Best of Intentions: A Best Friend's Brother Standalone Romance

by LK Farlow

  Natalie and Alden’s ceremony is something straight out of a fairy tale. They opted to hold their big day on the grounds of The Grand—a local upscale spa and resort that is right on the bay. Their ceremony is inside the Grand Ballroom, a space so naturally beautiful that they didn’t even need to decorate. Their vows are the definition of swoon-worthy, and their first official kiss as husband and wife is borderline X-rated—seriously, it almost had me squirming, and it absolutely had Tatum gagging and covering her eyes. It was one hundred percent the perfect wedding.

  But now…now it’s time for the reception, which is being held in a large open-air tent on the patio. Not to mention, with them owning a café, I know the food will be next-level good, and I absolutely love dancing. Who knows—maybe if I’m extra lucky a certain hot cop will ask me to dance.

  No, you know what, it’s the twenty-first century, and I’m a modern woman—maybe I’ll ask him. Yeah, I think I will. But before that can happen, I’m going to have to find some courage—preferably of the liquid variety.

  I step into the reception space and find myself immediately in awe. The round tables are draped in sheer white linens and the centerpieces are a simple mix of greenery and assorted candles. Twinkle lights hang from the exposed beams, casting a romantic glow over the entire room. It’s the vision of a Pinterest-perfect wedding.

  My mission to find an alcoholic beverage is one that will not be derailed, even if it probably isn’t the best decision. I’m on my way to the bar when I catch a glimpse of Nate standing with Alden and Carlos, his head thrown back in laughter over something one of the guys must have said. He looks like pure deliciousness; the way his Adam’s apple bobs has me clenching my thighs and grabbing a flute of champagne from the first passing waiter. The fact that champagne is my least favorite drink no longer matters—I need something to take the edge off stat.

  Down the hatch goes the bubbly, in one fell swoop. The dry, sweet-tasting liquid leaves a bitter aftertaste, but I don’t mind. It’ll be worth it in the end—I hope. Quickly, I avert my eyes and continue toward the bar, calculating how long it’s been since I ate last—bad news, it’s been a while.

  As I step up to the worn wooden makeshift counter, I scan the room, not looking for Nate, or so I tell myself. Especially when I see him chatting up Giselle, an Amazon of a woman who works with me at the café and looks as though she’s fresh out of the pages of a fashion magazine. If that’s the kind of girl he’s into, then I don’t stand a chance.

  But…I’ll never know for sure if I don’t try. And there’s something about tonight—there’s some kind of magic in the air that whispers try and talk to him...ask him to dance. Then again, that could also be the champagne I chugged on an empty stomach. Either way, I’m listening.

  The bartender makes his way to me, and I promptly order two shots of bourbon, skipping over the handcrafted wedding day signature cocktails. Natalie and Alden picked a delicious-sounding and probably potent blackberry whiskey lemonade. From what I’ve been told, it’s tangy and sweet with hints of rosemary, and if I had planned my meals and insulin better today, I bet I would have freaking loved it.

  I toss back my shots one after the other, savoring the burn…enjoying the way it warms me from the inside out. The temptation to order another round is strong. The only thing stopping me from doing so is the fact that I want to be relaxed, not white-girl wasted. There’s no bigger turn off than being sloppy drunk.

  It takes me three excruciatingly long minutes from ordering to finishing my shots. Three minutes in which I waffle back and forth between asking Nate to dance and staying my ass right here at the bar. The fear of rejection is strong, but the fear of what-if is even stronger.

  I signal the bartender, this time ordering a sparkling water with a twist of lime, scan the room for Nate, straighten my spine, and set off toward him. He’s once again standing with a group of guys, but this time I don’t recognize them.

  I walk with purpose, my head held high and an air of confidence that I don’t really feel—fake it till you make it, right? I approach the group boldly, not stopping until Nate and I are practically toe-to-toe.

  He smirks down at me, looking far too handsome for anyone’s good—especially mine. I get lost in his warm brown eyes, loving the way his cocky gaze heats me from the inside out, much like the bourbon coursing through me. I snap out of my daze when one of the guys he’s with snickers a little at my prolonged silence.

