by Ella Frank
The spark of mischief in Logan’s eyes told Henri that this man knew Priest well, because if there was one thing Priest didn’t like, it was a surprise, and Henri being there was going to shock the shit out of him.
“Henri.”
“Good morning, Joel. There’s someone out here to see you.” There was a pause, and when Logan rolled his eyes, he instantly earned a spot in Henri’s good books. Then he nodded and said, “Yes, yes, I know. I know. Are you done? Mhmm, he says you know him. His name is Henri.”
Henri caught a few terse words from the other end of the phone, and after Logan said his goodbyes, he hung up and crooked his finger. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll take you to him.”
Logan stepped out from behind the desk, and Henri followed. Directly to his right was a massive corner office that was encased in glass walls and practically took up half the floor. Logan turned down the hallway, stopped at a door midway down the corridor, and knocked. An all-too-familiar voice called out, “Come in.”
Henri’s shoulders straightened. He wasn’t sure what it was about Priest that always made him feel like he was going to the principal’s office, but when Logan looked at him and said, “You need some help in there?” Henri realized he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
“Nah, I’ve been handling Joel for a long time. I’ll be fine.”
“Really. Well, I’ll just have to remember that when I need some help,” Logan said, as he pushed down on the handle and opened the door. “Good luck in there, and remember you have a witness that you were here, so…”
Henri chuckled, liking Logan more and more as he stepped by him and into the lion’s den. As the door shut behind him, Henri looked across the office to Priest and reminded himself that he was there for one thing and one thing only.
To get the phone number of Officer Bailey, not to fall in love with Joel Priestley all over again.
THE HEAVY POUNDING on his front door made Bailey’s eyes snap open to look at the clock on his bedside table. Shit, it’s nine in the morning?
He snatched up his phone, and when he saw the date, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Wow, he’d slept all through yesterday and last night, and when a text popped up from Xander—Bringing over breakfast—he knew the culprit for his rude awakening.
Damn. Bailey had known he was exhausted, but it seemed the extra stress of no sleep—or restless, frustrated sleep—had really gotten to him. Yet another reason to be annoyed at Henri Boudreaux.
Stifling a yawn, Bailey threw back the covers and reached for his sweats, and then made his way toward the front door.
As the banging continued, he called out, “I’m coming. Jesus,” and rubbed a hand over his head. When he reached the door and pulled it open, he greeted Xander with a scowl.
Xander chuckled. “Well, you look like hell.”
Bailey let out a sigh as he eyed his forever camera-ready friend—and ex. Alexander Thorne, the number one news anchor at ENN, never left his house looking anything but put together.
In fitted jeans and a lightweight charcoal sweater that matched his midnight and gunmetal hair, Xander made a hard, fast, sophisticated impact. So did the famous smile now aimed Bailey’s way.
“Late night?” Xander asked as he stepped inside and lowered his eyes over Bailey’s bare chest. The two coffee cups he held in a tray were the only reason Bailey hadn’t slammed the door in his perfect face.
“What do you think?” Xander opened his mouth to respond, but Bailey held up a hand. “On second thought, I don’t care what you think. But you better have a—”
“Caramel walnut roll for you?” Xander held up the brown paper bag in his other hand and swung it under Bailey’s nose. “I got you two. How long have I known you?”
Too damn long, Bailey thought, as Xander headed into the house, his deep chuckle echoing up the hall, reminding Bailey that it had once been the swaying argument as to whether or not he liked boys or girls.
He remembered that day in junior high very clearly. He’d been eleven; Xander was thirteen. His girlfriend, Nora, had been sitting with him and Xander at lunch, and he’d told them a joke. She’d giggled, and Bailey felt so proud of himself for making her laugh. But then Xander chuckled and rolled his eyes, and Bailey’s cock had made it very clear who it wanted and it was his best friend—not the girl to his right.
Luckily for him, his dick had grown out of that habit around ten years ago. Getting hard for Xander, that was, not men in general.
Xander put the paper bag and coffees on the kitchen island then went to rummage through Bailey’s cabinets for a plate, and when he turned back around, he shook his head and opened up the sack.
“I’m serious, Bay, you really do look a little”—Xander paused as he pulled one of the pastries free and put it on a plate—“weary.”
“Weary? What does that even mean?” Bailey reached for the roll and picked it up to take a bite. As the rich, syrupy caramel hit his taste buds, he closed his eyes and groaned.
“It means you look tired, exhausted. Do you need me to give you a minute alone with your pastry there?”
Bailey opened his eyes. “No, but if you could shut up and give me a moment to enjoy it in silence that would be amazing.”
“Uh huh.” Xander reached into the bag and pulled out an apple turnover and a couple of napkins. He tossed one Bailey’s way, even though he was already licking his fingers clean. “Here, animal.”
Bailey snorted, the sugar now replacing his grumpiness with a semblance of good humor. “We can’t all be as refined as you.”
