Chapter 9: Just Friends

Miami, Florida, Paradise Island Resort and Spa

Bruce poured himself his third—or was it his fifth?—glass of wine. The drink was chilled perfectly and tasted like any good bottle of 1995 Charles Heidsieck "Blanc des Millénaires" should. The saline quality of the wine made him want to gulp the wine, while the deep mineral flavors and filigreed mousse made him want to roll it around on his tongue a little more. But he wasn't in the mood for savoring, so he threw his head back and drank the contents of the crystal flute in one long inhale.

The wine, while delicious, wouldn't get him drunk. At least not right away, not that his mother would approve of him getting drunk today, or any other, if he were being honest with himself.

He reached for the bottle again, deciding he probably didn't really need his liver.

"I thought we talked about this last night."

Bruce ignored the woman who thought to be his conscience and refilled his glass. As if in challenge, he lifted his eyes to her then the glass to his mouth. And as expected, aqua blue eyes glared down at him from a haughty height of six feet, most of which were glistening wet legs.

He winked then gave her his best naughty boy smile before downing the yellow gold liquid.

"You're such a brat," she laughed.

"I think that's usually my line, sweetheart."

Those blue eyes of hers narrowed, the way they always did when he taunted her. And Bruce so loved to taunt Diana. She was the only female he knew—besides his mother and Hippolyta—who would call him on his bullshit.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Playboy Extraordinaire Bruce Wayne would let a woman get under his skin."

"Have you forgotten, Diana, that's exactly where I like my women? Under me."

She rolled her eyes, dismissing him in the same fashion she did when they'd met at eight and he'd asked her how she could be a prince when she was a girl.

"You're hiding, Bruce. I thought we talked about this last night."

He sat the glass and bottle down on the low table to his right. By the time he refocused on Diana, she was sitting in the chaise lounge beside his own.

"You can't hide out in this cabana forever. It's your mother's fortieth birthday and I'm sure she'd like to not have her son brooding all day and ruining everyone's fun."

Bruce looked out from the shaded and air-conditioned cabana and to all the people laughing and frolicking in and around the pool. Everyone was having a good time. And why shouldn't they? It was a beautiful July day in Miami. Hippolyta had closed down the Artemis wing of the resort for this celebration. She'd hired a local Cuban band, which were playing on the makeshift stage not far from the pool. The food was, as always, delicious, and the champagne and wine abounded. What was there not to enjoy about this day?

"This would be Mom's seventh fortieth birthday."

Diana laughed. "Yes, I know." She reached for him, interlacing her fingers with his. "I hate to see you so out of sorts, Bruce."

She'd held his hand last night as well. Diana had found him sitting in a gazebo, drunker than he'd ever been. He was loud and stupid and said things he probably shouldn't have. Told her things he'd never shared with another. But that had always been their way. Theirs was a friendship that had spanned thirteen years surviving and growing through pain that only came from losing a parent, a father.

He squeezed her hand, grateful she knew him well enough to know that he didn't really want to be alone but that he also wouldn't seek anyone's comfort.

"It's her loss, Bruce."

"So you said last night."

"No, I think I said that Selina Kyle wasn't worthy of you."

Bruce twisted in his lounger and faced Diana. "True, but you also called her a bitch."

And there it was, the blush he was striving for, the blush he knew so well.

"You would remember that."

"Oh, I remember everything. I think you also threw around the words 'whore' and 'slut' a few times as well."

Diana was downright red now. She was always such a lady, so genteel until someone or something pissed her the hell off. Then she was all fire and brimstone, ready to kick ass and take names. He loved that about her, loved that she became so upset on his behalf. She was his best friend and he was losing her to some would-be novelist from nowhere Smallville.

"She cheated on you, what else did you expect me to call her?"

Yeah, he knew very well what Selina had done. Worse, he'd caught her with the guy. Sometimes a surprise visit to a woman's apartment doesn't always end the way one might expect it to. No, Bruce was the one who'd been surprised that day. He'd beaten the shit out of the guy, and the only thing that had stopped him from killing the asshole was when Selina had thrown herself between them, pleading, regret-filled tears in her eyes. Knuckles bruised and bloody, he'd left. And hadn't told anyone until Diana had walked into his gazebo last night.

He kissed her hand. "Why can't I fall for a nice girl like you, Diana?"

"Because you don't want a nice girl like me. You never have."

No, he hadn't. So what did that say about him? Bruce looked at Diana, really took her in. She was lovely, beautiful in fact. She'd blossomed right before his eyes, yet it had taken him until last night to see Diana for the woman she had grown into. And what he now saw made him ache for lost time and lost opportunity. Diana Prince was everything he'd ever wanted and everything he'd run away from.

