Luscious Beginnings [Love in Luscious, Kansas 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting ManLove)

by Mia Ashlinn

  Speaking of smiles, a grin crept into Sam’s cheeks when he spotted Tate Dawson sauntering toward him. His friend Ella’s younger brother was cocky as hell. And Sam liked that about him. From the first time they’d met, Tate’s personality had drawn Sam in, and they’d immediately hit it off. Since then, they’d spent a lot of time together in Her Majesty’s Pleasure where Sam used to tend bar. And they’d taken to talking on the phone at least once or twice a week after Sam had left Serenity. Now Sam was grateful they’d gotten to know each other. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so keen on moving in together, even for a brief period of time.

  A knock on the car window had Sam’s grin widening. He turned and grabbed the door handle then slung it open and launched himself out of the car. As Sam shut the door behind him, Tate drawled, “Well tickle my dicklestick. I heard some sweet thing had driven his sexy ass into our weird little town, but I had no clue how bangable he would be.” He raked his laughing eyes up and down Sam’s body. “I would totally do you. Often.”

  Sam chuckled. “So you keep telling me.”

  Winking brashly, Tate replied, “I would fuck you, Sam-I-Am. I would fuck you in a hall. And I would fuck you against the wall. I would fuck you in your car. And I would fuck you beneath the stars. I would fuck you in the tub. And I would fuck you in a club. I would fuck you here and there. I would fuck you pretty much anywhere.”

  Sam couldn’t help himself. A laugh burst from his lips at Tate’s twisted perversion of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham. That was typical Tate—wicked, fun, and outrageously flirty. God, he’d missed being around someone who wasn’t so fucking serious. Cough. Rafaello Speranza. Cough. Sam had missed moments like this, where he didn’t have to think about anything or anyone. He could just live. Yep, Luscious is looking better and better.

  Feeling playful, Sam returned Tate’s banter with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Oh, buddy, you couldn’t handle a man like me.”

  “Want to find out?” Tate quipped without hesitation. “If so, I have a room upstairs. But we’ll have to hurry. My new roommate will be here any minute.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t do quickies. Sorry.”

  “You’re missing out,” Tate replied. “Fast and furious is fucking hot.”

  “So is soft and slow. But I bet you don’t know how to do that,” Sam teased.

  Even in the dim light, Sam could see Tate’s eyes take on a sinister glow. He knew he should be worried. But he wasn’t. Quite the opposite. He was amused, and he couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping the back of his throat.

  “Oh no, you didn’t go there,” his friend countered as he tapped his chin with his thick index finger. “Now I have to retaliate.” A contemplative expression settled on Tate’s features before a smirk lightened his handsome face. “I might not know how to fuck soft and slow. But you don’t know how to bang a dude.”

  Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from howling with laughter. Most guys would be insulted. But he wasn’t, not in the least. If he and Tate weren’t friends, they wouldn’t be joshing around with each other. So Sam was more than happy to play along. Besides, he loved to give it as good as he got it. “It can’t be that much different than…” Sam let the innuendo hang in the air before taking his final punch. “Not that you would know, of course.”

  Tate gave Sam a high-five. “Ooh. That’s a good one.” Merriment danced in his friend’s eyes. “I guess that means you win—this round.” His lips twitched. “Now let’s get you inside. Our first time should be in a bed, not on a car in a parking lot for all to see. Well, unless that trips your trigger. In that case, we can negotiate…”

  Oh my God. Sam just shook his head indulgently. “Let me get my stuff.” After opening his Range Rover’s rear hatch, Sam removed his duffel bag and suitcase then closed the gate once again. He followed Tate through the front door of the building. Up the stairs, to the left, and down the hall they went. Before long, they were in front of D4 and Tate was letting them into the apartment.

  “Welcome home, honey,” Tate drawled. His voice was silky, smooth as a fine wine, as he threw open the door.

  “I—” Sam started to say something sarcastic. But when he stepped one foot across the threshold and saw the woman lounging on the couch, he stopped short. Aly Bartlett. “Fuck,” he growled, his expletive flying through the room faster than a speeding bullet.

  He’d been found.