  “What’s up, J?” Nate asks, concern—probably of the brotherly variety—laces his tone. “Is everything okay?”

  I feel my cheeks warm as I nod. “Yeah. Um, yes. I wanted…I was just wondering if you’d, um, like to dance?”

  I see his rejection before I hear it. It’s in the stiff set of his shoulders and the hard line of his mouth. I know it’s coming, and it guts me. I avert my eyes, focusing on my drink as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

  “Ahh,” he starts, but I cut him off.

  My eyes brim with unshed tears, but I refuse to show Nate how much power he has over me—how much him turning me down affects me. Really, I can’t believe I was idiotic enough to think he’d ever say yes. “It’s fine. N-no worries. I…yeah. No big deal.” I shrug, trying for nonchalance. The pitying looks—not only from him but also his friends—tell me I’ve failed miserably.

  “I don’t dance, Jenny. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Right,” I whisper before turning to flee the scene. As soon as my back is to him, the first tear falls. I want nothing more than to seek out a dark corner where I can nurse my wounded pride in solitude.

  I’m steps away from my final destination when I feel a warm, callused hand encircle my wrist. Hope blooms in my chest. Maybe he changed his mind…

  “Wait,” a gravelly voice says, and my hope fizzles—it’s not him after all.

  chapter three

  Nate

  “You are one dumb motherfucker,” my longtime friend and partner, Duke, murmurs as Jenny turns and all but hauls ass away from me.

  I scrub a hand over my face. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I can think of a lot of shit you don’t know, but here’s what I’m gonna tell you. You may not be smart enough to say yes when a ten asks you to dance, but, brother, I’m no fool.” And just like that, Duke sets off after Jenny.

  As I watch him go after her, I can’t help thinking that maybe I’ve made a huge mistake. I watch, unable to look away, as he grabs ahold of her delicate wrist. Something about him touching her has me bristling in a way I’m not sure I understand. Over the years, Duke and I have had plenty of arguments, but until right here and now, I’ve never once had the desire to hit him. Hell, I’ve never had the urge to hit anyone over a woman.

  “You really gonna let him get your girl?” Xavier, another guy on the force, asks, sounding smarmy as hell.

  “Not my girl,” I grumble under my breath.

  “You sure, lady killer?” he asks, goading me, much to the delight of the other guys in our group.

  “Positive,” I grit out, doing my best to ignore the stupid-ass nickname that the entire force seems to have adopted for me—well, everyone except Duke. He knows better.

  “So, it won’t upset you if he sweeps her off her feet on the dance floor and right into his hotel room?”

  Involuntarily, my fists clench at my sides. “Asshole’s not taking her anywhere.”

  X levels me with a stare. “Brother, you can’t have it both ways. You aren’t interested, no sweat. But believe me, some other man—probably many—will be. You can either go after her or not. But you can’t act like a moody teenage girl when someone else shows her attention.”

  Logically, I know he’s right. But I’m too annoyed to be logical. Too fired up over the thought of Duke’s hands skimming over her mouthwatering curves, when it should’ve been me. Only, I was too stubborn to say yes.

  I grind my molars as he leans down and whispers into her ear. A freight train hurtling toward me coul
dn’t drag me away as I watch him butter her up. A myriad of emotions fills me as her face goes from guarded to relaxed to smiling. I’m practically shaking with some feeling I’m not quite willing to name when he manages to earn that sweet laugh of hers.

  I’ve never in my life felt territorial over a woman, and yet I’m a damn raging bull when he takes her drink and deposits it on the nearest table before leading her to the dance floor. All bets are off when the jackass catches my eye, smirks, and winks at me before settling his hands on the swell of her hips. As of this moment, he’s no longer one of my closest friends; he’s just become the matador taunting me with my very own red flag—Jenny.

  The song they’re dancing to is slow, and while there is a respectable amount of space between the two of them, they’re still too damn close. Legit, this is like a train wreck—I don’t want to watch them together, and yet, I can’t look away.

