BEDFELLOWS
Lola Leighton
Bedfellows
Copyright © 2018 Lola Leighton
Content Editing by
Elaine York
Proofreading by
Virginia Tesi Carey
Cover Design by
Uplifting Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
About the Book
I wasn't looking to fall for one man. Let alone two...
Sullivan and Will are as close as two friends can be. Growing up in the system forced them to rely on each other, and they've become accustomed to sharing everything—including women.
Now they're ready for more. To find love. To start a family. To see the dreams they've shared since childhood come true.
Apparently I tick off every box on their list—brains, beauty, and sass. I never hesitate to put both men in their places—which they find sexy as hell.
One problem, I'm a traditional girl, with traditional values—one man, one woman, till death do us part—kind of values.
They're willing to work to prove how very right the three of us could be, but what happens next is anyone's guess...
Friendly Warning
This book is packed with hot, passionate love that doesn't know any boundaries, so sit back, enjoy and get ready for a smutily-ever-after.
Chapter One
Sullivan
“Getting restless,” Will grunted from beside me. We were seated in the cab of my truck on our trek home after a hard day’s work.
“For?” I asked, playing coy. I knew exactly what he needed. Had known for the past two months he was ready. Though to be fair, I knew him like the back of my hand. I’d been waiting for this conversation for a while, and found it amusing that he was finally bringing it up.
“Need a woman,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the horizon out the front windshield.
“You need a fucking shower is what you need,” I returned.
He shook his head beside me, flipping down the visor when the evening setting sun hit him. “Not right now. Not tonight. But soon.”
“I know,” I swallowed a sigh. “Me, too.”
We’d been doing the same song and dance for the last decade, because Will and I—we shared everything—including women.
We’d grown up together, two lost, angry kids banding together to forge a path through a fucked-up world. It made us strong, made us brave—made us the men we were today. But it made us rely on each other in a way that was … a little out of the ordinary.
In our teens, we’d explored porn together, in our twenties, we’d experienced our first threesomes, and now in our thirties, we owned a home together, sure enough in ourselves and our friendship that we know we preferred monogamy—a shared relationship with the same woman.
I was confident enough in my sexuality to admit this probably meant I was bi—Will, not so much. We didn’t talk about our needs, didn’t share our deep, inner thoughts on the subject. In fact, these days we were mostly on auto-pilot. But the important thing was—we were each happy with what we had—a kick-ass friendship, a solid business, and the desire to fuck the same woman. It worked. We didn’t question it. End of story. And life was good—this dry spell aside.
However, finding someone who suited us both was sometimes a challenge. Which is why and how we found ourselves in our current situation.
I shot him a questioning glance. “You miss Layla?”
Maneuvering my truck toward the pub where we often called in to-go orders before we left whichever house we were currently rehabbing, I waited while he weighed the question.
“No, not really,” he breathed, still looking ahead.
That was a relief. When things had ended a few months ago, I’d been pleased. She wasn’t the one. She was too much drama—too much work, and deep down, she didn’t make either of us happy. Not really.
As we got closer to the restaurant, my stomach began to grumble. We took turns cooking, but when it was Will’s night to cook, we usually had take-out. Rotating between Thai, sushi, or our favorite, burgers from McGilley’s pub.
“You want to go in for a beer, or are we just going to wait in the truck?” Will asked.
“We have beer at home. That IPA you like. And I meant it when I said you need a fucking shower.” I shot him a grin. We’d spent the day ripping out cabinets and demoing walls.
“That’s fair.” He chuckled under his breath. “I’ll go in and check on the order, be back in a few.”
“Sounds good.” The pub had incredibly fast service and it wasn’t like we were ordering anything complicated. It should only take ten minutes or so.
Will hopped out and I maneuvered my truck toward a parking spot further down. My truck was a brand new, black, platinum edition with the chrome grill I’d spoiled myself with after the sale of my last successful real estate project. After growing up with nothing, it was tough to break out of that mindset. Every dollar was hard-earned, and watching them slowly grow in my bank account was generally more satisfying than blowing it on stuff. Stuff never made you happy. Aside from my truck. My truck was my fucking baby.
Wham.
My truck spun sideways into a hard stop while my brain took a moment to understand what had just happened.
“Fuck!” I grunted out. Some red little sedan had just crashed into the bed of my truck. Slamming the gearshift into park, I hoped out to inspect the damage.
A woman stepped out of the sedan. She was trembling, and clearly knew she had messed up. I had no idea whether she was about to cry or curse.
“Shit!” she groaned.
Curse it was.
“Are you okay, Miss?” I asked, walking closer. Even as pissed off as I was at the moment, I could see she was a twelve out of ten. Curvy with long legs, a trim little waist, and honey-blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. It’s been one of those days, you know.” She wrung her hands in front of her, looking nervous, probably waiting for me to blow up and yell at her.
