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

by Everly Ashton

  I close her door softly then head to my bedroom to get dressed, determined to pull off the surprise I have planned.

  An hour and a half later, I’ve cleaned up the remnants of the party, including getting caught in a fifteen-minute conversation with Mrs. Davenport when I went out to the parking lot to throw the garbage in the bin. The coffee is done brewing, and I’m just about to start cooking when Fiona walks into the kitchen.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say, barely recognizing the cheesy, too-wide-smile guy I am this morning.

  Her hair is dried and bent at weird angles, resembling something like a bird’s nest, but she looks cute nonetheless. She yawns and stretches, cringing for a minute when she stretches to the right.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, my body is just a bit sore.” She lets her hands drop to her sides and her gaze moves to the full coffee pot. “You made coffee, you wonderful man, you.”

  “Did I hurt you last night?” My chest tightens. I know I wasn’t exactly Romeo in the bedroom, more like the Incredible Hulk. Was I too aggressive?

  She looks at me over her shoulder. “Of course not. It’s just been a long time since I…” Pink suffuses her cheeks as a grin spreads across my face. “You know. Anyway, it’s a good sore.”

  I walk behind her and wind my hands around her waist. “So what you’re saying is you liked it.” I kiss her shoulder.

  “I figured my orgasm said as much.” Her hands land over mine on her stomach.

  “Two orgasms. Just saying.” I lightly bite her shoulder where I kissed it and she giggles, squirming out of my hold as if it tickles. She’s in the corner now, so I cage her in with my arms on either side of her. “Should we see if we can get a three-peat?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Hmm… that’s a tall order. How do you plan on accomplishing your goal?” she asks playfully.

  “First I thought maybe you’d ride my face so I can fuck you with my tongue.”

  Her eyes widen for a moment, then her lids become heavy as she holds my gaze.

  “Next I thought I’d explore you with my fingers so you come on my hand. And then I figured we go with a good old-fashioned fuck—maybe with you riding me. Either that or with you on all fours.”

  Her nipples poke out of the thin fabric of her sleep tank top and I suppress a groan, shifting my now-hard cock in my sleep pants with my hand. She pushes up onto her tiptoes and brings her mouth to mine. It quickly turns to a full-on make out session.

  “Is this what’s it’s going to be like now? You two making out in front of the coffee machine every morning?” Marlowe interrupts.

  We break apart and Fiona looks guilt-ridden. “Sorry.”

  “I’m just kidding,” Marlowe says. “But it is kind of gross since he’s my brother. Let’s try to keep it PG-13 outside the bedroom.” She looks at me when she says this.

  I raise my hands as if I’m the innocent party here. My sister rolls her eyes and pushes past me to grab a mug from the cupboard.

  “Can you grab me one too?” Fiona asks. “I never got that far.”

  “That’s because your tongue was too busy in my brother’s mouth.” She laughs.

  I take the opportunity of having Marlowe’s back turned to tuck my hard-on into the waistband of my sleep pants so it’s out of my sister’s view. “I was just about to start breakfast. You want some, Lowe?”

  “What are you making?” she asks, turning around and holding her black coffee between both hands while blowing into the mug.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

  We both know the cooking gene skipped Marlowe and it doesn’t matter what I’m making—she’s going to take me up on my offer because it means she doesn’t have to prepare anything for herself.

  She shrugs. “Not really.” She breezes past me out of the kitchen.

  “Just let me cut up some fruit and I’ll get out of your way,” Fiona says as she steps over to the fridge to pull out the dairy-free milk for her coffee.

  “I’m making a vegan breakfast for you, silly woman. Go relax and I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”

  The smile that lights up her aquamarine eyes is thanks enough. Who knew that a woman’s smile had the ability to make me feel as if I could slay armies and climb the highest mountain? Not me, that’s for sure.

  “Wow, thanks. I guess this is one of the perks to having a boyfriend who’s a chef.” Her words come out with a smile, but as soon as she’s finished speaking, her eyes widen with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

  I step over to her and tuck her unruly hair behind her ear. “Fiona, I am your boyfriend. I know we’ve only ever said we’re dating, but as far as I’m concerned that’s exactly what I am to you. As long as you’re cool with that?” My eyebrows rise in question.

  She nods slowly and I place a chaste kiss on her lips.

  “Good, now get outta here so I can get to work.” I smack her ass lightly as she walks past me, and she yelps before laughing commences in the living room.

  Last night started out as a shit night after dinner with my parents, but it sure as hell rebounded if I can make a woman like that laugh.

  Thirty

  Fiona

  A half hour later, Keane calls from the kitchen, “Food’s up. Go have a seat at the table.”

  I set my laptop on the coffee table and stand from the couch while Marlowe brings her phone with her to the table. Keane sets a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of each of us. I smile. So he’s trying to improve upon his last version, is he? Marlowe sets her pancakes aside while Keane walks back into the kitchen to grab the syrup.

  “Looks good,” I say, picking up the syrup container and pouring some over my breakfast.

  “Are these vegan?” Marlowe asks as if vegan were code for “made of ground-up puppies.”

