Two Brutes, One Barista: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (Alaskan Romance Book 3)

by Shaye Marlow

  Zack grunted. “Suzy brought it out.”

  “No, I mean, why? There are no roads.”

  My brothers stared at me for several long moments. “This may be hopeless,” Rory said, glancing at Zack.

  “I’m not tossing in the towel just yet,” Zack declared, jumping down. He thumped the binder I held. “Double cab Brute kit. Conversion kit for the Jeep Wrangler, extends the back, turns it into a truck, an off-road monster with a 4.5 inch lift.” Zack grinned. “We even bought her a snorkel. You and us—we—are going to be converting this lovely lady into the ultimate off-road vehicle. For off-road use.”

  I flipped to the second page and jabbed my finger at it. “This says, ‘These instructions assume a certain amount of mechanical ability’… I don’t even know what a drill motor is,” I said, squinting at the ‘Required Tools’.

  Zack clapped me on the shoulder. “We have the tools. You review the damn manual.”

  Three hours of tough, greasy, knuckle-smashing work later, Rory called a break. “If we’re gonna stay on schedule, we need to get a move on,” he said.

  I stood up, trying to stretch the kink out of my back. “On schedule?”

  “Yep.” Zack clapped me on the shoulder, making me wince. “We’ve only got you till we manage to drive you off—”

  Truer words had never been spoken.

  “—so we need to make every second count. C’mon.”

  I followed them into their cabin and washed the grime off my hands. Then I popped open the fridge, looking for a snack.

  Zack shoved it closed before I even got a chance to survey the contents. I glared at him from under my brows, wondering if beating my brother up might be considered therapeutic. “I’m hungry,” I said.

  Zack, the idiot, leaned casually against the door, crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned at me.

  “First cooking lesson,” Rory said.

  I turned around.

  He was standing at the counter, a bowl of raw steak soaking in dark liquid in front of him. “S.O.W. marinade,” he said. “Three parts soy sauce, two parts olive oil, one part Worcestershire. Marinade the steaks for at least an hour.”

  I stared at him.

  He grabbed a set of barbecue tongs, and shoved the bowl into my arms. “Come with me.”

  Out back, there was a large, professional-looking grill that I also hadn’t noticed.

  Rory shot me a grin. “Came on the same boat as the Jeep,” he said.

  I nodded, and let him take the bowl of steak. “So, catapult business going well?”

  “Yup. But you knew that. Didn’t exactly just pull the money to buy and remodel a cabin out of our asses, did we?” He turned on the propane. “It’s mostly Patreon and YouTube ads, people ordering catapult plans. And then there’s the construction,” he said, adjusting the flame. “Someone’s always building something out here. Or, wanting something built.”

  I grunted, watching his deft manipulation of the grill. “What the hell makes your YouTube channel so popular?”

  “Only our incredible, amazing, one-of-a-kind catapult stunts.” Which was believable; ever since they’d flung that squirrel and uploaded the video, they’d been catapulting—and filming—anything they could get their hands on. I had a momentary concern for my PS4, but quickly decided that even they weren’t that crazy.

  He picked up the bowl of steaks and marinade. “So, Grilling Steak 101. A skill every man should possess. Get her good and hot,” he said, wiggling his brows. “Then throw the meat to her.” He threw the steaks on, and as they sizzled, their wonderful aroma filled the air.

  “What are we having with them?” I asked.

  “My assistant, Zack, is preparing baked potatoes in the microwave. Poke some holes, slather with butter, toss in the microwave for several minutes. Pull out, slice open, more butter.”

  He jabbed his tongs at me before I could ask what we were having for a vegetable. “How do you like your steak?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth.

  “And before you answer, your two options are: rare, or medium rare. Cooking a steak any further than that is a crime against the animal.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Medium-rare.”

  “Excellent choice,” he said. “Do you know how to tell the doneness of a steak?” He proceeded to compare the feel of a steak to that of various body parts.

  Which, of course, led to thoughts of Thea’s body parts. Married body parts.