But it was time for Bruce Wayne to grow up. Time for him to stop cruising through life like the spoiled rich kid he was. Time for him to step-up and be the man his father wanted him to become. The kind of man his mother would be proud of, the kind of man that someone like Diana would consider settling down with. Not that he was ready for marriage, he wasn't. But it would be nice to have a woman who loved and trusted him, a woman he could love and trust in return.

"What if I did?"

"What if you did what?"

Bruce sat up, thinking himself the biggest fool for not doing this earlier. "What if I wanted a nice girl like you, Diana?"

Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he knew she misunderstood him. "There are plenty of nice girls, Bruce, but don't think I'll introduce you to any of my friends. I know you too well."

"That's my point. You're the only one who knows me. The only woman I tell my secrets to."

"And what a burden you are," she joked.

"I'm serious, Diana."

"About what? What in the world are you talking about?"

What was he talking about? Did he really want to cross this bridge? Dare he risk their friendship over the crazy idea that he and Diana could be much more to each other?

Bruce glanced at the pool, and saw him. Clark Kent. He held Donna on his shoulders, and the teen squealed with laughter each time she returned the ball over the water polo net.

"What's up with all those muscles?" he said, turning back to Diana, who was also eyeing Clark. "Is he on some kind of Kansas steroids or something?"

"Be nice, Bruce."

"I am, but that boyfriend of yours is huge. I guess they breed them big in the Midwest."

"I said, be nice."

"No need to get all snippy, Diana, I'm just saying."

Bruce watched as Diana's eyes traveled back to the pool and that rippling hulk of a guy she called her boyfriend. Bruce wasn't small by any measure, but the farm boy was built like Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson. No wonder Diana had fallen for the hick.

For several minutes, Bruce watched Diana watch Clark, his envy of the guy growing by the second. Selina had never looked at him like that, as if he was her whole world. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't have strayed. Maybe if he'd talked to her, opened up to her the way he did with Diana, perhaps they would've been closer and she would've loved him enough to be faithful.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

"I've been accepted into Harvard Business School."

Diana jumped up, flung herself into his arms, and hugged him. They'd hugged many times before, but dear god, the woman wore only a bikini and felt like heaven and sex. No wonder Clark had applied to Harvard's Creative Writing Program. Diana had decided to stay at Harvard for her graduate studies and the farm boy obviously sensed that if he didn't step up his game and solidify things with Diana, he might just fall off her rising star.

Bruce returned the embrace, doing his best not to notice how right she felt in his arms, how good she smelled, and how much he really wanted to kiss her.

Too soon, or perhaps just in time, she let him go. Now they sat side-by-side on his lounger, bare legs touching.

"Now I'll get to see you on more than holidays and vacations."

"I doubt you'll have time for an old friend."

She huffed. "Don't start that again. Clark does not take up all of my time."

"So where were you coming from last night when you stumbled upon me in the gazebo?"

Diana eyes turned sheepish but she answered with her usual honesty. "From Clark's room."

He'd known that. She'd hugged him last night, too, and even through the booze, he could smell him on her, smell what they'd been doing. An irrational jealousy had overtaken him, more than what he'd felt when he caught Selina. The sensation had disturbed Bruce. Worse, it had yet to abate.

"Maybe I should call him out for a duel for claiming your virtue without benefit of marriage."

She laughed, and he fell just a bit deeper into her innocently sensual web.

"And how many women's virtues have you claimed, Bruce?"

Too many. But only one I ever wished I had.

"I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Are you?"

"You sound doubtful."

Diana's good-humor faded and she reached for him again. Her hand wiped a lock of dark hair from his eyes. "I never doubt you, Bruce. You're a man capable of accomplishing whatever you set your mind to. You want people to believe you're a shallow man, incapable of filling your father's shoes."

"Aren't I?"

She shook her head. "You're wholly capable of surpassing Thomas Wayne. And that frightens you, and that fear is why you waste your talent and intelligence on drink, cars, and women."

Bruce couldn't speak, couldn't form words beyond the lump in his throat. Diana, sweet, innocent, too-perceptive Diana held his soul in her delicate hands. No wonder he'd never entertained the idea of becoming romantically involved with her, the woman would take all of him, make him hers in every conceivable way. There simply was no hiding from a woman whose heart was like a million stars—radiant, unique, and powerful.

No mask.

No shadows.

No cave.

Not with Diana.

Hand on his cheek; she leaned in.

Closer.

Closer.

Bruce imagined her lips on his. He already knew her smell, her feel, now he wanted to know her taste. Just a little closer.