  “Sure are,” Keane says, grabbing his own plate from the kitchen and sitting down to my left at the dining table.

  “When you said breakfast, I thought you meant something good.”

  I chuckle. “Lowe, these might be good. You haven’t even tried them yet.”

  “Let’s be honest, they’re probably not,” she says.

  I shake my head and cut into the first pancake, already impressed that it’s not as dense as last time. I bring my fork to my mouth and chew, the flavor of the blueberries, syrup, and batter mixing perfectly on my palate. “Mmm.”

  “Better than last time?” Keane asks.

  I finish chewing and nod. “Definitely. They’re not crumbling and they’re actually pretty fluffy for vegan pancakes. Not an easy feat.” I chuckle, thinking of all the pancakes I’ve tried that tasted and felt like sandpaper in my mouth.

  “Flax egg.” He smiles and pops some pancake into his own mouth.

  “Are they really half decent?” Marlowe asks.

  I nod. She cuts into her pancake and hesitantly lifts her fork to her mouth. Her expression transforms from skeptical to impressed within seconds.

  I grin. “Told you.”

  When she finishes chewing, she looks at her brother. “I’m impressed. These are really good.”

  It could be my imagination, but the praise we’re throwing embarrasses him.

  “How did you figure out what to use?” I ask, cutting my pancake into some more bite-sized pieces.

  “I hit the natural foods aisle at the grocery store and did some research. It’s not actually egg obviously, but it acts as a binder, much like an actual egg does in cooking. I wasn’t sure exactly how much to use since it’s not a one-to-one substitute for egg, but I think I guessed right.”

  “You absolutely guessed right. Thank you for going to all the trouble to make me this breakfast.” I squeeze his hand resting on the tabletop.

  “Aw, you guys are so cute.” Marlowe rests her chin on her hand and gazes at us with hearts in her eyes. Clearly, she’s still a romantic at heart even after last night’s fuck-and-chuck.

  We finish breakfast, and though I insist Keane let us clean up, he
says he’ll do it so I can get back to my letter-writing campaign. I roll my eyes but agree and go back on my computer. I need to touch base with some of my acquaintances at the various charity and cause-driven organizations to see what I can do to help this week.

  Marlowe announces that she’s going to head to the gym and walks to her room to change. When Keane’s finished in the kitchen, he plops down beside me on the couch and leans his head on my shoulder.

  I tense up. Not because I’m uncomfortable with his proximity but because I’m currently in a Facebook group dedicated to preventing the tear-down of the building his boss purchased for the restaurant. When he realizes what the group is about—it’s not hard given that the header on the page is a picture of the actual building—he sits up, no longer leaning against me.

  I’ve been struggling this past week about what to do regarding my involvement in the quest to keep the building standing. A part of me knows it would be easier to set it aside—go along to get along, so to speak. But that doesn’t sit well with me. This is a cause I feel strongly about.

  Our once-vibrant small city is slowly becoming a clone of every other city in America, full of shiny new buildings, franchises, and more of the same in every neighborhood. Neighborhoods have lost their flavor and lost what makes them interesting to the point that they’re all starting to feel generic and as tasteless as a vegan pancake.

  I refuse to set my own standards aside just to please a new boyfriend, so I suppose there’s no time like the present to make sure Keane knows that, even if I am nervous to discuss it with him.

  “What are you doing?” His voice is wary, as if he too doesn’t want to disturb the tranquil pond we’ve found ourselves treading water in the middle of lately.

  “I’m in one of my groups, trying to help figure out how we can stop the building from being torn down.”

  His gaze meets mine and I can’t decide if he’s upset or not. In fact, I get the feeling he’s carefully crafting his response so that I can’t tell. “So you’re still going ahead with that?”

  I nod. “It’s important to me. It’s what feels right. I’m sorry that you’re on the other side of it, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t mean something to me just to please you.” I ramble the words in a long string of interconnected words, but still, I said it. And I’m proud of myself for doing so.

  “All right, I’m headed to the gym. See you two later,” Marlowe says as she passes through the living room, stops to get her shoes on, and leaves the apartment.

  Neither of us actually say goodbye. We sit in silence for a moment longer. I hold my breath until he speaks.

  He nods. “Okay. It certainly makes things a little awkward, but I can respect that you have things that are important to you. We’re not always going to see things the same way. That’s to be expected. I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one.”

  He’s saying all the right words, but it still somehow feels as though his heart’s not in them.

  “I guess we will.”

  “Well, I won’t be wishing you luck on this one.” He smiles, and the Keane I’m used appears—the carefree smile, the eyes that sparkle and tease.

  My shoulders sag in relief. “The feeling is mutual.” I lean over and give him a quick kiss.

  “I’m going to shower. Care to join me?” he asks.

  I slam my laptop closed. “Last one naked has to wash the other one’s back.”

  Setting my computer to my side, I jump up from the couch and race down the hall, Keane right on my heels.

  “I’m going to make sure I wash every single nook and cranny on your body, I can promise you that,” he calls out.

  And boy, does he. In fact, I’ve never felt so clean—or dirty—after a shower in my life.

