Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance 2)

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.”

“Two weeks,” Brendan grumbles against my shoulder.

But Royal’s words have grabbed my interest. “Are you getting a place in town?”

His boulder-sized shoulders shrug. “My parents and a few of my brothers are still in Washington, but I realized recently that I have more friends here than I do back home, or in New York after years of living there. Brendan, JD, Carter. You. And those Finns are entertaining as hell. I was thinking it’s time I slowed things down. Stopped traveling the world so much and did a little nesting.”