Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance Book 2)

by R. G. Alexander

  He chuckles. “Sure, but if they were, they wouldn’t be able to help you when this happens again. And we’re not done yet.”

  We’re not? Somebody up there loves me.

  “I still need to…” One minute Miller is muttering to himself, and the next he’s sitting on my ass, thighs gripping my hips as he works through the last of the knots in my back.

  That causes a whole new kind of pain. But I would suffer through it forever if it means he stays right where he is. “Don’t stop. I’ll die if you stop.”

  “If I keep this up too much longer, I’ll do more harm than good. You’ll need to ice the area later and take a nice long shower. If it’s still hurting tomorrow, I’ll give you another rub down.”

  I know exactly where I want him to rub me next.

  “Mmmhmmm.” I groan my assent, every bit of concentration focused on the delicious weight settled on my ass. My hips pump against the bed to relieve the ache. Just once.

  Twice.

  I’m trying to be subtle, but when the hands on my back go suddenly still, I know I haven’t succeeded.

  “What—we should stop here.”

  “Please don’t.” I reach back and clasp his calf with my hand. “I’m not ready for you to stop yet.”

  Don’t leave.

  Miller lays his palms flat on my back, keeping them still, but not removing them completely. “I really don’t think more would be a good idea.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t think clean slates are that smart either.”

  Shit. I said that out loud.

  I move then, turning until he falls onto the bed beside me, and then my dick is pressed between his spread thighs, my hands cupping his face. “Why don’t you want to talk about what I did to you last night, Miller?”

  The dusting of freckles on his cheeks stands out as he pales. I want to kiss every damn one. “You were drunk. You don’t remember.”

  I skim his lips with my thumb. “I remember every second. I’ve been reliving it all day.”

  Miller blinks, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. “You’re not—you don’t—”

  Frustrated and impatient, I yank down his sweatpants so forcefully he bounces back on the bed, and then my hands are on him again. Silky skin, hard as I remembered and all mine. “I am. I do.”

  “Oh fuck,” Miller moans, closing his eyes.

  “Look at me,” I demand. “I’m sober and I’m here and I want you to see me.”

  He refuses and I push down the shorts I was working in, sliding my cock against his and groaning at how good it feels. “This is how much I want you.”

  Eyes wide and dilated are suddenly gazing up into my face with wonder and a touch of trepidation. I wrap my hand around both our cocks and stroke them together, watching his spine arch, hips rocking against mine in reaction.

  “Brendan!” he cries shakily. “Oh God that feels so...”

  “We’re not erasing this,” I promise grimly, desperate to hold back long enough for him to find his release. “I’m not going to let you forget how fucking perfect this feels.”

  His head is shaking back and forth, hands fisting on the bed beside him as I fuck us both with my fist. He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. And knowing I’m the one giving him pleasure makes me harder than I knew I could be.

  “You like that?”

  “Yes,” he gasps, his feet planted on the mattress on either side of me as he lifts his hips with every stroke. “Yes.”

  “That’s right,” I growl, my hand pumping rough and fast up our slippery shafts. “This is how it’s going to be when I fuck you, Millie. You’ll be tighter than this fist when I finally get inside you.”

  He shouts his release and I tumble over the edge with him, his name on my lips. I’m rocked by the speed and force of my climax, the sight of my come on Miller’s body only making it more intense.

  It isn’t until I come back down to earth that I realize something’s wrong. “Miller?”

  He slips out from underneath me, turning his back to tug up his pants. I sit up in concern. “Miller, talk to me.”

  “Can we not?” His voice is soft and a little distant. “I mean, we need to, but can it wait? Fred’s coming over for dinner tonight and I need to clean up and check the deck and—”

  I reach for his arm and he flinches. Fuck. “Shit, Miller. Did I screw up here?”

  “It’s new. I wasn’t expecting…but we’re good. I swear we’re good. I just want to talk about it later.”

  I don’t know what to do, but since I’ve made a mess of things again, I don’t see another option. “Whatever you want. Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

  He nods and moves away, stopping at the bedroom door. “Don’t forget the ice after your shower. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Royal is right. I can fuck, but I have no idea what I’m doing in the romance department.

  Why did I push him so hard when I knew he had no experience?

  You weren’t thinking. You were feeling.

  Feeling selfish.

  Now I feel like an ass, and all I can think about it how much easier it would have been to keep that slate clean for a little while longer.

  But there’s no going back now and I don’t want to. I just need to come at this in a different way. A different, less aggressive way that doesn’t send him running again.

  Here’s hoping he gives me the chance.

  Chapter Five

  Sixty-Minute Man

  Miller

  Help!

  I’m trapped in a locked room and this weekend is trying to kill me.

  At the very least it might end up giving me a stroke. A man can only take so many shocks to his system before that system decides everything is crazy and upside down and a reboot might be the only way to straighten that shit out.

  Let’s recap while everyone’s distracted with their Revolutionary War-based Escape Room puzzles, shall we?

  I went out to a pub to get Austen and Royal together. That might have been my first mistake. I didn’t think it through. Putting two outgoing, irritatingly cheerful and unceasingly energetic people in the same room to meet, possibly date and potentially fall in love is something I should have considered more carefully.