“That is true. However, I knew your mother, and she raised you better than that. Sean and Kieran maybe not, but you she had high hopes for.”
Bailey smirked, thinking of his brothers, and then took another bite of the roll, grateful for Xander’s morning visit despite himself.
The two of them had been in each other’s lives one way or another for as long as he could remember. Xander had been there for Bailey through good times and bad—his parents passing being the very worst—and while their relationship had changed and morphed over the years, this version they’d settled into now was by far Bailey’s favorite.
Xander was someone he could trust. Hell, he was someone most of America trusted, and no matter what, he was someone Bailey could always rely on to tell him the truth. Even if he didn’t want to hear it.
“So, what’s been going on with you?” Xander asked, as he rested a hip against the counter.
Bailey reached for his cup, brought the hot brew to his lips, and shrugged. “Nothing.”
One of Xander’s perfect eyebrows arched. “Come on, you can do better than that, Bay. People lie to you all the time for a living. I’m sure you’ve picked up some of their moves.”
He wasn’t wrong, and while Bailey had spoken to Xander since the wedding, he’d been unsure whether to tell him what—or who—it was that had been causing him to lose sleep.
But after a quick back-and-forth with himself, Bailey finally decided that, for the sake of his sanity, it might just be time to confess.
“Okay, but you have to promise not to give me shit.”
Xander lowered his coffee to the counter, a devious smile curving his lips. “Promise.”
Chapter Nine
CONFESSION
I love to hate him as much as he hates to love me.
JUST ONCE, HENRI wished that Priest could look something other than fucking perfect when they saw each other. Then maybe Henri wouldn’t always feel like a peasant coming to visit a king, especially when they hailed from the same shitty neck of the woods.
But as usual, Priest looked the picture of a refined gentleman this morning. The suit, the office, the perfectly groomed hair and scruff that lined his jaw, and then, of course, there was that commanding, nobody fucks with what’s mine voice of his.
Not that Henri would know much about that. He’d never been good enough to be counted as Priest’s the way it mattered most, and that was all it took to snap
him out of his little fantasy. “You owe me a favor.”
In all the years the two of them had known each other, one of the things Henri envied most about Priest was his ability to keep his emotions at bay. That was something Henri had never been able to master. But if Priest didn’t want you to know something, if he didn’t want to give his hand away, he threw up a mask that was one of the best Henri had ever seen—like now.
“A favor?” Priest said, as he walked around his desk. “As far as I’m aware, everything I owed you was settled when you disappeared several months ago with my car.”
Yeah, Henri had known that one was coming, and when Priest stopped in front of him, Henri couldn’t resist taking a shot. “Can you blame me? She drives like a dream, by the way. I can tell you really cared when you restored her. How long did it take?”
“Quit the bullshit,” Priest said, as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants. The move was both cool and calm, but Henri thought it was more likely to remove the urge Priest had to strangle him. “Were you ever going to tell me you were back in town?”
“Probably not. But then again, I never left. If you thought I did, that was your mistake, not mine.”
Priest eyed him and rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’re right. But I figured once you heard I was going to call, you’d bolt.”
“I told you, you owe me a favor.”
Priest’s eyes narrowed, and where that look had once aroused Henri, now it just challenged him.
“This ought to be good,” Priest said. “I can only begin to guess what kind of ‘favor’ you think I owe you. By the way, if you’re going to be in contact with one of my husbands, I want to know about it.”
A smirk tugged at the corners of Henri’s lips. “Why? Scared I might corrupt the little princess?”
Priest frowned, an expression Henri was positive he was born with. “It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch, now would it? Correct me if I’m wrong, but did I or did I not get called by a cop yesterday to see if you had stolen my car?”
Henri knew he should let it go, just move on to what he was really there for. But there was too much history, too much water under that bridge to ignore, and before he could help it, he heard himself say, “If I remember correctly, that kind of thing used to turn you on.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, my mistake. It all depends on who is stealing your car. I forgot.” Even as the words were leaving his mouth, Henri told himself to get to the point and get the fuck out. But it was too late now, and for the first time since he’d stepped into the office, he saw Priest’s mask slip.
“Henri.” Priest took a step forward. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’ve never lied to me before, so don’t start now.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then what was that all about?”
Henri clenched his teeth, trying to keep the recent resurgence of old emotions at bay. But before he could stop himself, he exploded. “Are you really so fucking stupid that you don’t know?”
Priest reared back as though Henri had punched him, and then he slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “Not as far as I know. So if you have something to say to me, why don’t you say it before I lose my temper?”
Henri willed himself to calm down. He wasn’t there to fight. But the second he’d stepped through that door and seen Priest standing there, everything he’d been feeling in those moments before the wedding bubbled up inside him and spewed out in a toxic rage.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married again?”
