The Worst Best Man

by Lucy Score

  “You got beer?” Gio asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on.” Frankie headed into the kitchen, and Aiden followed her.

  “We still need to talk,” he told her, reaching out to grip her slim wrist.

  “Yeah, we do,” she sighed. “But not around the big mouth singing bass out there.”

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

  She eyed him for a moment, and he thought she might be trying to come up with an excuse. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m picking the place.”

  “Done.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “See how easy this is? You tell me what you want, and I give it to you.”

  He had the pleasure of seeing goose bumps raise on her neck and arms. Aiden grabbed the beers she pulled from the fridge and wandered back to the living room.

  They settled on her couch with Gio in the ratty armchair and ate sandwiches built by a master while watching men and women pummel each other into bloody submission. Frankie and Gio had action on nearly every match and enjoyed ribbing each other throughout. Aiden tried to imagine doing the same with his half-brother. It was unfathomable. They’d never had an easy relationship like this.

  “So, how’d you two meet?” Gio asked, biting into a pastrami on rye.

  Franchesca took a quick swallow of beer. “Well, Aide here called me a stripper five seconds after we were introduced. I told him he was an asshole. And then his brother kidnapped Chip the night before his wedding, and we had to track him down.”

  Gio’s sandwich fell out of his hands into the wrapper in his lap.

  “You serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Aiden admitted. “But I didn’t really mean the stripper thing.”

  “Good,” Gio said good-naturedly. “I’d hate to have to beat you down on a full stomach.”

  “I’d hate to be beaten down,” Aiden agreed.

  Frankie picked up her beer and watched until Gio took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Oh, and we had awesome sex last night. Crazy awesome.”

  Gio choked on his sandwich, coughing until Frankie got up to slap him in the back.

  “Goddammit. I hate when you do that shit.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The restaurant Frankie chose was a hole-in-the-wall Portuguese place sandwiched between an empty storefront and a hot yoga studio on a quiet street in Brooklyn. The tables had no cloths, and the menus looked as though they’d been printed from a back-office printer. But the smells coming from the kitchen were nothing short of heavenly.

  Aiden silenced his phone and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. He didn’t want anything trying to steal his attention from the woman across the table. Frankie had worn her hair down and, in keeping with the casual atmosphere of the restaurant, she was wearing tight jeans, a sweater with a neckline that kept drawing his eye to her delectable cleavage, and soft suede boots.

  She seemed… comfortable, perusing her menu, resting her chin in her hand. He tried to remember the last woman he saw who didn’t maintain perfect posture and actually asked for and remembered the names of the waitstaff.

  “What?” Frankie asked, frowning at him over her menu.

  “I was just…”

  “If you say admiring the view, I’m going to throw up on the table.”

  Aiden shook his head. The words that came out of her mouth… “Well, we can’t have that now.”

  “Then why were you staring at me?”

  “Because I like looking at you. You’re interesting to watch.”

  “I’m going to assume that’s a compliment so we don’t have to start our first date with a fight,” Frankie decided.

  “It was very much meant as a compliment. You’re different than—”

  “What you’re used to.” She closed the menu. “Which brings me to my first point in what I hope will be a civil discussion.”

  “You’re not going to threaten to rip my face off and feed it to me like you did your brother last night, are you?” Aiden asked.

  “Har har, smart guy. Let’s just put this on the table. We have literally nothing but pretty spectacular orgasms in common.”

  The word “orgasms” had his cock stirring. “I find it hard to believe there’s nothing else. How do you feel about puppies and apple pie?”

  Her lips quirked. “Okay, let’s try this. What’s your goal this week? What do you plan to accomplish by Friday?”

  The waiter returned with their glasses. It was a BYOB place so Aiden had raided his collection and settled on a decent bottle of cabernet. They placed their orders and handed over the menus.

  “By Friday?” Aiden asked, filling her glass and then moving on to his own. “The board vote is this week. I plan to make sure it goes my way. Elliot needs to be reminded of his place in the family and the business. And I have a new acquisition that is experiencing some, shall we say, growing pains that need my attention.”

  “Uh-huh,” Frankie said smugly. “You know what I’m doing this week?”

  “I’d love to know.”

  “I’m trying to ace my Corporate Social Responsibility exam on Thursday.”

  “Exam?”

  “I’m getting my MBA. Should have it by May if I can focus hard enough. The catering thing was a side gig so I wouldn’t go broke on Pru’s wedding. I work part-time for a small business development center.”

  “You’re interested in business?” he ventured. Common ground that didn’t involve orgasms.

  “Very. It’s what happens when your parents run a business. I’m sure you get that.”

  He nodded. “Of course. At times, it can seem as if it’s in the blood.”

  “Yeah, well maybe the business part for me but not the lunchmeat.”

  At his questioning glance, Frankie laughed. “My parents own a deli in Brooklyn just down the street from their house. My brother Marco runs it now. I grew up in that shop. I can slice a pound of corned beef better than Marco or Gio.”

