Manny Get Your Guy (Dreamspun Desires Book 37)

by Amy Lane

  “Monica!” Jacob returned, laughing. “Please—we can talk about this later, after we’ve got the schedule locked, and we can convince Brandon not to bankrupt his company just so Conroy can have a nap.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” Brandon muttered.

  “Well, we can make it a smaller one and get Conroy here for your regular lunch. I’ll make the calls tomorrow when I’m taking Taylor through his rounds.”

  “No,” Taylor muttered.

  “You can’t change the schedule—everybody needs a parent’s signature, and I’ve got no problem taking the time off. I’ve got guys to do my job, and Nica’s needed there. So I’ll get that done and we can just—”

  “Jacob,” Taylor said desperately, eyes closed, “I would give you actual money to not do this.”

  “You don’t take shit from no one,” Jacob said sternly.

  “I’m—”

  “Done with the subject.”

  “Can I be excused?” Taylor asked with exaggerated patience.

  “Sure,” Jacob said, stabbing his own pork chop with some violence. “But go into the living room and watch TV. Don’t stop at the sink and do dishes. We have a housekeeper, and your shift’s done. You’re here as a guest.”

  Taylor stood, looking lost and a little upset, and Brandon set his own fork down.

  “While you’re here, I’ll show you how to get around the construction site so if you take the kids out to the pool, you’ll know the easiest way.”

  Taylor’s open skepticism was well warranted, but this way Brandon could get him out of the obviously uncomfortable dinner.

  “C’mon,” he urged, walking his plate to the sink. “It’s nice outside.”

  Taylor’s surliness didn’t diminish, but he followed Brandon out of the kitchen and through the open construction on the back porch. Brandon paused to turn on the floodlights so they could see all the way out to the pool.

  Brandon led the way, proud that his site was this clean even when it wasn’t being used. Taylor stumped along behind him, and Brandon could tell by his gait that he was tired.

  They passed through the yellow tape to the backyard, and when Taylor didn’t even acknowledge the flimsiness of Brandon’s excuse, Brandon knew he’d needed to step away.

  “They mean well,” he said softly.

  “Course they do.”

  Taylor wandered to the pool patio and looked moodily out over the water. The underwater light was on, and the pool glowed like a jewel against the quiet velvet of the summer night.

  “It’s not right, the women being shitty—”

  “I’m not a little kid, Brandon. I know what I look like. I look like a guy who couldn’t find a job doing man’s work. I think it’s one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever done and she can choke on her diamonds and die—but it doesn’t have to be a thing.”

  “But they couldn’t be there when you needed it,” Brandon said, forgetting Taylor had never told him this story himself. “They want to make up for that.”

  Taylor laughed shortly. “Been gossiping?”

  “I was worried at first. You know that. My parents—well, they were a little cold when I came out. And then they got arctic when I didn’t change my mind. I transferred from junior college to Sac State, and Jakey offered me a place over his garage. I’ve been everybody’s favorite freeloader ever since.” Brandon kept his voice light, but Taylor would know. “This place, these people—they’re family to me. They’re trying to be family to you. I just think….”

  Taylor pinned him with an irritated glare. “Think what?”

  “Think you should take them up on it.”

  “I’m not a college kid—”

  “You’re going to be!”

  “And I’ve been out on my own for a decade—”

  “So wouldn’t it be nice to come in from the cold?”

  “And seriously, I’m just lucky Dustin hasn’t booby-trapped the house at this point—”

  “I think he actually likes you—”

  “And what do you get out of this?” Taylor kicked the chain-link-fence pole in frustration.

  Brandon stood about four feet to Taylor’s right, and he mimicked one of Taylor’s slow swivels to pin him with a no-bullshit gaze.

  Taylor’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows raised—even his eyepatch shifted.

  “No!” But he sounded more bewildered than anything else.

  “God, you’re dense.” Brandon took two steps to his left. Taylor’s body heat charged the air against his arm.

  “I could say the same!” Taylor shook his head in exasperation—and took two steps to his left.

