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“That’s it!”
Without further admonition, Brandon tackled me into the sofa, tickling my sides mercilessly and making me laugh and cry for mercy all at once. Predictably, it ended with me pressed into the soft cushions while he clasped my face and pummeled my mouth with short, vicious kisses that eventually turned into much longer, sensuous ones.
“Mmm,” I hummed into his mouth. “We don’t have to go out, you know…”
“Don’t tempt me…” he said as he nibbled a path down my neck until he was thwarted by the collar of my sweatshirt.
His hands drifted down my sides until they clasped under my legs, and with a swift movement, he stood up and flipped me over his shoulder.
“Ah!” I yelped as I was suddenly hoofed out of the room and down to the bedroom.
“Come on, Red,” he said, giving me another quick smack on the butt. “We’re going against our natural instincts toward hermitry.”
“Hermitry?”
He smirked and pinched me on the waist, making me yelp again before dropping me on the bed. “Smart mouth,” he murmured with another kiss that almost had me begging to stay in for the night. “It’s a word. Let’s go win trivia night at Cleo’s.”
* * *
It took moretime than originally planned, but after a quickie in the shower, we finally managed to get to Cleo’s. Despite my teasing, Brandon had flatly refused to take the train, saying that if he was going to spend the evening drinking shitty beer, he could at least ride home drunk in his own car.
“Poor David,” I remarked as the Mercedes pulled away from the curb. “Does he ever get a day off?”
“Every Sunday plus overtime and three weeks’ vacation a year,” Brandon replied as he straightened his bomber jacket.
He still looked more like a student than a CEO, dressed in stone-washed jeans, a gray Henley shirt that hugged all the right places, and the frayed bill of his Sox hat now curled around his handsome face.
Brandon smiled. “Don’t worry about him, Red. I pay him very well to keep the car up and drive me around for about an hour total most days. The rest of the time, David gets paid to read detective novels and Skype with his grandkids. He’s pretty happy doing what he does.” He slung an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the entrance of the bar. “All right. Into the lion’s den.”
A subterranean place tucked under an old brick building, Cleo’s was a quintessential Boston bar, full of dark wood, cheap drinks, and too many Red Sox pennants. There were a few faux-Egyptian posters scattered around, and it was common to hear The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” blast from the jukebox at least a few times each night, but other than that, the name seemed to be completely separate from its actual vibe.
As we entered, Brandon took an uncharacteristic step behind me while I looked for Jane. He took my hand in his, and there was a slight dampness on his palm. Oh, I realized. Brandon was nervous.
Jane sat by herself at one of the tall, circular bar tables, on top of which was a half-full pitcher and three pint glasses. She waved at me, and I led Brandon through the crowd.
“You’re late,” Jane stated bluntly, reaching out to shake Brandon’s hand. “Trivia’s over. I lost, no thanks to you rabbits, and my date left when he figured out I was smarter than him.” She shrugged. “Dumb guys are shit in the sack anyway. So, you must be Brandon. You clean up nice for a corporate bloodsucker.”
Brandon took a seat at the table with a raised brow at me. “Is she always like this?”
“I am,” Jane confirmed as she poured both of us a pint of whatever was in the pitcher. “I’m also here, so you don’t need to talk about me like I’m not. I hate that almost as much as your girl here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brandon replied wryly as he accepted a glass. He took a very long drink until more than half of the glass was empty. “Thanks for the beer,” he said. “Next round’s on me.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jane said, clinking her glass with ours. “I hear you can afford it.”
“Jane!” I knew that she was only joking, but Brandon didn’t know her like I did.
“Oh, Sky, relax,” she said with a faux-shove of my shoulder. “I’m just teasing. Big guy can take a joke, can’t you, big guy?”
Brandon bared his teeth in another grim smile and took another long drink. When he finished, his glass was empty.
“This helps,” he said as he set the glass down. “Why don’t I go get that round?”
He took the pitcher back to the bar, and we both followed his handsome form until Jane turned to me with eager eyes.
“Oh, girl,” she said. “That’s not just a sundae. That right there is a triple-tiered chocolate cake with velvety ganache filling. He is beyond hot. No wonder you had a hard time getting out of the house.”
“Shh!” I hushed her, even with the grin on my face. “He’ll hear you!”