  Chapter 2

  Sixty-nine miles away, in Serenity…

  Brett Monroe groaned, the sound disturbingly loud in the heavy silence of his empty apartment, as he finished his last set of crunches. Then he flopped onto the floor, cringing when his sticky back met the white carpet. Probably should’ve picked a better place. Ethan’s going to be pissed with a capital P if I stain his hoity-toity flooring.

  Aggravated, Brett quietly chastised himself. Since when had he ever given a fuck about pissing off Ethan? Shit, half the time he was trying to piss off his best friend. Or lover or whatever he is this week.

  Brett glared at the tray ceiling, his eyes flinging darts into the recessed drywall, and he growled. Being friends with benefits sucked. He would love to hunt down the dumbass who’d come up with that term and kick him in the nuts. Maybe then, he would keep his dick in his pants.

  Maybe I should be the one keeping my dick in my pants. Fuck that. Maybe I should’ve kept my dick in my pants all along. Brett made a disgusted sound. He wouldn’t change a thing about his past, not even if he had the chance, and he knew it.

  True, he would’ve been saved a lot of pain if he went back to the hot summer day when he and Ethan decided to sleep together, knowing it was nothing more than a casual lay whenever they were between girlfriends, and stopped them both. But he knew taking back that day would rob him of precious, irreplaceable time he’d had with Ethan since then. And sure, it would be smarter if he returned to the night he’d shared his girlfriend, Amy, with Ethan and Sam for the first time and never allowed it to happen. But taking back that night would steal away years of the three of them sharing their girlfriends. And for him, the connection he felt with his best friends when a woman was between them was worth anything, even the price he was paying now that Sam was gone and Ethan was shutting him out.

  Brett cursed himself ten times over. He’d been a fool to believe he could keep his heart intact when it came to Ethan and Sam. All that time, he’d claimed it was just sex. It was only a good time, he’d told himself. None of them were gay, he’d said. He and Ethan were bi and Sam was straight so they could play around, have a little fun, before they settled down with a wife and kids. Right?

  Wrong. So goddamn wrong. Groaning, Brett rolled over and pushed himself off the floor. Enough of this bullshit. I have things to do. Only he didn’t really. He was home alone again. Lately, he was always on his own. Ethan spent most of his nights at Her Majesty’s Pleasure tending bar now that Sam was missing in action. The infuriating man refused to replace their… Shit, I don’t know what to call Sam either—employee, friend, family member? What?

  Shrugging to himself, Brett figured it didn’t matter either way. Sam was gone, and that was that. Until I find him then we’ll… Motherfucker. He had to stop this. Just because it had been exactly four months to the day since Sam disappeared off the face of the Earth didn’t mean Brett should turn into a weeping, whining mope. In fact, it should be the opposite. He should be stronger. Shit, it had been more than a quarter of a year. He should be moving on and forgetting about the man who’d cared so little for him, who’d not respected him enough to say a word of good-bye. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Moving on without Sam just didn’t feel right.

  With a huff, Brett grabbed the shirt he’d been wearing off the couch then wiped the sweat from his face and neck before heading for the shower. However, he didn’t make it that far. When he passed Sam’s old bedroom, he noticed the door was cracked open. Someone had obviously been in there. Ethan.

  Unable to help himself, Brett paused then slipped inside.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, despair choked him, and his breath hitched. The damn room looked exactly like it had when he and Ethan had returned home from their Thanksgiving trip last year, the day they’d found their best friend gone.

  * * * *

  Four months ago…

  “Sam,” Brett called out before the door to the apartment he shared with Ethan and Sam had time to shut behind him. Not waiting for his best friend to answer, Brett dropped his duffel bag to the floor, ignoring the thump that followed. Then he circled around Ethan in front of him and swiftly stalked through the apartment, determination in his every stride, as he headed straight for the living room where Sam was more than likely parked.

  Knowing Sam, he was probably watching some reality show that would do nothing except annoy Brett. But he didn’t particularly mind. After being away from his friend for a week, he was in dire need of a Sam fix. He had to hear his smart mouth and see his cocky, too-damn-sexy face. If that meant suffering through The Voice or Dancing with the Stars then, by God, he would do it. And he would do it happily, with an indulgent smile on his face.

