Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy

by Jo Raven

  ***

  “So are you going over to him?” Simone asks later.

  “You said I stink. Of course I’m not going over to him.” I wipe my face with my towel. It has small pink unicorns with rainbow tails on it.

  She gives me a long look. “You okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” I pull off the hair tie and let my hair tumble on my shoulders. “I probably need to change strategy, anyway. Move to Phase Three.”

  “Phase Three?” She looks scared.

  “Yes.”

  “Which is?”

  “Winning him through his stomach.”

  Now she looks downright terrified, no idea why. “Bry, are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  “It’s a tried and true method.”

  “For people who can cook, maybe.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “You mean, honest?”

  “Or that. Feel free to lie to me.” I wave a hand at her. “I’ll bake my patented chocolate cake.”

  “The one containing rocks?”

  “Rock sugar. And the cookies that I—”

  “He’s coming! Bry, don’t look, he’s coming this way.”

  I turn around to see. Yes, Ryan is heading this way.

  Turning back to Simone, I sniff frantically at my arm. “Do I still smell? Simone?”

  But she’s backing away, leaving me alone.

  With Ryan who is now standing in front of me, tall and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous in his sweaty T-shirt and exercise leggings.

  His green eyes are fixed on me. “Brylee.”

  “Stay away from me,” I say dramatically, flinging out an arm and almost hitting him in the face.

  He takes a step back, wary. “Um. Sure.”

  I peer at him from under my lashes. “You can’t win me back that easily.”

  He huffs what sounds like a laugh. “Okay. Got it. Look, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Oh?” How disappointing. That’s all? “Well, shoot.”

  He leans against the leg press machine I last used. “It’s about a friend of yours.”

  “What friend?”

  “Riddick? He said you’re friends.”

  Oh God. “How do you know Riddick?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He folds his arms over his chest, and gah, those biceps. “Have you seen him these past few days?”

  “No, I haven’t.” I think of his mother at the hospital, and my chest feels suddenly tight. “Why?”

  “I met him the other day, and he was looking for his brother. I helped him look. Didn’t find him. He wasn’t that well.”

  I can barely breathe. Tears sting the back of my eyes. “God, was he sick?”

  “It was his back. Affected his leg. He was limping quite badly.”

  I remember him limping. “Sounds like a pinched nerve. He should rest—”

  “I told him that. In fact I gave him a back rub, too.” Color is rising to his cheeks, making his eyes seem greener. “But he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and even if he has an office job, he should have stayed in bed.”

  “He doesn’t have an office job,” I say colorlessly. “He works in a warehouse.”

  Ryan straightens, scowling. “If he went back…”

  He doesn’t finish the thought, but I shiver anyway.

  “Can you take me to where he lives?” I ask. “I want to check up on him.”

  He looks at me. It’s a long, searching look and I squirm a little. “He’s your friend, but you don’t know where he lives?”

  “He’s actually the cousin of the boyfriend of a friend of mine,” I confess. “Can we just go?”

  He’s still looking at me. A shadow passes behind his gaze, like regret. “You want him.” He says it so simply, calmly. As if he doesn’t know he is the man I’m after. “Don’t you? You’re in love with the guy.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Absolutely not.

  The emotion fades from his eyes, gone like a passing cloud. “Let’s get ready, and I’ll take you there.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fat Rod Loaf

  Riddick

  The doorbell is ringing, and I lift my head, blinking blearily. It’s been a rough week. Really rough, although my back is better, thank fuck. And Xavier did come back home after almost giving me an ulcer, but then headed out again.

  At least he sort of promised to stay indoors and call me if he was in trouble.

  Not that I’d know what to do if he were in real trouble—drug lord Mafia trouble? overdose trouble?—but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

  For now, I need to cross the living room to get to the door, and I’m already too tired.

  Cursing under my breath, I lower the TV volume, climb carefully to my feet—my back still isn’t one hundred percent—and go to see who is at my door at this time of the evening. I don’t get many visitors.

