Two Weeks -kindle

by Alexander, R. G.

  Did you hate him for being right?

  I push the question aside and focus on apologizing to Austen. “I should have known better, but by the time I got off the phone with Royal, I was nearly convinced he was perfect for you, and I disagree with matchmaking on a cellular level.”

  Royal had been persuasive and sincere. And he knew enough about her and what they had in common to surprise me. Both his and Austen’s fathers are professors and bibliophiles. Both are from insanely large families—Royal is one of ten close-knit foster brothers and Austen has six siblings of her own, some of whom she sees on a daily basis. They’re both confident, well-adjusted, funny and almost too attractive for their own good, inside and out.

  Like I said, I was nearly convinced.

  “But since they haven’t bothered to show up,” I continue with a scowl, “and no one’s called to let me know what the hell is going on, none of those reasons matter anymore. So I’m taking the hint and retiring from the Cupid business, effective immediately. This was it. My first and last matchmaking assignment.”

  Austen sits up straighter, eyes wide with surprise. “The guy’s name is Royal? You’re sure? He wouldn’t happen to be a pilot, would he? A big, muscular airline pilot with a loud laugh and a brother who married a guy he met in this very pub? That’s who wanted to meet me?”

  I send her a sheepish grin. “Small world, right? That’s why we’re here, for the record. He said it had to be here, since this is where he saw you for the first time.”

  Which, for Royal, sounded pretty damned romantic to me.

  “Wow.” She exhaled slowly, expression vaguely stunned. “Small world is right. Exactly how is the Rock-lookalike your friend? How did you meet him? He lives in New York, doesn’t he?”

  Wait, how does she know that? “He does, but he and Brendan work for the same airline. They’ve been buddies for years.” I’m distracted by the strange look on her face. “Austen, are you blushing?”

  “I never blush.”

  Until now, apparently.

  Holy shit.

  “Do you actually like Royal? Before you answer, remember that saying yes would really make me feel better about myself after dragging you out tonight under false pretenses.”

  She presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “I saw him at one engagement party, so don’t know him well enough to like him. To make you feel better, I’ll admit I find him moderately attractive. And they weren’t false pretenses. You’ve agreed to another friend date, and offered free massages at my first public meet up of the GPP next week. With your magic hands, I’ll be in high demand in no time.”

  I don’t remember agreeing to that, but I haven’t been paying attention and she’s willing to forgive me, so I’ll take her word for it. “Are you sure you don’t want to change the name while you still have time? ‘Guinea Pig Party’ was funny when it was just your family, but for the public it might be too…experimental. You’re products are some of the best around, but most people aren’t willing to volunteer their face to science.”

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, which tells me I’m not the first person to point that out. “I’ll think about it. So now that we’ve settled our business and we both know why we’re really here, why don’t you call your Brendan and see what’s taking them so long?”

  My Brendan.

  I drop my gaze to the table to hide my reaction. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “You think they ditched us, don’t you?” She sounds affronted, though I’m not sure if it’s on my behalf or hers. I don’t imagine anyone has ever ditched Austen Wayne before. “I thought these guys were your friends.”

  “They are.” Note, I never said they’re reliable. Or that they’re not easily distracted by shiny objects, like flight attendants. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. “Maybe there was a layover some—”

  “Miller?” she interrupts me in a bemused tone that has me looking up again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I have an idea about why they’re late.”

  I almost smile. “Doing that witchy Sherlock thing again?”

  “No,” she shakes her head slowly, her attention glued to the space over my shoulder. “Just using my eyes.”

  I turn in my chair and my jaw comes unhinged. Royal is trying to herd Brendan through the crowd toward our table, but he’s not having much luck because Brendan is clearly hammered and stopping to drape himself over every warm body along the way.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Chapter Two

  Go Home, Dick. You’re Drunk

  “Does he normally act like that?”

  “Never.” I slowly shove my phone back into my pocket, thinking this is what shock must feel like.

