The Best Man (Chesapeake Shores Book 2)

by Andi Burns

  Molly: I did not know that.

  Ev: See how much I can teach you?

  Molly: So when’s my next lesson?

  Ev: I’ll be home Friday night, but late, probably after midnight. Saturday, after we meet with the caterer?

  Molly: Can’t wait.

  I walk into the restaurant and spot Nate at a table in the back. His face is buried in his tablet, and I have no doubt he hasn’t quit working since our meeting this afternoon.

  “Hey, nice place.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, if you had told me this morning that I’d be eating a pink taco tonight, I’d have laughed in your face. Hopefully, there’s no photo evidence—I could lose my Grindr privileges if this gets out,” he jokes.

  “I won’t tell a soul,” I chuckle. “What looks good?”

  “Everything. When we checked in today, I asked around for suggestions, and everyone said this place is a must.”

  “Excellent.” I glance at the menu and decide on the carne asada enchiladas. We place our orders, and then Nate gets right down to business. It’s odd—that’s usually my job. But, I reason that I’ve taught him well, and I listen to his take on the meeting we had today.

  He talks animatedly and passes his tablet over, so I can take a look at his calculations and specs.

  He’s damn near jumping out of his seat with excitement. He says the words “merger” and “acquisition” like they’re religious terms. Finally, he pauses long enough to take a drink, but then, starts right back up again.

  “So, what do you think? I feel like we have them right where we want them. The location is ideal, and the building is sound. How can they say no? And if they do, I’ve got a dozen more reasons to convince them.”

  Our food arrives, and it occurs to me that I’m not feeling the same energy Nate is. Sure, I agree that the deal is solid, and they’d be fools not to take it, the Lafayette building and the Orion Organization haven’t been on my mind since two o’clock today. And even then, I was distracted.

  What has happened to me? Somehow, the job I used to love—no, the job I used to thrive on—has gotten mundane. Tedious. Perfunctory.

  There’s no thrill in it anymore, which is absolutely ridiculous. This job used to run through my veins. It was what kept me going. Christ, I was almost an addict to the adrenaline rush, the thrill of acquiring a new company, the satisfaction of rehabbing a corporation that was drowning. I used to love the hectic pace of things; I never minded the constant meetings and crazy travel schedule because they meant that I was still in the game.

  It’s hard to believe now, but that’s how Victoria and I met. Her dad and I worked for the same company, and she attended a charity fundraiser I was at. It sounds shameful now, but it made sense then: she fit the mold of a successful business man’s wife. She had great connections and socialized in the same circles I did.

  But now, I feel so removed from all of that. I no longer want the frantic pace. And I definitely don’t want the trophy wife.

  I used to live for that shit.

  And now, It’s pissing me off, and I’m counting down the hours until I can hop on a plane and get back to Molly.

  Well, back to Maryland.

  Because of Molly…

  Dammit.

  She made the rules very clear, and I agreed to play by them, but damn if I can’t see myself spending a lifetime with this woman.

  On paper, we’re compatible. We make sense.

  And in person, we’re combustible.

  I just hope she sees that, too.

  Nate and I finish our meals in companionable silence. We settle the bill, and I praise his work for the day. “Those specs are spot on, Rinaldi. Why don’t you take the lead in the meeting tomorrow?” Such a move is virtually unheard of. I’m a senior VP; he’s, what? A year out of grad school? And we’re in a cut-throat field. What’s to say he’s not going to be gunning for my job in a year or less? Is it bad that thought doesn’t unnerve me the way it should? The kid’s got balls of steel and a mind for business. As much as it pains me to say it, his tenacity reminds me of myself at 25. Maybe it’s only right that I should act as a mentor.

  “Mr. Madigan—Ev—”

  I hold up my hand in protest. “Seriously. You take the lead, and I’ll be there to back you up, but you won’t need it. “

  Nate’s face lights up like a kid’s on Christmas. He heads back to the hotel to prep for tomorrow, and I decide to take a stroll near the water, as though I haven’t just committed virtual career suicide.

