Brad's Bachelor Party (5 page)

Brad finally turned his attention to her, surprised. “What? You moonlight as a therapist or something?”

The redhead smiled. “I’m just a student majoring in psychology and working her way through school.”

Brad let out a bark of laughter, clearly amused by the turn of events. “Dude,” he said, his eyes dancing with delight as he looked at Cole. “You just bought yourself an intervention.”

And since he’d doubled her fee up-front, the woman obviously wasn’t worried about a tip.

“My name’s Brandy. Any requests?” she asked Brad.

“No need for a lap dance,” Brad said. “A simple striptease will do.”

She shrugged. “It’s your dime.”

Brad hiked a thumb at Cole, clearly pleased with himself. “Actually, it’s
his
dime.”

The next five minutes were the most uncomfortable of Cole’s life. Redheaded Brandy of the silicone-filled breasts and thighs of steel slowly unzipped a dress that didn’t resemble anything a self-respecting nurse would be caught dead wearing. Her four-inch-high heels wouldn’t have lasted five minutes of a grueling twelve-hour shift, and don’t even get him
started
on the outdated, fifties-style nursing hat. Cole mostly watched Brad, who unfortunately seemed oblivious to the beautiful woman now dressed in nothing but a thong and a push-up bra. The younger man’s eyes remained firmly fixed on Cole’s.

As if daring him to look away.

As if daring him to…
something.

Brandy halted middance and dropped her hands from her back, leaving the bra intact as the music thumped on. “I’m feeling a little unnecessary here, boys.”

“Nothing personal,” Brad said. “I’m just sorry my friend here isn’t enjoying the show.”

The glimmer of defiant humor in his eyes twisted the knot of irritated nerves coiling in Cole’s stomach.

“I think I can help with that,” Brandy murmured.

Clearly one to go with the flow, the dancer rounded Brad’s chair and leaned over him from behind. She reached around to the front of Brad’s shirt, hands hovering.

“May I?” she asked.

With his most wicked expression yet, Brad said, “By all means, help yourself.”

When she popped the button at his throat, sweat broke out on the back of Cole’s neck.

Good God, this isn’t happening.

This was not how he’d envisioned this event would go. He’d purchased the lap dance in order to send Brad away and finally escape the green gaze that was slowly killing him.

The scrutiny was intense. The dancer’s eyes were on Cole, but it was the expression on Brad’s face, the amused quirk of his eyebrow as he watched Cole watch the process, that left him longing to squirm in his seat. Brad found the whole thing funny.

But Cole refused to flinch first.

“Now who’s the one being a prick?” Cole said evenly.

“Me,” Brad said with an unapologetic smile. His voice rumbled with humor. “Glad you paid extra to make it special?”

Cole tossed back the Scotch and lowered himself to Brad’s adolescent level by doing something he’d never done before in his life—
ever
. He flipped Brad the bird.

Brad grinned. “I love you too, man.”

He’d said it hundreds of times before, and he meant it too. As former roommates. As best friends. As comrades-in-arms in the battle to keep Danny clean. But the recent turn of events left Cole wondering if there was a hidden meaning behind the words his friend tossed out so carelessly.

And Cole kind of hated Brad for that.

He’d purchased the lap dance in an effort to make his friend pay, and there Brad sat, beaming as if he’d arranged the screwed-up scenario personally. The Scotch burned through Cole’s body, raising his internal temperature. Or maybe it was the sight of Brad’s shirt parting as the woman worked her way down. True to her word, the dancer didn’t touch, her cheek close to Brad’s as she carefully slipped the buttons free one by one. Until Brad’s pectorals were exposed. He had the perfect chest, and Cole considered himself a seasoned expert. Not too muscular, but lean with beautiful definition. Built enough to capture the attention of even the most resistant of libidos.

A chest that could fill the pages of an anatomy text and have students the world over eagerly memorizing the hundreds of muscles and tendons and bones comprising the thoracic wall.

Brandy moved lower, and more skin was exposed. Nicely formed abs came into view. Brad’s navel finally made an appearance, and Cole’s heart went into overdrive. Then came the dusting of hair that disappeared into the waistband of Brad’s jeans, and Cole’s limbs grew heavy, straining under the weight of all the nerves and irritation and lust currently tracking through his veins.