  Royal gets to the table first and sends a look of genuine regret Austen’s way. “Sorry, Miller. I tried to get him to stay in the car, but he’s slippery.” He leans closer, urgency in his usually jovial tone. “He was suspended. Grounded for two weeks over an incident he doesn’t want to talk about.”

  I can’t imagine anything Brendan would hate more than being grounded. “So you took him for a drink or ten without calling me? We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  “He was like this when I picked him up from the airport.”

  “He wasn’t flying the plane, right?” Austen sounds about as horrified as I feel. “Tell me I’m right, even if you’re lying, or I’ll never make it to Paris.”

  “No.” Royal’s gaze locks on hers. “This time he was just a pain-in-the-ass passenger. And if you want to go to Paris, all you have to do is say the word. It’s good to see you again, Austen.”

  She blushes. Again. “Back at you, Mr. Hale.”

  Despite my fascination, I miss the rest of their greeting because I’m already on my feet, hands flexing as Brendan weaves his way toward me.

  My beautiful mess.

  And he is a mess. His black hair is sticking out in some places and flattened in others, his brown eyes are bloodshot, and the strong line of his jaw is peppered with dark stubble. Stained and wrinkled as it is, he’s still in his pilot’s uniform and I know, if he were sober, he wouldn’t go out like this in public.

  While Brendan isn’t serious about much, the man loves his uniform.

  But even sloppy drunk, he’s still every filthy dream I’ve ever had come to life.

  Months of separation might have made things worse instead of better, because just seeing him is making me ache. Actually ache, like parts of me are coming awake for the first time since he left and it hurts to feel them tingling and prickling with life again.

  Now you know the real reason I don’t date that much—I met the man who does it for me years ago, in a sad, sadistic place called the friend zone, and he’s a hard damn act to follow.

  “Miller Time!” Brendan shouts when he sees me. He throws his arms open wide, whacking a guy at the table closest to us.

  “Hey,” the man grumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Sorry, man,” I apologize automatically, reaching for Brendan before he can cause any more damage. “I’ve got you, B.”

  Brendan’s strong arms wrap around me and I’m instantly surrounded by the familiar scent of him. Well, his scent if he’d taken a bath in moonshine.

  “You’ve got me.” His face burrows into my neck, and it takes every bit of willpower to keep my erection in check.

  Brendan is an affectionate friend—all manly hugging and ass slapping—and I do my best to ignore my reaction to his touch, because I’ve known for six years he’s off limits. He’s not into guys, and even if he swung that way, he’s still the closest thing I have to family.

  “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs into my throat, his body leaning so heavily on mine I’m forced to bend my knees and brace.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask, hoping he can’t hear the vulnerability I’m feeling. “I was worried.”

  “I know. Fuck, I know I’m late. There was a dog. And this naked travel agent
in my bed. I didn’t know she was crazy when I gave her the key. And she was. She was crazy, Millie. You don’t want to know.”

  No. I definitely don’t want to know.

  But at least I can always count on Brendan’s mouth to remind my dick why it needs to stand down.

  I really shouldn’t think of his mouth and my dick in the same sentence.

  Fortunately, I’m only sporting a semi since he mentioned the woman in his bed. The woman who had something he never once offered to me—a key to his condo.

  How did he manage to find time for a drunken quickie at his place before coming to the bar?

  “I thought Royal picked you up at the airport.”

  “I did.” The large and unfairly attractive Samoan who’d been talking quietly to Austen turns toward me when I mention his name. “We had to stop at his place first. In the category of perfect timing, we showed up at exactly the right moment for him to get evicted.”

  “What?” My head might start spinning soon. “He was suspended and evicted? Today?”

  “Right?” Brendan says indignantly, reaching up to tug on my hair playfully. “The evil condo landlord says I can’t have wild orgies on the premises. Even when I’m not there to enjoy them. Says he already gave me a warning about it last week, but I didn’t get that either. I was away in London.”

