“Aw, shit. It’s those fucking Morrissey brothers again, dude. They’ve got your number, Finn.”
He’d been expecting this. Joe and Allen Morrissey were local shitheads, brothers obviously, who had absolutely no sense and way too much free time. He’d tossed them from the bar twice now for getting drunk and rowdy. Finn knew it was just a matter of time before they challenged him because for little men who imagine they’ve been wronged, the notion of a two-against-one ambush would always be a temptation.
“Where’re they headed? Down the side?”
Barry peered out the window. “Yeah. Headed round back. You better get out there. Wouldn’t put it past either of those fucknuts to mess with the grill or shoot up the propane tank.”
Fuck. Finn moved to the inside of the bar and reached for the bottle of Don Julio 1942 they kept in a special spot. Tequila may seem like a strange brew for a Boston boy, but he found the expensive spirit went down smooth and was his go-to whenever a quick jolt was needed.
Tossing back a hefty shot, he growled as it coated his throat and spread warmth through his insides. Barry watched him and had a hearty laugh at his expense so he gave him the finger.
His partner slapped him between the shoulder blades as they walked through the kitchen to the delivery door. “How long do I wait to intervene?”
“Intervene?” Finn croaked in horror. “I don’t care if you drag a chair outside and watch, but Jesus Barry. Don’t do anything! Seriously. I’ve got this.”
Men bonding over tribal bullshit was standard issue in fire stations and precincts nationwide. Finn was no stranger to the fight club mentality, something of particular interest to a feisty, ass kicking Irishman. Joe and Allen would be no match for him. Not even on their best day.
“Keep the 1942 handy,” he drawled before kicking open the metal door. “I’m gonna need it.”
“What the fuck happened to you?”
Finn tilted his head back and squinted through one eye at the owner of the snarling voice.
Oh great. Parker. Why the hell not?
Barry greeted Parker with a hearty handshake and let loose with a booming laugh. “Holy fuck, Parker! Wished you’d seen it. Our man Finn just doled out a fist-driven smack down to a couple of upstanding young local boys.”
Parker’s brow arched and he gave Finn a thorough once over.
“Two against one,” Barry bellowed.
His partner’s rowdy laugh made the serious beating Finn just weathered seem like a party. He had a swollen eye, a bruised cheek and the taste of blood in his mouth. Some party.
“Trouble with some of the kids on the playground?”
It was hard to keep on disliking Parker when he came up with funny lines like that. Struggling to stand, Finn put his hand on his lower back and groaned from the effort. Despite being the youngest one in the room, he was getting too old for this shit.
“Just letting the local dick grabbers know who’s bad.” Extending his hand to Parker he drawled, “I’d break out the Michael Jackson moves if I didn’t think my knees would give out.”
“Save it for the ladies,” the suddenly stern faced lawyer grumbled as he used Finn’s hand to pull him in closer. “Jesus, Finn. Have you looked in the mirror? I think you need stitches.”
He gave Barry a look with his one good eye. Did he need more than an ice pack?
“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” was the answer he didn’t want.
Parker didn’t give Finn a chance to react. “Come on, son. Let’s run you over to the urgent care and find some pretty nurse to make a fuss over your busted face. We can talk on the way. Two birds. One stone.” The guy snickered. “Kind of your specialty, huh?”
Off they went with silence as the order of the day inside Parker’s smug-alert Porsche. It’s not like they had a lot in common. What they drove was a good example of their differences. His big ass truck suited the new life he was building. At the other end of the spectrum was Mr. Lawyer and his flashy Porsche.
“This car’s a wicked pissa,” he mocked using Boston slang and a lopsided grin courtesy of the trauma around his mouth. “Where I come from we call this a pussy magnet.”
With a deep chuckle, Parker shifted and the car took off. “Nah, this one’s totally a toy. Angelina hates it,” he snickered. “Man-Whore symbol or so she says. Refuses to believe that sex just does not happen in a car like this.”
Finn hadn’t expected the guy to crack jokes or talk to him like they were friends.
“No shit, man,” he agreed. “Barely enough room to adjust my balls.”
