The Suit (The Bro Series Book 3)

by Xavier Neal

  “Making some woman cry because she was a one night stand would definitely be the wrong way,” Nate agrees.

  “They don’t cry,” I defensively argue.

  “Cry. Pout. Whine. All the same shit,” Wyatt brushes off. “Chicks get attached so fucking easy.”

  “Like your STDs?” Holden pokes between sips.

  We all laugh at Wyatt’s expense like we usually do.

  No one takes the punches to heart. Never have. Back in college when we all rushed the same frat, our ability to laugh at the shit we said to each other was part of what kept us from falling victim to their trite traditions. It didn’t take more than a few well thought out words from Nate to convince us we’d never find what we were looking for in the walls of that house. We quit together and spent the next four years making history. Rules had to be changed because of us. New guidelines created. Traditions, traditions I still randomly hear about, are actively being passed down from class to class. We were all from different backgrounds, with different looks, with different purposes for initially trying to join, but the foundation of it all was the same. Those were the glory days. The ones where each decision was completely rooted in camaraderie and each moment for family. I miss that shit. Not the wild parties or half naked chicks knocking on our door at two in the morning. I miss the time we were constantly together like brothers.

  I miss waking up to a family.

  Going to bed to a family.

  Coming home to a family.

  Our lives are constantly so fucking busy and separated now that it instills an ache I loathe.

  The ache that being without my biological sister created.

  An ache rooted in fear of a life lived in solitude.

  Isolation.

  Loneliness.

  “Speaking of surprises and attachments, how’d you con Ainsley into letting you come out and play?” Wyatt questions, with a wide grin. “You’re not her teacher any more, so you couldn’t promise her an A on her next test.”

  Nate swallows his obvious irritation. “How much longer are you guys gonna make jokes about that shit?”

  “At least until she starts college,” I answer with mirth in my tone.

  “And then a whole new level of teaching jokes can and will begin,” Holden swiftly announces.

  Nate grunts his displeasure and presses his cup back to his lips.

  None of us really give a shit he fell for a student. They were both legal. Both wanted each other. Both happier because they got together. We just like to watch him fucking squirm.

  All of a sudden, the sound of a phone ringing grabs our attention.

  Holden’s distinctive huff informs us of who is being summoned out of the luxurious pool. “I gotta get that.”

  We nod our understanding, and Wyatt takes the opportunity to dismiss himself, too. “Gonna go grab more booze. Who wants what?”

  Nate showcases his drink. “Still good.”

  “Whiskey. Neat.”

  Wyatt lets out a dramatic sigh and snatches my empty cup. “So. Boring. Bro. Where is the originality in what you said?”

  Rather than entertain his age old tirade, I simply allow my stoic expression to do the arguing.

  He rolls his eyes and quickly surrenders. “Fine. It’s your fucking birthday. Be bored if you want.”

  My eyes land back on Nate who is shaking his head. “Is it just me or has he been drinking more than normal lately?”

  I give him a shrug. “Hadn’t noticed a difference.”

  Wyatt by far drinks the most out of all of us. Always has. Figure he always will. Don’t judge him because we all have our fucking vices. We all do shit we have to in order to escape the monotony our lives seem to have taken on. It’s part of growing the fuck up.

  There isn’t time for the conversation to progress.

  Holden belts out a loud “fuck” that grabs the attention of the few other guests lounging on patio chairs.

  We watch him snatch his t-shirt off the chair. “I gotta fucking go.”

  I lift a hand up in question.

  “My so-called nanny let Sage wander off and follow the ice cream man all by herself!”

  Nate and I cringe in unison.

  “Thankfully, Scott’s Mom grabbed her when she did.” Holden shoves his shirt over his head. “She’s so fucking fired,” he grumbles, tugging on his basketball shorts over his wet trunks. “This is the last fucking thing I needed.” He forces his feet into his flip flops. “I have enough shit on my plate without having to go through this process every three weeks.”

  He has the worst luck with nannies. Then again, if he was given the perfect nanny, he’d still manage to find something wrong with her because that’s what Holden does. He looks for the problems so he can find the solutions. It’s his own sick, twisted way of being needed when he thinks we don’t fucking need him. Out of the three of us, I relate the easiest. It’s one reason I keep my naturally larger build so solid. Physical protection.

  Especially after the one time I wasn’t strong enough to keep someone I love out of harm’s way.

  “Go.” I toss him a nod goodbye. “Let us know when she’s safe.”

  Holden rolls his eyes as he pulls out his keys. “Doubtful in this world.”

  He’d know. He helps hunt down bastards for a living. The kind that give a normal person nightmares. The kind I considered getting a degree to help takedown but decided against for the sake of my family.