I bent down, looking at the rear quarter-panel on my truck and winced. It was dented, but the damage was less than what I was expecting. I let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at the woman standing beside me. Now that I was calmer I took a minute to notice how utterly gorgeous she was.
A full, plush mouth and big brown eyes that were currently wide with worry. She didn’t wear much make-up, but shit, she didn’t need it.
She was dressed in a pair of ripped-up jeans that might have been worth more than her car for all I knew, a white t-shirt knotted at her waist, and a pair of high-heeled boots.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “I mean, no. Not really. But I’ll survive, right? I always do somehow.”
At this, my brow knitted in confusion.
“That’s my salon.” She pointed to the far end of the shopping plaza to a modern white brick structure on the end with a bright fuchsia front door. The sign above it said Studio Ten. “A pipe burst early this morning and flooded the whole place. It started in my apartment above the salon. And then my car, it’s such a piece—I wasn’t looking while I fiddled with the air conditioner. Totally my fault. I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “No big deal. Accidents happen.”
The woman’s eyes widened again like she couldn’t quite believe I wasn’t going to unload a string of curse words on her. And I might have, because dude, my truck was my fucking baby. But
I sensed this stranger had been through enough today.
“Let me get my ID and insurance card.” She rushed toward her car, shouting over one slender shoulder, “We can exchange information.”
I nodded and waited for her to return. “I’m Sullivan. Didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Adrienne Edmonds,” she said, offering me a small smile.
“Placed our order,” Will said, wandering back to stop beside us. His eyes zeroed in on the damage to my truck. “Everything okay?” Will knew exactly how much my truck meant to me, so I was guessing his tempered response was her benefit—as not to freak out the pretty stranger.
“Will, this is Adrienne. Adrienne…Will.”
Will reached one hand toward her. “Hey, there. You alright, Adrienne?”
She returned his handshake, her entire hand disappearing within his firm grasp.
“I feel like an ass, but other than that, yeah. Perfectly fine.”
“Have you eaten yet?” I asked her.
Adrienne’s pretty full lips parted, and she looked between Will and me. “Um, no. I was just leaving work.”
I nodded. “That’s what I thought. Come join us. We can get all this sorted. But I’m starved.”
She was still clutching her driver’s license and insurance card in her hands, and her expression changed to one of confusion.
“We could probably all use a drink right about now, too,” I added.
For a second, I thought she might refuse, but instead she took a deep breath, her posture softening. “Okay. Let me park my car and I’ll text my friend. She’s expecting me later.”
Will stayed decidedly quiet beside us, but I could feel the weight of his gaze.
What the fuck are you up to? He seemed to ask while Adrienne parked her car beside my truck.
You’ll see. I wiggled my eyebrows.
Adrienne climbed from her car and started toward the restaurant.
I couldn't help but notice the way Will's gaze zeroed in on the curve of her ass as she walked, or the slight smile that twitched on his mouth. This girl was ticking off everything on our list, and I couldn't wait to see where this could go.
Tonight just got a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter Two
Adrienne
What a freaking day.
I followed my new companions, Will and Sullivan, inside the dark little pub, taking their lead toward a booth in the back. I couldn't believe I'd been so careless and crashed right into his truck like that. I'd never been in a car accident in my entire life. I was embarrassed and already stressing about how much this was going to cost me.
“Hi, there.” A waitress approached us as we slid into the seats—the guys next to each other, leaving one side of the booth for me.
“We already ordered a couple of burgers, but can you change our order for here instead of to-go?” Will asked the waitress.
“’Course,” the waitress replied.
I grabbed the sticky menu and looked over it quickly while the guys added a couple of beers to their order.
“The chicken tacos, please. And a large margarita,” I said.
“Coming right up.” The waitress grinned at the guys again before darting away.
I had no idea why I was here sitting at dinner with them when I’d just crashed into the guy’s nice, new truck. Sullivan he said his name was. I wasn’t sure if that was his first or his last name, but it fit him regardless.
I pressed my palms against the table and took a deep breath. “Listen, about your truck …” I started.
Sullivan waved a hand in my direction. “It’s all good. Please don’t worry about it. I over-reacted before. My buddy owns an auto-repair shop. And he owes me a couple of favors. Seriously, don’t worry.”
He actually didn't overreact at all. He was very calm about it, which actually made me feel worse. He could have yelled, screamed and cursed at me, but he hadn't.
I leaned back in my seat, distracted by the view in front me. Two gorgeous men. And Sullivan didn't seem mad in the least. I'd expected him to be angry at me, not trying to make me feel better.
Sullivan’s right arm was adorned with ink that started at his wrist and disappeared under the edge of his t-shirt. He was tall and somewhat lean, like a swimmer's build. His hair was a little too long on top and light brown. His eyes were friendly, and his posture relaxed. Much more relaxed than I'd expect for someone who just got in a car accident.
