Blackbeard didn’t have tempting flight attendants offering kinky refreshments to their captain on the red eye, but other than that, the resemblance is uncanny.
Flying pirate that I am, I’ll let that tan line on the third finger of your left hand slide without judgment. Want to invite a few of your friends to my hotel room or join me in the plane’s tiny bathroom for an official meeting of the mile-high club? I have no problem with that. The friendly skies have always been good to me, and I’ve done my best to reciprocate.
The problem with the pirate comparison is that there aren’t that many who are famous for retiring with their treasured booty intact. And unless it’s a fairy tale, none of them fall in love and settle down. You’re a pirate until you die—from a flesh would or syphilis—or until the crew mutinies. The end.
Royal and I both came to the same realization at about the same time when we met up in London on a layover. Pilots? Always. But we no longer want to be pirates. We want something more out of life. In Royal’s case, he wants a woman who happens to work with my…with Miller.
I rub the knots in my neck, the discomfort almost a relief. I deserve to be in some pain. Not just because I embarrassed my friends and came on too strong with Miller, no doubt confusing the shit out of him. But also because yesterday I was attacked, suspended and evicted all in one day, and my reaction to all of it was mild irritation and relief.
Relief. How fucked up is that?
“Here.” Miller was suddenly beside me, handing me a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and two Advil.
“Bless you, hangover angel.”
“Shut it. I’m planning on giving you hell later for passing out in the middle of our discussion last night.”
Discussion. Is that what he’s calling it?
He leans closer and murmurs, “They showed up before I could cancel. It’s Saturday.”
“Right. I remember Saturday brunch,” I sigh, popping the pills into my mouth and swallowing them dry. “Ari made the best mimosas.”
Aurelia Day, Miller’s mom, started the tradition when he was a kid as a way to make sure her shy son socialized and had a supportive community around him. Miller’s obviously keeping it going in her memory.
Though I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t made it to one in a while. My schedule isn’t what anyone would call regular, and Miller hates being stood up.
“I didn’t think you’d want one this morning.”
“One? Oh, a mimosa.” I grimace, taking the glass of juice gratefully. “You’re right. This is exactly what I need. And I appreciate knowing you didn’t invite the neighborhood over just to gawk at my pain.”
“It’s not your pain they’re gawking at.” Miller slings one of my old faded t-shirts over my shoulder. “You left this in the laundry room the last time you were here. It’s clean.”
I watch his gaze flick back to my bare chest and try not to smile. I don’t think the lesbian couple is that interested in my charms, but I don’t bother pointing out the obvious.
It’s a good sign, I think as I slip the shirt over my head. At least I know we both still like what we see.
Miller was never that subtle about his attraction to me. I told myself it was just my ego that was flattered, explaining away all the times I made sure he got an eyeful.
But even when I was deluding myself, I was reciprocating. It’s an impossible task, not noticing Miller Day. Everything about him draws the eye. Olive skin with a smattering of freckles, a full upper lip that gives him a permanent, almost feminine pout, and a messy fall of thick hair that’s a natural mix of blond, brown and auburn. His eyes can’t commit to a color either—sometimes they’re hazel, and sometimes they glimmer like gold.
For some reason I’ve never been able to understand, he thinks his looks make him invisible or easy to dismiss, but he’s anything but. All those features that shouldn’t go together, added to his sculpted five-eleven frame, make him unique.
Unforgettable.
I’ve always had a thing for his hands too. Strong from spending his days massaging wealthy women into a state of gelatinous bliss, and calloused from all the work he’s done on his house.
I’ve had dreams about those hands on me, complete with happy endings and Miller’s oiled up body rubbing against mine as we both took out our tension on each other.
Shut that train down, buddy.
I need to stop fantasizing and focus on getting him alone so I can do some damage control. Hopefully brunch is almost over.
I’m taking another sip of juice, my attention riveted to the dimple on his chin, when I hear a high-pitched bark. I forgot about him. “What’s with the dog?”
