by Shayla Black
He let himself into the room.
Willow sat in bed, the blankets pulled up under her arms. She’d changed into one of his T-shirts, leaving her sweater and slacks folded on the dresser.
“Some magic hot chocolate.” He set the tray down on the bed within easy reach for her.
“Thanks.” Willow picked at her thumb, not looking at him.
This was killing him, bit by bit.
He went to his knees next to the bed and peered up at her face.
“Talk to me?” he whispered.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered back. “I thought I knew how all of this was going to go.”
“How?”
“Either I’d do what Jace wanted and sell a piece of my soul for the chance to have my cake and eat it, too. Or I’d tell him no, then lose my job over the pictures and you because, well, because.”
“Lose me?” Keegan frowned. He had no power over what her uncle did, though he approved of Chief Taylor’s dismissal of her wrongdoing. Keegan was still very much in control of himself. “You were never in danger of losing me, Will.”
“What people say about me? What I’ve done? I can’t pretend it wasn’t my choice.”
“I already told you I don’t care about any of that.” He took her hands in his. “Your past, your choices, what you’ve done, it doesn’t matter to me. I can say that because I’ve known you through all of it, and you’ve always been this wonderful, selfless person with a huge heart. Maybe the fact I’ve been embarrassingly in love with you since we were kids makes me blind to your faults, but if it does, I don’t care.”
“I just wanted to be good enough, for once.” She swiped at her cheeks with one hand.
“Oh, Will. You’ve always been good enough for me.” He smiled up at her. “Not going to comment on that bit where I said I was in love with you?”
“You can’t mean it.”
“I do.” He reached into his pocket. Okay, so this was a bit faster than he’d anticipated but he was going with his gut here. “I mean it so much I was going to ask you to wear this. I never gave any girl my class ring before.”
Willow smiled through the tears and chuckled as he produced the shiny, silver paperweight of a ring. It was a little corny and silly, but they needed more of that in their lives.
“I love you, Willow. No matter what anyone says, what’s in the past, it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Never has. Never will.”
“I want so badly to believe that.”
He took her left hand and slid his class ring onto it. “Then let me prove it to you every day for the rest of our lives.”
“What?” she sputtered.
He bent his head and kissed her knuckles. “I get that you probably need more time. I don’t expect you to feel the same way I do.”
“You silly, crazy man.” She dug her hand into his hair, dragging him half onto the bed, and whispered, “I love you.”
Keegan grinned and knew in that moment their lives would never be the same. He didn’t know what came next, but he knew he had a partner in her. The love of his life.
About Sidney Bristol
It can never be said that NYT & USA Today Bestselling author Sidney Bristol has had a ‘normal’ life. She is a recovering roller derby queen, former missionary, tattoo addict and board game enthusiast. She grew up in a motor-home on the US highways (with an occasional jaunt into Canada and Mexico), traveling the rodeo circuit with her parents. Sidney has lived abroad in both Russia and Thailand, working with children and teenagers. She now lives in Texas where she spends her time writing, reading, playing board games and catering to her furry overlords, aka the cats.
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1
“I swear to God, I’m a magnet for losers,” Brooklyn said.
Darcy Young had been Brooklyn’s best friend since kindergarten. Which meant she smiled consolingly at her pronouncement but didn’t disagree. How could she? It was true.
Brooklyn rested her cheek on her elbow, running her fingernail through the icy condensation on her frozen strawberry daiquiri. She’d planned to spend the evening at a swanky black-tie event with a man she’d met at work. Brooklyn had been surprised—and delighted—when Joel Richardson, a successful Baltimore businessman, asked her to be his date. She’d blown the better part of one week’s paycheck on a new dress and heels, even treating herself to a mani/pedi.
Joel had called two hours ago and offered his regrets. He’d been scheduled to return from a business trip this afternoon, but his flight out of Chicago had been cancelled due to a substantial snowstorm.
Something she would have understood completely if he hadn’t followed that call up with a sext he’d sent to her by mistake, saying he’d cancelled his plans with the secretary and was looking forward to spending his evening “fucking you senseless by the fireplace at my house.”
Which left her here, in jeans and a cable-knit sweater, sipping daiquiris with her best friend at Darcy’s family’s pub. Ordinarily, Pat’s Pub was one of her favorite places on the planet, but right now, it didn’t hold a candle to the Corinthian ballroom at the Grand, where she’d thought she’d be sipping champagne and dancing to a fifteen-piece orchestra. “I thought this New Year’s Eve was going to be different. I thought it was going to be special, romantic, fun. I should have known better. This night sucks. Every year.”
Darcy laughed. “You put too much pressure on it. Always going in with these super-high expectations, declaring that whatever happens at midnight is a predictor of the entire year.”
“Maybe so, but I haven’t been wrong about that. The last three years, I’ve had a date with a guy I thought was cool, and every single time that damn ball drops and midnight hits, I’m alone with no one to kiss, no magic. And I stay alone the whole year.”