  We carried the steaks in, and Zack already had the potatoes steaming on three separate plates. Rory blessed each plate with a thick slab of meat, and then we spent a few moments distributing sour cream, cheese, and bacon bits.

  And, dried chives. I guess I’d found the vegetable.

  Rory swiped my plate. “Come,” he said. He set the plates on TV dinner trays, then turned on the TV—which, I noticed, had miraculously reappeared, along with the couch, and my console. My brothers worked in mysterious ways. Today, I didn’t question it.

  “What are we watching?” I asked, taking a seat.

  Zack set a beer down next to my plate. “Conan the Barbarian,” he said. “The most manliest movie we could think of on short notice.”

  I would have snorted, but I was too busy shoving food in my mouth. “Where’d the beer come from?” I mumbled a few bites later. “I didn’t think there was any alcohol in the house.”

  “Oh,” Rory said airily, “here and there.”

  “Shut up and watch the movie,” Zack advised.

  That night, I tried to move back into my old bedroom.

  Zack met me at the door, arms crossed, eyeing the duffel in my hands. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Moving back in,” I said. “Move.”

  He didn’t. “That wasn’t the deal. The deal was, we finish putting the Brute Kit on the Jeep, and you can move back in.”

  My mouth fell open. “No, it wasn’t.”

  He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Was, too,” he said, looking bored.

  “It was not.” Why did our arguments always seem to devolve to this?

  “Rory,” Zack called over his shoulder, “was the deal that J.D. could move in after he’d helped us put the Brute Kit on the Jeep?”

  Rory popped up in the doorway. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I helped you,” I said. “Now let me in.”

  “Oh, nonono. Not till it’s done,” Rory said.

  “That’s not what you said.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Zack said. “Either way, you’re sleeping in the sh—guest cabin tonight,” he finished with a slow grin.

  I wanted to punch him in the teeth. Instead, I gave them both a good, long glare, then spun, and headed back to my shed.

  And, since I didn’t have to put up with their shit, I waited until three in the morning to sneak back in. Driven by anger and no small measure of frustration—this was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, not a chauvinist boot camp!—I logged on to their computer. I wanted out ASAP, but the price of next-day flights made me choke. A bit further down the calendar, the prices became semi-reasonable.

  I knew my brothers’ bullshit would only escalate, it always did. Once they got an idea in their heads… I didn’t want to deal with this right now. Couldn’t. My reserves were all used up. What I needed was peace and quiet, and there was obviously none of that here.

  I hit ‘Book’. Now I had only to tolerate their idiocy another eleven days.

  Chapter Three

  J.D.

  Yawning, I headed to the little nook that housed the toilet.

  I came to an abrupt halt when I spotted knees instead of a toilet seat. My gaze moved upward.

  Zack sat on the closed lid, staring at me from the shadows.

  I just stifled my scream. “What the hell are you doing?” He didn’t even sleep here. Or piss here, for that matter. He did both in his cabin, with his running water, so I had no earthly idea why in the fuck he was here.

  “Waiting for you,” Zack said. He
continued to hold down the toilet seat, while I had a piss boner the size of Texas.

  “Why?” Had they somehow found out about the ticket?

  “We have things to discuss. Certain… habits.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Such as?”

  “Such as the fact that I suspect… you pee sitting down.”

  I squinted at him, pretty sure this was how flabbergasted felt.

  “You never splash,” Zack said, ticking the point off on his finger. “I never hear a powerful stream. And the toilet seat is always down when you’re done. It’s unnatural.”

  He’d been listening to me pee?! “Oh, fuck off,” I said, starting forward.

  Zack held up a hand. “And that’s not all,” he said.

  I paused, now well on toward stupefied. “There’s more?”

  “Yes. Your shaving habits.”

  I cast my eyes toward the shelf, where my toothbrush sat in a mug, where my razor was supposed to be. My Mach 3 was gone. The package of expensive cartridges, which’d been sitting right next to it? Also missing.

  I turned my head to look at my brother. “What did you do with my razor?”