  Will my head be on the chopping block tomorrow? No. Will the office be abuzz about the fact I let my assistant lead such an important meeting? Probably not.

  But have I lost my edge? Yeah.

  Do I give a shit? No.

  And that’s the real problem.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, the dial tone buzzes in my ear, and I hear Molly’s sleepy “Hello?”

  “Hey, gorgeous? Are you asleep already? It’s not much after nine.”

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep. One minute I was tuned into an episode of Schitt’s Creek, and the next, I was passed out.”

  “I’ll let you go,” I say, though I’m not sure there’s much sincerity in my tone. I turn toward the hotel and begin the short walk back.

  She yawns. “No, I’m good. What’s up?”

  It’s a fair question. I called her out of the blue, really. But it’s hard to put into words exactly why.

  “Just wanted to hear your voice again. It’s been a weird day. Not bad, just weird.”

  “Here’s hoping tomorrow is exceedingly normal.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, though I know she can’t see me. “Look, you sound tired. I should let you go. I kept you up until the wee hours of the morning last night. I’ll let you get—”

  “Mmmm, you don’t have to let me go, Ev. You could tuck me in.”

  Christ. Does this woman have any idea what she does to me?

  “Just gimme a minute to change, ok? Then FaceTime me.”

  Her voice is warm and sleepy and sexy, and I take the hotel steps three at a time, thanking God that my room is only on the third floor. I key in and strip down, lying on the bed in just my boxers.

  The call goes through, and there’s Molly—every curvy, delicious inch of her—wrapped loosely in a blanket that doesn’t cover much. Naively, I thought she was going to change into pajamas or maybe lingerie. I’ve never been this glad to be wrong.

  She’s propped against her headboard, hair tousled, lips curved up in a smile. The swells of her breasts are on display, and God, I wish I was there right now. But seeing her like this is the next best thing, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.

  “Jesus, Molly. You’re a fucking vision.” I let my hand trail down my chest and abs and rest it at the base of my stomach. My dick gets impossibly harder by the second, but I want to make this last as long as I can. I need to make it good for her, even from a thousand miles away.

  “Like what you see?” She flirts and adjusts her position, causing the blanket to fall, revealing a perfect pink nipple.

  I tilt my head back and stifle a groan. Christ almighty, she has me completely worked up, and we’ve barely begun.

  Her laughter carries through the phone line. “Am I making you crazy?” The innocence in her tone doesn’t fool me.

  “You know you are.” I palm my cock over my boxers in a vain attempt to relieve some tension. I squeeze, inviting the pain of it, and hiss at the contact.

  Molly’s audible sigh tells me she’s liking the show so far. But if I’m the star of this show, it’s not going to last long. I need to see her. I need to watch her touch and tease herself. I need to see and hear her orgasm on the screen in front of me.

  “Touch your tits, Molls.” It’s a crude term I’d never use in real life, but the bedroom is sort of an escape for me—it always has been. It’s here that I give into my baser needs and instincts. I don’t hold back. There’s no polish. Just raw need. With Molly, I don’t need
to be suave or refined. She wants me just as I am.

  And Goddamn, does she respond to that.

  She obeys my command—because that’s exactly what it is, and we both know it. Palming the supple flesh, she lifts and squeezes, closing her eyes as a way to control the onslaught of stimulation.

  She looks so good, naked and reveling in the pleasure from her own hands, that I take a moment to just watch, before spurring her on with my praise. Each pinch, each squeeze drives me closer to the edge.

  “That’s it, gorgeous girl.” I encourage her, as she rolls the tight buds of her nipples between her fingers. “Fuck, Molly, I want my hands on you.”

  Her lips part, and I know my words are having the desired effect. “That’s what you want, too, Molly. That’s what you need.”

  “Yes.” It’s half breath, half word, and I hear the covers rustle as she shifts. On the screen of my phone, I see a flash of thigh, and it’s nearly my undoing.

  “Open those legs for me, Gorgeous. Let me see how wet you got just from playing with your tits.” Tossing the blanket to the other side of the bed, she spreads her legs wide and dangles her hand between them.

