Reckless
Also by Nicole Edwards
The Alluring Indulgence Series
Kaleb
Zane
Travis
Holidays with the Walker Brothers
Ethan
Braydon
Sawyer
Brendon
The Club Destiny Series
Conviction
Temptation
Addicted
Seduction
Infatuation
Captivated
Devotion
Perception
Entrusted
Adored
The Dead Heat Ranch Series
Boots Optional
Betting on Grace
Overnight Love
The Devil’s Bend Series
Chasing Dreams
Vanishing Dreams
The Devil’s Playground Series
Without Regret
The Pier 70 Series
Reckless
The Sniper 1 Security Series
Wait for Morning
Never Say Never
The Southern Boy Mafia Series
Beautifully Brutal
Beautifully Loyal
Standalone Novels
A Million Tiny Pieces
Writing as Timberlyn Scott
Unhinged
Unraveling
Chaos
Reckless
Pier 70
Book 1
Nicole Edwards
Nicole Edwards Limited
PO Box 806
Hutto, Texas 78634
www.NicoleEdwardsLimited.com
www.slipublishing.com
Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2015
All rights reserved.
This is a self-published title.
Smashwords Edition
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Reckless – A Pier 70 Novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Image: © Igor Chaikovskiy | 123rf.com (front cover image - 7338452); © Jasminko Ibrakovic | 123rf.com (back cover image - 36000609)
Ebook Image: © magenta10 | 123rf.com (formatting image - 14284060)
Cover Design: © Nicole Edwards Limited
Editing: Blue Otter Editing www.BlueOtterEditing.com
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-939786-54-8
ISBN (print): 978-1-939786-53-1
Gay Romance
M/M interactions
Mature Audience
One
“Damn it, Dare! Is it too fucking difficult to do what we ask?”
Cam Strickland choked out a laugh when he walked into the dark office of Pier 70 Marina shortly after six in the morning to find Roan grumbling to himself. Cam didn’t even need to look around because he already knew no one else was there.
Just Roan. And his pissy attitude. Happy Friday, y’all!
Smiling, Cam spared Roan a look. “Good mornin’ to you, too, sunshine. Talkin’ to yourself again?”
As though sensing he was overlooking her, Lulu—the two-year-old golden retriever who lived at the marina—came from behind the counter, tail wagging. “Mornin’ to you, too, Lu.” Cam dropped to his haunches to pet her while watching Roan.
Roan Gregory, Cam’s longtime friend and business partner, cast a sideways glance at Cam, one dark eyebrow cocking beneath the dark, shaggy bangs that covered his forehead before Roan returned his attention to the printer/copier (or office genius as Dare liked to refer to it) in front of him.
Looked like it was definitely going to be one of those days.
Cam gave Lulu one last pat, then got to his feet. Flipping on the lights and turning the sign around to show they were open, Cam watched while Roan took out his frustration on the fancy new machine that one of their other partners, Dare Davis—the man Roan was clearly irritated with—had insisted on purchasing last month.
“Dare’s not even here, so why’re you yellin’?”
“He should be here,” Roan muttered as he slammed the lid down and stabbed at one of the buttons repeatedly.
Well, the fancy machine had been new. At least until Roan had gotten hold of it.
Lulu barked once, clearly not happy with the loud noise. He felt her pain.
Cam didn’t try to hide his amusement with the situation, even pretended not to notice when Roan glowered at him, evidently not as entertained as Cam.
“So is it Dare or the printer you have a problem with?” Cam offered a smile, flashing all his teeth.
Roan faked a laugh, then rolled his eyes, eyebrows shooting downward. Too soon for jokes apparently. Still, Cam couldn’t help but laugh. He had to find entertainment somewhere. Might as well be here.
“Stupid printer,” Roan grumbled.
Cam was beginning to feel bad for that stupid printer, taking the brunt of Roan’s frustration and all.
Dare—always helpful, or so he claimed—had come up with the crazy suggestion for the ridiculously expensive machine after a huge falling-out with Roan on why they couldn’t just get rid of paper altogether.
“Who even uses paper anymore?” Dare had asked, dead serious.
Roan’s reply … well… “We do, dumb ass.”
Dare had even tossed out one of his statistics during his argument. Admittedly, Cam had been sort of impressed.
“Seriously, bro,” Dare had argued, “I saw a report. Somethin’ like eighty-four percent of businesses prefer Apple products. We don’t need paper and shit. Just get a coupla iPads like the rest of the technologically advanced civilization. Make people sign with their fingers… Easy peasy.”
Convincing Roan wasn’t easy peasy.
Dare wanted to save trees; Roan wanted simplicity. Cam, well, he didn’t give a fuck one way or the other.
Still, they’d ended up with the printer. Knowing Dare, he’d probably hoped Roan wouldn’t have wanted to spend that much money, but Roan had shown him.
Roan was nothing if not stubborn.
As was Dare.