More silence. Not necessarily a solid wall but there ya have it. Two taciturn dudes in a car.
Finn tried evaluating his mouth by running his tongue across his teeth. Hopefully he wouldn’t need a dentist.
“Hey. There’s going to be a small problem getting Thunder on a regular basis at Pete’s.”
Finn rubbed a palm over his swollen cheek and asked why.
“We lost Dave. Our bass player. He’s relocating to Colorado. And it turns out we aren’t Nirvana. Or the Police. Need a rhythm guitar too.”
This was news. Thunder did more than alright as a three piece. He wondered if this had anything to do with the competition. Josh Gordon and his band of suburban dads, cleverly calling themselves the Chixie Dicks, were testing the waters that Thunder swam in. Word had it that Sullivan and Josh were rivals from way back. The Dicks were a standard four-piece band so Finn had to wonder if Parker and Alex were taking steps to crush the upstart cover band.
“Brody thinks he might have a lead on a bass player. Now all we have to do is find a second guitar and we’ll be good to go.”
“Maybe I can help you out.”
Did he just offer to do something nice for Parker? Jesus. Maybe he really did have a concussion because he had no idea what prompted him to say what he did.
“You know somebody?”
“Yeah. Me. Lead is more my thing but you’ve got that covered. If you need a rhythm back-up, I’ll fucking audition.”
“Wait a minute,” Parker drawled. “Did you play with everyone in Boston? At the wedding? Shit! I can’t remember.”
Finn snickered. Yeah. No shit. The entire pre-wedding week was one huge booze-fest. It was his sister’s wedding but he only remembered bits and pieces.
“I remember about as much as you. Do you recall Zorro and my sister waltzing through a champagne buzz as you and Ang sang Unforgettable?”
“Even if I blocked it out, they’ve got a fucking video of it.”
Of course they did! Along with probably a dozen videos from family and guests lurking somewhere on YouTube.
“Look, I’m serious. If you wanna challenge me to an audition rock off, I’m cool with that. Meggie can vouch for my mad wicked abilities.”
“Oh my fucking god,” he chuckled. “Is it a full moon or something cause I’m actually considering taking you up on your offer. Your sister is big time talented and so are your parents. Hoping that means you didn’t fall far from the tree.”
Two hours and three stitches later, he and Parker bombarded each other with rock trivia with Finn surviving a relentless eighties challenge. Pfft. He was from Boston for Christ’s sake. There was a fucking band by the name.
After dropping him at the front door of Pete’s, they hammered out some final details and shook hands. Not only was Desert Thunder the new house band for Whiskey Pete’s, he was throwing his lot in with the rest of Thunder for some stage time.
Unfuckingbelievable.
By the end of the night, he was fried and looked like shit. It was a busy dinner crowd. Word about the menu changes was starting to make the rounds. He couldn’t believe how great it made him feel. Of course it also meant he was slaving his ass off in the kitchen—not just cooking but bringing the cook staff up to speed so in the future he wouldn’t have to oversee every little thing.
Things were calming down and he’d passed off the grunt work to one of the workers because if he didn’t sit down soon, he
was gonna hit the floor. He needed a handful of Ibuprofen and an ice pack, stat.
Holed up in his tiny office behind the bar, Finn stretched out some kinks, wincing when the bruises complained, and dropped into a swiveling desk chair.
Barry came around the corner and handed him a cup of decaf and a couple of tablets. “Unleaded so you can sleep tonight.”
Now that he was sitting, the aches and pains he’d fought all evening took over. Getting the two pain tablets into his mouth and knocking them back with a mouthful of coffee took real effort.
“Oh, hey.” Barry’s snicker sounded meaningful so he searched the guy’s face. “You didn’t happen to meet a nurse named Betty Lou today, did you?”
“What? Are you clairvoyant or something?”
“This is awesome. I cannot wait to tell Shelly.”
Finn leaned his elbow on the desk and put his head in his hand as he peered at Barry with one good eye and one not-so-good. Groaning he choked out, “Fuck. Why does it feel like I’m about to be the butt of a joke? And why would Shelly care?”