  In a hurry, Brett barreled down the hallway leading to the living room. He couldn’t help but notice there were no sounds coming from anywhere inside their apartment. No television running in the living room. No blender whirring from the kitchen. No toilet flushing or water running in the bathroom. And no music blaring from Sam’s bedroom. It was still, freakishly quiet.

  Damn it, Sam had to be out. Probably on a date with Brooklyn.

  Brett gritted his teeth. He liked Brooklyn. He really did. She was a little strange but perfectly nice. Yet, much to his chagrin and utter confusion, he resented her. He actually begrudged the woman. And the bad part—his animosity was based on nothing more than the fact that Sam had feelings for her, that he was serious about her.

  Okay, Sam was as serious about her as he’d ever been about a woman before. That alone worried Brett because he suspected they would be married within the year if they didn’t slow down. And fuck, he hated the thought of Sam married to a woman, having babies with her and intertwining his life with hers, while he and Ethan were left out in the cold, alone and miserable. He didn’t want to lose his best friend, not now, not after everything they’d been through.

  He, Brett, and Sam had been friends since kindergarten. Through the years, their friendship had endured, standing the test of time, sailing through the trials and tribulations that had come their way. They’d survived the hell that was school. They’d suffered through a move to Texas for a job none of them had wanted. And together, they’d endured the death of Brett’s beloved older brother, David, his wife and their son. They’d even managed to stick together after Brett joined the Marines, Ethan went to college, and Sam worked himself to the bone at a local bar to keep his head above water and a roof over his head.

  Although, these past few years had changed the three of them. Since they’d moved to Serenity, their friendship had altered. They’d grown closer, nearly attached at the hip, if that were possible. Even being in two states for a week had been torture, much harder than Brett would ever admit.

  Considering Sam hadn’t answered the phone when he’d called and only responded to one in ten texts, Brett was uneasy. He had a feeling he’d done something to piss Sam off. Yet he didn’t know what it could have been. Other than practically begging Sam to come with them to Pennsylvania the night before they’d left, there was nothing. And even then, Sam hadn’t seemed upset. Resistant, yes, but not distressed.

  “Brett,” Ethan hollered out of the blue. “Sam’s gone.”

  Duh. Brett snorted. “I figured that out, E.” He noticed his sarcasm edged on blatantly rude, but he didn’t acknowledge it aloud. “He’s probably on a date with Brooklyn.”

  “No,” Ethan snarled. “He’s gone, as in gone bye-bye.”

  Brett’s stomach fell. No, he can’t. He wouldn’t have…Would he? Suddenly unsure, he whirled around, his abrupt change in direction so quick his head swam. But he didn’t let that tiny bobble deter him. He immediately set off and jogged back the way he came, following the sound of Ethan’s voice. Not surprisingly, he found his friend in Sam’s bedroom, his very empty bedroom.

  Seeing Sam’s room devoid of his belongings had pain barraging Brett, the agony swift, the distress suffocating. He froze. Everything inside of him came to a sudden, screeching halt. His body temperature dropped, and he had to force himself to not shudder from the stress-induced cold inundating his every pore.

  “Holy fuck,” flew out of Brett’s mouth before he had a chance to censor himself. Not that he would have. “He’s gone.”

  Brett couldn’t stop gawking at the barren space surrounding him. He surveyed every corner, recess, and surface with narrowed eyes. He inspected the room from floor to ceiling, his gaze keen and penetrating. But there was nothing, not a single thing that revealed Sam had ever been there. “Oh my God. He’s gone.”

  “No shit,” Ethan snarled. “I thought he was playing Hide-and-Seek with his stuff.”

  Irritated, Brett flipped Ethan off. “Kiss my ass.”

  “Maybe later,” Ethan retorted. “If you’re a good boy.” He brought out a devil-may-care smile that Brett knew was faker than a three-dollar bill. His green eyes were flashing fierily, his strong nose flared. No, Ethan was pissed. From the looks of him, he was ready to tear something or someone apart limb from motherfucking limb pissed.

  Disregarding Ethan, Brett demanded, “Did he leave a note?”

  Ethan shook his head. “No. Not that I’ve found in here.”

