Sexton Brothers Boxset

by Lauren Runow

  “Is this the end of our date?” I ask, sounding far more disappointed than I planned.

  He smiles. It’s big and bright and beautiful. “Never.”

  I climb into the passenger seat and watch as he walks around the front and into the driver’s side. When he’s in, he turns the ignition, and we drive back onto the freeway. It’s not even five minutes later when he places his hand on top of mine.

  I roll mine over, palm side up, and intertwine our fingers.

  We drive in the opposite direction from the city, past Lafayette and into the foothills of Mt. Diablo. We listen to music and take in the views even though it’s way too dark to see most of them. I watch as his grip on the steering wheel loosens with every pass, and his shoulders ease into the seat. It also doesn’t go unnoticed how his thumb runs small circles on the inside of my palm.

  When we reach Alamo, I tell him a story about when my mom took me and Beckett to see the waterfalls in Las Trampas. It’s where I learned Beckett was afraid of salamanders.

  “He squeals like a girl.”

  “I’d love to see that.”

  “What animals are you afraid of?” I ask.

  “Baby, I ain’t afraid of anything.” He smirks.

  I just look at him with an unconvinced glare.

  He shakes his head. “Snakes.”

  I lean across the center console and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  By the time we reach Castro Valley, Austin and I have told some embarrassing stories from grade school, which includes a trip back from the girls’ restroom with my skirt tucked inside my underwear and him having a love letter he wrote to his first girlfriend read in front of the entire class when the teacher caught him passing it in class.

  “I would never have taken you as a romantic,” I say as we pull into a Sonic drive-through.

  “Play your cards right, and you just might bring it out in me. Case in point, your dinner.” He dramatically waves a hand at the brightly lit restaurant.

  We place our orders in the call window—cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes—and then we sit back and wait.

  “So, you do eat like a normal person. This is our second meal, and it’s our second cheeseburger,” I say.

  He laughs. “Yes, I suppose this was poor planning on my part. And this one won’t be as good. I mean, not every meal is a thirty-dollar cheeseburger.”

  “That burger was thirty dollars?” I say in shock.

  “You loved every bite,” he declares, and I can’t argue.

  “I did, but this is the last of the junk food for me. My roommate already told me I was getting a fat ass.”

  He mock lifts me up, as if trying to get a good look at my backside. “That’s a mighty fine ass if you ask me.”

  I swat him away and then turn to face him more, bringing my knee up to my side. “We can’t keep this up, you know. I don’t have enough time to work off these calories.”

  His eyes light up like it’s a challenge. “One, I will give you the best workout of your life once we cross the finish line, and two, I just want to spend some alone time with you, and this is the only place where it makes sense to eat in the car.”

  Ignoring his first comment, I settle on the second. “Do you spend alone time with a lot of women? I mean, do you date often?”

  “Depends on what you consider dating. I’ve been out with women, but I haven’t wanted to be with anyone like this.”

  “What is this?” I ask.

  He stills for a moment and looks down at our hands, which are conjoined again. “I don’t know, but I like it.”

  I run my thumb over the top of his hand. “I kinda like it, too.”

  When our food arrives, we eat and talk some more. On the drive back, we roll down the windows and listen to Kings of Leon. It’s crazy late, and the world is asleep, except for us. We’re two souls cruising in the night, trying to find the balance between secrets and realities and a new kind of living.

  At my building, he parks at the curb in front of my apartment, and before he says anything, I ask, “Walk me to my front door?”

  “Stay right there,” he says with a slight grin.

  When he opens my door, I step out and take his hand, letting him walk me home like a real date would.

  “So, you’re a gentleman now, but are you expecting me to invite you in?” I ask when we reach the entry to my building.

  He looks up at the window that’s my bedroom. “As much as I’d love to go upstairs with you, I want to take things slow.”

  I bite my lip. “Why, Austin Sexton, I thought you liked it fast.”

  “It seems like my tastes have been changing quite a bit lately.”

  He leans in and kisses me. It’s a kiss so powerful that I feel it right down to my toes.

  A rush of cold air swooshes up my body as he pulls his warmth away. His hand stays intertwined with mine until his steps take him further down the sidewalk, making my hand drop by my side.

  “Night, Pyle,” he says just before he turns around to walk toward his car.

  “Good night, Austin.”

  He waits until I am inside my building, and I step into the vestibule.

  I try to remain as quiet as a mouse when I open my apartment door. To my surprise, the lights are on, and Eva is wide awake.

  “Ho-ly shit. Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do!” she says the latter in her best Ricky Ricardo accent.

  “What?” I ask, not sure if I want to know what she’s talking about.

  “Ha. You know exactly what I mean. Who were you with tonight, Jalynn?” She points to the window that overlooks the door Austin walked me to.

  “Fine, I was with Austin,” I say, defeated and admitting who I was with.

  “I already knew that when you snuck out of here hours ago. I’m talking about the LUNATIC hat he was wearing just now. The one you described to me a few weeks ago …”

  “Crap. Eva, he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “I knew it! I knew there was something going with you that was more than just a guy. You’ve been too secretive lately! Start from the beginning. Did you know him before he pulled you in the car?”