  “Are you going to play the age card?” Brandon asked. “Because I could point out that playing Simon Says is not really mature.” Two steps to the left again. He made his steps bigger—their arms actually touched.

  Taylor grunted and shifted away, raising his hand to pull it through his hair. “Brandon….” He let out a breath. “Please. Just… not tonight.”

  Brandon wrapped his arm around Taylor’s waist and felt the shudder that racked him. “I’m not hitting on you—not right now,” he promised. “Just… you had a rough day, Taylor. Lean on me. Just for a few minutes. Who’s it gonna hurt? How will anyone know?”

  “I’ll know,” Taylor said miserably. But he didn’t move away.

  “And so will I. But that’s okay. I won’t think bad things about you because you needed someone, just for a minute.”

  Taylor relaxed infinitesimally. “You’re right about the day. It really sucked.”

  “Tell me about it?”

  Taylor shook his head. “I’d rather just listen to the quiet.”

  Brandon took a deep breath and tried not to fill the moment with noise. Two houses down, the Condits’ dog barked, and some kids on the block across the street were mangling rock music in their garage. A faint breeze drifted through the backyard, and Brandon closed his eyes and let some of his day blow with it.

  Taylor’s body, warm and solid, continued to generate warmth, and Brandon took comfort in that too.

  “I was so scared.” Taylor’s voice barely penetrated the silence. “I… I’ve been in battle. I’ve… I’ve seen people hurt… killed. I don’t ever remember panicking that bad. That kid—he depended on me, and I’d turned around and he’d disappeared.”

  “He’s part of your family, Taylor—you’re going to feel that a little more deeply.”

  Taylor let out a grunt. “I don’t remember feeling that for my family,” he said after a moment. “What does that make me?”

  “A kid.” Brandon swallowed, thought of his own father. “Like me. A hurt kid.”

  Taylor turned his head and ever so gently nuzzled Brandon’s temple. Ahh…. Brandon closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t alone—and there was proof.

  “Were you a hurt kid?” Taylor asked softly.

  “My boss knows my parents.” Brandon had tried hard not to think of this over the past week. “He says my dad’s not doing too good. My mom’s trying to get him to go to the doctor’s, but like he ever listened to her anyway, right? My brothers are out of the house and never call… and suddenly it’s, like—they’ve called me, like, four times in two years? I don’t even get a Christmas letter—Jacob’s family gets the Christmas letter. And I’m expected to call him up or go visit or something and tell him to go to the doctor’s before he has a heart attack. And I’m pissed. Because… because….”

  “Because family should treat you better.” Taylor punctuated that with a kiss on Brandon’s cheek.

  Brandon turned and took his mouth instead.

  He didn’t ravish—this wasn’t about sex. This was about comfort and understanding. Brandon got that.

  Still, when Taylor sighed and opened his mouth, Brandon could be forgiven for pressing the advantage. He took over, turning so they were chest to chest, and cupped the back of Taylor’s head firmly so Taylor would know he was wanted.

  Taylor let him finish the kiss out, responded
as if he needed more. But when Brandon pulled back and leaned his forehead against Taylor’s, both of them panting quickened breaths into the jewel-lit darkness, Taylor cocked his head a fraction—just enough to make it inconvenient to continue.

  “Is Simms still open?” he asked out of the blue.

  Brandon had to blink several times before he even understood the question. God… every nerve ending in his body was tingling, every sex-center—cock, taint, pucker, mouth, nipples—felt swollen, and the only thought he had in his teeny tiny sex-depleted brain was How do I get this guy somewhere private so I can show him how it’s done? The fact that he’d never done it before notwithstanding, Brandon wanted so much to prove to Taylor that he could make it good, make it caring, make it wonderful.

  He wanted to give Taylor wonderful.

  So he felt like a frickin’ genius when he actually responded intelligently. “The pool hall?”

  Taylor smiled faintly and—oddly tender—kissed his forehead. “Yeah. Is it still open?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Taylor wasn’t moving away yet, and Brandon was calling it a win.

  “’Cause—wanna go shoot some pool with me tomorrow? You know, bad hot wings, a beer or two, pool?”

  It took Brandon a moment—and that was embarrassing.

