Page 7 of You Don’t Kiss Your Brother's Best Friends

“Come on,” said Kayden. “You said you were hungry.”

I let them walk ahead of me now, my eyes wandering across their tall, perfectly-formed bodies as they made their way down the cool, contemporary hallway. I’d noticed them before, obviously. It was impossible not to crush a little on your brother’s best friends, especially when your brother had friendswho ate right, worked out, and took care of themselves in ways that made them more manly and attractive as the years went on.

And theyhadtaken care of themselves, that much was obvious. Kayden’s tall, six-foot-two frame was built on a solid foundation from his days of playing high school football. I’d cheered for him from the stands as both a freshman and a sophomore, just as I’d cheered for Bishop on the lacrosse field, or at every baseball game I’d watched him play, alongside my brother Jason. Back then, they were the annoying older boys who laughed and ridiculed and messed with me, every chance they got. But now…

Now, they were full-grown men. Handsome, finely-cut adult men who had learned the intricacies of balancing their daily lives with working out, building muscle, and maintaining their bodies in ways that, admittedly, made my mouth water.

And hey, I’d been without for a long time now. The few relationships I’d managed to maintain while building my own business had been fragile at best, especially when things got busy. When they ultimately fell apart, I generally let them go. I didn’t have the energy to fight or keep up. I didn’t have the motivation to chase after someone I liked, not loved.

So right now, if I was feeling lonely and sorry for myself and more than a little bit randy? I had no one to blame but me: the asshole who pushed everyone and everything off a cliff. Including my livelihood.

Overhead lights continued to turn on automatically as I followed them into a huge galley kitchen, straight out of a high-end reality show. I soon realized they were operated by more high-tech switches made of black glass. I had no idea how they worked, but the guys were waving their hands in front of them.

Everywhere I looked there were high-end stainless steel appliances. Sub-Zero refrigerators. Viking ranges, and Wolf stoves. Smooth, bamboo cabinets melted into a natural stone backsplash, which incorporated at least three backlit wine fridges that I could see. I poked my head into a fully-provisioned pantry and gasped.

“Where in the world did yougetall this?” I breathed.

“It’s mostly stocked by the agency we work for,” Kayden explained with a shrug. “It’s for other people, not us.”

Just as he finished talking, Bishop pulled out a very old-looking bottle of wine and popped it right open.

“Like hell it is.”

The boys smiled and produced a trio of exquisite crystal glasses. As they began pouring, my stomach rumbled again.

“If someone doesn’t feed me,” I complained, “I’m gonna eat the first thing I see.”

Bishop smiled deviously as he edged his way into my field of vision. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. You wish.”

“Actually—”

“C’mon, you said you were gonna feed me,” I cut him off. “Which one of you is the better cook?”

Kayden extended two big arms — sleeveless arms, mind you — and cracked his knuckles.

“Only one way to find out.”

They tied on a pair of aprons and jumped right into it, pulling out pans and opening fridges. It brought a smile to my face, watching them. It felt like old times.

“So, Josie,” Kayden winked, clapping his hands together. “What are you in the mood for?”

I chuckled at the use of his pet name for me. “Well, I guess you’ll both have to make the same dish,” I shrugged. “If you want me to judge it fairly.”

“Burgers it is, then!” grinned Bishop.

Down below, my stomach growled in agreement. “I love it.”

Bishop clapped his two oversized hands together. But Kayden didn’t look so enthused.

“Really?” he asked. “I’m a classically-trained executive chef with a fully-stocked pantry. I can make you practically anything, and you want—”

“A nice, juicy, delicious pair of burgers,” I sighed, smacking my lips.

Bishop bumped hips with him on the way to the pantry, already holding a tray of ground beef. “And what are you complaining about?” he quipped. “This gives you a chance at redemption. You know, for the hockey pucks.”

He threw me a sideways smile as they both got to work, moving quickly as if the whole thing was a race. In the meantime, I seated myself on the other side of the beautiful, marble island. The wine was rich and delicious; maybe the best I’d ever tasted. But what really interested me was enjoying seeing them do their thing. Specifically, watching their arms and shoulders strain against their tight shirts as they chopped onions, sautéed garlic, and took quick sips from their own wine goblets between tasks.

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