  I mean, it’s working, but I’m not sure it’s a good thing. Individually they’re a force of nature. As a team they might be unstoppable.

  As if that’s not enough, my straight friend—drunk at the time—gave me the best orgasm of my life before passing out. I’m a grown man so I handled it, but then he followed it up with a sneak attack the next day while I was helping him recover from a neck injury, blowing my mind again.

  “This is how it’s going to be when I fuck you.”

  I know I said earlier my life was not a porno, but maybe I spoke too soon because who says something like that?

  Brendan Kinkaid.

  And I’ll be damned if his words didn’t turn me into some kind of sex-starved animal mid-mating-season.

  I admit, I was already turned on from that massage. I felt bad that he’d hurt himself while working on my deck, but I wasn’t mad that it had given me an excuse to touch him.

  I wasn’t expecting him to like it that much. I definitely wasn’t expecting him to tell me that he wanted to talk about what happened the night before. That he not only remembered it, but he wanted a repeat.

  Twice. It’s happened twice.

  The first time, he fell asleep. The second time? He stayed away and I ran like a scared little virgin on his wedding night.

  It’s embarrassing, but we all know that’s exactly what I did.

  I’m used to his flirty banter and ass slapping. Used to wanting to touch him every time he’s in the room while he remains oblivious. But the focus of this highly sexual man directed at me? Wanting me?

  I wasn’t ready for that, no matter how many times I’ve imagined it.

  So yes, I used Fred and the dog and the deck to avoid being alone with him for the rest of the evening. Yes, I went to bed
and spent the entire night trying to resist jerking off to the memory of what he’d done to me hours before.

  Note, I said trying.

  And yes, I agreed to the Austen do-over date because I’d promised her, and I thought it would give me a little more time to think. To keep my distance.

  I didn’t know my dear friend would trap the four of us in a tiny fucking room filled with riddles and padlocks with nothing to do for an entire hour but work in close proximity if we wanted to escape this room.

  An escape room. Is an actual room people pay to be locked into. For fun.

  I did not see that coming, it was the last thing I expected her to choose, and I absolutely want to escape it.

  Austen nudges me and I realize I’ve been staring at a painting of Benjamin Franklin playing some instrument made of glass bowls while I had my silent nervous breakdown.

  “Do you see a clue or are you avoiding us?” she asks.

  That second thing.

  “Well…” I scramble to explain my reasons for impersonating a statue. “We’re supposed to be figuring out some code Franklin created to hide the location of his secret weapon against the British right? To win the war?”

  She leans against me with a soft laugh. “Yes. But I don’t think he won anything with his glass armonica. It might have been his favorite but it never really took off. I suppose it could be used as a weapon, though. Especially if the British had unusually sensitive eardrums.”

  I give her some side eye. “Know-it-all, Sherlock.”

  “Daughter of a professor, my dear Watson. We own a lot of books on good old Ben.”

  She gestures furtively behind me and I glance over my shoulder. Royal and Brendan are on the opposite side of the room, arguing quietly over a cypher for a combination lock as if the safety of the country is at stake.

  Which is the basic gist of this scenario, and I almost feel unpatriotic for not helping. It’s just…odd. They look like they’re having a blast.

  “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?” she whispers, reaching out to feel the edges of the picture frame for clues while she’s talking, because she’s a badass multi-tasker who wants to kick some Redcoat tail.

  “Stop doing that,” I hiss back, picking up a book at random and leafing through the pages.

  “Doing what?”

  “Reading my mind.”

  “So I’m right?” she asks with innocent delight.

  “You know you are. But I still don’t know what it means or what to do about it.”

  That’s the only puzzle I’m desperate to solve.

  Brendan Kinkaid is straight. I’ve seen him with women. A lot of women. And I’ve heard stories of his and Royal’s conquests for years, whether I wanted to or not.

  I also know he has never, in all the time I’ve known him, kissed me or touched me or said anything that would lead me to believe he was bi until this weekend.

  Trouble at work and losing his condo could explain some of his strange behavior, but not all of it.

  “This is how it’s going to be when I fuck you.”

  I think I’m just having a hard time believing this is real.

  “Royal thinks he’s into you.”

  A piece of paper flutters to the floor and we both kneel down to pick it up while continuing our hushed conversation. “Royal is crazy. I’m glad you found out now before I get an invitation to the wedding.”

  She blushes and I forget about my own problems long enough to tease her. “I take it this setup is working out for you?”

  She gives me a short but vehement nod in answer. “And he’s wearing shorts, Miller. It’s like he knows that sexy calves are my weakness.”

  I almost burst out laughing, but manage to restrain myself. “He didn’t hear it from me.”

  Maybe Royal’s a witch too.

  “They’re just so damn defined.” She fans herself and throws me a wink. “And he’s funny. You never see a hot-and-funny combo anymore. Not Irish, but I can definitely work with that.”

  I look at the paper and frown. “I think this might be important.”

  “You and Brendan are what’s really import— Wait, let me see that.” She snatches it out of my hands and gets to her feet.

