Brad's Bachelor Party (4 page)

Cole suddenly came to life and pushed him back, the hand pressed against Brad’s chest turning his moan into another gasp of pain. Truth be told, the searing sensation spreading from his recently sutured cut wasn’t nearly as bad as the sting of rejection.

Man, he really was being a pansy ass.

Cole wiped his mouth as if offended and turned to slap his suturing equipment back into his bag. Avoiding Brad’s gaze. “You’re under the influence.”

Brad let out a snort. “It was one lousy pain pill.”

“You’ve been drinking.” Cole grabbed his small duffel bag and headed out of the bathroom.

Brad followed him out the door. “I had two measly beers, and the last one was three hours ago. You’re just making up excuses because—”

“Keep the sutures dry for the first twenty-four hours.” Cole’s voice was flat, his shoulders tense as he headed toward the door. “Change the dressing twice daily and keep the wound clean.”

“
Cole
.”

Cole whirled to face him, fuming as he stepped closer. He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to deck him or fuck him senseless.

Jesus, that really shouldn’t be such a turn-on.

“You rejected my advances, remember?” Cole said.

“You only hit on me once. Besides, I was a stupid college senior.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cole said. “That ship has sailed.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Cole asked, incredulous. “How can you be such a dimwit, Brad? You’re set to get
married
in two days.”

The sledgehammer that hit Brad’s chest was especially cruel.

“Uh…yeah…” The lame word was all Brad could manage. “That.”

He really was a moron.

“Yeah.” Cole plowed a hand through his hair. “
That
.”

Brad remained frozen in place as he watched his friend exit and slam the door behind him. Brad stared at the peephole for a full minute before he let out a
hunh.

The next few days were going to be interesting.

Chapter Four

Remaining outwardly unaffected wasn’t easy as Cole listened to Brad crack jokes with Ryan from across the aisle of the small plane. Though the intense anger had finally faded, Cole was still ticked off about the kiss, but he clung to his cool demeanor as if it were a shield. He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
, go down that hopeless road again. Obsessing over an attraction that would get him nowhere. So Cole ignored the smile on Brad’s face, pretending to read an article on penetrating abdominal wounds as he gripped his vodka and tonic and endured Martinez’s attempts to flirt with the flight attendant.

He was beginning to regret his elaborate plans to fly the gang to Honolulu and spend the night of the bachelor party away from the rest of the wedding guests. Shifting uneasily, Cole had watched Jenny kiss Brad good-bye, patting her fiancé on the ass as she winked at Cole. When she’d said the only reason she was allowing this little adventure was because she trusted Cole to keep Brad out of trouble, Cole practically swallowed his tongue. The uncomfortable look on his friend’s face had almost made Cole laugh out loud.

Almost.

And why was he always relegated to the role of babysitter?

The only reason Brad had kissed him was because he was getting antsy. Restless. Cole could practically feel the nerves rolling off him, growing stronger as each day passed. Cole suspected prewedding jitters were the cause. Or maybe Brad simply wanted to blow off a little steam before he said
I do
. Regardless of Brad’s motivations for yesterday, now Cole had to stand up beside him on his wedding day with the memory of how his mouth tasted.

Damn.

Cole let out a sigh and slumped lower in his seat. Brad caught his gaze and sent him an easy wink that hit Cole like a roundhouse kick to the stomach. Cole lobbed him an irritated look, and his friend rolled his eyes as if Cole was making a big deal out of nothing. Because Brad never took anything seriously. Cole, according to Brad, took everything
too
seriously. Which was why his friend claimed they were so good together. But it was hard being the yin to Brad’s yang.

Especially since Brad had always been the tactile one of the two. He thought nothing of throwing an arm around a friend, patting a man on the back or the ass. One-armed hugs were dispensed liberally. Kissing a female friend on the cheek—or the mouth, if so inspired. Burning his way through one girlfriend to the next during his college years.

Kissing Cole and passing it off as a lark.