“Dude, shit. Shelly and Betty Lou have history. The way my lady tells it, Miz Betty Lou shat on the code.”
“The code?”
Yeah, you know. Chicks do not ever hookup with a friend’s guy. Especially not when they’re still together.”
“So Betty Lou is what? The town cheat?”
Barry let loose with an amused guffaw that echoed off the walls. “My friend,” he chortled with a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “It’s so much better than that! Shelly says her nickname in high school was Blow Job Betty. Probably an urban legend but according to Bendover gossip, she sucked her way to the top of her class. Spent a lot of time in after school tutoring or detention. And if you put store in what other women say, she didn’t have any problem switching teams. Suck, lick…she’s an equal opportunity come pilot.”
Finn heaved back into his chair and swiveled to look at Barry head on. Hmph. Really? “So Betty Lou Who,” he snickered at the clever, unscripted name, “is blow job royalty. I suppose it’s a hard job that somebody has to do.”
Barry grinned. “Hard job, for sure.”
“But how the hell did this subject even come up? She’s a nurse at the urgent care. I talked to her for maybe twenty minutes while she stitched up my face.”
“Yeah, well she showed up during the dinner rush. Sat at the bar. I kind of know her so we were talking about Pete’s and out of the blue she says she met you earlier and you told her to come by.”
“What? I did no such thing. Told her about taking over the bar and restaurant and maybe suggested she check us out, but you’re making it sound like a date.”
“She certainly gave off an on-the-prowl vibe, Finn, so I’d watch myself if I were you. Keep your jeans zipped, man.”
Holy fucking crap. How the hell had he managed to walk into such a shit-storm? He went back in his mind and replayed his conversation with the pretty nurse. She was pleasant and did a great job stitching him up, and as a paramedic he would know, but she didn’t draw his interest.
Of course, a lack of interest didn’t mean much when your dick was in some chick’s mouth. It was way too easy to work up a scenario involving Betty Lou on her knees. She wouldn’t be the first chick he face-fucked just for the hell of it, that’s for damn sure.
He was an O’Brien after all, and the search for a girl with an enthusiastic oral fixation matched with the perfect pussy was strong inside him. Not too much to ask for, right?
Goddammit if Remington Bissett didn’t flash in his mind at the exact wrong moment. Now there was a fantasy Finn could get down with. The girl drove him bat-shit insane with her hot and cold attitude. They were in a period of cold right now. Arctic cold. Kissing her had been a stupid move. Not just because she backed off so fast he got whiplash, but also because now he had the taste of her in his mouth. A taste he couldn’t forget.
“Look buddy, I’m just giving you the four-one-one. What you do with the information is up to you. I’d prepare for Betty Lou to make a nuisance here. She definitely wants to choke on some Irish meat.”
“What is wrong with you?” Finn drawled. “Irish meat? Did you just refer to my cock as a brisket?”
“If the condom fits,” Barry snickered with way too much glee. The guy was one fucked up unit when it came to laughing at inappropriate stuff. Probably why they got along so good.
“So is Thunder good to go? You sealed the deal with Sullivan, right?”
Welcoming the fast change of subject because he didn’t really give two shits about Betty Lou and her talented mouth, he nodded. “Yeah and guess what? They’re moving to a four piece and are gonna give me a try-out on second guitar.”
Barry looked at him with his mouth hanging open and a dumbfounded expression. “We’re talking about Desert Thunder, right? Parker Sullivan asked you to share the stage? With him?”
“Why the hell do you make it sound like I just scored a ticket to the green mile?
“Duuuude,” Barry droned in a long, drawling rhythm. “Thunder is a legend because of Parker’s Eddie Van Halen talents. That guy can make a guitar do anything. Shelly says, well, what she says is disgusting but chicks, ya’ know?”
“Lemme’ guess,” Finn said with a mocking grin that felt totally lopsided. “She said he makes the girls cream their jeans, right?”
“Something exactly like that. Seems weird that he’d let you of all people share his spotlight.”
“Competition can make a man do all sorts of things. Sullivan doesn’t like to lose. Second place is failure to a guy like him. Letting me play with the band is more about crushing the Dicks than playing nice with Zorro’s brother-in-law.”