Miller’s changeable eyes widen in disbelief. “You don’t remember your dog?”
What else don’t you remember?
I know that’s what he’s thinking.
Instead of giving in to the temptation to recount every detail of our kiss, I glance over at the Yorkie, who’s currently giving Miller a look of pure adoration and sneezing excitedly at being included in the conversation. I get a hazy image of a woman in leopard print handing me a carrier in exchange for a wad of cash.
Did I buy a damn dog last night? It doesn’t sound like me. I lease a furnished condo on a monthly basis. I don’t own a car. I’ve never bought a plant.
But I sort of remember purchasing a pampered pup in an airport.
I was trying to find the right gift for Miller. Something that said “I’m sorry we fought, I’m a prick, it won’t happen again” along with “I know I’ve been straight for years, but I think we should have sex and move in together.” Something that was a promise as much as an apology.
And thanks to the woman ditching her rich boyfriend and running off to Rome with an underwear model, I got first dibs on a sentient hairball.
Airports have everything.
“I’m pretty sure he’s your dog.” I stop and laugh wryly. “Should have said it with a card, I guess. But at least I didn’t steal him. I think I even have his pedigree papers in my suitcase.”
The dog came with papers. I wish I could remember how much I paid.
Miller looks down at the dog and nibbles his lip. I know that nibble. He wants to be excited, but he’s not sure if he should. “You got me a dog?”
“Best apology present ever,” Heather laughs from her perch in the kitchen.
“I like flowers,” Diane muttered, glaring down at her crossword.
I keep forgetting we have an audience.
Miller shifts awkwardly and takes a not-so-subtle step back, putting more space between us—which is the opposite of what I want.
“We can talk about this later,” he says. “Go splash some water on your face while I make you a plate. Royal’s on his way over and you’ll handle him better after you eat something.”
I follow him to the kitchen first to set my glass in the sink, glancing at Heather and Diane as I do it. “Sorry for interrupting, ladies.”
“I can’t imagine getting drunk enough to forget buying a dog. You’re like a character from that Hangover movie,” says a gangly teenager who’s leaning on the island’s butcher-block.
Doesn’t Miller know anyone with a filter?
“I’m not that bad,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “That dog is small, but I’d never forget a tiger.”
Miller nudges me with his shoulder. “Say hello to my new neighbor, Fred.”
Fred has a shaved head underneath a backwards baseball cap. A purple tank top with the words Resist across the chest, a utili-kilt and a pair of combat boots with pink laces finish off the ensemble. That look is definitely saying something, but I’m not in any shape to translate it. “Nice to meet you, Fred. I’m Brendan.”
The teen smirks. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve heard a lot about you since my sister and I moved in across the street. They didn’t mention you were bangin’.”
Heather frowns at Fred. “You heard me call him sexy, didn’t you? Isn’t that what banging means?�
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Diane looks up from her paper and rolls her eyes. “Why would we mention it? He’s not exactly our type.”
You’re not exactly mine either, Grouchy.
“Thank you, Fred,” I say, my smile as charming as I can make it with the constant pounding in my skull. “I don’t feel all that banging at the moment, but I appreciate the compliment.”
“You’re tall too.” Fred abruptly crouches to shuffle through a giant bag covered in brightly colored pins. “I have a sign I bet would get more visibility if—”
“Fred,” Miller says firmly. “The enthusiasm is commendable, but Brendan had a rough night and he’s still recovering. You can’t recruit him today.”
“Fine,” Fred grumbles, shrugging and reaching for another strip of bacon. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
My stomach growls, and Miller grabs me by the shoulders and turns me toward the downstairs bathroom. “Go on. After you eat you can decide whether you want to save the world or help me build my deck.”
His touch disappears and I instantly regret the loss. “Off the top of my aching head, I’m going with deck.”