Brad’s easy, earthy manner hadn’t changed one bit after Cole had come out to him during his second year of med school. And Cole had been so grateful he could barely function, because he’d never had a friend like Brad. Vibrant. So full of life. So accepting. From the get-go, Cole envied how easily Brad attracted people with just the genuine smile on his face. Gathering worshipping subjects like the Pied Piper of Stanford. Everyone had loved Brad in college.

Including Cole.

The plane’s engine droned on and on, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of his seat. Cole would rather pass a kidney stone or two than attend the Honolulu Lei. But hitting the strip club with Brad?

Well, that ranked right up there with contracting Ebola.

Chapter Five

The loud
thump thump thump
of the dance music vibrated through Brad’s chest, making it difficult to hear the conversations around him. Smelling of expensive alcohol, the club was dark, the flash of strobe lights bright against the leather furniture. Ryan and Martinez, entranced by the lithe woman working the pole onstage, ignored the two men behind them as they kept their eyes glued to the almost naked brunette. Cole sat across from Brad and, while his friend looked outwardly composed, Brad knew he was secretly still stewing.

And frankly, it pissed Brad the hell off.

Since the Incident That Would Not Be Named, eight years had passed before Brad worked up the courage to kiss his friend, only to be shoved back and told he’d done the deed because he was compromised from the piddly amount of meds in his system. Blamed on the effects of a couple of beers.

As if he didn’t know his own friggin’ mind.

As if he hadn’t felt every brush of their bodies with a painful clarity.

He’d been fully aware of his actions. Was stone-cold sober now and would do it again in a heartbeat just to find out how it felt when Cole kissed back. He really wanted—no,
needed
—to know. Because once the floodgates of awareness had opened, the resulting tidal wave of desire had nearly bowled him over.

“How the hell do they do that?” Martinez said over the music.

The stripper was hanging upside down by the hook of one leg, the other pointed as gracefully as a ballet dancer’s as she swung around the pole.

Ryan shrugged and reached for his beer.

“They should, like, turn this into an Olympic event,” Martinez said.

Ryan lifted his bottle in acknowledgment. “I’d sponsor that.”

In dress pants and a shirt that turned his eyes a deeper shade of blue, Cole slouched in the lounge seat. His posture was easy, his ankle resting on a knee. But the total lack of expression on his face gave him away.

“Are you going to do the stony-stare thing all night?” Brad asked.

“Maybe,” Cole said, reaching for his glass.

In the years that Brad had known him, Cole rarely drank. If he did, he seldom went beyond a beer or two at most. And never hard liquor. The man who had nursed Brad through more hangovers than he could count was currently tossing back his fourth for the day. Cole grimaced, as if he didn’t like the taste.

“What’s that look for?” Brad asked.

He really shouldn’t enjoy teasing the man so much, but he was dying for a real reaction. Disappointment in Brad? Overt anger? Lust? Something,
anything
, was preferable to the nothing he was getting now.

“Having trouble handling your liquor?” Brad grinned.

The bitch face he got for his efforts made Brad laugh.

“Dude, your face is gonna get stuck that way,” Brad said lightly. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life scaring your pediatric patients and small puppies.”

Cole continued to stare at him, the impassive expression returning to his face.

“You’re missing out on a good time,” Brad added.

“And what if I am?” Cole said.

Brad went for the shock value. “No skin off my nose if you want to act like a prick.”

Their gazes locked as the pounding music died a bit, the lights hitting Cole full on. Brad took note of Cole’s flushed face, the emotion brimming just beneath the surface, and the grim set to his mouth. He was sending Brad that look again, like he was all Mr. Control…but secretly wanted to strangle Brad in his sleep.

The thought of Cole’s hands on his skin sent a shiver up his back, prickling the hair at his neck.

Man, this is friggin’ ridiculous.

“How about a lap dance, handsome?” A redheaded dancer laid a hand on Cole’s shoulder.

Brad barked out a laugh at the stripper dressed like a slutty nurse. But Cole, too-serious-for-his-own-good Cole, failed to find the coincidence amusing.

And all that maddening restraint—not to mention Cole’s
complete
lack of response to his kiss, goddamnit—made Brad want to needle him harder than usual. Want to do things he’d never done before. Like out Cole when it wasn’t his place. A dickish thing to do, and one Brad had never done before.