  Any hope that it might be Xavier is short-lived. He has a key. He wouldn’t ring the bell.

  I crack the door open and try to see. “Who is it?”

  “Riddick,” a bright female voice says. “Well, at least you’re on your feet.”

  Brylee? In a short skirt and low-cut sweater, she looks good enough to eat. “What are you doing here? How did you know—?”

  “Hi, Riddick.” A man’s deep, familiar voice.

  “… my address? What the fuck. Ryan?” That at least explains how she knew where to find me. Frowning, I unlatch the door and open it. “What’s going on?”

  “Just checking on you,” Ryan says, and his gaze does a slow slide from my socked feet to my face. “See if you’re still breathing.”

  For some reason, that statement puts a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

  “Friends do that for each other,” Brylee says, lifting a brow at me.

  Ah, right. Ryan must have told her of the excuse I gave him for speaking to him the first time.

  I give her a sheepish smile and step back to let them in. “So are we friends?”

  “Of course we are.” Her smile is soft, and her gaze locks with mine. It’s warm, and it pours into my chest like a trickle of honey.

  Then she lifts a hand to my face, lightly touches my cheek, and a jolt goes through me, like electricity.

  I catch her hand, intent on lowering it, but can’t. It feels so good. “Brylee…”

  Her mouth is so close, her pink lips slightly parted. Her lashes lower, and her breath catches. A flush colors her cheeks.

  Dammit, I wanna kiss her so badly I can taste it, even though she has a strange, pungent herbal aroma about her tonight that’s covering her natural scent.

  She looks so innocent, and so perfect, like a china doll. I wanna teach her things about pleasure. Corrupt her, turn her into a slut for pleasure. Hear her beg for it.

  I want it so much I’m fucking scaring myself.

  Maybe she can sense my thoughts, because she gasps and pulls her hand out of my hold, taking a step back.

  I let her go.

  Besides, it’s not me she wants. I bet Ryan will be gentle with her, give her all the attention she needs, the chocolate hearts and the romantic walks on the beach, and whatever else it is couples in love do.

  I wouldn’t know.

  Speaking of the handsome devil… He’s staring at us, so many emotions in his eyes I can’t tell them apart. Desire, and sadness, and happiness, and anger, all rolled into one, and the intensity of his gaze packs such a punch I flinch.

  “Glad to see you’re so much better,” he mutters. He sighs, rubs at his face with a big, strong hand. “I guess I should leave you two. I need to head home, go over some work, and I’m sure Brylee will take good care of you.”

  “What?” Is he serious?

  “You’re the one who wanted to come here,” Brylee tells him.

  He was?

  I can’t deny I’ve been jacking off to the memory of his hands on my body all week. On my ass, on my thighs, the heat of him at my back, the weight of hi
m on the back of my legs. His scent all around me.

  But now that Brylee is here I want her just as much.

  Jesus, Rid.

  “I wanted to check on him.” Ryan tears that conflicted gaze from me. “He’s obviously much better than last time I saw him.”

  “But how will you know until you check?” Brylee asks.

  Check what?

  “You could check, Bry,” Ryan suggests, his eyes going softer, amused. “In fact, you could give him a good massage. The main problem is situated in his lower back. Focus there, and on his buttocks and legs.”

  “B….buttocks?” she stammers.

  Damn, she’s killing me, blushing like that, like he said something crude and insulting.

  “My ass,” I clarify.

  The red on her cheeks is turning to crimson. Should I be concerned?

  “I’m not massaging your ass,” she declares in a haughty, princess-like tone.

  Holy shit. Teasing her shouldn’t get me so aroused. I’m so fucking hard just because she is incensed at the idea of touching my fucking ass.

  “How about massaging another part of me?” I mutter, and Ryan chuckles.

  So sexy, that chuckle. He’s grinning now, and it makes him look very young. And handsome. And hot.

  Dammit!