  “I got rid of it,” he said.

  “What?” My voice had traveled into the danger zone.

  “Threw it in the burn barrel,” Zack said, waving a hand. “That bullshit could not be allowed to continue. You have two choices here. One: If you insist on keeping your face baby-smooth, you may shave with a straight razor, only. Or, two: You can grow a beard.” He sat there looking at me, all smug satisfaction.

  I stepped forward, and karate-chopped him in the neck.

  He listed sideways. Before he could hit the wall, I grabbed him by the lower legs, and dragged him off his throne.

  I towed Zack’s limp form past Rory, where he sat at the little table. “Is he dead?” he asked.

  “No,” I grunted. I dragged Zack’s heavy ass to the door, shouldered it open, and hauled him outside. His head thumped over the door jamb and single step, but as I maneuvered him across the yard, I figured he had a hard head, and not much in it to jostle anyway. He’d be fine.

  I finally dropped my stunned brother in the shade at the edge of the trees. His shirt had ridden up, and the mosquitos immediately began to circle and land on his face, neck, arms, and exposed belly. He moaned, eyelids fluttering.

  Turning, I went back into the cabin. Rory watched warily as I headed toward the toilet. He continued to watch as I prepared to pee. I paused, facing away, feeling his eyes on me, waiting for him to take a hint.

  Of course, he didn’t.

  “Get out,” I growled, fully prepared to give him the same treatment.

  Wisely, he retreated.

  Feeling better than I had in weeks—and not just because I finally got to pee—I decided I’d go for a jog. And, maybe that jog would take me by the coffee shop.

  Thea had said she’d help me with my shoulder, but mostly I just wanted to see her. Which wasn’t a crime, I told myself. She was a kind and beautiful woman, and being married didn’t change that. I could still enjoy her company.

  I pulled on a pair of shorts, and hesitated over a shirt. On the one hand, I was pasty, I’d grown a bit of a paunch, and there was a nasty-looking bump on my collarbone. On the other, it was a warm summer day, I always jogged without a shirt, and I still had four good abs for the ladies to look at. There were mosquitos in the woods, yes, but if I just kept moving, they couldn’t catch me.

  As I sat overthinking things, it occurred to me that maybe I was becoming effeminate. I grimaced, and tossed the shirt back in the closet.

  THEA

  I was just glancing to the next customer in line, when he stepped in.

  Oh. In the moment before the door closed behind him, the sun poured over his light hair and naked shoulders, and he looked like a statue dipped in gold.

  The door seemed to swing shut in slow motion, and when it did, he lost a bit of the sharp relief. And he gained so, so much more.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Suzy said.

  The hot guy halted.

  “Back up a bit,” she ordered.

  He stepped back.

  “More. Open the door.”

  Looking slightly confused, he did. Once more, sunlight poured over all of that glorious musculature, and if there’d been other women in visual range, they would’ve sighed right along with me.

  “Good,” said Suzy. “Now, spin. Slowly.”

  A dawning smile only served to make him more attractive. And the fact that he obeyed without question didn’t hurt, either. “Suzy, I’m not sure how Ed would feel about you ogling me,” he said.

  “Pfft. I might be in a relationship, but I’m not dead, am I?” She sipped her coffee as he turned in a slow circle.

  I couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized. He was holding something, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. And I couldn’t quite care, with all that firm, smooth flesh on display.

  “So, do you live here now?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Suzy. His gaze caught mine on the tail end of that glance, and my body vibrated like a tuning fork.

  Wow. Just… wow.

  “I’ve been here twice, and both times, you’re here,” he continued, addressing my most diminutive, and most faithful client. Blessedly, he was still turning, letting me see the exact shape of those pecs, the V of muscle arrowing down into dark shorts. A glittering happy trail, almost invisible against his light skin, but shining like white gold in the morning sun.

  “Shush. I’ve got a caffeine habit, and if you talk too much, you’ll ruin the view.”

  He made a sound of mirth. “You good?” he asked after two or three slow rotations.