  “A date?” he asked dumbly.

  “Do people have those still? I was in the hospital for more than a year—that hasn’t become politically incorrect, has it?”

  Brandon had to laugh. “No, Taylor. Just… usually pool halls… not romantic.”

  Taylor grunted. “Well, fine, then. We can invite Jacob.”

  “No, no, no!” Dammit, he looked serious about that! “It can be a date.”

  A wistful smile flirted with Taylor’s lean mouth. “Good. I was never good with the dating part. The sex part—that I could do.”

  A wildfire flush swept Brandon’s body from his toes to the roots of his hair. Taylor must have felt it—must have felt it—because he whimpered and nuzzled Brandon’s temple.

  “You got hot all of a sudden,” he said softly. “Don’t get too excited. For all I know, I don’t even remember how to do it with another human being.” He shrugged and stepped backward. “Seriously—nothing to write home about.”

  Brandon snorted. “At this point any sex will be something to write home about.” He paused. “If, you know, I wanted my dad to really have that heart attack.”

  Taylor made a sound like “Erkplk!” and Brandon smacked his face with his hand.

  “I did it again, didn’t I—said something really morbid. Sorry. I should probably just cop to the fact that I am that guy.”

  “Yeah,” Taylor rasped. “Morbidity I can live with. Did you say you’re a virgin?”

  Brandon thought about the few hand jobs he’d given in junior college and the one half relationship that had ended when the guy confessed to swapping blow jobs with another friend. “Pretty much. Mostly. Seven-eighths a virgin. I’ve held another penis and seen another penis but have not actually tasted another penis. Or seen a whole other person naked.”

  “That’s almost an entire virgin, you idiot!”

  Brandon tagged him in the arm. “There’s no reason to shout.”

  “Oh dear God. Why me? What about the guy you didn’t think could be the nanny made you think ‘Him! He is the one! I shall hit on him!’”

  Brandon started to chuckle. “Well, for one thing, you’re really hot.” Taylor turned an outraged glare at him, and he sobered. “And for another, I was stupid. I looked at you—the scars, the gruffness—and Jacob wasn’t excited about you at the beginning. And I thought the worst. But you’re not the guy you were in high school. Jacob knows that—or he knows you’re the best of that guy now and not the worst. And that’s a really good guy. Is it so wrong that I want to know you better?”

  Taylor grunted and backed up hurriedly. Brandon shuddered in the sudden cool left by his body and turned to follow him back into the house.

  “Taylor, wait! Does this mean we’re not going to play pool? Taylor, where are you going?”

  Taylor didn’t even look over his shoulder. “I’m going to go ask Jacob if he wants to come with us tomorrow!”

  For a man who claimed to be physically wrecked, he was moving awfully fast. Brandon gave up trying to keep up with him and stopped to jump up and down in a supremely childish fit of frustration.

  “Goddammit!”

  “You are telling me!” Taylor returned, and then he was through the construction site and slamming the door to the kitchen, leaving Brandon alone in the romantic summer dark.

  Bad Boys

  “SO why am I here again?”

  Jacob looked bored, and given that he had yet to sink a single ball in the pockets, Taylor could see why.

  Pool was obviously not his game.

  “To protect your cousin’s virtue,” Taylor responded absently. Unlike Jacob, who was apparently raised by wolves who didn’t play billiards, Brandon had played pool before. In spite of his enormous muscular frame, he held the cue with the delicacy of Picasso with his brush, and Taylor really could enjoy the night just watching him.

  Or he could have if the whole rest of the world wasn’t all over Brandon’s tight, beefy ass as it stretched his faded jeans.

  Jacob looked from Taylor to Brandon, who stood poised to clear the final ball into the corner pocket. A petite blonde girl had her hand on his shoulder so she could give him instructions like he’d never played before, when he obviously had. And her equally blond gay best friend was stroking his backside when she couldn’t see, either trying to score or trying to dick with Brandon’s concentration—either way, striking out on both counts.

  “I’m supposed to protect his virtue?” Jacob asked numbly.

  “Yes.”