  Austen’s chuckle sounds uncomfortable. “Is this conversation supposed to be making sense?”

  “Only if you speak drunken jet lag.” I tighten my hold on Brendan, trying to evade his roving hands. “Come on, B. I think we all need some fresh air.”

  Brendan shakes his head aggressively, almost dislodging himself from my grip. “We just got here. Royal is in love and we’re his wingmen, remember? We have to get these two crazy kids together so he’ll stop talking to me about his feelings. It’s a mission of mercy.”

  My face flames in sympathetic embarrassment as I look over at Austen and Royal. “I think he thought he was whispering.”

  “Don’t worry about it, big guy.” Austen looks up at an embarrassed Royal and gives him a wink. “I think it’s kind of cute, you calling in reinforcements.”

  A few minutes ago she thought it was a high-school move, but I’ll die before I remind her. “A little help here?”

  Royal takes over for me, holding Brendan upright with one arm the size of a tree trunk so Austen can gather her things before we head out to the parking lot.

  “I’m assuming you won’t need a ride home,” she says as we follow the two men to a rented Range Rover and watch Royal lift Brendan into the backseat as if he were a child.

  “No. I really am sorry about this, Austen. He isn’t usually like this.”

  “Everybody has a rough day now and then.” She slips her arm around my waist and squeezes. “Stop apologizing. I actually had fun. And I’m not judging anyone. I think you’re pretty wonderful, so I don’t imagine you would care about him as much as you do if he wasn’t a good man.”

  I squeeze back gratefully and then notice Royal sending me a look that tells me to get my “wonderful” self lost so he can make his move.

  Speaking of high school.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise, reaching for the front passenger door.

  Royal blocks me with one massive hand. “That seat is occupied. Anyway, I need you on babysitting duty. On the way here, your friend tried to hug me from the back seat and nearly ran us off the road.”

  My friend? But I nod and head to the back, climbing in beside my now-scowling charge. “What’s that look for?”

  “I don’t need a damn babysitter,” he mutters petulantly.

  “That’s a relief. I retired from that career over twelve years ago—the pocket change isn’t worth the pain and suffering.” I gird my loins and reach across his lap for the seatbelt. “Now let’s get you buckled in.”

  His big hand cups the back of my head, holding me in place while he plays with my hair.

  I clench my teeth to fight back a moan. He has to know what he’s doing, right? Has to know how I’m positioned? What this would look like to anyone watching?

  He’s affectionate, remember? Even when he’s sober. It doesn’t mean anything.

  I can’t resist looking down at the lap I’m hovering over, but what I see is just as confusing as it is arousing. Brendan’s dick is hard, long and perfectly outlined against the dark fabric of his dress pants. I mean, I knew he was built—six years is a long time to resist checking out your sexy friend’s junk, and I’m not vying for sainthood—but I’ve never had the opportunity to study it up close and in person before.

  My ass clenches instinctively as I imagine what he would feel like inside me. I’ve bought a few dildos over the years for those times when my hand wasn’t getting the job done. And yes, most of them were used while thinking of him, and one might even be named Brendan Two. But the original is definitely thicker.

  Did I mention he was hard?

  Why is that happening? I could have sworn I’d heard drinking made it difficult to get it up.

  It’s not about you. It can’t be. Seatbelt, asshole. Remember who he is.

  Family. Friend. Heterosexual.

  Off limits.

  “I was looking forward to tonight,” Brendan says, completely oblivious to my silent perusal. “You and I haven’t been out in years.”

  I was too. But there’s no way we can have a coherent conversation about anything right now, so I just buckle him up and put some much-needed distance between us instead.

  “I remember the last time I took you out drinking,” he muses, eyes narrowed as if trying to focus on me. “You weren’t one full glass in before you started singing at the top of your lungs. I wish I’d recorded it. You know you made a few of the girls at that bachelorette party cry?”