  “You’re both gross,” she informs us and pushes past me to explore the apartment.

  Not much to see, Princess.

  “So what’s it gonna be?” I ask him. “Staying or going?”

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “Is that a trick question?” I reach down, adjust myself in my pants. “Damn right I want you to stay, but what does it matter? You want Brylee.”

  He glances her way. She’s perusing the few books on my shelves. Then she picks up a toy soldier Xavier gave me when he was little, puts it back down. He licks his lips.

  “This is a bad idea,” he says. “Plus she doesn’t even like me. She told me so, today.”

  “Are you blind on top of being dense?”

  “Well, gee, thanks.”

  “Stop overthinking.” I grip his arm, yank him all the way in and close the door. “Go get her.”

  “Why would you…?” He pulls his arm free. His green eyes are troubled. “Why aren’t you fighting me over her? You want her. It’s not hard to see.”

  “Yeah? And you don’t want her, is that your story?”

  He glances at her again. “She’s pretty. And she makes me laugh.” A pause. “But I’m not good for her.”

  “The hell you say.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m the one who isn’t good for her. I’m piss poor, my brother is a junkie and my parents are fucked up—”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Riddick.”

  I draw in a breath. “What?”

  His gaze is boring into mine. Fuck, I could drown in his eyes. So damn green. His hand is burning a brand through the cotton on my shoulder.

  “What do you want?” he whispers.

  More trick questions.

  I want him. I want her.

  I want world peace and for my brother to come back home.

  I want this man to kiss me.

  But whatever it is he sees on my face makes him draw back.

  “Hey, guys!” Brylee approaches us, with that bright smile that is like sunshine. “What are you doing, standing here like this?” She grabs our hands and tugs. “I found cookies. Come.”

  I snort, and glance at Ryan who’s smiling.

  He doesn’t budge, though. His hand drops from my shoulder. “You two go ahead. Have a cookie for me.”

  “Are you sure?” Brylee’s smile has dimmed.

  “Yeah, man,” I say. “Stay.”

  He hesitates, and she takes advantage, tugging on his hand. “Come on. Cookies!” She pulls us after her, a determined copper-haired missile.

  My mouth twitches, and I stumble along, my back twinging. “What cookies?”

  “You have a box of them. I’ll make you tea, and you can relax.”

  It’s… sweet. Again. She’s sweet.

  She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my life, and the brightest, and I want her for myself. Though I understand why she’d prefer Ryan.

  And it’s driving me nuts how much I want her. It’s fucking unfair.

  Then again, what’s new…

  ***

  So fucking weird, to be sitting at my tiny kitchenette table, Ryan beside me, while this hot girl is puttering about, opening my empty cupboards, sticking her head inside the small fridge, boiling water and putting my chipped mugs in a row.

  I guess my mom used to do this sort of thing when I was little. Cook, I mean. Do stuff in the kitchen. Maybe? I can’t remember anything but yelling and stomping and things crashing against walls.

  I rub at the back of my neck, trying to figure out what happened today, and how I ended up here, with the sexiest guy alive checking out my hovel, while the prettiest girl in the world is making us tea from the cheapest teabags available on the market.

  If this is a fairytale, then I fully expect a fairy godmother to appear right about now to change me into a goddamn pumpkin.

  Meanwhile, Brylee has apparently been talking, because Ryan is laughing quietly, and I like the sound of it. Deep and dark, and is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?

  “… bought the jewel for my pussy,” she says, pouring the steaming water into the mugs. “What’s so funny?”

  “You bought a jewel for your pussy,” he repeats, and fuck, that sends heat right to my dick. “A piercing?”

  “Of course not.” She sends him a horrified look. “I’m against animal cruelty.”

  “What are we talking about here?” I ask carefully.

  “My cat.”

  “You bought your cat a jewel.”

  “Yes. A bumhole jewel. You know, to hide her bumhole.”

  “You mean, her asshole?” I ask.