  Brandon shot straight and true, and the cue ball rebounded off the far bumper and glanced off the eight ball, sending it spinning right on target.

  The girl jumped up and kissed him square on the mouth, and the boy grabbed his ass from behind.

  “I’m doing a shitty job.”

  “Yes, yes you are.”

  Across the table, Brandon turned ironic eyes toward them and lifted an eyebrow specifically at Taylor.

  Taylor’s jaw tightened, and he narrowed his eyes and glared at the interlopers, who ignored him. Probably because he made them feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t really give a crap.

  “Do you have any suggestions?” Jacob asked, leaning philosophically on his cue. “Is there something in the extended friend-and-family handbook that tells me how to break up this situation?”

  “You’re a dad!” Taylor burst out. “And they’re like, what? Twelve?”

  “They’re obviously twenty—uh, eighteen. Eighteen at the least.”

  They were supposed to be twenty-one, but as Blondie squealed and slobbered all over Brandon’s bicep, petting it like a kitten, Taylor had to keep himself from striding around the table and spanking her. And then forcing her to put on a T-shirt, because her boobs were falling out all over the place.

  “Dude!” said the GBF at Blondie’s side. “Wanna get outta here? We can ditch the old dudes, you know—and doesn’t matter who you choose. We both like to watch!”

  Brandon’s eyes widened comically, and Jacob sputtered laughter before moving to set up the frame.

  “So, Brand,” he said, pulling the balls out of the slot, “you ready to ditch the old dudes?”

  “No,” Brandon said darkly. “Particularly since I’m on a date with the hot one.”

  Jacob regarded him with a straight face. “You mean I’m not the hot one?”

  “Ew—you’re married. And my cousin. No, Taylor’s the hot one.”

  Taylor knew his own eye widened. “Not that I’m saying you should go home with Romper Room here, but I still think you’re stretching that a bit.”

  He wasn’t sure how the kid did it. Brandon was surrounded by barely-eighteen-year-olds jumping in his space, petting his chest, and he managed to make
an incredibly awkward moment in a crowded pool hall into a moment of intimacy.

  “You are the reason I’m here,” Brandon said softly, and it was funny how words like that could empower a man.

  Taylor strode around the pool table to the horniness twins and tried to very carefully disengage them from Brandon’s body.

  “Okay, princesses, it’s time to go find someone your own speed. I mean, I know he’s pretty, but he’s not for either of you, okay?”

  “Killjoy,” muttered the girl.

  “Tacky.” Her friend rolled his eyes and sauntered off, and the girl was two steps behind him when the veneered wooden door that kept Simms dark and disreputable, even in the daytime, swung open.

  “Maureen!” a giant screamed. “Maureen! We know you’re here because your mother tracked your GPS here ’cause we’re not stupid! Now where the hell are you? It’s twelve o’clock at night!”

  “Oh my God!” the blonde girl—apparently Maureen—shrilled and then came running back to Brandon. “Daddy! I can have a life! This is my new boyfriend, his name is Brandon, and Phillip totally approves.”

  “Dude, I so do.” Phillip leered.

  “Jesus!” Taylor snapped. “How old are you two?”

  “I’ll totally be eighteen next year,” Maureen said, her eyes rolling hard enough that it must have hurt, and Brandon and Taylor both groaned.

  “Sweetheart, go home,” Brandon said kindly.

  “Kid, get the hell out of here. Go make up with Daddy—Jesus, be grateful he gives a damn, okay?”

  She looked at Taylor and stuck out her tongue, and then turned to Brandon and threw herself into his arms.

  He dropped her like she was toxic waste.

  She landed on her ass with a squeal, and Taylor could swear the pool table shook and the balls rolled with the percussion of her father’s footsteps. “Did you just hurt my little girl?”

  “Sir, I don’t think she can be hurt—I think she’s like a cockroach or a wolf spider and she’ll just keep coming back!”

  Taylor stared at him, and Jacob made a sound like a broken squeaky toy.

  “Death wish much?” Taylor whispered. The rest of the pool hall had gone totally silent.

  Jacob managed to find enough wind to say, “I coulda sworn he wasn’t that stupid.”