When Roan stabbed the button again, Cam stopped walking, coming to a halt on the customer side of the long counter that split the marina office. While his flip-flops froze on the rough slate floor, his full attention was focused on his friend.
Just ask what his problem is.
Don’t have a death wish, Cam told the crazy voice in his head. Seriously. Cam saw what Roan was doing to that poor, unsuspecting printer.
It wasn’t like Roan to get quite so pissy first thing in the morning. By the end of the day, sure, Roan was known to be a little frazzled from time to time. Not this early, though.
Unlike the rest of them, Roan was a morning person. Usually. Cam, on the other hand, didn’t understand that concept whatsoever. Bright and chipper didn’t make an appearance this early in the day for Cam. Blurry-eyed, yes. Cheerful, no. Then again, no one else at the marina—other than possibly Dare—was a bowl of fucking sunshine, either, until they’d had a little caffeine in whatever form they opted to take it. Cam’s preference was coffee, and he could see the fresh pot sitting right there on the counter waiting for him.
Just. Out. Of. Reach.
With a heavy sigh, he accepted his fate. He had no choice but to confront his friend.
“What’d he do now?” Cam peered over
at Roan, then back to the black liquid gold now calling his name. He was eager to answer, only he was mentally weighing the risks of getting too close to Roan at the moment.
Roan snorted. “We’ve got a huge group comin’ in today. A freaking daycare, man. And he was supposed to do one simple thing. Get the waivers signed.” Roan yanked the paper out of the machine. “I can’t find ’em anywhere.”
“I did get ’em signed, you asshole.”
Speak of the devil.
Cam smirked at the sound of Dare’s voice coming from behind him, followed by the annoying ding of the electronic door notification system that, no matter how much they fucked with it, still sounded on a delay.
“If you’d just open your eyes and look,” Dare tacked on.
Dare Davis, the third owner of Pier 70 Marina, and another one of Cam’s closest friends, stepped into the office looking as casual as ever with his white T-shirt that sported the marina logo, knee-length swim shorts, Dallas Cowboys ball cap on backwards, and as usual, was bare-footed. Oh, and carrying a Red Bull. Of course.
“Then where the hell are they?” Roan barked, pinning Dare in place with his heated gaze.
Cam took a step back and watched the exchange, as did Lulu, who appeared a little concerned. Cam patted her head reassuringly.
“Where y’all told me to put ’em,” Dare countered, head cocked forward, as though pointing with his eyebrows. “That stupid rack you hung on the wall, remember?”
“Fine time for you to start listenin’ to what we ask you to do,” Roan groused.
Cam huffed a laugh, trying to cover it with a cough. With these two, he was always entertained.
“If I recall correctly,” Dare said, flashing a mischievous grin at Cam before looking back at Roan, “I tried to get y’all to nix the paper and move to iPads, but no.”
Roan shot a ball-shriveling scowl at Dare.
“No worries,” Dare said, still smirking and holding his hands up in an I surrender gesture. “I’m cool. Just happy to chill in the Stone Age, rubbin’ sticks together to make fire. Later, I’ll take a break and go spear us a buffalo for dinner.”
Rolling his eyes because he knew Dare was just looking to push Roan’s buttons, which wasn’t unusual, Cam made his way to the coffeepot, desperate to get his hands on a cup while Roan was distracted.
“You are such an ass—”
“Who’s handlin’ this party today?” Cam interrupted Roan’s tirade, hoping to change the subject and keep the two of them from going head to head so early in the day.
As entertaining as this ongoing squabble might be, they had shit to do.
Pier 70 Marina was a full-service marina and boat storage that Cam, Roan, and Dare had opened nearly a decade ago with the financial backing from Cam’s father. It’d grown to be one of the most exclusive, highly coveted marinas on Lake Buchanan. To the point that they’d acquired a staff of nearly twenty over the years, most of those people family or friends. Or family friends.
“Holly’s handlin’ the corporate event, and Teague’s gonna run point on the water,” Dare advised, tossing back what was left of his energy drink.
“Is she here yet?” Cam asked, referring to his younger sister, who’d recently taken over the position of party host.
Holly and her husband, Keith, had offered their services to Cam when the marina had been shorthanded a couple of summers back, and they’d stuck around ever since. They’d both adapted quickly to the prestigious party host role and now alternated between handling the off-water activities and taking care of their three kids. Holly was responsible for getting things set up for the large events—usually corporate or family reunion type—that took place in the fifteen-acre park adjacent to the marina, while the rest of them handled the watercraft.
“On her way. She just called before you came down,” Roan said.
“Good. Where’s Teague?” Cam asked.
Teague Carter was the recently added fourth and final partner in the marina. They’d brought him on board to help out with light mechanic work and some of the chores when Teague had still been in high school, and through the years, thanks to his hard work and dedication, they’d opted to give him stock in the place.
“Haven’t seen him yet,” Dare said. “He had a late night. Some party carried on until the early hours, and he didn’t get outta here until around one.”