Priest’s eyes widened. It was extremely rare to catch Priest off guard, but Henri had managed it. After a moment or two, when Priest still hadn’t answered, Henri took another step forward and said, “Do you really think so little of me that you couldn’t bother to tell me yourself?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Do I? How? How the fuck am I supposed to know that, Joel?” Henri ran a hand through his hair. “If it hadn’t been for Robbie, I wouldn’t have had a clue what was going on. So don’t stand there and tell me that you give a shit, because I don’t fucking believe you.”
Priest’s cheeks flushed even as his jaw bunched, and then he turned away and walked back to his desk. When Priest braced his fingers on the wood and hung his head, Henri had the insane urge to go and comfort him.
But no, fuck that. It wasn’t his place—not anymore.
“I wanted to tell you.” Priest’s voice was eerily quiet, and Henri braced himself for what he knew would follow. “But I knew how much it hurt you the first time that I—”
“Pussied out?”
Priest whirled around, ready to tell Henri to go fuck himself, no doubt, and the hurt and anger swirling in those grey eyes matched the emotions now roiling through Henri.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Why not?” Henri said, now seething with annoyance. “It’s what we do best.”
“That’s not fair.”
“That’s the truth.” Henri spun away from Priest, no longer able to face him. “I swear to God, Joel. I get within five feet of you and I want to kill you.”
A long silence followed. “That’s why we don’t work.”
Henri glanced over his shoulder to see Priest’s earnest eyes on him, and the pain and regret he saw there mirrored what was going on inside him.
“I love you, you know that. But this, us? We don’t work,” Priest said, and that knife from two weeks ago—hell, from forever ago—twisted so deep inside Henri’s heart that it finally shoved all the way through. “You know that, Henri. I know you do.”
Henri swallowed back the denial that wanted to fly off his tongue.
“I didn’t come here for this,” Henri finally said, his voice flat now.
“That’s right. You said I owed you a favor.”
“You do.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the night of your wedding, it wasn’t enough that you were occupied with two cocks of your own—you had to reach out and fuck with mine too.”
Priest screwed his nose up, confusion stamped all over his face.
“You texted me,” Henri said. “Does that ring a bell?”
“Of course. After I found out you were at the wedding, I wanted to know why you didn’t come and see us.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. You texted me as I was about to go and knock on the door of that hot cop you invited to the wedding. But after that, my dick didn’t want anything to do with anyone.”
Priest processed all of that, then finally said, “You mean Bailey? You and him—”
“Did nothing, thanks to you. But yes, that’s who I mean. Officer Bailey, I believe is what he called himself when he pulled me over yesterday, and I want you to give me his number.”
Priest sized him up for a second, and then rubbed a hand over his beard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t believe I fucking asked you.”
“He’s a cop, Henri. Stop thinking with your dick and use your brain for a minute. This is not smart.”
Henri bristled at the implication that he was stupid. Considering who he was and what he’d done in his life, the last thing he planned to do was get involved with Bailey—he just planned to get laid. “If you won’t give it to me, I’m sure the princess will be more than happy to help.”
Priest walked around his desk and muttered to himself as he scribbled something on a Post-it note. He snatched up the small square of paper, strode across the room to shove it in Henri’s hand, then hauled him in so close that their clothes brushed against one another. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to. I’m not an idiot, Joel. I like my freedom, and I’d never jeopardize yours.”
“Then walk away from this one.”
“Like you walked away from Julien and Robbie? I thought if anyone would understand the rush of having something he wasn’t supposed to,
it would be you.”
Priest cursed and then stroked his thumb over the black diamond on Henri’s finger. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do—”
“There’s a first.”
“But be fucking careful, would you?”
Henri ignored the way his heart skipped at those words. “Why, you worried about me?”
Priest’s eyes roved over Henri’s face, his expression softening a fraction as he said, with the utmost seriousness, “I’ll never stop worrying about you.”
Henri swallowed the lump of emotions that got caught in the back of his throat, and decided a switch of topic would be best for the both of them. “Congratulations on your wedding.”
Priest’s lips twitched at the less-than-sincere tone. “Thank you.”
“I hate you. You know that, right?”
Priest nodded and let him go. “Almost as much as I hate you.”
Henri took a step back and looked down at the number, then he gave a quick nod and slipped out the office door.
“SO LET ME see if I have this right.”
Bailey looked over to Xander from where he was sitting on the recliner in his living room. After they’d finished eating, Bailey had grabbed a shirt and met his friend in a more comfortable setting, and as Xander stretched his legs out on the ottoman, he eyed Bailey closely.
“Two weeks ago, at the trio wedding, you met a smoking-hot guy that you thought about hooking up with, and you’re only telling me this now.”
Of course that was the part Xander decided to fixate on, the fact that he had been left out of the loop. Not the part where the hot guy had left Bailey high and dry—and then Bailey pulled him over yesterday morning.
Nah, that wasn’t important at all. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay. First off, why didn’t you tell me? And second, since when do we keep things from each other?”