There’s no way I’m leaving Miller’s side until we have that talk.
If it goes well, I’m not going anywhere for a while.
The laughter and teasing arguments follow me then fade as I round the corner. I rub my neck again. I’ll need a hot shower soon to get rid of this knot. Maybe next time I’ll get him a more comfortable couch instead of a dog.
Locking the bathroom door behind me, I take a deep breath and look in the mirror. “Nice.”
Unless banging means I look like shit on toast, I’m thinking Fred needs to add a pair of colorful glasses to his outfit. Her outfit? Jesus, am I getting too old to tell?
I turn the cold tap and dunk as much of my head in the sink as I can, but the icy water does little to alleviate the need that started pumping through me as soon as Miller put his hands on me.
I’m still getting used to it. This desire I have to fuck my best friend blind.
And yes, I’m an idiot who fought it to the bitter end, but it’s definitely here to stay.
I don’t throw the word love around that much. My parents were in love, but it turned to hate fast enough and they started using me as a tool to hurt each other on a regular basis. That was my status quo for years, until my mother died. She loathed her husband so much that she drew her final breath, not holding the hand I was trying to offer in comfort, but cursing his name and giving me her stocks in his company for one last poke in the eye.
That’s why I was in the hospital that day. She’d wanted me at her side when she passed. I sat there, struggling to feel more than obligation and pity, but that was all I had left for the woman who’d never once told me she loved me.
We weren’t exactly a happy family.
But then something happened. I turned a corner in that sterile hallway and saw, through an open door, Aurelia and Miller Day arguing with a dismissive nurse. They were sitting close together on the hospital bed, hands tightly entwined as they asked how much longer they’d be waiting for the doctor to explain her test results.
The love between them was palpable. Recognizable, even to a sorry bastard like me. And in that moment, I knew I wanted to know them. Help if I could. Maybe it was only to shake off my guilt at feeling so little for the woman who’d given birth to me, but I walked in there like I owned the place, said a few choice words to the nurse that sent her running, and introduced myself.
I’ve never experienced anything like it before or since, and over the years the only way I could explain it to myself was that there are some people who are just supposed to be in your life. Through fate or coincidence, I found them, and I knew within minutes of meeting them that I didn’t want to let them get away. Miller and his mother were my people.
I think I loved him right away. I didn’t question it, didn’t doubt it, but I never in a million years imagined it could change into something different. Something that wasn’t as pure as what I felt in that hospital room.
On that day I knew that I was as straight as they come and Miller was going to be my family.
Looking back, I can see now that my feelings were already starting to change before his mother died. I just didn’t realize what was happening until I stormed into Miller’s living room to find him half-naked and making out with another man on the couch.
A brisk knock jolts me out of my stupor.
“Brendan? If you’re hiding, they’re gone now. And your food’s getting cold.”
As Miller’s steps fade, I look at myself in the mirror again, pushing my wet hair off my face and reaching for one of the extra toothbrushes that Miller always has on hand in case of emergency.
We’re finally alone. I better make this count.
I find a plate with sizzling bacon, hot biscuits and jam waiting for me on the counter and smile. No eggs. He always remembers. “Thanks.”
He sets down a fresh glass of juice and studies me as I slide onto the now-empty stool. “How’s your head doing?”
“Better.” I take a bite of crisp bacon and close my eyes, savoring the taste. “This helps.”
“Good.”
He’s silent while I eat, wiping down the counter a little too vigorously for me not to notice. I drop my last bite of bacon on the floor next to the waiting Yorkie and reach for a napkin to wipe the grease off my hands. “So who did the dynamic duo try to set you up with while I was sleeping?”
Miller pauses, his lips quirking. “Diane’s dermatologist. She went in to check on a mole and he liked the picture of me she had on her phone.”
Fucking Diane. “Interested?”
He shakes his head firmly and I relax.
“Too bad,” I lie. “And this new neighbor? What’s Fred short for?”
