Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2)

by Everly Ashton

  “Keane, I’m so glad you made it.” She gives me a hug.

  “Congratulations again.”

  When she pulls back from me, I hold my hand out toward Ollie. He shakes it with a huge smile.

  “Good to see you,” he says. “Jemma told me about the fire at your apartment. I’m sorry, man.”

  They both step back to let me into the house. “Yeah, it sucks, but thankfully I had a place to stay after you moved out, Jemma.”

  “Speaking of… how’s that going? I asked Fiona earlier and she didn’t have much to say about it—surprisingly.” She chuckles.

  “Well, we haven’t killed each other yet, so there’s something to be said about that.” I don’t add that there’s a better chance of us fucking than killing each other these days.

  I glance over Jemma’s shoulder and see none other than the woman herself inside the formal living room, chatting with Ollie’s buddy, Nick. I like Nick. I’ve hung out with him and Ollie a few times, but if he’s trying to put the moves on Fiona, I’m going to have to tell him that’s a no-fly zone.

  Ollie must make a joke about the living situation that I don’t catch because he and Jemma break out in laughter. I chuckle so they think I was listening to them and all my attention wasn’t on Fiona and Nick.

  “I brought you a little something.” I hold up the bottle of wine in my left hand.

  Jemma groans and holds her hands over her face.

  “What?” Ollie takes the wine, glancing between the two of us, clearly confused.

  “I got so drunk off this stuff in high school once I swore to never drink it again. Even just the sight of makes me want to dry heave.”

  I chuck her under the chin. “Enjoy.”

  With a laugh, I walk past them, stopping to say hello to Jemma’s mom when she frantically waves to me. I make my rounds, introducing myself to the people I don’t know. Ollie doesn’t have a huge amount of family here, nor does Jemma, but I meet lots of their coworkers. Eventually, I’m able to make my way over to the part of the house where Fiona’s been hanging out. I use the opportunity to approach her once the person she’s talking to excuses herself.

  “You have something in your hair.” I finger a piece of Fiona’s hair. There’s a yellow blob of what I think might be paint in it.

  She pulls her head back and my hand drops from her hair. “I painted my room yesterday.”

  “Looks like you went with my choice,” I say.

  “I assure you, I didn’t.”

  So we’re going to continue down the road of pretending we still hate one another. She’s on her own there. I’m done hiding my true feelings for her. That ship sailed once I found out what it was like to kiss her.

  She sips her drink, dodging my eye contact. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve known Jemma as long as you have, and besides.” I shrug. “I hang out with Ollie and Nick sometimes.”

  Surprise registers on her face, but she covers it with another sip of her drink.

  I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I hope there’s no alcohol in that cup. We wouldn’t want a repeat of Monday afternoon.”

  She sucks in a quick breath and her eyes dart around to make sure no one heard me. “I already told you, that won’t be a problem.”

  I chuckle. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Squirt.”

  Her cheeks redden and she spins on her heel while I continue laughing.

  “You need to stop antagonizing her.” Marlowe comes up to my side.

  I startle, wondering how much she heard. But Marlowe won’t mince words if she thinks something more than heated banter is being exchanged between Fiona and me. “She’s sensitive. I didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”

  My sister shakes her head. “I’m serious, Keane.” She eyes me with reproach.

  I raise my hands. “All right, all right. I’ll do my best to make myself Fiona’s favorite person in the whole world. Deal?”

  She nods. “Deal.”

  I hold in my grin because I’m fairly sure my sister is not aware of, nor would support, the way I plan on accomplishing that task—with orgasms. “So how’s the dating life going these days? I haven’t heard any dating horror stories from you lately.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I should quit dating all together. Maybe I’ll find someone once I stop looking.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her into my side. “Aw, come on now. That doesn’t sound like the hopeless romantic I grew up with.”

  Ever since Marlowe was little, she’s wanted that one true love. She had a Ken for every Barbie.