His friend Will was his opposite, and the more serious of the two. Darker, somehow. Brooding, almost. His dark brown hair was cropped close—like he preferred not to fuss with it, and his gray eyes tracked my every movement.
My stomach tightened into a knot.
I was grateful when our waitress reappeared, and I sucked down a large swallow of margarita. The moment the tequila and lime hit my stomach, it was as though my shoulders physically dropped as I felt myself relax into the leather booth.
“So … what happens next?” I asked, cautiously.
Sullivan smiled while Will continued to watch me with that dark, sexy stare I was already becoming a bit addicted to.
“In regard to?” Sullivan asked.
I pushed my ID and insurance card across the table toward him, but Sullivan shook his head.
“Put those back in your purse. I told you, it's all good. Let's just enjoy a beverage and a nice meal together.”
“That's it?” I asked.
Sullivan shrugged, running one hand through his messy hair, making his bicep jump as he flexed. “Sometimes fate has a funny way of bringing people together.”
“Fate, huh?” I asked, taking another healthy sip of my margarita. I didn't think crashing my car into his was fate's way of bringing us together, but his take on the world was refreshing.
Although, fate had not exactly been my friend lately. It seemed like all I'd had lately was bad luck. Business was great, so I couldn't complain there. I felt blessed to own my own salon at a young age, but most times I felt overwhelmed. Like I was slowly drowning. And with the pipe that burst and flooded my apartment above the salon, I'd be crashing on my friend's couch for the foreseeable future. But his attitude, combined with this margarita, was taking my rather shitty day and making it a little brighter.
“Fate,” Sullivan confirmed. “Although, I do feel bad that you have to have dinner with us in our current state.” He made a point of looking down at his worn t-shirt and jeans. “We came straight from work.”
“What do you guys do?” I asked.
“We own a real estate investment company,” Will said, finally contributing something to the conversation. He struck me as the strong, silent type. The type of man who was content to observe those around him, who only spoke when necessary, not one driven with the need to hear himself talk, but only when it added to the conversation. There was something I liked about that.
Sullivan shrugged. “We flip houses. It's a pretty good gig.”
There had to be something so satisfying about working with your hands, about the transformation that made happen. I enjoyed the same thing about being a stylist. “That sounds like fun. How long have you been doing that?”
The two men looked at each other, both attempting to calculate the amount of time that had passed since they began their business venture. “About five years now,” Sullivan said.
Our food was delivered a moment later and the second the scent of grilled chicken and pico de gallo hit my nostrils, my stomach rumbled. I didn't quite realize how hungry I was. A long day of working while standing on my feet tended to do that to me. I was usually ravenous by the end of the day.
“Please, dig in,” Sullivan encouraged, and it was all the invitation I needed.
I helped myself to a big bite of a chicken taco, wiping my mouth on a paper napkin. I couldn't help the moan that escaped as I chewed.
Both men immediately exchanged a look that I couldn't decipher, and my heart rate picked up.
Will asked about my work, and I filled them in o
n the salon while we ate.
“I know I said it before, but I really am sorry about your truck,” I offered Sullivan one last time.
He smiled. “Already told you, it's all good. But …” he paused, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “If you want to make it up to me, you could go out with us sometime.”
At this, I stopped, setting down a half-eaten taco, my eyes jumping between them. He'd said us, hadn't he? I couldn't have imagined it. “Both of you?” I asked. Surely there had to be some kind of misunderstanding.
Sullivan smiled at my obvious lack of understanding. “We like to stick together.”
“But you guys don’t look …” I stopped, sure I was about to embarrass myself.
“Don’t look what?” Will asked, his tone sharp.
“Bi-sexual?” Sullivan supplied with a half-smile.
“Um … gay,” I blurted.
Sullivan barked out a laugh while Will rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get permanently lodged back there.
And truly they didn’t. I knew it was stereotypical of me, but one of my best stylists at the salon was a gay man, and one whom I adored, but he was so feminine—so much different than the men seated before me. Tyler was all skin-tight jeans and an overly high voice. He had pink highlights in his hair and has been known to steal my lip-gloss. These men were rugged, rough around the edges, and also freaking huge—well over six feet tall, both of them with plenty of defined muscle.
“That’s because we’re not,” Will answered.
“Nope. Never fucked a dude before.” Sullivan shook his head.
Will bit out a laugh, then chugged down a sip from his beer.
“So why do all this? I don’t get it, I mean …”
“That's a story for another time,” Will said, his eyes darting to Sullivan's before coming to rest on mine again.
A moment of silence passed and I couldn't help but feel a small, silent agreement was being made as the men made eye contact.
“Go out with us,” Sullivan said again, his voice soft, sweet.
Bedfellows Page 1
