Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy Read online

  “You work all day as it is. What got your panties in a twist? Saving for a trip around the world?”

  “Haha. So funny.”

  You have no idea, cuz.

  Just then the door clicks open, letting inside a breath of cold air, followed by Joel and Candy. My cue to leave, but at least it saves me from having to answer.

  I struggle to sit up, and my stomach lurches, full of beer and nothing else, my vision swimming. “I really should get going.”

  “Man, just sit down,” Jet grumbles, shoving me back.

  And then Brylee walks in, and my mind stops.

  Ooh fuck. Okay, I’m staying.

  ***

  I’m staring. Can’t fucking help myself, and not just because I’m trashed. Damn, she’s pretty. Copper curls caught in a low ponytail, a mouth made to be kissed, and curves made to be touched and licked and…

  “Riddick?” she says, her voice hushed.

  She remembers my name.

  I grin widely and lift my almost empty bottle. “Princess.”

  Her cheeks turn pink, and those long-lashed hazel eyes look away. “Yes.”

  Yes? She said yes?

  God, she’s killing me. She’s pretty much owned me with her soft reply. Ever since I first met her here at Jet’s apartment one day, I’ve spent nights dreaming of her, of what I’d do to her, how I’d take her, how she’d moan my name. How she’d give herself to me.

  But she turns and follows Candy to the kitchen without another word.

  I blink and rush to climb to my feet, weaving like a drunk.

  Which I am.

  Very drunk. I can tell from the way the room tilts and keeps going, so that I lurch sideways and knock into a wall.

  “Fucker.” This is Joel, Jet’s boyfriend, his hand steering me away from said wall. “What’s wrong with you? Jet, what did you give him, and can I have some, too?”

  “Just two beers,” Jet says, miraculously appearing beside me. He gives me a long look. “They shouldn’t have hit him so hard.”

  “Did you eat tonight?” Joel demands, and that’s easy, so I shake my head.

  “Or today all day?” Jet asks, and it takes me a moment to think back.

  Then I shake my head again.

  “Fuck, another one who forgets to eat,” Joel mutters and drags me into the kitchen.

  Fortunate, since that was the way I was heading before I crashed into the wall.

  The smell of food hits me the moment we enter, and my stomach growls like a MOFO. A cramp hits me, and I groan softly, bending over.

  “Dammit, man.” Jet pulls out a chair and I fall into it. “That sounded like a bear. Wait a sec… Since when haven’t you eaten?”

  I shrug, not sure.

  “Is he related to you?” Joel grumbles. “Oh, right, he is. Candy, fix a plate for our guest?”

  “What’s going on?” Candy asks. She has take-out boxes open in front of her, where the heavenly smell is coming from. “You like Indian, Rid?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter.

  Anything.

  “He pulled a Jethro,” Joel says accusingly. “Forgot to eat.”

  Huh.

  “I didn’t forget,” I whisper with a wisp of irritation—or maybe exhaustion.

  Why the fuck am I replying? I should keep my mouth shut. Booze makes me chatty.

  The thing is…right now I have no money, since Xavier cleaned me out. I’m saving my last pennies for the rent and the gas I need to drive to work. Since borrowing money ain’t my style, I have been saving on food.

  A bad idea, maybe, but what are my options?

  “Rid. Here.” A plate appears in front of me, and Candy leans in to place a fork in my hand. “You can start.”

  A tiny voice in the back of my mind insists I wait for them, but my hand is already closing around the fork, and I’m digging in like I haven’t eaten in a year.

  Oh God. This is as good as an orgasm.

  Haven’t had one of those in a while, either.

  Jeez, Rid.

  I vacuum my food, stopping short from licking the plate clean when I’m done, and I couldn’t even tell you what I ate. Rice, sauce. Meat, perhaps.

  Sighing, I look up, right into the eyes of Brylee.

  The girl I can’t stop thinking about.

  The girl who’s starring in my night-time fantasies.

  The girl I’d like to impress.

  “You have sauce,” she says and taps her chin. “Here.”

  Fuck. Me.

  ***

  I refuse a second serving because my stomach is churning. Not sure if it’s embarrassment, anxiety, the beers, or the spicy curry I inhaled.

  Probably all of it.

  The guys wander back to the living room, and I follow, AKA I drag my sorry self along, sipping a glass of water. I couldn’t have stayed back in the kitchen if I’d tried, Brylee’s coppery curls and heart-shaped ass drawing me like bait on a hook.

  I’m caught, sure as hell, and I can’t even tell you why. I mean, the girl’s sexy, no doubt about it. But I haven’t been hooked like that in ages.

  A good fuck is what I need, I decide as I perch on the sofa armrest, willing my stomach to settle. A good fuck and for my luck to turn.

  Problem is, I’ve never believed in luck. There has never been anyone but me changing the terms, changing things around. It’s up to me to fix this.

  I know what I need to do.

  Talk to Xavier.

  Check on my parents, make sure they haven’t stabbed each other during one of their fights.

  Find money. Start by finding a better-paying job. Or a second job. Anything to make ends meet.

  Then, after all this is done, allow myself to be distracted by my body’s needs. It doesn’t have to be this girl. Or any girl, even. Could be a man, too. I’ve seen Nash, a guy at work, giving me looks. He’d do just fine. I just need to scratch this itch and get on with life.

  I know all this for a fact. Even as I feel my brain sloshing inside my skull, and the alcohol inside my stomach, I know those are my priorities.

  And then Brylee turns toward me, and the light in my brain goes out. Snap. I can’t remember what I was thinking. Don’t know, don’t care.

  She’s all I can see, her eyes, her mouth, the arch of her neck, the swell of her tits, and my body reacts as if touched by lightning.