  “I know, but at what point do you say, ‘This clearly isn’t working, I need to try something else’?”

  “The word quit isn’t part of your vocabulary. I admire the way you go after what you want.”

  “Maybe you should do the same.” She raises an eyebrow and pokes me in the side.

  My forehead wrinkles. “What’s that mean?”

  She shrugs, pasting an innocent expression on her face. “Just saying.” After her parting words, she walks away.

  What the hell was that about? Does she know how I feel about Fiona? No way. I’ve hidden it for years.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and see that it’s time for me to head into work. Glancing around the room, I see Fiona chatting with Jemma, Ollie, and Jemma’s brother, Mason. Perfect. Does she have to find every single male in the room?

  I weave through the crowd until I reach them. “Sorry to leave so early, but I’ve got to head to the restaurant.” I shake hands with Ollie and give Jemma a hug.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” Jemma says, squeezing me around the waist. She definitely smiles more since Ollie came into her life.

  “Congratulations again. Mason, good to see you.” I shake his hand as well.

  “You too. I’ll be in touch about those tickets,” Mason says. He works in the city for the major league baseball team and offered to score me some tickets to a home game this summer. I’d be an idiot to say no.

  “Appreciate that, thanks.” Then I turn to Fiona, who looks as though she’s doing her best to pretend I’m not even standing here. “Fiona.”

  Her gaze whips to mine. I could be wrong, but it looks as if she’s a little fearful of what might come out of my mouth.

  “I saw some pickles over by the food.”

  She squints those gorgeous blue eyes at me.

  “Pickles?” Jemma tilts her head.

  “The other day, Fiona was all over the jar of pickles. Figured she might enjoy one.”

  Fiona’s eyes narrow further. “I’m good, but thank you for thinking of me. If memory serves, you were fighting me for them?”

  Jemma’s head volleys back and forth between us as though we’re at the final match of Wimbledon.

  “Oh, I prefer a nice juicy peach more than a pickle, but thanks for thinking of me.” I wink and walk away with a grin, knowing Fiona’s gaze follows me out of the room.

  I chuckle as I open the front door, hearing Jemma asking Fiona what the hell that all meant. Good luck coming up with an answer.

  Sixteen

  Fiona

  Since Keane kissed me, all I can think about are two things. One, the kiss and the way I tingled all the way to my toes. And two, the damn letter I found in my room.

  Is that why I can’t get him off my mind? Because some weird magic intertwined our destinies? Has this apartment and that letter worked some form of voodoo on me so that I can’t stop thinking about Keane?

  I know how that sounds, believe me. But it’s the only explanation I can think of for why I went from hating the man’s existence to having to stop myself from imagining what could have happened if I hadn’t stopped that kiss.

  I’m a big enough person to admit that Keane is different than I thought he was. Not only is he a hell of a lot sexier, but he’s also helpful and caring and he’s actually a really good listener.

  I shake my
head and focus on the letter I’m writing on my computer. It’s Sunday, so I’m doing my weekly advocating, writing letters to politicians and organizations in the name of the causes I support—I’ll admit, there are many.

  “I see you’re practicing your weekly letter writing campaign,” Keane says as he steps into the living room from the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

  “Seriously, I’m pretty sure you’ve replaced your wardrobe by now. Go put some clothes on.” I ignore the outline of his junk in his tight boxer briefs, but apparently my vagina doesn’t get the message because she starts buzzing, wondering when we’re going to get some of that action. Trollop.

  He chuckles. “Then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching you ogle my body.”

  I guffaw. “Please, I’m not ogling.” I don’t allow my gaze to leave my computer screen, otherwise he’s right, I’ll ogle.

  “Sure, you are. And I know how much it pisses you off too, which makes it even more satisfying.” He steps up to the couch and leans down, whispering in my ear, “It turns me on when you get heated like that. Makes me want to put you in your place. With my cock.”

