Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance Book 2)

by R. G. Alexander

  “You know I do.”

  He breathes out a sigh of relief that makes me shiver. “We can be so good together, Millie. I can show you. I just need to get you alone and willing for a long enough period of time to prove it to you.”

  Sex. He wants sex.

  Fuck, who am I kidding? So do I.

  Why shouldn’t it be him? You’ve wanted him for years. It’s not like you’re holding out for marriage.

  What about our friendship? This could ruin it. He could remember he’s not remotely gay and fly away for good.

  And that would be different from the last few months, how? At least this time, you’d have a happy memory to remember him by. You’d know what it felt like to be with him. To be with someone you wanted.

  A part of me still thinks this is a cry for help, and that if I were a better friend I would back him down off this ledge and help him work through whatever it is that’s causing him to act so out of character. But I’m having a hard time being that better friend right now.

  Maybe it’s all the blood rushing to my dick that’s making me think this is a good idea. But the truth is, if he wants me, there’s no way I’ll be able to resist him, and right now only the scared, virginal control freak inside me wants to try.

  Fuck that guy.

  “Alone and willing?” I pant as he kisses his way up my neck. “I think we can make that happen if we ever get out of this room.”

  The fingers wrapped around my wrist tighten at my response and he lifts his head. He’s looking in my eyes like I have answers there, but I know I don’t. I’m not sure of anything right now. This could be the craziest decision I’ve ever made, but if he really wants me, I’ll have to risk it.

  A knock on the bookshelf startles us both and I drop my hand from his dick, turning my head to see a wide-eyed Austen waiting to be noticed. “So,” she starts hesitantly. “The monitor on the wall wants to talk to you.”

  I frown in confusion until Brendan takes my chin and guides my head around to face the television screen on the far wall, which is supposed to show us clues if we need them.

  There are cameras everywhere.

  We can see and hear you.

  Cut it out.

  Fifteen minutes left.

  I’m not embarrassed. I’m never coming here again and I’ll run the other way if I see anyone who works here on the street…but I’m not embarrassed.

  “Thanks, Austen,” I mumble, face boiling.

  Royal leans around the corner, his head over Austen’s shoulder and traces of her burgundy lipstick staining his lips. “Big brother wanted to talk to us too,” he says with a mischievous grin, chuckling when she whacks him in the stomach.

  “What? It’s true. Let’s quit wasting time and go save our nation.”

  It’s nearly impossible for us to concentrate after that. There isn’t a lot of puzzle solving, but there is a lot of laughing, touching and innuendo all around. When we get to the three-minute mark, we finally cave and ask for help.

  I never did find out what Franklin’s weapon was, but when the door finally opens we all cheer like we won the war.

  If it were up to me, I’d run out that door and go straight home, dragging Brendan behind me, but Austen included lunch at the sandwich shop as part of the do-over date of awesome.

  I’m a good friend. A very good friend who might die as the first successful gay virgin Cupid with blue balls if she doesn’t let us leave soon.

  I can tell when she looks at me she understands my dilemma. Which is why I also think this is her way of making sure I’m thinking straight, and that this is really what I want. Especially when she starts giving Brendan her gentle version of the third degree halfway through lunch.

  “So what’s this incident I keep hearing about? The reason you got suspended and drunk and almost ditched us at the pub?”

  Yep. That’s her gentle version.

  Brendan puts down his half-eaten sandwich and reaches for a napkin, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  My instant thought is, I really want to get laid, so I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with sex at inappropriate elevations.

  “It was nothing,” he demurs, making Austen raise her eyebrows.

  Shit. She’s got that look again.

  “Really? It didn’t seem like nothing Friday night.”

  Brendan shifts in his seat and I put my hand on his thigh beneath the table, offering support. The desire that was lurking under the surface ignites in his eyes and I know work is the last thing he wants to talk about.

  Join the club.

  “Captain Kinkaid was a real American hero,” Royal says. “And he was drunk because people kept wanting to toast him for it. I should know. I got an email last night with a link to the video.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Brendan mutters. “Who sent it?”

  The big man shrugs as he takes out his phone. “I know people.”

  They stare at each other across the table, having a silent conversation that I’m absolutely convinced goes something like this:

  Don’t do it.

  Oh, I’m doing it.

  I’m warning you.

  Doing. It.

  My mom used to say that as a language, Guy was fairly easy to translate.

  “Royal, give B a break,” I say. “You know he’s had a tough couple of days.”

  Brendan glances at me in surprise, his hand covering mine where it still rests on his thigh. Because I can’t stop touching him.

  Royal shakes his head. “I promise it’s not bad, Miller. Brendan doesn’t want to toot his own horn, but it might give Austen a few of those answers she’s looking for.”

  He turns the screen of his smartphone toward the three of us and presses play.

  I lean forward to watch a man with a beer gut and an abrasive attitude heckle the woman across from him on the plane. She’s half his size and she reminds me a little of my mother, just watching him rant with a serene expression on her face. Like his words aren’t horrifying her.