When Brandy peeled the edges of the shirt apart, the bandage covering Brad’s laceration brought to mind the memory of warm skin beneath Cole’s hand, the feel of Brad’s breath on Cole’s fingers as he’d sewn up his wound. Without breaking a sweat, Cole had opened abdomens, racing against the clock to find a potentially lethal arterial bleed. But it had taken every ounce of self-control he’d possessed to keep his fingers from shaking during the simple process of suturing Cole’s chest.

“So what has you two at each other’s throats?” Brandy asked.

The dancer’s question brought a tantalizing image of Cole’s mouth covering the pulse at Brad’s neck.

“Oh, you know, weddings are so stressful.” The twinkle of humor in Brad’s eyes grew bright. “Dealing with family, with friends…” Brad lifted his brow. “We’ve been together twelve years, but the event was bound to put a strain on our relationship.”

A sympathetic murmur escaped Brandy’s lips, and Cole narrowed his eyes at his friend. Damn Brad and his love of the absurd. Of course he was amused. The stripper assumed they were in the midst of a lovers’ spat just days before they were set to tie the knot.

Cole sent him a sarcastic smile. “And whose idea was it to get married?”

“Mine,” Brad said. He looked up at Brandy, the picture of sincerity. “Of the two of us, I’m the romantic one.”

Brandy looked like she was going to melt, and Cole rolled his eyes.

“The trouble started yesterday when I kissed Cole,” Brad said, nodding in his direction.

Her brow crinkled in surprise. “And when is a kiss a problem?”

A hundred responses paraded through Cole’s brain. When there’s an upcoming wedding? With a fiancée, not a fiancé?

Or how about because of their damn
history?

Instead, Brad went on with a mock-soulful look, as if his heart had been broken. “I was so upset when he wouldn’t kiss me back.”

Son of a…

Cole couldn’t help it. He let out a loud, indignant huff.

Brandy pursed her lips and rounded Brad’s chair, coming to a stop between them, annoying Cole by blocking the visual daggers he was currently hurling at Brad. She reached down and gripped the edges of Brad’s shirt, pulling him to his feet. The surprise on his face made Cole laugh, until she dragged his friend over and gently pushed him onto his lap.

“Time to kiss and make up, boys.”

Dumbfounded, Cole looked up at Brad, hoping his mouth wasn’t hanging open like his jaw was broken, fingers tight around his empty tumbler. Brad looked pleasantly surprised and totally on board with Brandy’s plan, that cocky grin reappearing as he twisted to straddle Cole’s legs.

Brandy looked as if she’d just negotiated a lasting world peace.

Despite the pleasure paralyzing his muscles, Cole raised his free hand to Brad’s chest and tried to sit up, intent on pushing him off. But Brandy was now positioned behind Cole, and she lightly pressed her hands to his shoulders, keeping him in the chair.

Her breath at his ear, she said, “Why don’t you cut your fiancé here some slack?”

For some reason, the spark of amusement in Brad’s eyes was instantly doused, replaced by a gaze dark enough to blot out the sun. “Jesus, Cole,” Brad said. It was the first time Cole had ever seen the younger man ruffled. “I just want to know…”

Brad swallowed hard, and Cole followed the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple beneath clear skin. God, he’d always been obsessed with that smooth neck.

Cole slammed his lids shut. “Damn it, Brad,” he growled, giving in to the need torturing him since yesterday. Since the day they
first met
. “Do it already.”

Cole had expected a crash landing of their mouths. Because that was Brad’s MO. He barreled his way through life. No regrets. No second-guessing himself.

Leap first, set the broken bones later.

Instead, Brad slotted his mouth against Cole’s, fitting his lower lip into the dip beneath Cole’s as if they were two pieces to a puzzle. As if relearning the texture. Cautiously testing his welcome. Several seconds passed as Cole adjusted to the feel of Brad’s hard thighs around his hips, that amazing mouth shifting above his, the burn of stubble against his chin.

Though the intent behind the kiss slowly grew, Cole resisted. Until Brad groaned and gripped Cole’s hair, forcing his head back and his mouth open, and Cole couldn’t fake his ambivalence anymore. The moment Brad began to fuck Cole’s mouth with his tongue, Cole moaned, the tumbler slipping from his fingers. The glass hit the floor and rolled noisily across the wood, leaving the smell of Scotch in the air.