  Suzy glanced back at me and raised a brow.

  Feeling flustered, I nodded.

  Suzy winked. “You may approach,” she told him, managing to be both tiny and imperious. She patted his upper arm on her way to the door.

  And then, I had eyes only for him. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as he walked closer. Not a gold statue. One made out of something warmer, and infinitely more appealing. And not carved, but molded lovingly by someone with intimate knowledge of the human body. The neck should be strong, but not so thick as to look bullish. Strong, wide shoulders to carry the weight of the world. Pecs should swell to either side of the chest just… so. And cradled between those delectable muscles, in such a way as to accentuate biceps that defined perfection?

  Why, a kitten, of course.

  My hormones went into instant overdrive, and I wanted to touch him so badly that I actually started to move around the counter. When I forced myself to stop, my hands spasmed.

  Still, I could practically feel him. Those bulging abs… He’d be firm, and warm, his skin smooth, but not too smooth…

  “…mocha, please.”

  I blinked, and realized I had a customer. It really helped when the customer stepped between me and the gorgeous blond. It shoulda been a crime, blocking my view, but it did help.

  Feeling flustered, I smiled at the fisherman. “I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked, as my eyes were drawn once again to the vision behind him.

  The vision had bright blue eyes, and he was staring back at me. The corner of his mouth quirked in the sexiest little grin I’d ever seen. It drew my gaze lower, even as the expression tugged on my memory.

  Oh god, he was gently stroking the kitten’s head with one of those strong fingers. And it was purring, snuggled against his chest, those drowsy eyes slitted with pleasure.

  “…mocha.”

  Fuck. “I’m sorry sir, a mocha, you said?”

  “With four shots,” the guy said grumpily.

  I forced myself to look away from the ridiculously hot newcomer, and started making a mocha—which didn’t go well, because I forgot the cup, then the chocolate, then burned the milk—but, as I did so, my mind started to clear.

  I shouldn’t be getting this worked up, I told myself, because there was no point. I wasn’t getting inv
olved with anyone this summer. I was simply going to do my job, make some money, and leave. I wasn’t going to get distracted, and certainly not with someone who looked like that. And besides, someone like that didn’t usually go for someone like me. So really, I was getting hot and bothered for no reason.

  Working mechanically, mentally berating myself as I re-steamed the milk, I finally handed the fisherman his strong drink and took his money. The guy shuffled aside, and then it happened.

  I glanced up into those blue eyes, and time stood still. They weren’t just blue. They were bright blue, and warm where blue shouldn’t be warm, and rimmed by spiky lashes the color of wheat.

  Recognition struck. “Oh. It’s you.” Dur. It was frickin’ J.D. I’d been so blinded by his headlights—the ones on his chest—I hadn’t even recognized him.

  He was acting a little sheepish. He was sexy as shit, and sheepish. “Yeah. I didn’t wear a shirt.”

  I stared at him. “No. You didn’t.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I was just… jogging. I didn’t see a ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ sign,” he added.

  “No, it’s fine.” I’d be happy to service him. I mentally slapped my own wrist, thinking about how hot it was gonna get in this little hut when I put my hands on that bare skin. When that bare skin was sheened with oil…

  I leaned forward, raking my gaze down to his feet. “You’ve got your shoes,” I pointed out.

  “I do,” he agreed. He gazed at me for a long moment, then cleared his throat. He boosted the kitten a little higher. “So I was jogging, and I found this little guy in the woods out back.”

  I looked at the kitten.

  “I assumed maybe there was a litter of kittens around here somewhere?”

  “Oh, right. Yes. Come with me.” No way was I getting close enough to take that kitten. I needed to calm down a bit before I touched him. Regain my equilibrium. Reel my tongue back into my head.

  My neck prickled as he followed. And then, I held the door for him, and his spicy scent washed over me, and nearly took me to the ground. He smelled good enough to eat, like a hot sweet potato pie in a cedar forest. I managed to stay upright, but only just, thanks to my death-grip on the knob.