  While I still feel awkward about spilling Austin’s secrets, it finally feels okay to talk to Eva. “No. I didn’t know anything until I walked into Bryce’s office the next day.”

  “Girrrlll,” she drawls out. “You’d better watch it. I’ve heard stories about that guy.”

  “Who? Austin or Falcon?”

  “Both. And I can’t believe they’re the same person. I’m not sure if you’re the luckiest girl alive for bagging the most eligible bachelor or if I should be scared since you bagged the craziest.”

  I freeze for a moment and let out a great big belly laugh. “Both,” I say.

  And, just like that, I start telling Eva the entire saga of how I met Austin Sexton.

  13

  AUSTIN

  I’m sitting at my desk when Stefanie buzzes through the intercom.

  “Yes, honey bunch?” I drawl into the speaker.

  “Bryce is here to see you.”

  I knock my head back against my chair. “What the hell does he want?”

  “Good to see you, too, brother,” Bryce says as he opens my office door.

  Before he closes it, I see Stefanie’s sorry shrug. I give her a salute to let her know it’s okay.

  I’m about to make a sarcastic comment about his unwanted visit when I notice his attire—jeans and a navy-blue Lacoste T-shirt. “Are you wearing sneakers?”

  He scowls. “If I have to answer that, then I’m going to seriously reconsider your placement behind that desk.”

  “How are your forearms tan? I haven’t seen you show elbow since Oprah was on air.”

  He looks down at his arms. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Oprah Winfrey. She had a talk show that was one of the most influential—”

  “I meant, about my arms, Austin.”

  I grin at his annoyance. �
��While I like seeing this laid-back and casual version of Bryce Sexton, I have to say, I’m surprised. You’ve worn a suit and tie every day since …” I stall, my mind wandering back to the last time I saw my brother looking casual. I know he works out, but other than that, I can’t recall any other time I’ve seen Bryce looking relaxed. “Since Mom died.”

  His brows curve in contemplation as his hand fists tight around the canvas duffel bag he’s carrying. The coal black of his eyes widen slightly, as if he’s realizing something for the first time, and for a moment, he looks almost remorseful.

  I give Bryce a lot of shit because that’s the relationship we’ve developed over the years. Before we became kings, we were brothers, sons, and friends. It might seem crazy, but the look he has right now is reminiscent of the Bryce I once knew, the one he left behind.

  He clears his throat and looks up at me. “I’m going to Tahoe.”

  “Tahoe?”

  “For a few days.”

  I have to look at my calendar to see if I have the date correct. “You’re going to Tahoe during the workweek?”

  He seems annoyed. “You’re the last person who should be giving me shit on where I’m going and when.”

  My hand rises up in defense. “Not gonna hear a peep from me. Just surprised you’re actually going to play hooky. So, who’s the girl?”

  “There’s no girl.” His jaw hardens.

  “My apologies,” I say sincerely. Then, I add, “Who’s the guy?”

  “Jesus Christ, do you ever stop?” he spits.

  I laugh. “No judgments, man. Love is love.”

  With a stern look on his face, he opens the door but stops, as if he’s just remembered what he needed to say to me. “The reception is pretty shitty at the house, so email if you need me. And don’t forget, dinner’s at eight.”

  I’m still laughing at his obvious displeasure when those last words resonate in my head. “Dinner?”

  “Yes, Missy’s dinner party. It’s at Saison.”

  My seat swerves faster than a Mustang on a dirt road. “If you’re not going, why do I have to?”

  His shoulders fall as his gaze rolls back to mine. “I’ve spent the past eight years going to every event that every other member of the Sexton family has been too busy to attend. For once, I just want my brother to pick up the slack and take one for the team.”

  My blood immediately starts to boil at the notion that I do nothing for this company. It’s the same battle cry I’ve been hearing about from him since I was eighteen years old.

  Yet there is a foreign look in his eyes and a drop in the tone of his voice that makes that boil simmer down.

  I pause before going on my diatribe and listen to what he’s asking. I don’t know whom Bryce is going away with, but she must be pretty special because this is the first time he’s ever done this. He’s never skipped work, he’s never bailed on our father, and he certainly has never referenced me as his teammate.

  “I’ll be there,” I respond with a nod.

  His brows flinch in surprise. “Thank you.”

  “Bryce,” I call as he starts to make his way out the door.

  He stops and turns.

  “She must be pretty special.”

  “Fuck off,” he says as he walks out of the office.

  “I love you, too, brother,” I shout as he storms through the reception area and down the hall toward his office.

  A few employees stop and stare at me, some in amusement.

  Stefanie doesn’t seem to be surprised by my declaration, as she’s typing away at her computer, like usual.

  “Call Saison and tell them there’s a reservation for Sexton. Make sure they know to use extra garlic in my father’s meal and have them add some cloves in whatever Missy orders.”