  “Her cat hole,” Brylee says primly and dips the teabags into the mugs. “Do you want milk in your tea?”

  “I dunno if I have any…”

  But she’s already bending over the small fridge, opening it to check, and damn, her skirt rides up.

  A lot.

  Okay, this is no longer sweet. It’s getting hot.

  Too damn hot. I might just—

  “Bry.” It’s like sinking into lust, too deep to breathe. “Bry!”

  She straightens. “No milk.”

  “Yeah, I know. Listen…”

  “But it’s okay, right?” she asks. “Without milk?”

  She’s tugging on her skirt. Any other chick, I’d have thought she’s doing this on purpose, bending over like that, as if begging for a quick, hard fuck.

  But not her. At least, I don’t think so. Her eyes are clear and bright as ever. She looks nervous, but I think it has more to do with the blond guy sitting across from her—the guy whose attention she’s been trying to get, than anything else.

  “It’s fine. I don’t take milk. Isn’t that a thing the English do?” Certainly my parents never did. Have tea, that is. I can’t remember why I have any lying around. I don’t remember buying it.

  “Is it? Oh. Well then—”

  “Look, guys,” Ryan says, standing up and zipping up his jacket. “I just remembered something, and I need to go.”

  We both stare at him.

  I roll my eyes. “Hey, dude, she made us tea. Sit down.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “Oh, right, we wouldn’t want you missing out on your beauty sleep,” I drawl, all irony and spines.

  “Dammit, Riddick.” He throws me a pissed-off look, and I shrug.

  What?

  “Why won’t you stay?” Brylee asks quietly.

  Ryan’s face stills, like water when no wind is blowing. “I shouldn’t have come at all.”

  Ouch.

  “It wasn’t part of your schedule,” Brylee says, gripping the counter behind her.

  “No, it wasn’t.”r />
  “Neither was helping Riddick look for his brother, or rubbing his ass.”

  Ryan chokes a little. “No.”

  What the fuck. “Sorry you rubbed my ass off schedule, man.”

  “Shut up,” he growls, and I do, not sure why.

  Or why my dick just got harder at the command.

  “Ryan—” she starts.

  “This was a mistake. It won’t happen again,” he snaps, and turns around to go. We both watch his broad back and long legs as he strides out of the kitchenette and into the living room, opens the door and lets himself out into the night and snow.

  “So…” I close my eyes briefly. “This is the guy you’re after. How is that going? I’m guessing you have a plan?”

  She looks like an organized kind of girl. I mean, hell, she apparently knows Ryan’s work and fun schedule by heart.

  She’s quiet. She turns to put some cookies on a plate and places it on the table. “I’m moving to Phase Three.”

  I grab a cookie, ignoring the stupid sting of anger at the thought she wants him, still wants him, and not me. “Of course. Good thought. Phase Three.”

  Whatever the hell that means.

  ***

  “Why are you here?” I ask her later, after drinking the tea—now I’m sort of grateful to my parents for never having any at home—and eating the stale cookies.

  “You want me to leave?”

  “No, Bry. Just…why did you come? I didn’t think you liked me.”

  She shrugs, a slight roll of slender shoulders. “Just because I can’t go out with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

  I try to absorb this. She likes me. As a friend?

  Can I be her friend when I have a hard-on whenever she’s around and feeling jealous of every man she looks at?

  “You don’t know me,” I say.

  “I don’t need to. I can tell.”

  “Tell what?”

  “That you’re nice.”

  Funny how fucking much that pleases me. Yeah, I’m a whore for a good word, it seems.

  “Thanks,” I say. “So how do you imagine yourself going out with someone you don’t like?”

  “You mean, Ryan?”

  “Yes, Ryan. You told him you don’t like him.”

  “Yeah, I said that.”

  “Was it true?”

  “Yes, it was. It is. Do you know how many times I asked him to go out for a drink with me? Nothing more. And he was just like now. Distant. Cold. Not just saying no, but making it clear that he’d never do it. That it was a bad idea.”