“The outfit certainly fits, but don’t waste your time,” Brad said to the woman as he clutched his bottle of beer, eyes still boring into Cole’s. “He doesn’t swing that way.”

Cole tipped his head, his lips tightening a fraction more, until Brad thought his jaw might snap in two.

Without budging his gaze from Brad’s, Cole addressed the dancer. “How much for a private lap dance?”

Brad choked on his drink and narrowed his lids at his friend. The poor redhead glanced between the two of them as if trying to read the situation.

She’d have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and hopeless at braille to miss the tension.

“Two hundred and fifty for thirty minutes,” she finally said. “Plus tip.”

Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brad said.

“What’s it look like?” he said.

Pulling out five one-hundred-dollar bills, Cole nodded in Brad’s direction. “For my friend here,” he said with the barest hint of a smirk, handing the money to the redhead. “As a last hurrah. He’s getting married in
two days
.”

The emphasis was clearly for Brad’s benefit. A reminder of what he’d done. And if looks could kill, Brad would have been dead and cremated, his ashes lining the bottom of a vacuum cleaner hours ago.

“Plus a hefty tip if you make it special,” Cole went on.

“There’s no touching allowed, but I can definitely make it special,” the redhead murmured, tugging on Brad’s arm.

For a moment Brad didn’t budge, just met his friend’s smug
got you
gaze, obviously daring Brad to go. But Cole should have known better than to hurl the gauntlet in his direction. Brad never backed down from a challenge.

Even when it wasn’t in his own best interest.

He let the lady pull him up from his seat, staring at Cole. But before she could lead him away, Brad reached down and hauled Cole up beside him. His friend stumbled to his feet.

Cole blinked at him in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You’re coming with.”

The stony look returned with a vengeance. “No, I’m not.”

“This was your idea, and if I have to go, then so do you.”

Brad had no interest in a lap dance. Had no desire to have a stranger, no matter how beautiful, shake her ass in his face. The only reason he was playing along was to make Cole pay for his stupidity. Both yesterday’s and today’s.

Yep, Cole Winston would think long and hard before forking over big money to piss off Brad again.

Cole opened his mouth for another protest. “I’m not—”

“Remember,” Brad said, cocking his head. “Jenny put you in charge of keeping me out of trouble.”

He sent Cole his best killer smile and led him away, following the stripper across the room.

Chapter Six

Cole’s head swam as he propped himself against the dark paneling, wondering how he’d fallen so far as to wind up in the VIP room of the Honolulu Lei with his best friend and a stripper.

He’d just been hired on as faculty at Stanford. He was entrusted with the training of future surgeons, but he was at a total loss when it came to dealing with his twenty-eight-year-old going on twelve-year-old best friend.

“What kind of music would you like?” the redhead asked Brad.

“Whatever you want is fine.” Brad settled easily into a seat as if what was about to take place was no big deal.

But Cole had about a million things he’d rather do than watch a woman strip and flaunt herself in front of Brad, especially when the man was in a flirty mood. On the way to the private room, Brad had lobbed him a wicked smile that almost buckled Cole’s knees.

From the corner, the dancer flipped on some music, a pounding beat with soulful words. She poured a drink into a tumbler and then dragged a second chair over, arranging it to face Brad. Cole assumed she was planning to use the furniture as a prop. Until she crossed over to Cole, shoved the drink in his hand, and pulled him toward the center of the room.

Frowning, Cole tried to protest. “I’m not interested in watching.”

“Take it easy. I’m not trying to turn you straight or anything,” she said, gently pushing him into the empty seat. She hiked a brow, first at Brad and then back at Cole. “You and your friend…” She paused, as if searching for clues in the expressions on their faces. “Or is he more like a boyfriend?”

Well, that was the elephant sucking up all the oxygen in the room, now wasn’t it?

“Fiancé?” she tried again. When Cole simply glared at Brad, and Brad met his gaze with unflinching stubbornness, she went on. “Whatever. You two clearly need an intermediary.”