Page 19 of Bought by His Brother's Best Friend

As the jet carried us back across the Atlantic, we talked more about practical matters—our schedules for the coming week, when we might see each other again, whose apartment was closer to whose office.

The conversation should have felt ordinary after our extraordinary weekend, but instead, it felt comforting.

Real.

Beginning something that could exist beyond Paris.

Outside the plane’s windows, stars scattered across the dark sky, impossibly bright at this altitude.

Damien’s arm was warm around my shoulders, his presence solid and reassuring beside me. As exhaustion from our whirlwind weekend caught up with me, I rested my head against him, feeling completely at peace.

SIX

DAMIEN

I arrived fifteen minutes early to the brunch spot—a sun-drenched outdoor bistro tucked away from the usual weekend crowds. Spring weather had taken hold, and the patio was alive with climbing vines and potted flowers.

I’d chosen this place specifically for its privacy. The tables were well-spaced, and a latticed trellis created a natural separation from the neighboring businesses.

The hostess led me to a corner table bathed in mid-morning light.

I ordered a French press coffee for myself and a cappuccino for Shane, who would arrive any minute. We hadn’t been apart for long—just a few days since returning from Paris. We texted each other constantly, but I missed him with a surprising intensity.

The coffee arrived just as I spotted Shane walking toward the restaurant. He wore jeans and a forest green henley that highlighted his eyes—but still looked effortlessly put-together. I stood as he approached, unable to hold back my smile.

“Hi,” he said, a hint of shyness in his greeting that I found adorable.

I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Hi yourself. I ordered your cappuccino.”

“Thanks.” He slid into the chair beside mine rather than across, our knees touching beneath the table. “No sign of Tyler?”

“Not yet. Though he’s rarely on time for anything that isn’t a puck drop.”

Shane laughed, the sound warming me more than the coffee. “True. Once he showed up for his own contract signing twenty minutes late because he ‘got distracted watching game tape.’“

I took a sip of my coffee, studying him over the rim. He looked rested, happy. “How are you feeling about this?” I asked. “Telling Tyler about us?”

“Good, actually.” He wrapped his hands around his cappuccino mug. “A little nervous, but not because I think he’ll react badly. More because it makes this real in a different way.”

Our Paris trip had been almost dreamlike in its perfection. But now we were back in the real world, integrating what we’d discovered about each other into our everyday lives.

“What about you?” Shane asked. “Having second thoughts?”

I reached for his hand, threading our fingers together on the table. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for too long to have any doubts.”

His smile at that was breathtaking—open and genuine in a way that made my chest tighten. It amazed me how quickly things had developed between us, from years of careful distance to this immediate, powerful connection.

“There he is,” Shane said, nodding toward the entrance.

Tyler Bennett strode into the bistro with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being recognized.

Like his brother, he was dressed in jeans and a henley, though his was emblazoned with his team’s logo. A baseball cap pulled low over his eyes completed the classic “athlete trying to be inconspicuous” look that never actually worked.

The hostess clocked him immediately, her professional smile brightening as she led him to our table. A few nearby diners glanced up, their expressions shifting from casual interest to recognition as they spotted the NHL star.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tyler said, dropping into the chair across from us. He pushed his cap back, revealing hair still damp from a shower. “Morning practice ran long.”

“I thought you said you had the morning off,” I commented, releasing Shane’s hand to shake Tyler’s.

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