  “Lost time is never found again,” she reads out loud, her voice raised for Royal and Brendan to hear. “I think that’s from Poor Richard’s Almanack.”

  Royal, who’s managed to open up the locked box while we were talking about his calves, holds up a timepiece that’s dangling from a chain. “I found it.”

  “I almost found it,” Brendan said defensively, but he was smiling, clearly enjoying himself. “I definitely solved the key puzzle that got us the cypher. And it’s a good thing Diane wasn’t here or we’d still be on that crossword.”

  “Hey.” I feel the need to defend my neighbor, despite the fact that she really is just pathetically bad at crossword puzzles.

  “Yes, you’ve solved everything, brother.” Royal rolls his eyes in our direction as he soothes Brendan’s ego. “We’ll buy you a trophy once our sixty minutes are up.”

  I hang back as the trio gathers around the watch, turning it over and studying every knob and design etched on the gold casing in search of the next clue.

  I don’t trust myself that close to Brendan yet.

  Don’t judge me.

  “This reminds me of that Nicholas Cage movie,” Brendan says in hushed excitement.

  “Gone in Sixty Seconds?” Royal asks absently, running his fingers over the face.

  “That’s about stealing cars. The other one.”

  “Con Air?”

  Austen chuckles. “A plane full of criminals that’s basically a poor man’s remake of Die Hard? Sure. That’s exactly what this is like.”

  Royal looks momentarily dazzled. “I knew you’d like Die Hard.”

  Brendan made a sound of frustration. “No, it’s the other one. He’s—”

  “National Treasure,” I say a little louder than I intended, because honestly this could take all night.

  “Yes,” Royal and Brendan shout simultaneously, sending me matching looks of gratitude and pointing like I just scored a touchdown.

  Austen smiles up at Royal “I didn’t realize you were such a movie buff.”

  “We’re not,” Brendan answers for him. “But you’d be surprised how many Nicholas Cage movies play on international flights. There’s no escaping it. Kind of like this room.”

  I’m the one who figured it out, but saying that out loud would ruin their moment and draw too much attention my way. Besides, I think wandering around to keep Brendan at a distance has had some advantages. Like discovering our ticket out of here. “Hey Austen? What time does that watch have?”

  “One seventeen exactly,” Austen says, joining me beside the bookcase I’m studying. “Why?”

  There’s a mantel clock on the center shelf. It’s topped with a small bronze figure of Benjamin Franklin, and the glass covering is lying beside it, almost like an invitation. Taking a chance, I move the hands to one-seventeen and we all hear a loud, whirring click before the bookshelf opens to reveal a hidden room.

  “You did it!” Austen hugs me quickly and then she’s racing around me to explore the new area.

  Not the way out then. Just another locked room.

  Help?

  Royal ducks his head beneath the smaller door to follow her, and before I can join them, Brendan’s arms slip around me, pulling me back against his chest. “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

  Not if I can help it, I want to shout, but I know that’s unrealistic and childish. “I’m talking to you now.”

  “Miller.”

  I sigh. “Of course I am. But maybe now is not the right time for this particular topic?”

  “They’re playing with electricity,” he murmurs against my temple. “And it’s never going to be the right time if you keep avoiding me.”

  I lean back, my body reacting to his nearness the way I knew it would. I never
realized how hungry I was for this kind of affection. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  His laugh is like a dirty secret in my ear. “Liar. Ever since I jumped you in the bedroom, you’ve been giving me the silent treatment.” He hesitates. “If I stepped over the line and you want me to leave the house, just tell me. I’ll never make you do something you’re not comfortable with. I hope that you know that.”

  “No.” I turn around in his arms and tug him away from the open door. “I mean, yes I know that, and I don’t want you to leave. But can you blame me for freaking out? You show up after months of no contact and start acting like—like you—”

  “Like I want you?” Brendan’s dark eyes glitter as they stare down at my lips. “It’s not an act, Miller. The question I stupidly thought I knew the answer to is, do you want me?”

  Don’t answer that. It’s a trap.

  My fingers are digging into his hips, but I’m not sure if it’s to pull him closer or keep him at a safe distance. “Six years, Brendan. You’ve never wanted me before. Something like that doesn’t change overnight.”

  A dark thought crosses my mind and every muscle in my body tightens, preparing for a blow or the wrong answer. “This isn’t about the Robbie thing again, is it? Do you feel so bad about me not getting laid that you’re trying to make up for it? Because that would be seriously fucked up.”

  I know I’m wrong the instant the surprise in his expression turns to anger. He walks me back into the wall and reaches for my hand, forcing it between us to cup him through his jeans.

  Despite my surprise, my hand instinctively flexes around the hard, hot length of him and he grits his teeth, leaning into my touch.

  “If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s working,” he rasps. “I may not be going about this the right way—the slow, methodical, romantic way—but I refuse to believe you don’t know me well enough to realize the last thing I’m thinking about when I’m touching you is that asshole who didn’t deserve to breathe your air.”

  The possessiveness in his gaze makes me gasp. “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Isn’t wanting you this much enough?” He lowers his head to bite down gently on my chin. “Tell me I’m not wrong. Tell me you want me back.”