That wasn’t surprising.
Several years younger than the rest of them, Teague was the life of the party on a good day, always volunteering to go out on the party barges when a client requested. Sometimes Cam admired the kid’s energy level, but Cam chalked it up to Teague still being young. Not that Cam was all that old at thirty-two, but he did have about seven years on Teague.
“What else’s goin’ on today?” Cam glanced back at Dare and Roan over his shoulder.
“You mean besides the heavyweight match between Roan and the printer?” Dare smirked, looking back and forth between Cam and Roan.
Roan shot Dare the finger. “Not a helluva lot,” Roan griped, clearly still in a foul mood.
“So why so pissy?” Dare asked Roan directly.
Roan glowered at Dare but didn’t respond.
Thank God for small miracles. These two … stubborn as mules.
Taking a sip of coffee and letting it burn all the way down, Cam turned around and leaned against the counter, watching the two of them carefully. Roan was frowning, Dare grinning like a fool.
Cam shook his head.
Sometimes, especially during the summer months when they spent so much time entertaining people for extensive periods of time, things started to heat up inside the office. Sometimes hot enough to rival the blistering three-digit temps. However, it was only the first week of June, the season was just now kicking off, so he hoped this wasn’t indicative of what they had to look forward to for the next three months.
But it was that tension that had Cam seeking solitude—or trying to, anyway—in his own office whenever possible. It didn’t help that he lived in one of the two private apartments above the marina office, either. Hiding out was nearly impossible in his line of work. And with Roan now occupying the other apartment, Cam never seemed to find a moment’s peace.
Unfortunately, this morning he’d hit the snooze button on his alarm a few too many times and hadn’t made it in before the others as he normally did, which meant he hadn’t been able to sneak away.
Yet.
But he fully intended to rectify that now.
Sparing them both one more look, Cam pushed off the counter and glanced out at the parking lot.
Yep. Time to jet.
“You’ve got incoming,” Cam noted as he took his coffee cup and headed down the narrow hallway toward his office, smiling as Roan greeted the customer with a chipper note in his deep voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
Two
Gannon Burgess had woken up that morning expecting a drama-free day. It was Friday, after all. A day most people traipsed into work still half-asleep—possibly still drunk—from the Thursday happy hour slash kickoff to the weekend party they’d indulged in the night before. Once they’d downed the requisite amount of coffee, they took care of the absolute necessities, then headed out as early as they could to pick up where they’d left off in kicking off the weekend.
Drama-free. Just the way Gannon preferred it.
Not today, apparently.
Granted, being that he worked seven days a week, no matter what, Gannon woke up with high hopes for smooth sailing every morning, and generally he didn’t meet too many surprises along the way.
Did it always go the way he wanted? No, actually.
Since he owned and managed a multimillion-dollar entertainment software development company, there were some standard road bumps along with the occasional hiccup that arose—software glitches, viruses, employee issues, technical problems. Yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah.
Those he anticipated, sometimes even predicted.
But today, it
looked as though his crystal ball was a little cloudy because he hadn’t seen this coming at all.
“What do you say? You up for it?”
As he stared back at his assistant/friend, trying to process what she was telling him—though he had to give her props, she had phrased it as a question, but he knew her better than that—Gannon knew this was not going to be fun.
In fact, he’d take a server crash over what Milly was suggesting any day.
“Seriously, Gannon.” Milly’s perfectly tweezed blonde eyebrows arched downward as she narrowed her baby blues at him. “It’ll be good for us.”
Us.
It never fared well for him when Milly used that one little word in a sentence.
Casually leaning back in her chair, long legs crossed at the knee, Milly Holcomb, the woman who kept Gannon and the rest of the Austin office organized and on track, looked more like a supermodel than a tenured administrative assistant for the president and CEO of Burgess Entertainment. Him.
But Milly was a different breed, Gannon would have to give her that. Not only was she his assistant, she was also his longtime friend, the keeper of most of his secrets, the woman who forced him to spill his guts when he had no desire to do so. So, yeah, he probably made a few exceptions for her, looked the other way most of the time. It was easier that way.
She was smart, driven, quick-thinking, even professional when the situation required her to be. Hell, he could list a dozen more things about her that he admired, because Milly had a lot of appealing qualities.
But subtlety wasn’t one of them.
Perfect example … right now, her long, golden-blonde hair was haphazardly heaped on the top of her head like she’d just rolled out of bed—a style that had probably taken her an hour—held in place by some fancy clip. Her smooth, alabaster skin made her look closer to twenty-one than thirty-one. The knee-length black skirt showed off her legs, and the white, button-down blouse that was unbuttoned a little more than was probably appropriate for an office setting offered a glimpse of her generous cleavage, which was likely one of the reasons the game designers were always hovering around her.
And he knew for a fact that she enjoyed the hell out of giving the guys in the office something nice to look at. Hell, she’d told him so.
Reckless (Pier 70, 1) Page 1