Yeah, completely and epically fucked, and don’t even get me started on the fact that this scenario, i.e. her and me, hinted at shit I really wasn’t trying to deal with.
Don’t even go there. Don’t.
One of the first things I’d asked Brielle, one of the first things I needed to know, she’d cleared up over a pizza, and that right there put my mind at ease in regards to that latter bit at least. She had no reason to lie to me, a stranger.
This isn’t like what happened before.
It wasn’t, in so many ways. For starters, last night had just been easy. It’d been hella tense too. Don’t get me wrong there, but it’d been casual and when we did get together, come back to her place, even more casual. We were just in sync or something.
Like I said, easy.
I angled my face toward the door at the sound of a clatter but smirked at the sight hanging on said door. She had my entire suit hung, and it appeared to be crisp and pressed next to her vanity mirror. I wouldn’t put it past her if she’d ironed it.
Getting up, her comforter cinched at my waist in a fist, I ran a thumb across the skinny tie.
Yup, she’d pressed it.
This woman and her control, this woman and her clanking. Creaking open the door, the metallic tune of pots and pans reverberated from somewhere in her condo and gave me a little indicator as to what she was doing.
As well as the bacon.
Fucking heaven, this woman was actually making me breakfast. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl had done that for me. I was usually the one in the kitchen, lots of practice helping my mom out. Especially after her divorce from my father. She’d served him papers right before he went into the clink, but that didn’t mean it’d been easy for her.
I felt like I was coming home from college every other month to help her out, making her breakfast. I stopped coming when it started to be the other way around, her making me breakfast, and probably the last time a woman ever did that for me. Actually, that was probably also the last time I had a woman press and handle my laundry for me.
And my boxers.
Jesus, Bri.
She had them right there, folded and perfect on her vanity table. My wallet and wrist watch also beside it, she had all the shit I’d taken off before bed perfectly aligned.
Laughing, I slid the watch over my Court ring and to my wrist, clasping it before picking up my phone—also there. That was arranged on top of my boxers. This Bri was something else, and I had to say, getting her out of what was clearly her anal comfort zone would be fun. Had been fun. I liked to push her, make her laugh and smile when that seemed difficult for her. It’d only made it better for me since it had been hard to get her to break down a little.
I slipped my boxers on, and my next move had been to go out to her until my phone buzzed.
A text from December flashed on the screen, completely killing my vibe. Of course, the fact it did completely radiated the guilt. I obviously cared about my friend, but I’d just gotten out of my head and hadn’t really been trying to go back to that place. Not when I’d just gotten out.
You’re fine. You’re good.
And I was still her right-hand man, technically. I didn’t know if the official man of honor duties stopped just because the wedding was over, so it’d look really bad if I just ignored her now.
Only that made me swipe, look at my device. I started to read the screen until my phone buzzed again and her entire face flashed on the front.
Shit, is she really calling me right now?
She was. She was calling me here and now when she was supposed to be doing only God knew what with her husband. God definitely knew and I did too.
Chriiist.
I answered. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I answered because I always did. I was always there for her.
The wedding had just given me an excuse.
Scrubbing into my hair, I let my head fall against the wall. “What’s up?”
A laugh on her end. A laugh because she didn’t know. I mean, I was her friend. Always answered for her so why should this morning be any different?
“What’s up?” A curious tone to her voice before a light chuckle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios? No good morning? What the fuck?”
“Good morning.” I tried to keep the growl out of my voice, the frustration not warranted. Because she didn’t know. Because I wouldn’t let her know.
Just call me Sergeant Pushover.
I opened my eyes. “Sorry. What’s going on? Just surprised to hear from you.”
She did just get married last night, and her husband in the background growling let me know that. How was it possible to hear a scowl over a line? Well, Royal Prinze managed it.
“It’s Ramses, babe,” I heard her say, and before I knew it, her protest rang and his stick-in-the-mud voice drummed into the phone.
“Mallick,” he said, his chuckle dark but there. “These calls going to keep up when I’m on my honeymoon with my wife.”
My eyes lifted toward the heavens, my foot propped against the wall when I tucked a hand under my pit. “She called me, bro.”
“Did she?” A pause. “Did you?”
She obviously hadn’t told him, and when another, “Babe,” sounded into the line, I rolled my eyes again. Royal Prinze could be a possessive motherfucker. Warranted or not.
Another barked laugh. “Well, would you look at that.”
“Yeah.” And I really didn’t have time for this. Not now. “What’s going on? Why did she call?”
“Don’t know. Let me ask.”
He started to when another voice sounded behind me effectively causing me to push off the wall. It was like a knee jerk reaction and surprised the hell out of me, how incredibly aware I already was to her.
Her voice.
“Ramses, you up?”
And then Bri’s fingers, petite when they curled around the door. She pushed her face and shoulders through as well, and I almost damn near dropped the phone where I stood at the sight of bare shoulders.
Smooth, buttery, the tops peeked above her silk robe, completely exposing her neck and a place I spent a fair amount of time on last night. I’d tasted every inch of this woman in the past few hours. Pussy was like my favorite fucking thing, but I’d spent more time buried in this woman’s neck than anything else. In her hair and that sea of raven black I was pretty sure existed just to completely tease my shit. She had it all up and wild-like this morning, a face fresh and clear and clean of any make up. She was, in a word, gorgeous, and that beauty mark above her lip only put my focus more on her mouth. She held a perfect pout to that cupid’s bow, incredibly sexy and knowing just a tug of her belt graced me more than a flash of her mouthwatering tits…
Phone hanging from my fingers at this point, voices I knew were either Prinze’s or December’s chattering in the air. I had no idea if he was still asking her about what she wanted or what, but rather than find out, I turned off the phone, placing it on the vanity table.
I hadn’t even thought about it.
Instead, I tugged Brielle in the room, summoning her smokey laugh and basically triggering the urge to blow my load in my boxers.
“What are you doing in here, Midwestern boy?” she crooned, clearly missing the fact I’d been on a call seconds ago when she dropped her arms across my shoulders. And also, we both had nicknames now? Cute. “I’m trying to make you breakfast.”