  She tries to reassure him that she’s simply a passenger, not a terrorist, but her compassion has the opposite effect, working him into a red-faced frenzy. He gets to his feet, and at that point I think he’s on something. He’s not making any sense. I can make out that he wants the rest of the passengers to help him take her down, but the instant he reaches for her, he’s on the ground with two men gently but firmly restraining his flailing limbs.

  “That’s Doug, the air marshal,” Brendan mutters in my ear. “He had one of the flight attendants grab me in case he needed backup.”

  I’m not seeing anything wrong with this. It happens, right? Crazy people get airline tickets all the time, and no one is being physically harmed. There’s nothing on here that would get him suspended. “But why—”

  “Just watch,” Royal says, shushing me with a hand gesture.

  They finally get the man back in his seat and he’s nodding as if letting them know he’s in his right mind, but just when Brendan turns to walk back to the cockpit, the jackhole gets to his feet again and decides to accuse him of not standing up for Americans.

  Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

  Brendan is suddenly every hero of every war movie I’ve ever seen. Even the ones with aliens. Whoever made the video put sweeping orchestra music behind it, which was genius, because, while I can’t hear everything he’s saying, I know it’s the best, most patriotic speech I’ve heard in my life.

  Basically, he let the whole plane know that the woman under attack was more American than the idiot who questioned her based on his own ignorant assumptions.

  When beer gut tried to hit him for calling him ignorant, Brendan knocked him out cold with one punch, at which point he received a standing ovation from the rest of the passengers.

  I wince.

  That’s why he got suspended for two weeks.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbles. “I knew better.”

  Screw that. I want this hero to fuck me. Now.


  “We need to go,” I say abruptly, pushing back my chair and getting to my feet. “Thanks for the…yeah. We should go.”

  Royal covers his mouth to hide what I know is a shit-eating grin, but Austen just looks over at Brendan with her all-seeing, perfectly made up eyes before holding out her hand. “I approve.”

  Well, thank baby Jesus for that.

  Brendan shakes her hand with a smile and then gets up to stand beside me, his palm firm and hot on my back. “I’ll talk to you later Royal. And by later, I mean tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”

  I think everyone at this table knows what later means.

  Even the virgin.

  Chapter Six

  Ready or Not

  I let Brendan drive so I can send out an emergency text to Fred and Heather.

  Me: Will someone dog-sit Dix? And then stay away from the house until you hear from me. Thanx

  Heather: Does this mean what I think it means?! Brendan? I knew it!

  Fred: Well, I’m too young to know it. I’ll take Dix.

  Me: I owe you.

  Fred: There’s a march next Saturday.

  Me: I was thinking pie or pocket change.

  Fred: You owe me liberty or death.

  Me: Fine. Liberty.

  Heather: Don’t worry. I’ll distract Diane and hide the binoculars.

  Fred: You have binoculars?

  Heather: Yes, dear. We used them before the dinosaurs invented hidden cameras to watch our neighbors do the horizontal mambo.

  Me: We’re all too young to know that. Talk tomorrow.

  I set down the phone and notice Brendan’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. My heart stutters. “Change your mind?”

  He reaches for my hand, placing it firmly on his thigh. “Its just nerves.”

  He’s nervous? I’ve got thirty years’ worth of inexperience that should be making me a wreck right now. What we’ve done together is more than anything I’ve—

  “Flying I can do in my sleep, but I don’t really drive that much anymore. It feels unnatural.”

  I laugh, and I’m not sure if it’s relief or hysteria, but once I get started it’s hard to stop. “That’s what the nerves are about? Driving?”

  He glances over at me, returning both hands to the wheel. “What did you think it was about?”

  “I’ll give you one guess,” I say, catching my breath and leaning back against the seat. But from his scowl he already knows.

  “I may be impatient,” he says gruffly. “But I’m not nervous. Not about being with you.”

  I like the way his rough admission makes me feel. Alive. Exciting. Since he came back to town, I’ve been more aware of myself, of my body, than I have in years. My emotions are more intense. It’s overwhelming and new, but I can’t help wanting more of what I’ve been missing.

  And I’ve missed more than most.

  It wasn’t a conscious choice at first, but even before Mom got sick, she was struggling to raise me with no partner or family to give her a hand. It was the two of us against the world. I don’t regret that, but it didn’t leave much room for anyone else.

  Everyone is lonely at some point in their lives. If it goes on long enough, it becomes normal. There’s nothing to fix or make better if it’s normal. It’s life and you accept it, not knowing what you’re missing.

  I didn’t know. Neither did Aurelia Day, who told me everything she knew about my father on the morning I got up the courage to ask who he was.

  She didn’t know much.

  He was British, because his accent was the first thing that caught her attention. She liked his eyes. My eyes. He’d ordered tea instead of coffee at the diner where she’d worked, he never offered his number, even though she’d given him hers, and he’d disappeared the next morning with no idea that I was going to arrive nine months later.

  It wasn’t the great love story I’d been expecting, but my mother had no regrets about the outcome. She told me that from the moment she found out she was pregnant she knew everything happened for a reason. I was her reason.

  “You’re the only man I need, Millie.”

