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Bedfellows by Lola Leighton (1)


Chapter One

Sullivan

 

“Getting restless,” Will grunted from beside me. We were seated in the cab of my truck on our trek home after a hard day’s work.

“For?” I asked, playing coy. I knew exactly what he needed. Had known for the past two months he was ready. Though to be fair, I knew him like the back of my hand. I’d been waiting for this conversation for a while, and found it amusing that he was finally bringing it up.

“Need a woman,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the horizon out the front windshield.

“You need a fucking shower is what you need,” I returned.

He shook his head beside me, flipping down the visor when the evening setting sun hit him. “Not right now. Not tonight. But soon.”

“I know,” I swallowed a sigh. “Me, too.”

We’d been doing the same song and dance for the last decade, because Will and I—we shared everything—including women.

We’d grown up together, two lost, angry kids banding together to forge a path through a fucked-up world. It made us strong, made us brave—made us the men we were today. But it made us rely on each other in a way that was … a little out of the ordinary.

In our teens, we’d explored porn together, in our twenties, we’d experienced our first threesomes, and now in our thirties, we owned a home together, sure enough in ourselves and our friendship that we know we preferred monogamy—a shared relationship with the same woman.

I was confident enough in my sexuality to admit this probably meant I was bi—Will, not so much. We didn’t talk about our needs, didn’t share our deep, inner thoughts on the subject. In fact, these days we were mostly on auto-pilot. But the important thing was—we were each happy with what we had—a kick-ass friendship, a solid business, and the desire to fuck the same woman. It worked. We didn’t question it. End of story. And life was good—this dry spell aside.

However, finding someone who suited us both was sometimes a challenge. Which is why and how we found ourselves in our current situation.

I shot him a questioning glance. “You miss Layla?”

Maneuvering my truck toward the pub where we often called in to-go orders before we left whichever house we were currently rehabbing, I waited while he weighed the question.

“No, not really,” he breathed, still looking ahead.

That was a relief. When things had ended a few months ago, I’d been pleased. She wasn’t the one. She was too much drama—too much work, and deep down, she didn’t make either of us happy. Not really.

As we got closer to the restaurant, my stomach began to grumble. We took turns cooking, but when it was Will’s night to cook, we usually had take-out. Rotating between Thai, sushi, or our favorite, burgers from McGilley’s pub.

“You want to go in for a beer, or are we just going to wait in the truck?” Will asked.

“We have beer at home. That IPA you like. And I meant it when I said you need a fucking shower.” I shot him a grin. We’d spent the day ripping out cabinets and demoing walls.

“That’s fair.” He chuckled under his breath. “I’ll go in and check on the order, be back in a few.”

“Sounds good.” The pub had incredibly fast service and it wasn’t like we were ordering anything complicated. It should only take ten minutes or so.

Will hopped out and I maneuvered my truck toward a parking spot further down. My truck was a brand new, black, platinum edition with the chrome grill I’d spoiled myself with after the sale of my last successful real estate project. After growing up with nothing, it was tough to break out of that mindset. Every dollar was hard-earned, and watching them slowly grow in my bank account was generally more satisfying than blowing it on stuff. Stuff never made you happy. Aside from my truck. My truck was my fucking baby.

Wham.

My truck spun sideways into a hard stop while my brain took a moment to understand what had just happened.

“Fuck!” I grunted out. Some red little sedan had just crashed into the bed of my truck. Slamming the gearshift into park, I hoped out to inspect the damage.

A woman stepped out of the sedan. She was trembling, and clearly knew she had messed up. I had no idea whether she was about to cry or curse.

“Shit!” she groaned.

Curse it was.

“Are you okay, Miss?” I asked, walking closer. Even as pissed off as I was at the moment, I could see she was a twelve out of ten. Curvy with long legs, a trim little waist, and honey-blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. It’s been one of those days, you know.” She wrung her hands in front of her, looking nervous, probably waiting for me to blow up and yell at her.

I bent down, looking at the rear quarter-panel on my truck and winced. It was dented, but the damage was less than what I was expecting. I let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at the woman standing beside me. Now that I was calmer I took a minute to notice how utterly gorgeous she was.

A full, plush mouth and big brown eyes that were currently wide with worry. She didn’t wear much make-up, but shit, she didn’t need it. 

She was dressed in a pair of ripped-up jeans that might have been worth more than her car for all I knew, a white t-shirt knotted at her waist, and a pair of high-heeled boots.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I mean, no. Not really. But I’ll survive, right? I always do somehow.”

At this, my brow knitted in confusion.

“That’s my salon.” She pointed to the far end of the shopping plaza to a modern white brick structure on the end with a bright fuchsia front door. The sign above it said Studio Ten. “A pipe burst early this morning and flooded the whole place. It started in my apartment above the salon. And then my car, it’s such a piece—I wasn’t looking while I fiddled with the air conditioner. Totally my fault. I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “No big deal. Accidents happen.”

The woman’s eyes widened again like she couldn’t quite believe I wasn’t going to unload a string of curse words on her. And I might have, because dude, my truck was my fucking baby. But I sensed this stranger had been through enough today.

“Let me get my ID and insurance card.” She rushed toward her car, shouting over one slender shoulder, “We can exchange information.”

I nodded and waited for her to return. “I’m Sullivan. Didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Adrienne Edmonds,” she said, offering me a small smile.

“Placed our order,” Will said, wandering back to stop beside us. His eyes zeroed in on the damage to my truck. “Everything okay?” Will knew exactly how much my truck meant to me, so I was guessing his tempered response was her benefit—as not to freak out the pretty stranger.

“Will, this is Adrienne. Adrienne…Will.”

Will reached one hand toward her. “Hey, there. You alright, Adrienne?”

She returned his handshake, her entire hand disappearing within his firm grasp.

“I feel like an ass, but other than that, yeah. Perfectly fine.”

“Have you eaten yet?” I asked her.

Adrienne’s pretty full lips parted, and she looked between Will and me. “Um, no. I was just leaving work.”

I nodded. “That’s what I thought. Come join us. We can get all this sorted. But I’m starved.”

She was still clutching her driver’s license and insurance card in her hands, and her expression changed to one of confusion.

“We could probably all use a drink right about now, too,” I added.

For a second, I thought she might refuse, but instead she took a deep breath, her posture softening. “Okay. Let me park my car and I’ll text my friend. She’s expecting me later.”

Will stayed decidedly quiet beside us, but I could feel the weight of his gaze.

What the fuck are you up to? He seemed to ask while Adrienne parked her car beside my truck.

You’ll see. I wiggled my eyebrows.

Adrienne climbed from her car and started toward the restaurant.

I couldn't help but notice the way Will's gaze zeroed in on the curve of her ass as she walked, or the slight smile that twitched on his mouth. This girl was ticking off everything on our list, and I couldn't wait to see where this could go.

Tonight just got a whole lot more interesting.

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