Page 13 of Branson's Promise

Noel's gaze snapped to me then, his blue eyes meeting my brown ones. His pupils dilated and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. A strange tension existed between us then as we stood locked in silence, taking each other in, before Noel snapped out of it, his signature grin widening as he spoke.

“Now that’s a thought. But for now, how about you stop just standing around looking pretty and make yourself useful? Help me get him home. I'm quite capable of doing it myself but I've a feeling he’s going to want you around for some reason.” I bristled at his tone, the mocking way he implied I'd done nothing to help Branson. That I was just in the way.

You're useless, Milo. A waste of time and space.My father’s words echoed in my head and I cursed under my breath, annoyed that Noel had managed to rile up these thoughts.

I nodded in agreement though, not willing to let him see how much he’d affected me, and walked over to the sofa where Branson was still sitting, motionless with his eyes covered. I gathered up his coat and his phone, which had both been haphazardly discarded on one of the marble tables.

“Why is the world spinning so much?” Branson groaned, and Noel, now less menacing, softer and sweeter than he had been moments before, reached his hands underneath the smaller man and hefted him into his arms. “Come on, kitten. It’s home time.”

“I like it when you call me that,” Branson mumbled and I swear he practically purred into Noel’s neck as they strode towards the back exit which the bouncer held open for them. And I was left, for the third time that night, marvelling at how stunning they were together.

Chapter 7

Branson

Choices are hard. Sometimes you make the right ones, sometimes you don't. And sometimes you won't know either way

Loud arguing from somewhere in the apartment woke me. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but it was audible enough to keep me from drifting back to sleep. Blinking rapidly to clear the crust from my eyes, I took a moment to stretchand take notice of my body. My head ached and my mouth was horribly dry but other than that, I felt okay.

Another shout had me sitting up and throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Who could Milo be arguing with in our apartment? Besides Mia, he never invited anyone over, and I’d never heard him raise his voice to her. It had to be someone else, but who? The sudden realisation of the likely culprit had me rubbing my hands over my face and groaning.

Noel.

My ‘friend’ who likes to lick my neck and who, in return, I like to grind against. Yep, that Noel.Forgot about the friend zone, didn’t you, Branson?I should have been angry at myself for letting my resolve slip with such ease. But I wasn’t. The moment got away from me and it all felt so good - his lips, his hands, the way he spoke to me, the promises he made of worshiping me next time we were together - all so fucking good. He literally used the word “worship”, speaking right to my greatest desire - what was I to do?

And then there was Milo. I know I told him I liked him last night. I also know I meant more than just as a friend or roomie. And if the rod of hardness pressed against my ass and the way his breathing grew rapidly unsteady was any indication, I was pretty sure I had a similar effect on him.

What was I playing at though? I wasn't this guy. I didn't go after two men at once. Didn't toy with people's feelings.

I was in a bit of a pickle.

From the sound of the raised voices, I had probably made a huge mistake inviting Milo along to the bar. My hope had been that Noel and Milo would hit it off - that a friendship would bloom there. Milo clearly needed more friends and I’d bet my last paycheck that Noel, for all his bravado and swagger, was pretty lonely too.

“Fucks sake!” I reached for my phone and typed out a message.

Me:SOS, SOS. Auggie Bear, this is an emergency!

I threw my phone down next to me and stood. I vaguely remembered changing out of my jeans and pulling on my favourite pink boxers the night before and looking down at my body, I see that was the case though I didn’t put on a t-shirt. A white vest lay discarded on my floor, so I grabbed it and shrugged it on before walking slowly down the hall, listening to the voices coming from the lounge. I turned into the kitchen to grab water before dealing with whatever was going on between the two of them, pausing at the entrance to find a man standing at my counter, unpacking a bag of groceries.

“Who the fuck are you?” What was with people surprising me in my own kitchen? This was some fucked up house of horrors shit. The man startled, looking at me, his mouth wide open and his hand held against his heart as though I had scared the crap out of him.Join the club, buddy.It was then that I took in his attire - a chef's uniform, pristine white with small black detailing and a logo over one breast that I recognised instantly.

“Noel!” I yelled, spinning around and marching into the lounge. “Why is there a chef in my kitchen? And why are you two so loud? Indoor voices, please.” Maybe my headache was a little worse than I first thought.

Noel and Milo took a few steps apart from each other, both turning to face me, both wearing matching scowls which softened when their gazes reached me.

“You’re up.” Noel’s eyes skated over my body, pausing briefly at my waist before trailing upwards slowly and meeting my eyes.“That,” he pointed towards the kitchen, “is Emile. He is one of my best chefs. I asked him to come over to make you breakfast.”

From next to him, Milo scoffed, and Noel shot him an icy glare.

“I told him it was unnecessary. No, actually, I told him it was way over the top to bring a chef to our house to cook you breakfast. But Mr Moneybags here seems to think it was a sweet gesture.” Milo’s voice was laced with disdain.

Well, shit, guess this friendship was not happening.

“It is a sweet gesture. I’d have made him breakfast in bed, but I don’t know how, so I did the next best thing. I don’t get why you’re so frustrated about it. Emile will make enough for you too.”

Milo made that annoyed scoff again that I was beginning to think was a sound he had developed specifically to deal with Noel.

“I could have made him breakfast, it really isn’t that difficult, Noel. Didn’t you have fancy tutors or nannies to show you how to make eggs and toast?” Milo’s voice rose an octave and Noel’s brows pinched into an annoyed frown. The tension between them was thick, thick enough to ignite a fire I was not sure I could put out.

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