  Unable to resist, I shuck my shorts and fist my cock tightly at the base. “Touch yourself, pretty girl. Touch yourself and let me watch.”

  At first, she draws lazy circles, barely grazing the skin of her folds. She loves it like this, needs the slow build, I’ve learned. Her knees shake slightly as she cries out, dipping a finger into her own depths.

  “Yea,” I croon, as she draws her finger out then drives it back in. “Add another finger.” She obeys and I watch as she fucks herself on her own hand. God, she’s so sexy, so uninhibited. She quickens the pace, and I can tell from her breathing that she’s close, and fuck, so am I. The pre-cum on my cock glistens, and I moan when I spread it on the tip and then jack myself hard. That draws her attention and the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen is my woman’s eyes glazing over, as she seeks her own pleasure, while she watches me pump my dick.

  “Christ, Molly. So fucking wet, Baby. I can hear it.” She pants harder, and I know my words turn her on just as much as my actions do. I stroke myself and feel that familiar shiver at the base of my spine. I’m chasing my own orgasm, and I need her to get there, right fucking now. “You feel good, Molly?”

  “Oh, God, yes. Yes, Ev” she breathes.

  “Now play with your clit for me, Gorgeous. Rub it for me. That’s it, Baby,” Her breaths come in short bursts.

  “Oh, oh, God. Oh—” The moment I hear her cry out my name, I let go, shooting all over my stomach.

  It takes a minute for my breathing to return to normal. “How are you doing, Molly?” I tease.

  “Oh my God, Ev, I think you killed me this time.”

  “Hey now. I wasn’t in it alone.”

  Her cheeks are tinged with pink, her hair’s a tangly mess, and her eyes look sleepy and satisfied. What I wouldn’t give to be there running a warm cloth between her legs and tucking her head against my shoulder to sleep a whole night together.

  “Give me a sec,” she calls, before darting into the bathroom across the hall from her bedroom.

  I grab my boxers and use them to clean myself up. I’m spent, but it feels so good.

  I watch as she comes back onto the screen in just a tank top and turns off the light.

  “Night, Ev,” she whispers, her eyes half-closed.

  “Night, Gorgeous.” I end the call, but the image of her warm and sated in her bed stays with me as I turn out my own light and drift off to sleep.

  “I’m so glad you could make it out tonight!” It’s loud in here, but I don’t mind the noise. I am finally getting a chance to catch up with Ashley and has stood me up the last few weeks when we made plans to meet up. Not that I’m bitter, or anything…

  “I know. I’m sorry, Molls. It’s been crazy lately. Ever since Ethan and I split, I haven’t wanted to do anything. I’m not sure it was entirely necessary for you to key into my apartment, insist on making me get dressed, and drag me out tonight, but I’m glad you did.”

  “That’s what sisters are for.” I toast her with my half-full Old Fashioned.

  “So, not to be bitchy or anything, but why here? This place is a little grungy for your tastes, no? I mean don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen, like, ten people I know, and we’ve been here for five minutes, so I’m not complaining. It just feels more like—”

  “More like a college dive bar than a place your sophisticated, thirty-year-old sister would frequent?”

  “Yes. And your use of the word frequent as a verb proves my point.”

  “Ha. Listen, kiddo, this is not my first time at The Drunk Monkey, but it is my first time here in years. And, yes, I’m here to drag you back into civilization, but I’m also here to check out the band. They’re another of Simon’s faves, and I have the task of making sure Elaine won’t hate them.”

  “Are you seriously planning their wedding? That’s what Dad said. How does that even work? Are you, like, trying on dresses for her? And what about food? Ava said Elaine can barely keep anything down.”

  “I’m not planning the wedding, just helping out. I’m going to appointments she can’t make, and I’m bringing info back, so she and Simon can decide on stuff. And part of it is that I know her better than anyone, so I have a pretty good idea of what she’ll like and what she won’t. Last week, Ev and I went to that new hotel on Brockmoor. It was gorgeous. All modern and sleek. Everything was white or gold. I adored it, but Elaine would never get married there. She tends more toward flowery and cozy.”