  “Maybe somewhere else,” Brett countered. Although, his optimism was undoubtedly unfounded. If Sam was going to leave something for them, it would be in here—his personal sanctuary.

  Clearly, Ethan agreed. “You know better than that, Brett. Sam wouldn’t put a sticky note on the fridge with some piece of shit good-bye.” His voice transformed into a sneer. “It’s been fun, fuckers. Have a nice goddamn life isn’t really his style. If he wanted us to know what was going on, he would’ve left a note explaining things. But no, he’s gone without a word.”

  “Something’s not right about this,” Brett said as calmly as he could through the seething anger gripping him. He had to be reasonable. Right? If he didn’t keep a clear head, Ethan would go off half-cocked and do something stupid. No, Brett’s job was to find out what was going on and fix it, not throw the temper tantrum he felt simmering below the surface. “You know he wouldn’t just leave us.”

  Ethan curled his lip in blatant disbelief. “Right now, I don’t know anything.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Don’t Ethan me, Brett Alexander Monroe. He’s gone. No note. No call. No nothing. Just gone. So don’t you dare defend him. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

  Ethan was right. Sam didn’t really deserve to be defended. Whether something was wrong or not, he should have let Brett and Ethan know he was leaving rather than vanishing like a thief in the dead of night. Nevertheless, Brett needed to find out what was going on then he would deal with giving Sam what he deserved—a firm kick in the ass.

  “Fine. I won’t defend him,” Brett gritted out. “But we need to do something. We can’t just sit here with our thumbs up our asses while he’s God knows where doing God knows what.”

  Ethan snorted. “Good luck with that. Finding him will be a bitch without someone’s help. Seeing that I’m as clueless as you…”

  “Brooklyn,” Brett barked. “Call her. She’ll know.”

  Brett fought the urge to flinch. He felt like a pussy, but the pain of his words mixed with the fury he felt from Sam’s defection was simply too much. The realization that another person knew something about Sam that he didn’t was even worse. And the possibility that that person was with Sam had jealousy searing Brett, burning him to the core.

  Ethan’s angry expression slipped. Hurt blazed in his eyes. However, he didn’t say a word. He merely removed his cell phone from his pocket then started to dial. Afte
r a few seconds, he snapped, “Is Sam with you, Brooklyn?” Brett didn’t miss the fact that Ethan gave no preliminaries. He offered no politeness, just clipped words and a hoarse voice that dripped with ice.

  While Brett waited to hear what Brooklyn had to say, he stood in the bedroom like a bump on a log. He stared at Ethan and listened to his every breath. As the conversation continued, Ethan’s demeanor transformed, changing from anger to outright fury. With each of Ethan’s emotional shifts, Brett’s worry skyrocketed. But not as badly as when Ethan finally responded to whatever Brooklyn had said. Or in his case, when he cursed up a blue streak.

  “Are you shitting me, Brooklyn? You know where he is, but you won’t fucking tell us where he went? That is total bullshit.” He paused, presumably to listen to the woman on the other end of the line. “Hell, he may be your boyfriend. But you need to remember that he’s our friend, our best friend. And we’ve been there for him longer than you’ve known him.”

  Ethan went silent again. But as one second rolled into the next, Ethan’s face altered. His expression darkened and darkened until Brett had to intervene—before his best friend self-combusted from rage.

  Lunging forward, Brett snatched the cell phone from Ethan, who growled at him, then put it to his ear. “What’s going on, Brooklyn?”

  Brooklyn sighed. “That’s not for me to say, Brett. Just know that he is fine. Everything will be okay. Trust me.”

  Normally, Brett would’ve begrudgingly accepted the prediction of Serenity’s notorious psychic, like everyone else did. But this involved Sam. And he wouldn’t goddamn swallow her motherfucking mumbo jumbo when it came to him.

  “I don’t care whether or not you had a premonition that everything will be okay.” Brett didn’t disguise the sneer in his voice. He didn’t particularly give a fuck if she got mad that he was being a complete, total, and unmitigated ass. Right now, he didn’t give a damn about anything, except finding Sam and fixing whatever was wrong. “Nothing is okay. Nothing will be okay. Not if he’s hurt or mad or whatever the hell is going on with him.”