She kissed him.

On his cheek. Just like a friend.

Because we are and nothing more.

"I love you, Bruce."

As a friend.

"I know, Diana. I love you, too."

As a friend, but it could be so much more.

"Diana."

Diana gave a little jump. So did Bruce. Neither had heard someone enter the cabana.

She turned around at the same time Bruce looked over her shoulder. Clark stood there, in all his Kansas stud glory, hair and body wet from the pool, blue eyes glinting with barely-suppressed jealousy. And Bruce wondered if he'd looked the same way when he'd found Selina with her fitness instructor.

Bruce stood, just in case the big man wanted to take a swing at him. He wouldn't blame him if he did. He and Diana had to have made one hell of a sight. It was perfectly innocent—at least on her part—but Clark was no fool, nor would he appreciate how much Bruce clearly enjoyed Diana's attentions.

"What's wrong?" Diana asked of Clark, standing and going to him. "Why did you call my name like that? Did something happen to Donna? I saw you two in the water a few minutes ago."

"No, no," Clark said, finally focusing on his girlfriend instead of shooting daggers at Bruce, "nothing like that, baby. I didn't mean to raise my voice." Clark swept a proprietary glance over Diana. "I was just looking for you, is all."

"Well, you've found me. Bruce and I were just talking."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

Clark looked at him then so Bruce smiled and said, "Diana and I do that a lot. Once I start Harvard in the fall we'll have even more time to spend together and talk."

Clark's jaw began to work in the most self-satisfying way. Bruce knew he shouldn't bother baiting the guy. Clark Kent was perfect for Diana, an old-fashioned boy scout who would treat her like the princess she was. Like the devoted hound he clearly was, Clark would remain faithful to Diana. And if he didn't, Bruce would make him very, very sorry.

But today, right now, Bruce found himself jealous of a farm boy from Kansas who didn't know the difference between caviar and pate.

"Diana. Diana."

They all turned to see Hippolyta, elegant in a white, silk dress walk toward them.

"There you are, Diana. I've been looking for you."

"What is it that you need, Mother?"

"Your sister . . ." Hippolyta began.

The women walked off.

Bruce didn't hear the rest, nor did he wish to. Any sentence that began that way was never good. Donna, when she put her mind to it, could be quite the little menace. He loved her dearly, but thanked god she wasn't his younger sister.

He met Clark's eyes. "Ah, you're still here. I thought you would be following after Diana. That's what you do right? Follow after her?"

The big man ignored him, didn't even flinch at Bruce's deliberate insult. Perhaps there was more to the hulking farm boy than met the eye.

Clark stepped closer, his blue eyes as cold as Selina's cheating heart.

"Don't go fishing in another man's pond," Clark said in a tone that told him that he was willing to finish whatever Bruce wanted to start. And Bruce was almost annoyed and reckless enough to let this play out. But he wasn't drunk nor did he want to ruin his mother's birthday party by getting into a fight.

"Is that some kind of regional saying, Kent? Just so you know, I don't speak Smallville."

"Just fair warning, Wayne."

"No need, Kent, no need. I may be a pig at times, but I'm not that type of guy. And Diana is far too special to play with."

"The fact that you know and respect that about her bothers me even more."

"Maybe it should. But I'll do nothing about my interest in her. And Diana is as loyal as they come; she'll never be unfaithful to you."

"I know."

"So you know what that means?" Bruce walked back to his lounger and sat. Then he reclined and thought about whether he should polish off the last bit of wine in the bottle.

"Yes, I know what it means," Clark said, just when Bruce discovered that the wine bottle was regrettably empty. "It means that your only chance of having Diana is if I fuck things up."

"And they say that poetry is dead. You do have a way with words Mr. Kent. Perhaps I'll buy your first novel after all."

"Jerk."

"Pussy."

With that, the iceberg between them shattered, as did they, in a fit of wry laughter.

Clark claimed the lounger where Diana had sat earlier, his large frame barely able to fit.

"We best try to get along, Kent, or Diana will have both our asses for lunch."

"Yeah, I noticed she has a bit of a temper."

Bruce grunted. "Clark, my boy, I could tell you horror stories about our sweet Diana."

Clark's eyebrows rose. "Our?"

"Just a figure of speech. You know, a Gotham saying, kind of like 'Up, up and away.'"

"That doesn't make any sense. You just made that up."

"Perhaps."

"She's not 'ours'. She's mine."

"For now."

"Forever."

"If you say so."

"I do. Now shut the hell up and tell me one of the stories."

Bruce thought for a minute then said, "When Diana and I were ten she . . ."

TO BE CONTINUED