like it.

‘You’ve made your point, Nadia,’ Tom said. ‘Chelsea should try a nice guy. But not me,’ he added quickly.

‘Why not you?’ Nadia asked.

‘Not Tom!’ Chelsea cried, and Tom’s tiredness finally got the better of him.

He crossed his arms and looked at Chelsea the same as Nadia was. ‘Actually, out of interest, why not me?’

Chelsea opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Ordinarily, Tom might feel sorry for her, but not tonight.

He was so sick—no, strike that—he was so absolutely over Chelsea going out with idiots when she deserved far better. Maybe a week or two being with a nice guy would show her what she was missing out on.

‘But . . . you’re Tom,’ Chelsea finally managed.

‘Who is a nice guy,’ Nadia finished. ‘Why not give him a go?’

Tom wasn’t sure he liked being referred to as though he were a test vehicle Chelsea was about to take for a ride, but a plan was forming in his mind.

‘But, but, it’s Tom! We live together. He’s my big brother’s friend. It wouldn’t be right.’ Chelsea appeared to have found her ability to speak again.

Tom ignored her objections, walked over and crouched down in front of her.

‘Nadia’s got a point. Things need to change. So, give me a week. Seven days and seven nights. I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a nice guy.’