  Couldn’t put them in another vulnerable position.

  Wouldn’t allow even the possibility for them to be exposed to that type of danger.

  Mere seconds after he’s managed to make his way back inside the hotel, Wyatt is descending the pool steps with a drink in each hand and three attractive women behind him.

  “Where’s Holden?”

  I reach for my cup. “Bailed.”

  He makes a childish frown but doesn’t waste too long letting it linger. A devilish grin appears on his face. “I brought gifts.”

  My eyes drink in the bikini clad females who are an ode to a lifestyle no one realizes I’m tired of fucking living.

  There’s a huge part of me that envies Holden. Yeah, it fucking sucks ass he’s a widower who refuses to ever fall in love again, but he has a family he created. Kids. Tiny people to protect and rely on him. Tiny people who need him and give him purpose. I fucking want that. I’ve fucking wanted that shit hard for the last couple of years. Truthfully, I thought I’d be married with two kids before I hit thirty, that some hot piece of pussy I couldn’t live without would drop into my lap, and I’d get to start building a life like I imagined. Having kids to play with Holden’s kids. Having my parents reconnect over their love for my son or daughter. Having my sister stop hiding all around the world and make herself a permanent home back here. Instead? Instead I spend most nights sucking down expensive wine or whiskey and hoping by morning I forget the face I’ve fucked. Learning to smile while miserable on the inside is part of being an attorney, no matter the type.

  Wyatt takes a standing position beside me and points. “Nadia.”

  The young, light brown skinned woman in the black string bikini gives me a three finger wave.

  He gestures to the next person. “Alison.”

  She tucks a strand of her red hair behind her gauged ear.

  His last point lands on a scowling blonde. “Diana.”

  Her face barely twitches to deliver a grin.

  Immediately, Wyatt repeats the pointing in the exact order as he comments, “Model. Fitness trainer. Married.”

  Nate lets out a heavy sigh. “That’s not an occupation, dumbass.”

  Wyatt callously shrugs.

  “Told you we should’ve stayed at the bar,” Diana grouchily mutters.

  I quickly offer up an apology, “Sorry, ladies. He was dropped on his head as a small child and again last week.”

  The three women all crack smirks.

  “It’s his birthday.” Wyatt charmingly smiles. “Just wanted him to have som
e better company than the two of us.” He tosses his head Nate’s direction. “Would do you think ladies? Can you stick around and share a drink?”

  Alison slowly nods. “We can stay…at least for one drink.”

  “If I’m lucky, it’ll be two,” Wyatt flirts.

  Her face flushes to the color of her hair, and I try to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

  Women fall at his feet for a completely different reason. He reminds me of Brad Pitt in his prime. Never takes more than a fucking smile and well timed flirtation to make their panties drop. He without a doubt makes the best fucking wingman. Problem is…I’m tired of needing one.

  Fuck, I’m tired of being one.

  Alison migrates her body to his side while Diana takes a seat on the edge near Nate. We introduce ourselves, make our first cheers together, and begin light conversation. Wyatt makes an overdramatic production of announcing Nate’s taken, which allows for Diana to relax as they converse. Alison and Nadia spend most of their efforts laying on the innuendos in the least subtle fashion I can imagine.

  Even if I was fucking shit faced I could catch onto the bait they’re dangling.

  Wyatt parks his ass on the steps, and Alison nonchalantly slinks into his lap mid-sentence. Nadia continues to “accidentally” brush against me clearly anxious for me to touch her.

  To want her.

  To give her the attention she desperately seeks.

  Not happening.

  Not today.

  Not with my friend slash client’s new step daughter still on my fucking mind…

  “I think bald men with tattoos are sexy,” Diana casually adds to the gushing Nadia is pouring out about my physical appearance.

  “Totally sexy,” Alison agrees at the same time Wyatt has a sip of his mojito with a twist of raspberry.

  “You look just like Dwayne Johnson,” the praising continues with a gentle stroke on the arm from the recently turned twenty one year old. “But a bit sexier.”

  Nope. Don’t look any fucking thing like him.

  And women think men have shitty pickup lines.

  I adjust my sunglasses, have a sip of my whiskey, and keep my comments to myself.

  Nadia pushes for me to respond to her, to pay more attention to her than I have been since Wyatt dragged them over. “You’re like the same, right?”

  “No,” I deny with a puzzled look. “I’m not The Rock.”

  “No, no,” she giggles, giving me flirty push. “Like the same.”

  “Ethnicity?”

  “Ya!”

  “No.”

  She eagerly stares at my mouth waiting for me to explain.

  Thankfully, she can’t see me roll my eyes. “I’m half Italian. He’s half Samoan.”