  I yelp. At least I think I do. I’m not really sure honestly, because the only thing in my head is the vision of Keane and I naked, doing naughty things.

  Keane sits next to me, grabs my computer off my lap. “Who are you writing to today?” He scrolls through each of the letters I have pulled up.

  Whatever. If I let him get in his ribbing, maybe he’ll do me a favor and leave me alone. “Are you sure you can read them?” I give him a sarcastic grin and immediately regret my comment when there’s a quick flash of hurt in his eyes.

  I remember Keane struggling when we were in school. Marlowe always excelled at everything she set her mind to, but her big brother didn’t have the same drive when it came to schoolwork. I’m about to apologize when he speaks.

  “You’re writing about the building at 763 Spruce Street?”

  I tilt my head, wondering what the recognition in his voice might mean. “Yeah, some developer has put in an application to rip it down. You know it?”

  “Yeah, I know it.” He hands me back my computer, practically dropping it on my lap.

  When he doesn’t elaborate, I prod. “And… how do you know it?”

  “That’s the building Jacques purchased for the new restaurant. He plans on ripping it down to build fresh.”

  “He can’t rip it down! That building has been there for more than 125 years.” All I see is red now, envisioning a big black wrecking ball swinging toward history.

  “Exactly. It looks like it’s been there that long too. The place is a dump.”

  “You’re okay with tearing it down?” I lean forward and set my laptop on the coffee table.

  He shrugs. “It’s not my call. I’m only buying in—if I can even afford to do that—ten percent on this thing.”

  “I see. You’d rather make money on the destruction of the history of our town? Doesn’t the gentrification of the area concern you at all?”

  He stands from the couch. “The only thing that concerns me is figuring out a way to get my parents to agree to co-sign a loan for me to buy-in on the restaurant. If Jacques wants to start fresh, that’s up to him. I’m just along for the ride at this point.” He heads into the kitchen and I hear him make his coffee.

  I try to focus on the letter I’m writing, but I’m fuming. I don’t even know why I’m so upset by Keane’s lack of concern about the building, but it feels personal somehow. I’m stabbing the keys on my laptop, angrily typing the letter, when Marlowe comes out of her room.

  “Whoa, what’d your computer do to you to deserve such abuse?” she asks.

  “She’s pissed at me because I don’t care whether or not Jacques tears down the old building on the lot he purchased for the new restaurant.” Keane comes out of the kitchen and I glare at him over my shoulder. He looks from me back to Marlowe. “See?”

  I turn back around and face my friend. “For once, he’s not lying.”

  “I’m not a liar, Squirt.”

  My fists clench over the keyboard of my laptop, but I don’t react to that nickname since he’s clearly goading me. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  She looks between the two of us. “Can I leave you two alone for an hour while I go buy groceries?”

  “Don’t look at me. She’s the one who’s pissed. I’m chill as a cucumber.” Keane sits on the other end of the couch and stretches his long legs out to rest his feet on the coffee table.

  I inhale deeply. “We’ll be fine. Your brother isn’t worth me going to prison for the rest of my life.”

  “All right then. Try to play nice you two.” She unhooks her purse from the holder and gives us a small wave before she leaves.

  I immediately turn my attention back to my computer, figuring it’s best to ignore Keane and not engage.

  “Are you going to just pretend I don’t exist?” he asks.

  I continue to ignore him, rereading my letter to figure out where I left off.

  “Come on, Squirt. I don’t even know why you’re so mad. It’s not like I have control.”

  Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him. I type, adding on to what I already have.

  His weight on the couch shifts and suddenly he’s right beside me. “What are you so worked up about anyway? It’s just a building.”

  Do not engage. Do not engage.

  “There’s nothing wrong with improving the thing. We’re doing the neighborhood a favor.”

