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“Yes.” No. I’m not sure what I’m ready for, but food definitely isn’t it. A swarm of angry bees take up residence in my stomach. I need to relax before I have an attack. Maybe their place would be a better option.
Before I can change my mind, Breckin hops out. Brendan follows, climbing out the driver’s door after him. They dart around to my side. Breckin opens my door as Brendan leans down and extends his hand.It’s all too chivalrous, too sweet.
Taking a deep breath, and his hand, I let them escort me to the doors. As soon as we step inside, the aroma of deep-fried goodness mixes with greasy bacon and cheese, encircling us with its awesomeness. My stomach growls, all the bees fleeing.
“Good evening,” a far too cheery blonde greets us. “Will you be dining tonight or just at the bar?”
“Dining, please.”
“Perfect. And how many are in your party?” Her eyes glide over us, pausing for an extra second on the two men flanking my sides before looking toward the door expectantly.
“Three.”
I shift my weight, looking anywhere but at her as Breckin answers again. Worn and dusty fishing memorabilia hang from faded walls that at one point were maroon. Now a graying fuchsia, hairline cracks, like well-earned wrinkles, confirms the establishment’s authenticity. A few tired patrons sit scattered around equally exhausted tables, their black, leather chairs blending in with long, black tablecloths. In the back, a mahogany, prohibition style bar dominates the room. The only lively customers in the entire place sit perched on round stools, drinks raised high as they laugh and cheer for some sports game on one of the two flat-screen televisions.
“Right this way.” The waitress grabs a few menus and napkin rolled bundles of silverware.
Breckin whispers something to her I don’t quite catch as she turns and leads us to a far corner with a round booth.
I scootch into the black, leather booth as Brendan and Breckin slide in on either side of me. Sandwiched between them, the same place I always end up, I squirm, wishing I had my underwear on.
“Can I get you started with any drinks or do you need a minute to look at the menu?” The young waitress asks, her eyes darting between both twins.
I can’t blame her. They’re both hot. Hotter than hot. Dressed almost identically except the color of their shirts, they’re like two cover models fresh from a shoot. Sleeves rolled up, first two buttons undone, and those dark jeans, they could melt Antarctica.
I’m sure she’s wondering what they’re doing with me. But based on the way she keeps checking them out, she probably thinks we’re just friends. Although, they are sitting far too close for the friend zone.
“I’ll have a water, please.” I force a smile even though it’s just as awkward as I feel.
“Water’s fine.”
“Same.” They both answer, their focus on me.
“I’ll bring those right out.” She gives them one more once-over, then leaves.
They scoot closer. I shift between them, staring off at an old, fishing net hung on the far wall with a few buoys and a black and white photograph of a huge ship. This place definitely isn’t a five-star steakhouse or the new, hip restaurant everyone is dying to eat at. But in a way, it’s better. Quiet, except for the occasional cheers from the bar, and secluded, it offers a reprieve from the thousands of judging eyes I expected. Well, except for the waitress’s.
“Spread your legs apart,” Brendan whispers in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.
I turn toward him, half expecting him to be joking. He can’t be serious. We’re in a public restaurant. But, he’s completely serious. With his black, dress shirt and stubble, he looks dangerous in all the best ways. I turn toward Breckin. He’s staring at me with the same intensity. Clean shaven with a gray shirt on, he’s a refined vision of sex and swagger.
That look in their eyes says one thing and one thing only. They both want me. Now. Here.
“Spread those legs, Prude,” Brendan repeats himself, his tone a little more firm.
I swallow, my chest pounding.
“Or would you rather get down on your knees?” He spreads his legs and tilts his head toward the bulge in his pants.
I jerk my legs apart.
“Wider.”
My body heats, moisture slickening my folds. It’s wrong and dirty. So dirty. We’re in a freaking restaurant. Still, I spread my legs farther apart, until they touch each of their thighs. A cool breeze swirls under my dress, leaving me all too aware of my lack of undergarments as a fresh wave of moisture pools.
“Good girl.” He kisses my neck, his chapped lips lingering for a second.
Breckin kisses the other side of my neck.