  Thirty-One

  Keane

  I head into Chez Jacques on Tuesday night with a knot in my stomach. I’m going to have to confess to Jacques that my parents refused to co-sign the loan for me, and I have to figure out something else. What the hell that’s going to be is beyond me, but I refuse to quit until I do. I started looking into less traditional loan options from private lenders yesterday. The interest rate makes me want to puke, but if it’s my only option, it might be what’s best.

  Annabelle is in the employee room when I arrive. She’s the other reason I dreaded coming in today. Hopefully after Saturday, she’s finally figured out that I’m serious about nothing happening between us again and she’ll move on.

  “Hey,” I say, stuffing my bag into my locker and pulling out my shoes. I take a seat at the table across from her and slip off my shoes.

  “Whatever.”

  I glance up when I catch her tone—pissed off—and realize her eyes are red-rimmed like she’s been crying. “Are you okay?”

  “What do you care?” The bottom of the chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes her chair back and leaves the room.

  Guess she’s not ready to move on yet. Well, at the very least maybe she’ll leave me alone now.

  I finish putting on my work shoes and stuff my outdoor ones inside my locker, then I head out in search of Jacques. I find him in the dining room, checking on things behind the bar.

  “Hey, can we talk for a minute?”

  He glances up, setting down the glass he was inspecting for cleanliness. “I tell Brad every night to make sure he polishes these to remove any spots and do you think he does?” He shakes his head and walks around to my side of the bar, where he takes a seat on one of the few bar stools. I do the same. “I hope you’re here to give me good news.”

  My stomach turns over. “I’m not, no. My parents won’t agree to co-sign the loan.”

  His lips tip down at the corners.

  “But I’m looking into another option, so all hope isn’t lost.”

  He heaves out a frustrated sigh and pushes his hand through his thinning hair. “This is taking longer than I’d hoped.”

  “I know and I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll find some way to get that money. Even if I have to sell a kidney.” I’m surprised when the words leave my mouth. Even more so when I realize I think I mean them.

  But this is so important to me. Owning my own restaurant is what I need to show my parents—hell, anyone who ever doubted I’d do something with my life—that I’ve made it. I’m not a screwup who has no direction in his life.

  Jacques chuckles. “Let’s not go too far. You might want to keep both kidneys. I’ve seen you drink at our annual Christmas parties.”

  At that moment, Annabelle walks past and sends a glare my way. Jacques doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

  “All you need to know is that I’m going to figure it out one way or another.”

  He clamps me on the shoulder. “I hope so. I think we could do great things with the new place.”

  “I know we could.” My words are spoken with a passion he must recognize because he squeezes my shoulder before dropping his hand.

  “You remind me of myself at your age. Full of purpose and passion, just needing to direct it somewhere.”

  I nod. “I am. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  He stands from the stool. “I hope not. Speaking of, the architect called and said that he’d have a plan emailed over to me next week to look at and give our thoughts on.”

  Somehow, I manage not to cringe, knowing that my girlfriend is doing everything in her power to make sure that a new building doesn’t happen. But that’s not something Jacques needs to know about. “Great, can’t wait to see them.”

  “There’s some community group making rumbles about preserving the building or some bullshit like that, but I’m not worried about them. It’s usually just a handful of granola-eating wackos who don’t get anywhere.”

  All the air whooshes from my lungs. Damn, that was hateful, and protectiveness washes through me, a comeback on the tip of my tongue.

  “You all right, Keane? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Uh… yeah, I’m fi
ne. Sorry, I just remembered that I still need to make the stock for tonight’s soup. I’d better get into the kitchen.”

  “All right. You go work your magic like always. We can chat about this some more later.”

  I walk toward the kitchen, panic welling up in me, feeling like a liar. What if Jacques finds out I know more than I’m letting on about this community group he’s talking about? What if he finds out my girlfriend is the one trying to sabotage his project?

  The next day, I meet Rod on his lunch break in our usual spot, needing some advice.

  “So you didn’t say anything about Fiona being involved in the group trying to stop the building from being torn down?” Rod asks around a mouthful of food.

  I shake my head.

  He rocks his head side to side as if he’s weighing the options. “No harm, no foul, I guess. I mean, you have no control over what your girlfriend does or how she feels. She’s entitled to do what she wants.”

  “Exactly. I know that… though if I’m honest, I wish she’d drop it because it would make my life easier. But it’s important to her and part of a bigger issue. Mentioning it to Jacques isn’t going to do anything except get him pissed off with me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Jacques is right. These things usually don’t result in much. The city just wants a higher tax base, and if putting up a new building achieves that, they’re happy. Fiona can do what she needs to in order to feel as though she’s tried to make a difference, and in the end, you’ll get what you need too.”

  “In a perfect world, yeah, but my life has been less than perfect lately.” I take a bite of my toasted western sandwich.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. That fire was what had you moving in with your sister and Fiona, and from what you’ve told me, it sounds like if that hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have ended up discovering how good she is for you.” He looks at me over his glasses.

  I reach for my drink. “How do you know she’s good for me?”