“Ah. Makes sense now. The Chixie Dicks are the permanent B-side for Thunder. When they can’t play, the Dicks fill the bill.”
“I hear they’re the live music for the family center grand opening.” He thought about the ramifications of the Chixie Dicks taking over what was sure to be a rowdy good time, and had to wonder what the hell Parker’s girlfriend was thinking. Angie Marquez was in charge of the big event so why she’d deliberately poke her brother and boyfriend in the eye didn’t make a lot of sense.
“They aren’t anywhere near as good as Thunder, but they do a fair enough job. Did you know that Parker and Josh Gordon have beef going back to high school? Alex too if you believe everything people say. Doesn’t help that Parker is a big time lawyer and Gordon took over his uncle’s accounting firm. Both successful but still fighting a decades old battle. Josh formed the Dicks as a way to fuck with his old rival.”
“Oh, great. So I’m walking into some time-warped pissing contest. Why the hell not?”
“You’re full of surprises Finn O’Brien. Like being a crazy talented chef wasn’t enough. Now you play guitar and take an ass-kicking like Tyler Durden.”
“A Fight Club reference?” Finn asked with a real laugh.
“It’s true.” Barry reached into his pocket, produced his phone and waved it in Finn’s face. “Got most of it recorded. You drop-kicking Allen was fucking awesome, man! But seriously. Is your head made out of wood or something? You took some body shots and a couple to the face that’d drop me.”
He smiled. An Irishman in Boston making his living as a first responder was the calling card for an ass-kicking beast. He’d done his fair share of sparring in the boxing ring with his fellow paramedics and the firefighters and cops they hung around. Taking a punch was par for the course.
“I’m gonna’ go help Grey close out the dinner register and set up for tonight. You look like dog shit Finn. You’re finished for tonight my man. Get the hell out of here and go home. Put a steak or a bag of frozen peas on your face.”
Sounded like a plan to him.
“Oh, and make sure you wear something nice tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because Blow Job Betty is sure to make an appearance.”
Barry laughed like hell and turned on his heels to leave Finn in peace
.
Great. He had enough complications swirling around him. He didn’t need another one.
12
“Well don’t you look yummy,” Lacey cooed when her hunky husband appeared. “You make preppy look mighty fine, Mr. Cameron.”
Tapping a finger on her lips as she gave him a thorough once over, Lacey eyed him critically because she knew he wanted everything to be perfect. Halloween and costumes wasn’t something he’d experienced before. Not in any meaningful way. It was like that with so many things where the two of them were concerned.
“No socks,” she murmured. “Nice touch.”
In the time that she’d known Cameron, he’d been many things, from a never-smiling brooding introvert to a devoted lover and family man. He looked banging in a tux, something she discovered with heart-stopping delight at Alex and Meghan’s wedding, and most days gave new meaning to the expression ‘eye candy in jeans’.
But Jason Cameron, aka Cameron Justice, dressed up like preppy Ken to her pregnant Barbie was a sight to behold. He’d even styled his hair!
“If you ever wear a pink sweater tied around your neck again, I will divorce your butt.”
He snickered and gave her a lecherous wink. “Looks like Barbie got her freak on with long-dong Ken.” The way he caressed her growing belly made her knees weak.
“Don’t change the subject, sir. Tell me which Justice bad boy had an actual rose colored sweater shoved in the back of a closet.”
“That would be Jace,” he told her with a wide grin. “Remnants of a former life is what he said when handing it over. Seems he was something of a pin-up boy for Euro-fashion. Ugh,” he groaned while making a face. “Yuck.”
She giggled. Cameron would never be a trendsetter. None of the Justice men, except for Draegyn of course, gave a hoot about clothes that matched, much less clothes that made it into the fashion pages. Seeing him decked out in loafers with no socks, a light blue Polo shirt with the pink sweater tied around his shoulders and a pair of gray, slim fit slacks made her lady parts tingle.
He didn’t know it yet but he was about to find his closet overloaded with more pants in the very same style and a bunch of button downs for wearing under a plain V-neck sweater.
Unforgettable (Family Justice Book 5) Page 13