  “You look like you’re about to go apeshit,” Xavier murmurs, sounding all too pleased.

  “Yeah,” one of the other guys pipes up. “Like your head’s gonna explode or something. Who knew our lady killer could get so territorial?” I look over my shoulder to glare at him just in time to see him mime an explosion with his hands.

  “What the fuck ever,” I mutter, stalking away from them and straight toward the bar. This is a whiskey situation if there’s ever been one. At the counter, I order Jameson neat, downing it in one gulp. It burns on the way down, momentarily distracting me from Duke and Jenny.

  My reprieve is short-lived when a husky, feminine laugh sounds out above all the others. Deep down, I know it’s hers—I’ve heard it on countless occasions and memorized it a million times over. It’s her real laugh, the same one she gives when she and Natalie are goofing off or when she’s playing with Tatum.

  A quick glance out onto the dance floor, and sure enough, there she is, with her head tossed back, lips parted, and cheeks flushed. Fuck. Instantly, images of her with the same euphoric expression on her face, while she rides me, flit through my mind.

  I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s like some arbitrary switch I didn’t even know about has been flipped, and suddenly she’s not Natalie’s friend Jenny or Alden’s employee Jenny…no, she’s fuck-hot Jenny that I want between my sheets.

  Duke notices me tracking them and lifts his brow at me as if to say well, what’re you gonna do about it? Smug bastard that he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  My anger fades as it all clicks into place—he’s not making a play for Jenny, he’s ensuring that I do. Shaking my head, I make my way toward them, ready to do whatever it takes to get her out of his arms and into mine.

  Duke notices me cutting through the crowd toward them and expertly twirls Jenny so that her back is to me. I don’t slow my approach until I’m directly behind her. “May I cut in?”

  She whips around to face me. “Thought you didn’t dance,” she states simply.

  “Usually, I don’t.”

  “Don’t make any exceptions on my account,” Jenny scoffs and moves to return her attention to Duke.

  Without thinking, I gently grip her chin and keep her gaze on mine. “I’m not making an exception. I’m righting a wrong. I wanted to say yes when you asked, but stupidly, I declined. So. Now, I’m asking you. Jenny Jones, would you please allow me the honor of this next dance?”

  A pretty pink blush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks. It’s a damn good look on her. She turns to Duke, as if seeking his approval—smart man that he is, he simply nods and steps back, allowing me to take his place.

  The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Just as she steps into my arms, the song changes from upbeat to slow and moody. I wrap an arm around her waist, settling my hand possessively on her hip, pulling her small body into mine. Her hands instinctually fly to my chest, and, I swear, it’s as if her touch sears right through my shirt.

  She blinks up at me, body stiffer than an ironing board, all doe-eyed and innocent looking. I smirk down at her as I bring my free hand to trail over the skin of her exposed shoulder. She gasps at the contact and melts into me. I swear to God, I love it. With the tips of my fingers, I drag them down her arm to her elbow. I wrap my hand around her and pull her impossibly closer. Her head nestles against my chest as we sway to the music.

  I keep her on the dance floor for at least four songs, unwilling to let her go. Thank God they were all slow, because I don’t think I’m ready to really feel her move. Even now, with us merely rocking back and forth, her body feels so damn good pressed up against mine—and don’t even get me started on the way she occasionally presses her nails into my chest.

  On song five, my luck runs out. The bass thumps low as she spins and presses her back into my front. Jenny may struggle to talk around me, but her body is saying all the things her words don’t. She swivels her hips as the tempo climbs, and the semi I’ve been sporting is in real danger of rivaling the damn tent the reception is being held in.

  Seemingly unaware of my mental—and physical—struggle, Jenny keeps right on grinding her ass into me. Deciding to go with it, I palm her hips and move with her. My rhythm isn’t quite as good as hers, but we’re in sync enough for me to know we would be on-fucking-fire if we were doing this dance between the sheets instead. Right, because that’s what I need to be thinking about right now.

