Page 12 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
“Me? Why the hell are you coming at me?”
“Between the Beast, the baller, and the two of us with brides, you’re the last pick,” Gage said, and the rest of the guys laughed.
After the day he’d had, Josh left work wanting nothing more than to go home, grab a hot shower and a cold beer. Which was ironic because his unexpected back-seat driver moved the first two into the delete file. Only leaving the cold beer and a hot woman still in play. A hot woman who looked a hell of a lot younger than him—mid twenties tops. And a woman who had distraction written all over her. And if there was one thing Josh didn’t need right now, it was a distraction. He’d worked too hard to get to this point in his career, and he wasn’t about to lose sight of the prize.
“When was the last time you had a woman screaming something in your ear other than 'Objection, Your Honor!'?” Owen, the closet to Josh in age and, up until a moment ago, his favorite brother, said.
“Screw you.”
“Sorry, whiny event planners aren’t my thing,” Owen said. “But they have services who can hook you up with that.”
Josh might not be famous like his brothers, but he never had a hard time finding company of the female variety. In fact, he’d had a date lined up for tonight but had to cancel because he was running late.
“Since when did you become so interested in my sex life?”
“Since it’s clear you aren’t getting any on the regular. The constipated look around your eyes”—Rhett made eye-sized circles with his fingers—“is a dead giveaway.”
Josh might be uptight, but after his dad passed, he had to let go of some of the parts of him that didn’t benefit his new life direction—the impulsive, fun seeking fraternity guy who wanted nothing more than to enjoy the college life, then work his way into a venture capitalist firm.
Then his dad passed and, in an instant, his life went from fun in the California sun to being the head of the family. He’d let go of his dream of working in a tech startup and enrolled in Stanford Law School. Unlike his brothers, Josh didn’t allow himself the luxury of time to grow up, instead finishing up law school with an offer from Portland’s district attorney’s office.
The DA’s office had been his top choice, landing him on the exact route he’d envisioned for his new career path. Now that he was this close to becoming the next District Attorney, a new dream was forming and within arm’s length.
Josh wanted to make a difference, and the DA’s office seemed like the best place to start. Now he was on the fast track to really being able to invoke change. While his Boy Scout attitude and diplomatic ways drove his brothers nuts, it served him well as an elected law official.
“I’m not the only bachelor tonight,” Josh pointed out. He thought back to his unexpected fare and her pink silk with black hearts and smiled. Maybe everything had worked out for a reason. “I go to trial tomorrow. What’s your excuse?” he asked Rhett.
Owen filled Clay’s mug with a local craft Amber Ale beer. “Yeah, where’s Stephanie?”
Rhett’s grin vanished, and he ran a hand down his jaw. “She had some paid appearance she couldn’t get out of.”
“I haven’t seen her since your wedding,” Owen said.
“Feels like I haven’t either,” Rhett said, and Josh noticed, not for the first time, that his brother didn’t seem as happy as a newlywed should be. “Between her schedule and mine, I think we’ve spent more nights apart than together since the honeymoon.”
“Sorry, Bro,” Clay said. His quiet, contemplative tone was in direct contrast with the broken nose and cracked rib, courtesy of some New England Patriots punk and his unsportsman-like tackle.
There might be a twelve-year age gap between them, making Clay the baby of the family, but he was the easy-going one of the brothers. Always had been. His level head and laser focus had made him a Superbowl MVP.
“Me too. I figured when I got married,” Rhett, his middle brother, said, “I’d have one woman in my bed for the rest of my life. Now I’m sleeping next to a damn furball.”
Rhett and his new wife, Stephanie, had had a mountain of problems from the very beginning. Conflicting schedules, differing goals, private problems in the public eye. Josh felt as if they had rushed into the marriage, but love made people do stupid things.
Rhett was a guitar prodigy on the brink of stardom, and Stephanie was an influencer with millions of Instagram followers and events booked up through the next year. If you asked Josh, their lifestyle wasn’t conducive to a stable and solid relationship. Bummer, since Rhett had spoken nonstop about trying for kids the moment they were married. The only baby Stephanie wanted was their fur-baby, a maltipoo named Fancy, who preferred to go on the road with his rock star dad than his jet-setting mom.
“Have you thought about meeting her halfway?” Gage, the man of the hour, asked. “Surprising her? Maybe being at the airport in Milan or wherever she’s flying to next.”
“Yeah,” Owen added. “Bring her a bracelet, take her to some fancy dinner.”
“Or,” a sex-soaked voice said. Owen’s mouth dropped open, and Josh was sure his brother had stopped breathing. “Pick her up, bring her back to an Airbnb, cook her a nice dinner and stay in.”
“What the lady said,” Owen added, then leaned across the bar. “What can I get you, Sugar? No, wait, let me figure this out. It’s my talent.”
“Pouring drinks? Isn’t that what a bartender does?” she asked, looking unintimidated and unimpressed, and Josh liked her more.
“Which means, I make a mean . . .” Owen snapped his fingers, studying her as if by correctly guessing her drink of choice he would unlock all her hidden secrets. Josh had seen his brother do it before—and with alarming accuracy—but somehow he felt that Piper was a little out of his league. One final snap. “A Negroni. It’s made with gin, Campari and sweet vermouth.” His hands were moving quickly and precisely around the bar, mixing and shaking, pouring it into a martini glass. “An Italian refresher for an Italian lady.”
“Like the rest of the world who watched Stanly Tucci’s tutorial, I know what a Negroni is. Plus, I’m Greek and before you say on Orzotini, I’m not a stemmed-glass kind of girl. Nor am I an alcohol kind of girl.” Owen wasn’t fazed, his gaze falling right to that sexy little nose ring.