  Heat rushes up my neck until my heartbeat strums in my arteries as if they’re ready to explode. I move my laptop to the table and whip my head in his direction. “But you’re not improving anything! You’re tearing it down to put up another cookie-cutter upper-middle-class restaurant that will look like all the other ones in all the other cities in this country.”

  The groove between his eyes grows and it’s only now that I realize how close he really is to me. “You can’t stand in the way of progress. If you try, you’ll just get bulldozed over.”

  “What happens when progress increases all the real estate values in the area and people have to move because they can no longer afford to live there?”

  “An increase in property values isn’t a bad thing. Are you actually trying to argue that it is?” His voice is full of agitation.

  “It’s a bad thing when rich landlords buy up all the properties then raise the rents and the original inhabitants can no longer afford to live there.”

  “Newsflash, Squirt, that’s already happening! Letting that piece-of-shit building remain isn’t going to make any difference. It’s just one building in a sea of buildings.”

  I lean in a little so he can see the fire in my eyes. “Stop calling me Squirt.” I reach out with both hands to push his shoulders, but he catches my wrists.

  “Don’t you dare put your hands on me, Fiona. You won’t like what happens if you do,” he growls then releases my wrists.

  God, this man is maddening.

  “Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it?” I reach out again.

  This time, he does let me shove his shoulders. But before I know it, his arm is around my waist and he’s pulling me forward. He lets himself fall back onto the couch, bringing me down with him. Before I can grasp what’s happening, I’m on top of him and his lips are on mine.

  I blink a couple of times and don’t move, but then his hand slides down my lower back to land on my ass and he lifts his hips below me so that I feel his hard length press against my center. His tongue brushes across the seam of my lips and any fight I had—which I’ll admit wasn’t much—evaporates. I open my mouth to him on a moan.

  Our tongues meet and electricity rushes through my body so that the entire thing feels like a live wire. Every point of contact between our bodies is charged—our tongues which fight for dominance, my erect nipples that brush against the cotton of my bra and press against his hard pecs, and our groins performing a push-and-pull dance that m
akes me grow wetter by the second. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, and his other hand threads through the hair at the side of my head.

  I’ve wondered a lot, over the past couple of weeks, what it would be like to kiss Keane again, and no daydream could have prepared me for this. This man is the world’s best kisser. The way he groans as though he can’t get enough of me, the pace he sets with his tongue, and the way he occasionally nips my bottom lip—hell, just the sexual energy rolling off him has me halfway to climax.

  He grips the back of my head and pulls me away for a moment. “Fuck, I knew you couldn’t deny me.”

  Then he dives back in, his lips trailing a path from my chin to the side of the face and finally to my earlobe. I shiver in pleasure when his warm tongue flicks the lobe and his breath tickles my neck. The feel of him, the smell of him, all of him makes me want more and I forget who it is I’m kissing and where we are. That is… until something clanks loudly on the floor and we separate.

  My immediate thought is Marlowe’s returned. I turn quickly and look over my shoulder, but the apartment door is still closed. Then I spot the remote for the TV on the floor, the back broken off and the batteries rolling away on the hardwood. My breathing is still labored as I look at Keane, whose eyes are hooded and looking up at me warily, as though he’s waiting to see my reaction.

  The truth is—I don’t know what to do.

  This… thing between Keane and me has been building ever since he moved in. It feels like the more I deny it, the stronger the draw to him becomes. I lie silently on him while all of this runs through my mind—probably looking like a fish searching for air because my mouth keeps opening and closing.

  “Did I leave you speechless?” He arches a brow.

  It’s exactly what I needed to cut the tension, and a full body laugh engulfs me. Unfortunately, it also makes me very aware that I’m still lying on him—a very hard him. My laugh dies off and I clear my throat, trying to gingerly climb off of him without touching him too much or placing my hand anywhere it shouldn’t be.

  I feel strangely vulnerable now that we’ve crossed the line past kissing and into physical territory. I’m wondering how I’m going to react, but the truth is that he could very well tell me to back off, too. “Keane, I—”