Fredrick? Winifred?
His eyes meet mine and the knowing laughter in them makes me grin. “Fred hasn’t decided on gender yet, but we’re allowed to use the pronoun she when referring to her, since we’re too old to grasp the vernacular of her generation’s sexuality.”
I laugh and shake my head. “She said that? She’s like twelve, isn’t she?”
“Fifteen. A very mature and intelligent fifteen.” Miller’s smile dims. “She’s been through a lot. Most of it on her own since her sister—who as far as we can tell is her only legal guardian—basically dropped her off at the rental house across the street, vanishing for long periods of time to hang out with her boyfriend. We hardly see that one. Heather and I take turns making sure Fred has groceries and money for clothes.”
“Damn.”
Of course Miller is looking out for her. His mother had a habit of collecting strays as well—I’m a prime example of that—and he’s more like her than he knows.
“Oh, about your dog.” Miller reaches for my plate but I lightly slap him away and get up to put it in the dishwasher.
“Your dog,” I say firmly.
“I found his papers in your suitcase while I was putting your clothes away. Dresser in the second guest room, by the way. Did you know his name? Is that why you bought him?”
He unpacked my clothes while I was sleeping? That’s the best news I’ve heard all morning.
He’s assuming I’ll stay. He wants me to stay. I’m almost thankful to kinky Kimmy for getting me evicted.
“Well?”
Right. The dog’s name. “No idea what his name is. Snuggles? Lamby Pie?”
“Dix Balzack. The third.”
The plate wobbles in my hand and Miller grabs it with practiced ease, sliding it into the dishwasher in a smooth move I’d applaud if I weren’t in shock on the dog’s behalf.
“Dicks Ballsack?”
“Balzack. The third.”
“What kind of—the third? That means there are two other dogs out there with the same name?”
Miller meets my gaze and in seconds we’re both leaning against the counter and laughing our asses off. The poor dog racing in a circle and yipping doesn�
��t seem to care that we’re laughing at his frank-and-beans moniker. Either he’s got a good sense of humor, or he’s hoping I’ll drop more bacon.
“We’ll keep Dix,” he finally tells me. “I wanted to name him Ridiculous anyway, so I can work with it. But I’m taking him to the vet in a few hours and I’m not mentioning Balzack. We’ll take that to our graves.”
We.
My laughter fades, but I’m still smiling down at him. “Deal.”
I think I stare long enough to make him uncomfortable, because his cheeks flush and he starts to turn back to the sink.
I reach for his arm, halting him mid-flight. “Hey. I’m sorry I was late. And drunk. That’s not how I wanted our reunion to go down.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t look directly at me. “You had a shitty day. It happens.”
“But I didn’t want it to. Not when I already owed you an apology for the Robbie thing.”
Miller steps back out of my reach and rolls his eyes. “Forget about the Robbie thing.”
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget Robbie the Fucknugget. Or his groping hands. That night was the catalyst for me. The thing that made me realize how far gone I actually was.
Getting him to admit his sins to Miller made me feel righteous. Punching him made me feel even better. I was protecting my best friend from a married, closeted jackass, after all, right? I was the hero.
And while Miller did kick him to the curb as soon as he found out the truth, he didn’t exactly thank me or see me as his knight in shining armor.
“You were following him? Asking questions at his school? Why? Do you know how weird that is, Brendan? I’m a grown man and you’re not my father. Who put you in charge of my virtue? You, of all people—the one who has sex with anyone alert enough to give their consent.”
I tried to listen instead of acting like a damn deviant, but while he paced the room telling me off, I couldn’t stop staring at the crack of his ass visible above his loose-fitting boxers. I was dizzy with how fast my dick had come to attention, and I knew in that moment I’d never reacted so violently, so passionately to anyone. But I didn’t have an answer for why I’d been so determined to get dirt on his boyfriend.
Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance Book 2) Page 4