  The melody crescendos and Jenny reaches back with one arm, wrapping it around my neck, her fingers grazing the skin of my nape. Fuuuuuck—who knew that was such a turn on? She glances up at me, and it takes every bit of self-control I possess not to kiss her—not to claim her glossy, pouty, delectable looking lips as my own.

  But, I don’t—I’m all too well aware that if I give in, if I allow myself to taste her here and now, I won’t stop until she’s writhing beneath me, begging me for more. And therein lies the problem—I don’t do more. I’m a one-night guy, and she’s a forever girl. If only my dick would get in line with my logic.

  Being the little temptress that she is, Jenny keeps her eyes on mine as she slowly licks her lips. I can feel my body losing the war to my mind. A taste. One small, teensy taste. Come on, what will it hurt?

  I instinctively sway closer, brushing her nose with mine. She lets out a startled breath at the contact—the tiniest of gasps—yet it’s enough to have my mind running wild, imagining her making the same noise as I slide into her. Have mercy, how is it possible this sexy woman is the same awkward girl my sister is best friends with?

  Just like that, thoughts of Natalie break the spell, and the fog she has me in dissipates. I’m telling you, it’s that good-girl voodoo. Stuff’s not only real, it’s strong. Just as she rises onto her tippy-toes, I take a step back, placing a healthy amount of distance between us. The action causes Jenny to stumble forward, landing her right back into my arms. Only, instead of looking grateful for being caught, she looks unmistakably hurt. Dammit.

  “Jenny, I—”

  She shakes her head and offers me a smile. I watch as a mask settles over her pretty features, blocking off her feelings from my prying eyes. I don’t like it one bit. “I wanted a drink anyway,” she says, spinning on her heel and beelining toward the bar.

  Whether I’m unwilling or unable to let her walk away from me on bad terms, I’m not sure. All I know is I can’t do it. “Great. Then I’ll go with you. It seems our dancing has me pretty damn thirsty too.” Among other things, such as aroused and confused—but mostly aroused.

  Jenny tosses a glare my way over her shoulder. “Oh, did I say thirsty? I meant hungry.” She shrugs sweetly.

  “I could eat; I’m still a growing boy, after all.” I pat my flat abs and shoot her a wink. She huffs and rolls her eyes, which I figured she would. Being doubly rejected by the same guy in one night has to sting a little. But what she doesn’t get is I’m not shooting her down out of lack of interest, because fuck yes, I am interested. Honestly, it’s more out of respect for her—and her friendship with my sister.

  I’m all too aware that sh
e’s interested. It’s evident in the way she acts around me, especially tonight. It’s in the way her eyes track me when we’re in the same room and she thinks I’m not looking. It’s the way her body leans toward mine like a magnet, drawn helplessly to me. I could easily bed her—hell, it’d probably be the best night of her life. It’s the morning after that would be a whole slew of issues. I would undoubtedly hurt her when I bid her farewell with the dawn, thus making all future events where we’re together awkward as hell.

  Sure, this is all hypothetical. And I sound like a conceited, pompous ass even to my own ears. But, in my mind, it’s justified. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt a girl as pure as Jenny Jones. The women I sleep with know the score—they don’t expect a second date, much less my phone number. And Jenny—fuck, she deserves more than being some jackass’s one-night stand.

  “Well, you go right ahead and get you some food. I’ll just run to the ladies’ room.” She smiles victoriously, obviously assuming she’s bested me. And that’s fine. I’ll let her think she has. For now.

  “Okay then. We can catch up more later,” I say, placating her.

  She hurries away from me, the only acknowledgment she even heard my words is the half-hearted wave she gives without turning back to face me.

  Oh, Jenny, you’re not getting rid of me that easily, I think to myself before counting down from five in my head. The second I hit one, I take off behind her.

  A head start’s only fair.

  chapter four

  Jenny

  As soon as I enter the main building and know I’m out of Nate’s sight my shoulders slump. It’s really not fair for him to have such a powerful effect on me. Then again, maybe I’m the issue. I mean, how many times—in one night—will it take for me to realize he’s just not that into me? How many times will I embarrass myself around him?