  Of course he didn’t record it. He was too busy consoling the maid of honor in a bathroom stall while I embarrassed myself in public.

  It’s one of the reasons I don’t drink. Sad cabaret singer is not a good look for me.

  “They weren’t crying because of my voice,” I’m compelled to remind him. “It was my song list.”

  Never sing old Roberta Flack classics to a bunch of women with romance on their minds and five empty margarita pitchers on their table.

  What? I know old songs. And my mom loved Roberta.

  Brendan is still staring at me. I’ve never seen him give me that particular look before and it’s freaking me out.

  He looks like he wants to kiss you.

  Lies.

  “Exactly how many of those tiny bottles of airline hooch did you knock back to get this wasted?” I ask.

  He laughs softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small sealed bottle. “You want my last one? I’ll give it to you if you sing for me again.”

  I frown and snatch it out of his hand before he can toss it back. “My singing days are over. And any more of that and we’ll have to spend the night in an emergency room instead of home in bed.”

  Brendan licks his lips and smiles wickedly. “Trying to get me into bed already, huh?”

  Is it hot in here?

  In an act of divine dispensation, Royal opens the driver’s side door and climbs in, distracting Brendan before I can think of a response that doesn’t start with Yes, please.

  “Did you kiss her?” Brendan asks curiously. “You were gone long enough to read her that book of sonnets I saw in your carryon.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Royal shakes his head as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I walked her to her car because I’m a gentleman.”

  “Hah.” Brendan laughed. “Tell that to Italy. Oh wait, you can’t go back to Italy for at least a year.”

  “I’m going to let that pass, because despite your making me late and causing a scene, she still gave me her number.”

  Austen, you minx.

  I have to admit, I really like Royal. Since his brother got married, he’s been stopping by to visit on a regular basis so I’ve
gotten to know him a little better. And now that I’ve seen them side by side, imagining a Royal and Austen love match is not that much of a stretch.

  Am I the first successful gay virgin Cupid? Does Guinness keep records of that kind of thing?

  “He’s still mad at me,” Brendan whisper-shouts. “Because I cockblocked him in Dallas. Even if he did get her number.”

  I pat him on the knee. “Not in Dallas. With Austen. And I’m sure he’ll forgive you eventually.”

  Royal snorts from the front seat.

  “Do you forgive me?” Brendan clumsily unlatches his seatbelt and turns his body toward mine, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I cockblocked you too, didn’t I? Fuck, I’m a fucking cockblocker. I hate cockblockers.”

  Please, Lord. Make him stop saying cockblocker.

  “It’s all good, okay? We’re fine. Bros before…whatever. We’re good.”

  His fingers tug at the fabric covering my thigh. “Are you still seeing him?”

  The last thing I want to talk about is Robbie. “Not since that night, no.”

  He snuggles closer, his lips pressed against my neck again. “You smell good, Millie. You always smell so good.”

  “It’s the massage oil,” I say uncomfortably. I don’t wear cologne or body spray and I stick with unscented soap because I’m in a small, confined space with clients all day long. But the oil I use gives off a pleasant, relaxing aroma that lingers.

  “No, it’s you. You smell like fresh air and sunshine, Day.” His hand moves higher on my thigh and I grip it in mine to stop him from discovering my reaction to his cuddling. He sniffs again. “And wood. You smell like wood. Working on another project for the house?”

  “Always,” I say through gritted teeth. “Cedar deck.”

  “Good choice. I’ve always wanted one of those.”

  This is torture. I need to phone a friend.

  “How long are you in town, Royal?” I ask a little too loudly.

  He looks in the rearview mirror, laughter in his eyes as he takes in Brendan clinging to me like I’m his damn security blanket.

  “In an interesting plot twist, I’ve decided to use some of my vacation days to torture my brother and check out a few real estate possibilities. Based on tonight’s events, about two weeks, I’d say.”