“You and I both know you don’t spend the year alone because of a failed New Year’s Eve date. It’s because of your bosses. It seems like every time you make a date with someone, you have to break it because they need you to work late. I find it very hard to believe there isn’t one other reliable employee in that firm they could call on occasionally.”
Brooklyn was feeling just sorry enough for herself to drop her everything-is-fine mask for a moment. “You know me, Darcy. Solid, reliable, boring Brooklyn. They probably ask me to work late because they don’t expect me to have other plans. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, they’re right. I don’t.”
Darcy frowned and reached out to lay her hand on Brooklyn’s. “All I’m saying is you’re allowed to have a social life. The next time you have plans and they ask you to work late, say no.”
Brooklyn shrugged, fighting to tuck her melancholy away. Working late wasn’t a hardship, but if she said that to her bestie, Darcy would tease her about her crush on her two bosses. “They pay me very, very well.”
While her bed might be cold and lonely night after night, year after year, her fantasies were not. Because Elijah Roberts and Logan Sherwood not only occupied her waking hours at work, somewhere over the past few years, they’d managed to take control of her dreams as well.
“There’s more to life than money,” Darcy said. “What you need is love—romance and laughter and fun.”
“You sound like your mother.” Darcy’s mother, Riley Collins Young, had definitely passed her views of life on to her sweet, bubbly daughter. Brooklyn had always been covetous of Darcy’s large, fun-loving extended family. In addition to two loving parents, a brother, and a sister, Darcy also had countless aunts, uncles, cousins, and the world’s most amazing grandfather, Pop Pop.
All Brooklyn had was a divorced, bitter, angry mom and a father she hadn’t seen since she was three.
Brooklyn had been on her own since the day she turned eighteen. Her mother informed her she was legally an adult and told her to pack a bag. Brooklyn could still recall the outright terror she’d fel
t as she walked out of her childhood home armed with two overstuffed suitcases and four hundred bucks in her pocket. Mercifully, Darcy’s parents took her in until she’d had time to find a job—actually three—and save enough money for a security deposit on a crappy apartment.
“You also need to get laid.”
Brooklyn didn’t bother to deny that. She felt that truth deeply, painfully. Twenty-three wasn’t particularly old, but that didn’t mean she wanted to live out the female version of that 40-Year-Old Virgin storyline.
“Sex would be nice,” she mused.
“I’m sorry your date fell through,” Darcy said, glancing at the time on her phone and sighing. “And I’m also sorry I can’t hang out with you anymore. I hate leaving you like this, but we’re heading out in a few minutes. I wish we had an extra ticket.”
Darcy was ringing in the New Year at a concert with a few of her cousins. Brooklyn had turned down the invite in favor of the date. Now she was date-less and ticket-less. “It’s okay. I’m just going to finish this daiquiri and call it a night.”
“We could always take a chance, see if someone is scalping tickets in the parking lot.”
Brooklyn grinned and shook her head. “Honest. I’m fine. Go have fun.”
“You know just because you’re in bed at midnight alone doesn’t mean you’ve lost another whole year.”
The practical, logical part of her knew that, knew her theories about midnight on New Year’s being the precursor for the year were silly, but the lonely, when-am-I-going-to-figure-my-life-out woman couldn’t shake off the depression that set in three seconds after Joel’s missent sext.
“I know. But I’m still going to indulge in this little pity party tonight. I’ll shake it off tomorrow. No worries.”
Darcy stood up reluctantly, then gave Brooklyn a kiss on the cheek. “There’s your kiss. Save that for midnight.”
Brooklyn laughed, then hugged her best friend. “You’re a lunatic. And I love you. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will,” Darcy promised, waving to her from the exit of the pub before leaving.
Brooklyn took a long sip of her daiquiri and glanced down to the end of the bar, where a couple sat close together, kissing passionately, not caring who was around or who saw them.
What would she give to have someone want her that badly, that madly? All her life, she’d dreamed of being someone different, someone more exciting, more interesting than reliable, workaholic, never-step-a-toe-out-of-line Brooklyn. Just once, she’d love to cut loose, be wild and wicked and adventurous.
“Want another drink, Brooklyn?” Padraig, Darcy’s cousin, who was the bartender at the pub, asked.
She shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Get her another one. And put it on my tab.”
Brooklyn turned around, surprised to discover her boss Elijah standing behind her. “Elijah, what are you doing here?”
She winced, aware her tone sounded slightly rude.
“Logan and I decided to check out this pub you’re always talking about.”
Brooklyn glanced over his shoulder and spotted Logan sitting in the corner booth, watching them. He smiled and nodded his head when he saw her looking in his direction.
“I would have expected you to—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, realizing it would be the height of stupidity to tell her boss she had anticipated he’d be spending the holiday with some supermodel’s legs wrapped around his waist…or tossed over his shoulders, as he pounded…
Brooklyn turned away from Elijah, under the guise of reaching for her drink. In truth, she didn’t want him to see her blushing. Her fantasies of her bosses had gotten way out of hand lately.
And what was worse was both of them had a way of making her feel as though they could read her mind. Damn—wouldn’t that give them quite a show?