The kiss went from curiously exploratory to wet, hot, and filthy in an instant, rendering Cole powerless.

He headed up a trauma team consisting of several doctors and nurses. He directed codes with ease on less than four hours of sleep. What few relationships he’d had in the past, he’d always been the one to assume the dominant role, both in bed and out. And there was something disturbingly hot about being handed his ass on a platter and being owned.

Especially when the one doing the owning was Brad Kelly.

His body celebrated with a silent
yes
when Brad pushed Brandy’s hands from Cole’s shoulders before tunneling his fingers under Cole’s shirt. Taking possession. Brad splayed his hands across Cole’s ribs as if to help keep the thundering heart beneath from bursting.

Cole clutched Brad’s waist as Brad slid his fingers higher up Cole’s chest, mouth hot on his. Cole finally became aware of the rutting of his friend’s hips against his own.

And there was no way Cole could resist the action.

His cock nearly howled with relief when he began to rock his hips in time with Brad’s, seeking friction. Seeking heat. Seeking
relief
. Knowing that years of waiting and wanting couldn’t be so easily satisfied.

Pulling his head back, Cole dumbly stared up at Brad’s flushed face.

Green eyes locked on his, Brad said, “Brandy, give us a minute alone, please.”

Neither one of them watched to see if Brandy complied.

As far as Cole was concerned, he’d finally achieved just about everything he’d ever wanted, only to be proven wrong when Brad’s hands fell to the front of Cole’s pants. Brad’s heated, dark gaze focused on the task as the sound of snaps and zippers and shuffling clothes filled the air. Brad reached into Cole’s boxers and—

“
Christ
,” Cole hissed, the feel of Brad’s hand on his dick almost too much.

Brad shifted his hips until their cocks lined up, hard flesh pressed against hard flesh. The whimper that escaped Cole’s throat was louder than it should have been. He reached up to press his palm between Brad’s shoulder blades, his free hand twisting in the edge of the unbuttoned shirt and hauling Brad down for a kiss. Arching into him until their sweat-slicked cocks slipped against each other, and the last of Cole’s brain functions shut down.

He closed up the running commentary in his head telling him this was a bad idea. That, somewhere, Brandy might still be in the room. That he didn’t want to be part of some sexual experiment on Brad’s second-to-last night of freedom.

Cole gave himself over to the sensation, riding the waves of pleasure with a greediness that could only be described as undignified. Their mouths never broke contact as Cole and Brad bucked in unison. Cole’s orgasm gained momentum, closing in from behind at a rate that was shocking, and he slipped his hands down the back of Brad’s jeans, gripping his ass to better coordinate their movements. He dug his fingers into the hard muscle. The speed of their hips didn’t change, but the intensity of the thrusts grew more forceful. More powerful. An almost angry desperation to the act.

Along the way Brad seemed to lose control over his mouth, unable to coordinate a kiss. Instead, his lips simply parted against Cole’s, and damp, panting breaths filled the nonexistent space between their mouths. Until Brad arched his neck, exposing all that smooth skin…and Cole fell on Brad’s throat as if he were starving.

Mapping the contour with his lips.

Tracing the underside of the jaw with his tongue.

When Cole scraped his teeth across the bounding pulse, Brad called out his name with a hoarse groan, hot streaks of cum striping Cole’s trunk.

The feel of Brad shooting his load across his skin punched the orgasm from Cole’s body. Forcing the air from his lungs. Wrenching the blood from his veins.

As the painful pleasure pounded through Cole and slowly eased, Brad sagged against him. Cole closed his eyes, loosely holding on to Brad’s hips as he drifted down from the high that might just prove to be his undoing.

Several minutes must have passed before they shifted and Brad stood. Brandy was missing from the room, but a box of tissues was sitting on a nearby table. Feeling hot and flushed and all kinds of awkward, Cole cleaned himself up and adjusted his clothes. Brad looked deep in thought as he did the same, zipping his jeans and tucking in his shirt. And Cole wondered how they were going to get beyond this twisted turn in their friendship.

The only consolation was that Ryan and Martinez would be so wasted by now, neither would notice the mess Cole and Brad had made of their clothes.

A knock at the door occurred just before a familiar voice called out, “You decent?”

In cut-offs and a halter top, Brandy reentered the room.

“I think we bypassed decent about twenty minutes ago,” Brad said drily.