  “But they’re practically the same, aren’t they? They’re like next door neighbors.”

  Wyatt helplessly chuckles. “What?”

  “Italy and Samonily.”

  Her comment furrows my brow in confusion.

  Nate cautiously questions, “You mean Sicily?”

  Nadia promptly nods and gives him a playful point. “Right! That’s where Samoans are from!”

  Wyatt, Nate, and I exchange uncomfortable looks.

  Afterwards, Wyatt tosses back everything left in his glass and mumbles, “Nope. Not drunk enough yet. Shots?”

  Nadia and Alison squeak in agreement while I give him a polite nod of encouragement.

  Definitely too sober to keep this shit up for another couple of hours. Luckily for me, it’s my birthday and my bros are coming deep out of pocket to insure I have the best fucking time possible. Between Wyatt covering the booze and brunch and Nate handling our time at the cigar club later, my happiness will most likely successfully have been bought. Or at least a fraction of it will, and I’ll fake the rest. They deserve to feel they’ve done a good job. This is damn sure one of those rare times where it is the fucking effort that counts.

  At the exclusive member’s only cigar club where I purchased us all memberships after my first large payout at my firm, I readjust myself in the black leather chair and allow the dark haired female to light the newly purchased object.

  “Tell me you didn’t really drop a grand on a cigar.”

  The woman gives my cheek a soft caress before strutting away.

  My head rolls his direction. “Two.”

  Nate tugs at the black bowtie around his neck.

  For a guy who comes from money, he’s slightly uptight about tossing it around. Me? A man who was taught you make money to spend money? A couple grand on a moment you’ll treasure for a few years is worth it. And that’s what luxuries like this are. Expensive opportunities to create fond memories to look back on. Besides, what the hell else am I gonna spend it on? The wife I don’t have to spoil?

  The kids I don’t have to feed?

  The family I don’t seem capable of creating?

  Casually, I offer, “Want one?”

  He declines with a swift lift of the hand. “I’m good.”

  A waitress suddenly appears with a tray of glasses. “Mr. Green ordered a round of champagne in celebration.”

  I toss him an inquisitive stare.

  “Thought you might like a little something different this evening since you spent the afternoon sipping on whiskey.”

  “Top shelf whiskey,” Wyatt adds from the other side of Nate. “Wilcox.”

  Have the best or have nothing at all.

  “This is one of the more expensive bottles we serve,” the woman explains, glass sliding into my grip. “It should pair well with the Gurkha HMR you’ve got between your lips, but if it doesn’t I’ll gladly bring you a glass of cognac that I guarantee you’ll love having on your tongue…”

  The offer receives a grin of gratitude, yet nothing else.

  Bringing home cigar girls is not my thing. Yeah, they’re hot as fuck, but that’s more of a job requirement than anything else. Their whole goal is to seduce you into spending more money. I’m not easily swayed unlike my charming companion who is tapping a blonde haired woman on her ass like we’re at a fucking strip club instead of a cigar lounge.

  “Call me, Daddy,” Wyatt commands as he sips the glass he was given.

  She peers over her shoulder, wiggling her leather corsets dress covered hips at him. “Daddy.”

  Nate rolls his eyes. “You do realize she’s not a stripper.”

  Wyatt pulls a crisp hundred dollar bill out of the pocket of his black suit jacket. “She’s whatever Benjamin Franklin wants her to be. Isn’t that right, beautiful?”

  The blonde winks and attempts to take the bill from his possession.

  “No-huh,” Wyatt teases, pulling it back. “With your teeth.”

  She pouts.

  He pulls out another bill. “I’ll make it two.”

  Once intrigue hits her expression, he lets the bills flutter into his lap and watches intently as she lowers herself to her knees to retrieve the cash.

  I take a long drag of my cigar and look away, unimpressed.

  He’s right. Women can and do fucked up shit for money.

  But then again, so did I.

  Guess we all have a price.

  Thankfully, I now sit in a position to make it rather than having to decide if I should take it.

  If I should whore myself on my knees.

  Once was more than enough.

  Even if it was unknowingly.

  “You okay?” Nate questions in a quieter tone.

  My attention glides to him.

  “You’ve been a bit…off today.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Almost…preoccupied?”

  The continued lack of response wrinkles his forehead.

  “What’s up?”

  Slowly, I remove the cigar and let go of the delicious smoke. “Nothing.”

  His blue eyes do their best to bore into me, past the rocky exterior and through the compressed confines of the next level. However, when I don’t do more than offer him a hard blink, Nate shrinks
back into his shell, terrified of touching the steel wall I keep around my soul. “Well…um…if you ever need advice about nothing, just let me know.”

  To my surprise, the offer is actually appealing.