Not Husband Material (Billionaire's Contract Duet 1)

But one look at Jillian, and I felt like I was in my freshman year of college again. My thoughts were scattered, I felt pent-up, and I wanted to do anything other than what was in front of me.

How could Jillian-fucking-Hargrove have this kind of effect on me?

I’d had women all over the world. The girl from the bar was already off the boat--I couldn’t remember if her name was Maria or Marina or Marie, and I didn’t care. That was usually how things went. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cared about one of my one-night stands for more than a few hours after the fact, because with the kind of life I led, I didn’t have time to get tangled up in that kind of thing.

And that was fine with me.

But Jillian? Really?

My mind just kept going back to that moment she stepped through the door, watching her eyes going down to my cock, widening, the color in her face, everything rushing back to both of us. It just played over again and again in my head, and I kept going over everything I’d said in my head as if it was a scene from a movie I was obsessed with.

Jillian was not the kind of person who should have gotten that kind of reaction from me. At least, before today, I hadn’t thought she was. But after seeing her and didn’t know how to explain it.

I ran a hand through my hair and stood up to pace over to the window, glaring out at a few seagulls hovering in the breeze. I’d never paid any attention to Jillian when I was in college. I couldn’t say I wasn’t close to the family, though. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told her she was my best friend’s little sister.

I was probably closer to Jeff than any other guy in my life. I pulled out my phone and flipped through one of my social media accounts to some old pictures of us I’d dug up and uploaded a while back. The two of us started off as college friends, but over time, I found myself getting invited to family events, being on a first-name basis with everyone else, even spending Christmas with them one year when my parents were tied up out of the country.

The most recent picture I found of me at the Har

grove house was of me and Jeff standing in the front yard, our arms over each other’s shoulders and our faces painted with team colors as we cheered into the camera. I smiled. The picture had been taken just before he and I flew off to see the World Cup after we graduated.

It had been one hell of a game, and I had more fond memories of those two weeks than a lot of others in my life. But the picture had been taken by Jeff’s dad, and in the background were Jeff’s mom and Jillian. Both of them were covering their mouths and quietly laughing at the two of us being goofy. Mostly me, because while Jeff had just posed for the picture, I had genuinely cheered loudly at the camera.

That spot in the background was always where Jillian was, though. When I tried to think about us talking, I only remembered a couple times interacting with her with Jeff right there with us. I vaguely remembered her at family dinners, keeping to herself and only talking if her mom prodded her to be sociable. It wasn’t like I hadn’t gotten along with her, she just hadn’t really been present. She was younger than me, living in a different world. Hell, she might as well have been like a little sister to me, too.

I didn’t think Jeff had even mentioned her the last time we saw each other. I furrowed my brow. When had Jeff and I seen each other last? It was already November, not that you could tell thanks to Florida’s weather. So, it had to have been a few months, at least. I thought for a moment, then pulled up Jeff’s number in my phone and called him.

Some people might have been a little more hesitant to just ring up an old friend they’d kind of lost touch with, but that was part of my strategy. I never gave myself enough time to think about it when I wanted to do something hard.

He picked up after three rings.

“Bruin,” he answered, sounding almost like he was expecting me. That was worrisome. “What’s going on? A little birdie told me you’re selling a boat.”

“A little birdie who I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into, either,” I said with a laugh, wondering how much Jillian and Jeff had said to each other.

“Not in the slightest,” Jeff said, and as usual, his tone was harder to read. I had always been the forward and blunt one, while he had always held himself back just enough to be a puzzle when he wanted to be. “And I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize you were in the neighborhood either, much less selling a yacht to me. Just goes to show you how anonymous those agents can make you, you know?”

And how much the two of us have drifted over the years, I thought to myself. If we’d been in touch and I’d known Jeff was looking to buy, the two of us probably would have arranged something already, minus all the formality.

“Totally,” I said, almost trailing off. “It’s crazy. Anyway, if you’ve got your little sister scouting out yachts around town, does that mean you’re here in Ft. Lauderdale?”

“I’m looking out the window of a penthouse at your yacht right now, in fact,” he said, and I glanced out the window with a grin, sticking my middle finger up.

“Yeah? Take a closer look, I’ve got another birdie for you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he said with a good-natured laugh. Good to know Jeff hadn’t changed that much, either.

“Anyway, I know it’s kind of sudden, but seeing Jillian again made me realize I can’t actually remember the last time we were in the same place together.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I thought about that when Jillian called and told me about seeing you. I didn’t think it had been that long, but it’s got to have been a couple years. Jesus, time flies.”

“Too fast for me,” I said with a chuckle. “So, we’re obviously going to fix that, right?”

“Well—” he started, reluctant as ever to go out, but I interrupted him.

“There’s a sports bar right across from where I’m docked that has wings worth flying out here for, and besides, we’ve got a yacht to talk about,” I said, not taking no for an answer. “Eight sound good?”

“Fine, fine,” Jeff answered. He knew better than to try to turn me down. “We’ll call it a business expense.”