“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.”