Dirty Desires

“Last minute. I had something booked for him and his fiancée, but she ended things,” he says.

“Oh.”

“It’s a sore subject. Don’t bring it up.”

“What happened?”

“He hasn’t said. I’m not sure he wants to.”

“You’re worried about him?”

“Always. He’s my baby brother.”

“I get that.”

“I know.” He leans down to press his lips to mine.

Need floods my senses. The softness of his lips. The smell of his soap. The perfect white light.

When I blink my eyes open, I’m dizzy. I want to stare into his dark eyes forever. I want to understand every single thing in them.

“What do you drink, Eve?” Ty calls from the table.

I force myself to step backward. “What are you having?”

Ty shoots Ian a look. When Ian waves him away, Ty turns his attention to me. “Is there anything besides gin here?” He motions to the top-shelf bottle on the table.

Ian chuckles. “Plenty. But it’s for the party.”

“He’s cruel.” Ty motions to a cocktail glass of ice. “I imagine there’s plenty of Fever Tree in the fridge if you prefer that.”

“You don’t like gin?” I ask.

“They kick you out of London if you admit you don’t like gin.” He fills my glass then offers it to me.

“So it’s a secret?” I take the glass. Hold it up to toast.

He laughs. “No, I like it. But when in Rome… what do they drink in the Hamptons?”

“White wine, probably. Or hard seltzer,” I say.

His face screws with distaste. “Hard seltzer?” He shakes his head. “If you can’t handle the taste of alcohol, don’t drink it. Maybe if you’re a teenager. No offense, Eve.”

“Eve works as a bartender,” Ian calls. “Careful challenging her.”

“I agree. Hard seltzer is a waste. The wine coolers for my generation. I want to taste what I’m drinking.” I take a sip. Mmm, smooth, sweet, botanical. And, most of all, it takes like Ian. My thoughts are already in the gutter. “But it’s an easy order. So I don’t mind.”

“I tried my hand at tending bar for a few weeks,” he says. “I didn’t have the smile for it.”

“Ah, but that’s why the manager hired me.” I laugh. “He said he didn’t have enough ‘punk bitches.’ I guess some men prefer women who ignore them.”

“Some, yes.” His eyes flit to Ian for a second. Then they’re on me. “What about you, Eve? Do you still tend bar?”

“I’m between jobs at the moment,” I say.

“Of course. Ian always takes care of his… friends,” he says.

“Does he have a lot?” I ask.

“He did. After his divorce finalized. No, it was worse then. He fucked every woman in London. That’s why he had to leave. Too many awkward run-ins.” Ty winks at Ian.

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.

Ty chuckles. “To flee all the women who can’t get enough?”

“I imagine you have plenty calling to ask for more,” I say.

“It’s happened.” Ty pulls out a chair for me. Motions for me to sit. When I do, he sits across from me. “I’ve seen one of Ian run-ins. He handled it well.”

“Go on…”

“He’ll kill me.”

“You can take him,” I say.

He chuckles. Holds up his glass. “I like her. She’s bad news.”

“I know.” Ian smiles. “There’s no way you can take me.”

“Not if I want to fight honorably.” Ty turns his attention to me. “We were at a coffee shop. Ian was complaining the place had shit tea. The woman at the counter looked our way. Her eyes lit up. She blushed. She could barely ask our order. Kept calling him Mr. Hunt in a way that said Daddy.”

“Jesus, Ty.” Ian chuckles. “He’s exaggerating.”

Ty shakes his head. “No. She looked at him the way a starving man looks at food. She was going to die if she didn’t have him immediately. He was calm. Friendly. Wished her well. Left twenty pounds in the tip jar. She stared at us the entire time we were there. Heartbroken. Nursing a pain she’d forgotten until she saw him again. Irritated he thought a tip would buy her off.”

“Oh.” That’s not a pretty picture.

“I already have Shep coming. I don’t need another anti-wingman.” Ian laughs, but it’s not as easy as it was. There’s something else there. A tension.

Another thing I don’t understand.

But maybe it’s just his brother.

If Ty was just dumped… well, he’s not likely to view run-ins with an ex—even an ex-fuck buddy—positively. Maybe he’s the one nursing a broken heart he’s trying to forget.

Or maybe I’m going to be the girl at the coffee shop this time next year.

I’m not sure what’s scarier. The thought of him breaking my heart and leaving. Or the thought of him unlocking my heart and staying.

Both.

All.

Everything.

“I hate to admit it, but he’s right.” Ty takes a long sip of his drink. “Ian fights dirty. If I want to keep my honor, I won’t be able to beat him.”

“Who needs honor?” I ask.