  “But you like all that vintage stuff. Like, all the shirt dresses and pencil skirts and stuff. Your closet looks like you lifted it off the set of Mad Men.

  “For my clothes, yes. But that’s because of my tits and ass.”

  “Yea, you must’ve gotten that from your mom’s side because, uh,” She looks down at her tank dress and gestures at her barely-there boobs.

  “Hey, no complaining. Whatever you’ve got, it’s beautiful. What did I always tell you? Don’t hate on yourself. And don’t wish for what anybody else has. Just be what you are and love it. Are my boobs fabulous? You’re damn right they are. But so are yours.”

  She rolls her eyes because she’s heard my lecture a million times, and she smiles because she knows I’m right. “Ok, no more body shaming myself, even if Ethan’s new girlfriend has ginormous boobs.”

  “As someone with ginormous boobs, I can tell you they aren’t as awesome as you think. Don’t get me wrong--I love my tatas, but I don’t love that they require bras with thick straps and four hook closures. But enough about boobies. How are your classes?”

  “Other than the fact that Ethan and I coordinated our schedules and have every effing class together? Ugh. And I totally wasted an elective by signing up for Video Game Design. That is not going to help me when I’m a NICU nurse.”

  I want to hug this girl. I could totally have told her that taking a class just because her boyfriend is taking it is a terrible idea. But, sometimes, you just need to learn things the hard way.

  “Ok, that definitely sucks. But I have no doubt there’s other eye candy in there for you to enjoy. Just tell me you’re not still sitting next to him.”

  “I am, but only because he comes and sits next to me.”

  “Oh, honey.” Clearly, we needed to have a talk about boundaries and assholes. But first, more drinks. “We need refills. I’ll be right back.” I step down off the stool and check my phone, as I make my way toward the overcrowded bar. God, is it dollar beer night? I see a text from my dad, thanking me for meeting up with Ash. I respond with a heart and tell him I’m happy to hang out with my sister, because I am. I don’t see it as a duty, so much as a privilege.

  I also see a text from Ev. He’s at the airport and about to head through security.

  Ev: Gorgeous, if all goes as planned, we’ll land at 11, and I’ll be back in town before two a.m.. I’ll text you, but put your phone on
Do Not Disturb. I need you to be well-rested for what I have planned tomorrow night.

  Molly: Done, bossy boss-man.

  Ev: You wouldn’t have me any other way.

  Molly: Accurate.

  “Hey, Molly!” I look to see the bartender with a broad smile on his face, like he’s glad to see me. “How are you doing, Molls? God, it’s been forever.”

  He’s right. It has. And there’s a very good reason for that.

  “Hey, Chase,” I greet my ex, though it feels weird to call him that. We dated years ago. And by dated, I mean that he crashed at my place and mooched from my fridge for a couple of months.

  He was in a band when we met, and he was awful. So, when he told me he’d always wanted to be a tattooist, I encouraged him. Clearly, music wasn’t the right career for him. Sadly, body art wasn’t either. But, I met my dear friend Nick when Chase apprenticed there, and Chase and I parted ways amicably.

  He sets an Old Fashioned down in front of me and grins. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Molls? It’s your favorite.”

  He’s not wrong, so I nod and thank him. “And I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri, too,” I add.

  “The hell you will. You dating some pussy who drinks girly drinks?”

  There is so much wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to start. “I’m here with my sister.”

  “Ah, cool.” He turns to make the drink, and I wonder what the hell I ever saw in him, besides his good looks.

  After collecting our drinks and settling the tab, I make my way back over to Ash, whose eyes are laser focused on the bar.

  “Was that Chase?”

  “Yeah. You remember him? You were, what, sixteen when we were dating? And we weren’t together long. I can’t imagine you met him more than a few times.”

  She takes a sip of her fruity drink. “Thanks. And of course I remember him. He’s too pretty to forget.”

  “He is pretty, but…”

  “And he’s needy. And that’s your weakness, Molls. Just like mine is douchebag jocks.”

  Leave it to my twenty-one-year-old sister to sum us up in just a few sentences.