He reached out, resting his hand on her lower arm, preventing her from picking up her drink. “Expected me to what?”
She swallowed heavily. “To, um, have a date.”
“Do you want that drink?” Padraig asked, watching them closely. She’d spent enough time with Darcy’s family to know that every single Collins male had the same overprotective gene. For a woman who’d grown up without any male influence, she’d been touched, thrilled even, when she found herself included in that web of safekeeping.
It had started when she’d been in fourth grade and a fifth-grade boy—a bully—had decided she was easy prey. The boy had made her life a living hell for about a week before Darcy told her older brother, Finn, about his mean comments and how he’d shoved Brooklyn so hard on the playground that she’d fallen and skinned both knees.
Four years older—and a middle schooler—Finn had cornered the bully after school one day and told him if he ever even so much as looked at Brooklyn again, he’d regret it until the day he died. That was all he’d said, not adding any details to the threat because it hadn’t been necessary. The bully never came near her again.
“Join us,” Elijah said. It was a command, not a request, though Brooklyn knew she could say no if she chose. Of course, there wasn’t a single planet in the universe where she would say no to a drink with her gorgeous bosses.
Elijah looked especially attractive tonight. He had dark brown skin, black eyes, and he wore his hair cropped close to his scalp. He had one of those smiles—the perfect blend of sexy and friendly—that never failed to make her melt inside. Typically, he wore tailor-made suits at work, and while she loved that look on him, she was just as drawn to him now as he stood before her in black jeans and a crisp white button-down paired with a leather jacket.
Brooklyn nodded at Padraig. “I would love another drink. And this is my boss, Elijah Roberts,” she hastened to include, letting the dear bartender know this wasn’t some random guy trying to pick her up.
Elijah and Padraig did that man thing where they sized each other up for a few quiet seconds, and then, somehow, Padraig seemed to determine Elijah was okay and he offered him a ghost of smile.
“Coming right up. What can I get you, Elijah?” Padraig asked.
“My colleague and I will have double shots of Jameson, neat.”
Padraig nodded approvingly. “I’ll bring the drinks over to your table.”
“Thanks,” Elijah said, offering Brooklyn a hand as she stood.
Then he placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the booth. No doubt the gesture was meant to be gentlemanly, but it shook Brooklyn straight to the core.
She had spent the last two years working in close contact with Elijah and Logan, both of whom treated her as nothing less than a valued and respected employee. They were the poster children for propriety and appropriate workplace behavior.
Dammit.
Which made her feel guilty for her racy, kinky, highly inappropriate fantasies. Her current favorite involved Elijah bending her over the desk to take her from behind as she sucked Logan’s cock.
“Brooklyn. This is a nice surprise,” Logan said, rising from the booth, gesturing for her to take his spot.
She slid in, her heart skipping a beat when he followed her, sitting close enough that their legs touched.
“For me as well.”
Logan looked just as delicious as Elijah. He’d traded the expensive suits he always wore for dark jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a casual blazer. He seemed to be Elijah’s polar opposite in looks—light to Elijah’s dark—with his piercing, bright blue eyes, tanned skin, and dirty-blond hair. He wore his hair just a smidge too long, his small rebellion against total conformity to the business world. It curled at the nape of his neck and she’d imagined herself running her fingers through it countless times, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Padraig appeared with their drinks, shaking hands with Logan after she introduced them. Then he returned to the bar. It was a holiday and the place was starting to get busy. Darcy had told her earlier that a band was scheduled to start playing at nine, but she had anticipated being home before that.
Now…she was sort of hopeful she wouldn’t be.
“Although,” she said, after Elijah and Logan tapped glasses their glasses with hers, “I would think you all would like a break from me after so many long hours at work over the holidays.”
Brooklyn had been shocked when they’d picked her to serve as their secretary in the architecture firm they owned out of a large applicant pool, one loaded with candidates who’d had far more experience than she had.
Several months after starting the job, she had asked why they’d selected her. Elijah had said she’d impressed them during her interview and that they preferred to train her their way. There had been something about the way he’d said the word train that had impacted her deeply. Her body had reacted, her panties going wet and her nipples budding, even though she knew he’d been talking about work, not sex. The worst part was she was certain Elijah had seen her completely inappropriate response to his comment.
“We’ll never get enough of you, Brooklyn.” There was a brief pause before Elijah added, “You’re good company.”
She took another sip of her daiquiri, then regretted it. She rarely drank, so the rum was going to her head fairly quickly. It had to be. Because she could have sworn Elijah had just winked at her, and while she wasn’t one hundred percent positive, she thought Logan, who had casually rested his arm along the back of the booth they shared, had just toyed with her hair.
Her bosses didn’t touch her, they didn’t wink at her, and they definitely didn’t say things that sounded like sexual innuendo.
Yep. She was drunk. The rum was messing with her mind, awakening her fantasies, making her believe they were real.
A wise woman would excuse herself and go home before she did or said something she regretted.
“I’m actually not so sure I’m going to be very good company tonight. I suck at New Year’s Eve.”