  She holds the phone up to her ear as she dials and asks me, “Cloves?”

  “Yeah, they make her break out in a horrible rash.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “That’s what happens when your father marries someone you’ve known since high school,” I answer matter-of-factly.

  Stefanie holds the phone away from her ear as she asks emphatically, “I don’t really want to know the answer to this, but I feel like I’m waist deep in Sexton drama, so …” She pauses for a second before getting the balls to ask, “Didn’t you lose your virginity to her?”

  I sway my head from side to side. “Yeah. I try to forget that fact, but this happens to be the second time in a week it’s been brought up.”

  She holds the phone over the receiver as she whispers to me, “Probably because it’s fascinating that a grown man has slept with his father’s wife.” The person on the other end must have picked up because she goes right into assistant mode as she cheerily says, “Hi, I’m calling about a reservation for tonight under the name Sexton.”

  Knowing dinner is taken care of, I walk down the hallway to get myself a date. I’m whistling as I stroll with my hands in my pockets. When I round the corner, I stop and peek at the most beautiful girl to ever grace a reception desk. Her brown hair is tossed up into a messy bun that’s sticking out in various directions. She’s chewing on her pen cap as she reads through a stack of papers on her desk. A tiny crease forms on the bridge of her nose when she concentrates like that.

  She looks like she can use a little break, so I whip out my cell phone and send her a text.

  Have you had your coffee yet, Pyle?

  I sit and wait as her phone vibrates on her desk. She blindly reaches over for it and pulls it to her. When she looks down at the screen, a sweet smile graces her lips. Her pen falls to the desk as she types back.

  Are you ever going to stop calling me that?

  When I can replace it with a term of endearment, maybe.

  Endearment? Please tell me, what could be more endearing than PYLE???

  I have a few terms in mind, but I’d rather not say—you know, being your boss and all.

  She bites her bottom lip as that crinkle returns to her forehead.

  Yeah, can’t forget that.

  Yes, actually, I can, very easily. Meet me in the break room, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.

  Coffee is free here.

  No, if you want to get technical, I pay for it and provide it for free to you.

  She leans forward and laughs out loud before covering her mouth to hide her grin. Her toe dances on the ground as she leans back and sways in her seat.

  I think my employer has rules against fraternizing with the boss.

  Too late for that, don’t you think?

  Have you ever followed the rules?

  No. But my lawyers would like me to. And they can be really mean.

  She’s biting her lip, and it’s the death of me. I have to run a hand over my jaw to calm myself before I jump from behind this wall and take her right there on the desk. I try to bring it back down and remember that I’m at work and I’m her boss. But it’s so freaking hard, especially when the glass-top table shows those beautiful legs crossing and uncrossing as she fidgets, trying to decide what to type next.

  I watch the bubbles appear and disappear without another message for a minute.

  So … coffee?

  She looks at her desk and the papers that she was working on. Her head falls to the back of her chair as she looks up and lets out a deep sigh. When she turns back to her phone, she types.

  Rain check. I’m swamped with work, and Bryce expects this exposé to be completed before the end of day.

  If I didn’t see with my own eyes what she was working on, I’d think she was blowing me off. There’s something sexy about a woman who isn’t willing to rush to a man’s beck and call. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman turn me down, and it’s a goddamn turn-on.

  I turn around and head back into my office to grab a gift I ordered. It’s been sitting under my desk in a brown box for a few days. I take the mug out and then walk it into the break room where I clean it in the sink. Then, I make Jalynn a cup of
coffee the way I’ve seen her make it before.

  When I get to her desk, her bright eyes widen as I walk over to her with the mug in my hands. Her eyes follow mine as I walk around her desk and take a seat on the edge, making her scoot back a bit in her chair.

  “You know, there are chairs you can sit on.” She tilts her head to the two that sit against he wall.

  “Yeah, but I like this spot better.” I grin as I hold the mug out to her. “Since you’re too busy to join me for coffee, I thought I’d join you.”

  She raises a brow as she looks at the black mug and the large writing in big white font on the ceramic. “Gomer Pyle? Where does one find a mug that says Gomer Pyle?”

  “Amazon. You’d be surprised at the things you can buy online these days,” I answer sarcastically.

  She shakes her head as she accepts the proffered mug and takes a sip. “Does this mean, you’re finally going to tell me why you call me Pyle? And what’s with the Gomer part?”

  “That’s classified information.”

  “You know how I take my coffee, and you felt me up last night, so I’d say we’re ready to declassify that one.”

  She winks, and I have to adjust my seated position for a brief moment.

  “It’s a Marine’s thing. That’s what they call the person who keeps messing up or causes problems.”

  Her smile falls. “How do I cause problems?”

  “Do you remember how I met you in the first place?”

  She puts the mug down on the desk as she narrows her eyes at me, and the little vein pops out in her forehead. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? Fine. I’m a Pyle. I cross racetracks and create false starts.”

  “You do.”

  She lets out a groan. “That’s the worst nickname ever. Are you going to tell me more about the Marines now?”