Page 29 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

Fuck. Just go already.

“Yeah?” I act as though I have nothing better to do than to talk to him.

“After Brook’s reception, I’m heading a survival excursion, so I won’t be around. Chip was supposed to go, but he asked me to cover.”

My forehead wrinkles. “He good?”

Chip is pretty much Denver’s mentor. He’s the one who gives him majority of his bush pilot business, who taught him how to survive in the wild, and who Denver looked up to after his parents died. Usually Denver goes along with Chip—not that Denver can’t handle himself alone. When his plane went down a couple years ago and he got that music producer out of the bush with a broken leg, it proved he can handle himself.

He shrugs. “I think there’s something going on that he’s not telling me. Just asked if I’d be willing to take on some tours for him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping to find out more before I head out, but you know Chip.”

By that, he means tight-lipped about everything. Not that I blame him. No one wants all their dirty laundry fanned out for everyone to see.

“I hope everything’s okay.”

His lips form a thin line and he pushes a hand through his hair before opening the door. “Me too. See you, old man.”

He laughs and walks out of the house, shutting the door before I tell him to go to hell. I glance at the clock. Though it felt like forever to get him out the door, in reality, it only took ten measly minutes. It’s gonna be a long night.

I click off the TV, throw mine and Denver’s beer bottles in the recycling, and head to the barn. I’ll kill some time in there while I wait for Savannah to return home.

* * *

I’min the kitchen at seven the next morning, pouring my coffee, when I hear a car pull into the driveway, followed by a door shutting. The next thing I know, a key is in the lock. Denver returned home alone at two-thirty, saying that Lucky’s sucked, so it’s Savannah for sure. The cup of coffee I had earlier sours in my gut.

The door opens and I debate not turning around, but who am I kidding—I want to see the condition she’s in.

I’m not sure what I expected, but her hair is thrown into the same messy bun she wears when she returns from work most days. Her dress isn’t too wrinkled, which hopefully means it wasn’t balled up in the corner of Brent’s bedroom. It’s not ripped, so at least they weren’t having the kind of sex where clothes can’t come off fast enough. But she’s not wearing a bra. Her hard nipples are on display through the tight dress, and my jaw clenches with the thought that she may have had sex with him. It should put such distaste in my mouth that the desire coursing through my body vanishes, but all the want I have for her is still there.

“You’re up early for a Saturday.” She sets her keys in the dish by the front door, but keeps her purse hanging off her arm. It probably holds her underwear.

My fists clench at my sides. “I told you I’d wait up for you.”

Her gaze falls to the floor. “I thought that was some sort of power move. Brooklyn told me you know Brent.”

“I do know him, so believe me when I say I had my reasons for waiting up.”

“He’s not a bad guy.” She heads toward the kitchen.

I’m surprised at how civil we’re being. “I beg to differ.”

She reaches for her mug, but even on her tiptoes, she can’t reach it. I cage her in the corner of the counter and reach above her. She doesn’t smell as though she’s been up all night having sex. Putting the cup on the counter, I grab the pot of coffee to our right and pour her a cup.

“Did you just sniff me?”

“I want to make sure you don’t smell like him.” I inhale her special scent one more time before stepping back. I need to stop torturing myself.

“And if I did?” She turns but stays in the corner.

All I can think about is having her nipples in my mouth. My tongue twirling the stiff peaks until she moans my name. “I’d be disappointed that you fell for a jackass.”

She stares at me. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

“Really?”

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