  “But you didn’t want to take over a deli?”

  Frankie shook her head. “I like the numbers side of it. The accounting, the planning, the tracking.”

  “What will you do with your MBA?”

  She shrugged. “I really like what I do at the small business development center. Some people think that big business, huge corporations, are where America works. But it’s not. It’s the second-generation plumbing company or the ice cream shop that’s been open for forty years or the machine shop start-up or the florist. I help those businesses do business.”

  Fascinated, Aiden leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table.

  “And you think we have nothing in common,” he pointed out.

  “How much does this bottle cost?” she asked, lifting her glass to study the wine.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I do because I Googled it when you were in the restroom. My rent is cheaper than this bottle.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that money is going to be an area of contention with you? I don’t care what you have or how much you make or owe. Why should you care about my financials?”

  “Aiden,” she laughed. “Your financials put you in an entirely different world than mine. I don’t think those worlds are going to mix well.”

  “We won’t know until we try.”

  The waiter returned delivering the chicken skewer appetizer with a flourish.

  “What do you want me to do, go to galas as your arm candy? Because I’ll be honest. What you saw last night? Sweat pants and UFC and greasy sandwiches? I’d much rather be doing that on a weekend than strutting around like one of Pru’s friends, dressed to the nines and ‘being seen.’”

  “In this arrangement, Franchesca, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not interested in you as another Society Barbie. I like you the way you are.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” he asked.

 
“I’m thinking.”

  “You’re trying to come up with another excuse. Try it, Franchesca. Date me. Fuck me.”

  “You know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she joked, taking another sip of wine.

  “I’m just being honest.”

  She picked up a piece of bread from the plate and studied it. “Fine. I don’t want to be paraded around like one of your other ‘dates.’ And my life is here. I don’t want to be trekking all over Manhattan at your beck and call.”

  “Deal. I don’t do messy. I don’t do drama. If you can adhere to those two things, we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Monogamy?” Frankie asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “A requirement for us both.”

  She nodded. “Good. I guess we have a deal.”

  He reached across the table and picked up her hand. But instead of shaking it, he brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a pleasure doing business with you,” he predicted.

  They ate and talked over spoonfuls of fish stew and bites of salt cod fritters and lingered over their coffee. It was strong, not bitter but not quite sweet, on his tongue, and Aiden couldn’t help but think of the flavor of Franchesca. He’d only begun to sample it, and he wanted more.

  She picked up the check before he could stop her. “Uh-uh,” she said, snatching the paper away. “Money isn’t an area of contention, is it?”

  “I pay, Franchesca.”

  “You can get next time. This one’s on me. And stop frowning like that. If it means that much to you, you can get dessert.”

  Dessert. The word brought dozens of images of Frankie’s naked body to mind.

  “Gelato, Kilbourn. I see what you’re thinking.”

  The server returned with Frankie’s change. “I’m leaving the tip,” Aiden announced, laying down a bill roughly the value of the entire tab for dinner.

  “Show off.”

  They rose, and he helped her into her coat. It was a wool trench that had seen better days. “You’re missing a button,” he said sweeping into his own cashmere coat and eyeing the gap in her coat’s closure.

  “Ugh, I know. I lost it last winter when my brothers dared me to sneak out of my old bedroom window at my parents’ house and shimmy down the tree like I used to. In my defense, we were three bottles of wine into Thanksgiving dinner. Still can’t find the button.”

  “So, where’s this gelato place?” Aiden asked. He was pleased when she took his hand as they exited the restaurant. He wanted to ask her what she had in mind after dessert. He had an overnight bag in the car and a respectable stash of condoms. He was just being prepared… and maybe a little hopeful.

  Frankie led the way around the block. “Did you work today?” she asked.

  He nodded. He hadn’t been planning to. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to have flown home from Barbados until this morning, but Franchesca had changed that plan when she left his bed. “I did. Had to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened while I was gone.”

  “Did you decide what you’re going to do about Elliot?” Frankie asked.

  He tensed, wondering if this was a trap. Another excuse for her to go back to hating him. “I hit him where it hurts the most.”

  “His broken nose?” Frankie asked.

  Aiden laughed. “No, but he has two black eyes and can’t breathe, so that was entertaining to see as he groveled to our father.”

  “You went to your dad?” Frankie asked.

  “Elliot was always a problem child. He makes rash decisions, often with large amounts of money. He was given a position in the company because it was only fair in my father’s eyes. But Elliot’s money is tied up in a revocable trust. My father didn’t want him gambling it away or loaning it to a prostitute to start her own brothel.”

  “Or a girl who dances like a stripper,” Frankie said, batting her lashes at him.

  Aiden nudged her shoulder. “I’m sorry for that. I’d had a long day, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend my evening at a party with friends trying to hook me up.”

  “And you had a migraine.”

  “That too.”

  “Do you get them often?”

  “Only on special occasions. Usually when dealing with Elliot.”