  I used to think I knew everything about her, but I don’t know if she was ever in love or lust, or ever felt anything close to what I feel for Brendan. Unfortunately, I think I have a good idea what she’d say if she knew, because she was still alive when my crush on him grew obvious enough for her to notice.

  “I love that boy, and he loves this family. He needs us, Millie. And you’ll need him when I’m gone. Don’t let a temporary feeling like desire get in the way of what really matters.”

  I’ve always followed her advice. Believed it. It made sense, and what I feel for him never has. It also hasn’t gone away. No matter where he goes, what he does or who he does it with, it’s still there. And when he comes back, it’s like he never left. Like I’ve been waiting.

  Knowing Brendan like I do, this has to be a temporary thing. And temporary is something I’ve never been good with. I’m not a fan of uncertainty either. It’s why working on the house is so satisfying for me. There’s a plan I have control over, steps to take and a completed result that’s solid and visible and real.

  People aren’t that simple. But since he told me he wants me, since he touched me? There’s really no other decision to make. I don’t want to let go of this feeling until I have to. Not even if the worst happens, and I lose him when it’s over.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I look out the window and I know where we are. There’s a side street coming up that’s narrow and overgrown and leads to a dead end. I’ve heard from my neighbors that people only go down this road for two reasons. Sure, most of those people are in high school, but I feel like a teenager right now—all hormones and no sense.

  “I’m thinking you should turn left,” I say, squeezing his thigh.

  Clearly confused, he follows my directions. “We’re five minutes away from the house, Miller. Do we need to stop somewhere?” He swears, shaking his head. “Supplies, right? You don’t have any—”

  I laugh again, feeling lighter than I have in a while. “I have toothbrushes for random strangers, and you don’t think I’d be prepared for that? Stop the car.”

  Unbuckling my seatbelt, I turn onto my knees and reach beneath the backseat for the bag I know I left there months ago.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “One of the stylists at Indulgence has a cousin who just got married. She brought me a goody bag from his bachelor party in the hopes that I would find someone to enjoy it with.”

  She was doing it to be bitchy, but right now she’s my favorite person because everything I could ever need is inside. Flavored lube, condoms, a partially melted chocolate penis—

  Okay, I forgot that was in there.

  When I kneel back on my seat, going through the bag, I notice him staring at me strangely. “Why did I stop here, Miller?”

  “I’m impatient too. Too impatient to wait for everyone to get tired of looking out their windows so they can watch us walk up the drive. I wanted something first. Something I’ve never been brave enough to try before.”

  “What? Parking in broad daylight?” Brendan’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he studies me. “Have you been hiding a wild streak of exhibitionism you haven’t told me about?”

  He makes me wild. “Do you want to find out?”

  “More than you know.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. I put my hand between his legs and reach under his seat, pushing it back to give us more room.

  Brendan grabs me by my waist and positions me until I’m straddling his lap. “Two men in their thirties with a perfectly respectable bed, making out in the front seat of a car,” he grumbles, holding me tighter when my back bumps the steering wheel. “We’re taking a chance we could get interrupted again. Or pull a muscle.”

  I snort out a small laugh and push a button that has the seat reclining enough to give us more room. “I’ll try and make it
worth it, old man.”

  This time I’m the one kissing him, and the power of that is nearly as heady as his taste. He groans and relaxes beneath me, letting me take the lead.

  I brush our lips together, touching his tongue with mine, teasing until he tilts his head to deepen the connection. Just like that first time, I’m instantly lost, unable to think about anything but how good he makes me feel.

  The heat we’re generating in the close space is making me sweat. So are the big thumbs that are rubbing hypnotically on my hips bones just beneath the waistband of my jeans. Back and forth…back and forth...until all I can think about is getting us both naked. I want to taste every inch of the man I’ve spent years dreaming about.

  Why are we wasting time making out in my car?

  Because I dreamed about this, too. Stolen moments that I missed by not dating in high school or going to prom or moving away for college. Those forbidden memories other people look back on with a glint in their eyes. Sweet, self-inflicted torture, when you’re so crazy for each other you can’t breathe, but you have to wait. Because you’re too young, or your parents are home, or you promised not to go all the way until you were ready.

  I’m a masochist. My unrequited crush on my best friend is now mutual, he’s right here and ready to take me to bed, and I’m giving him a fully clothed lap dance while he makes deliciously pained noises and can’t seem to stop biting and sucking on my upper lip.

  “Please, Millie.”

  I reach blindly for the bottle of lube, wrapping his hand around it and grazing my lips over his ear. “I want your fingers inside me.”

  “Fuck,” he says roughly, fumbling to flip the cap open. One strong hand reaches between us and rips open my jeans with a force that makes me moan in delight.

  I grab the waist of my pants and shove them down a few inches until they stop at Brendan’s thighs. My cock is trapped in my bunched-up underwear, but I’m too impatient to stop. I should have thought this through.

  Just when I’m about to suggest we move to the back seat, he grabs the cheek of my ass and spreads it wide, using the lubed fingers of his other hand to trace the tight pucker that’s clenching with arousal and anticipation.