  “So, what did your father consider a punishment for committing a felony?” Frankie asked.

  “He froze Elliot’s accounts for a month.”

  Frankie stumbled. “Your brother kidnaps someone in some whack job power move, and your daddy takes his allowance away?”

  Aiden wasn’t about to tell her he’d had a similar reaction when his father had meted out the punishment. It was private family business.

  “My father felt that was what the situation called for.”

  “And what do you feel like ‘the situation’ called for? Keep in mind your answer will determine if you get past the gelato portion of our evening.”

  “In that case, I’d like to bring back tarring and feathering.”

  “You’re learning, Aide. You’re learning,” she said, eyes twinkling. It was a victory sweeter than any in recent history. And without thinking, without maneuvering her into it, Aiden pulled Frankie against him.

  “Do I get to kiss you anytime I want now that we’re dating?”

  She looked up at him, hooking her fingers into his lapels. “Within reason, I suppose.”

  He saw the heat in the narrowing of her eyes, the parting of her lips. And when he brought his mouth to hers, he tasted that victory again. Franchesca Baranski had submitted, temporarily. She was his to kiss, to fuck, to tease. And he wasn’t going to waste a second of their time together.

  She was backing up, and he followed her until her shoulders met the cold brick of the building. Holding her there, Aiden cupped her chin in his hands and seduced her mouth. Her lips were full and oh so soft. He remembered them sliding over his dick, remembered them going round in the shock of her release. And now they were feeding hungrily on him.

  Her hands moved from his chest inside his coat to his hips. She pulled him against her and groaned when she felt his erection.

  “How married are you to gelato?” she asked, breaking free of his mouth.

  “I hate gelato.”

  “My apartment is three blocks from here.”

  “I have condoms in the car.”

  “I have some at my place.”

  His father’s warning to his teenage son echoed in his head. Rich kid rule number seventeen. Never use a woman’s condoms. She may be trying to trap you by getting pregnant.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Three blocks felt like miles when her clit was swollen with need and there was a sexy man holding her hand who could do something very efficiently about it. They barely spoke, the tension between them skyrocketing by the second.

  Every brush of his body against hers put Frankie further on painful, needy edge.

  Would it be as good as it had been in Barbados? Would it be better? Would she survive?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She fumbled with her keys at the door, nerves visible in the way her fingers shook. Aiden took her keys from her and unlocked the door. It was the last civilized thing he did for the rest of the night.

  Frankie dragged him inside and shut the door behind them before Mrs. Chu could stick her head out into the hallway and offer them snacks or sex advice. Aiden was already shedding his coat and suit jacket by the time she slid the chain on the door.

  She joined him, shucking layers and shoes until they had the barest of essentials between them.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice a gravelly order.

  She could have sauntered to him, making him wait, keeping the upper hand for a bit longer until he stole it from her with those sinful lips and magic cock that was straining to escape the confines of his sexy, tight red underwear. But she didn’t. Frankie launched herself at him. Aiden, to his cr
edit, didn’t buckle under her weight.

  He picked her up, lifting her by her ass cheeks, and settled her against his hard-on.

  She was beyond grateful that she’d dressed with the potential for sex on the mind. For once, her underwear matched her bra. Black and lacy were about as sexy as she got effort-wise. And they seemed to be doing the job.

  Aiden fed on her mouth as he carried her into the bedroom. This time, he lowered her slowly to the mattress, covering her body with his. Her bed was small, nothing like the acreage of mattress they’d indulged themselves on in Barbados. But Aiden didn’t seem to mind.

  “Condoms?” he asked, his voice rough.

  She pointed to a box on her nightstand.

  “I hope you put those there thinking of me,” he said dryly. She was amazed that he could tease her with as hard as his cock was against her.

  “No, I always keep a jumbo box of extra-large for-her-pleasure rubbers on my nightstand.”

  He pinched her ass, and she squealed. His mouth muffled any further comment.

  “I want you in every way possible,” he confessed.

  “Gotta start somewhere,” she breathed, half laughing, half ready to plead. “How do you want me, Aiden?”

  As she’d expected, the question had carnal need lighting his beautiful blue eyes. He clenched his jaw.

  “Show me,” she insisted. She was giving him permission. The last time it had been a war for the upper hand. This time, she wanted to see exactly what dark fantasies went on behind that angel’s face.

  He growled low in his throat and flipped her over onto her stomach. He held her head down by grabbing a handful of hair and slid an arm around her waist, lifting her hips so that she rose onto her knees.

  “Is this okay?” he whispered.

  “I’m greenlighting you. Whatever you want is okay tonight.” Sure, she was testing him. But if he didn’t slam his cock into her in the next ten seconds, she was probably going to die.

  “Whatever I want?” he repeated.

  “Well, I’m not into threesomes or dudes pissing on me.”

  “What about…” he trailed a finger down her spine to the cleft between her ass cheeks. When he stroked the tip of the finger over her asshole, Frankie tensed.