  The fuck.

  “Riddick,” she says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Pass me a napkin?”

  Get your mind back on track, Rid. “Here.” I almost tip over as I lean forward to grab one for her. “And you have something…”

  Her eyes widen. “Where?”

  “Here.” I reach out, trail a finger over her mouth. Fuck, her lips are so soft. I wipe at a tiny speck of sauce I might have imagined.

  She sucks in a sharp breath and draws back.

  I let my hand fall.

  “You’re pretty,” I tell her. It’s the truth. I tend to be brutally honest even when not drunk off my ass.

  And she’s brutally beautiful.

  She has golden freckles on her nose. Her skin is creamy where her sweater plunges down to the curve of her boobs. Her legs are long, and I’m caught in the image of them wrapped around my waist as I pound into her.

  Caught, yeah. So fucking caught.

  I’d wrap my hand in those copper curls, pull her head back until her body bows. I’d lick every inch of her, see if she tastes as sweet as she looks. Taste every part of her, feel her clench around my dick until I can’t hold back any more, and—

  “Is that a tattoo?” Brylee asks, staring at my neck.

  “Yeah.” My voice has gone kinda hoarse with all the filthy thoughts filling my head, and my dick is hardening inside my jeans. “Wanna see?”

  “How big is it? Where…” She swallows, and my jeans tighten more. “Where does it end?”

  How big. My thoughts become derailed again. “Big,” I grind out the word, and I swear her gaze dips to the tent I’m pitching in my pan
ts.

  I’m pretty sure about that, because the blush on her cheeks deepens.

  “I can’t go out with you, Riddick,” she says. “My body and soul belong to Ryan.”

  I blink at her, her words making no sense. What the fuck? Also… “Who the hell’s Bryan?”

  “Ryan.”

  Candy is shaking her head and biting her lip not to laugh.

  What am I missing here? “Ryan, whatever.”

  “Ryan Dawson. He’s my soul mate.” Brylee’s gaze goes distant. “He’s so smart. And handsome. And sexy. I saw him at the gym the other day. He’s dreamy.”

  “Bry…” Candy elbows Brylee in the ribs. “Get a hold of yourself. Why are you telling Riddick all this?”

  Yeah, why? Jesus fuck.

  “Just setting things straight,” Brylee says.

  My hackles are rising. I’ve never been rejected before making an advance before. It’s a new low. “I didn’t ask you out, woman.”

  “But you could have.”

  I glance at Jet and Joel for help with this one. I mean… chicks. They are engaged to Candy, so they have more experience. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter.

  But they both shake their heads. No help there.

  Besides, she’s right. I could have asked her out.

  Would have.

  But there’s this fucking Ryan asshole who’s gotten her attention. Sounds like he has her wrapped around his little finger.

  “So he’s your boyfriend?” I mutter, pissed off, and strangely, sharply disappointed. “Or not?”

  “Not yet,” she clarifies, her eyes doing that distant-dreamy-in-love thing again. Her lashes flutter.

  “Or maybe ever,” Candy stage-whispers. She looks partly amused, partly exasperated. “If Ryan has anything to say about it, apparently.”

  I stare from one to the other, confused. Maybe it’s the booze. “You’re not together?”

  “Together? They’ve never even talked,” Candy says, glancing at her friend. “Apart from Brylee asking him out and him refusing.”

  “Candy!” Brylee doesn’t look embarrassed, or even repentant. Her eyes shine bright with some emotion I can’t name. “He has his reasons.”

  “Which we’ll never know.”

  “Getting a guy needs work.”

  “Not that much work,” Joel mutters.

  Jet clears his throat. “Guys are pretty straight-forward, Brylee. I think he’d have let you know by now if he wanted to do the ugly deed with you.”

  “Ugly deed?” Brylee opens her mouth, closes it. “Oh. Nookie?”

  Who says nookie nowadays? Is the girl a granny in disguise? Or a virgin?

  Now there’s an intriguing thought.

  And who is this guy that has a girl like her at his beck and call—and doesn’t want her? Is he fucking blind? I mean, I get not wanting to marry her and have kids with her right away, but taking her to bed? Christ, I’d give my right nut for that.

  I wanna meet this guy who has such power over chicks.

  Over Brylee.

  “I have a plan,” she says and gives a tiny, secret smile.

  Her words echo my thoughts from before.

  A plan.

  Only she’s talking about getting the attention of a guy who obviously isn’t interested, while I’m talking about the difference between living under a roof or on the street.

  Between losing my brother to a potential deadly threat, or saving him.

  What the hell am I doing here? Pretending everything’s fine, sort of flirting with a pretty girl who’s clearly in love with another guy and wasting time instead of putting my brain to work on more pressing problems.

  I lurch to my feet, and open my mouth to give my thanks for dinner and announce my intention to leave.

  Instead, my first dinner in days comes up, and I throw up all over the carpet.

  Oh jeez. Are you fucking kidding me?

  Awesome first impressions.

  Chapter Three

  Ladyfingers

  Ryan

  “Not hungry?” my father asks sternly.

  I squint at him across the long table. It’s ridiculous that we can’t eat at a smaller table, or God forbid, in the kitchen, with the smell of cooking around us, close enough to touch each other.

  Hell, to see each other.

  “I’m eating.” I resist the urge to lift my plate and show him. I’m not five years old. Even though with my father it always feels as if I am.

  “Do you eat breakfast every day, though?” He points his knife at me from the other end of the table.

  I’m guessing it’s his knife. It could just as well be a light saber, for all I can see in the gloom.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fiber? Protein? You’re careful with the fat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you doing your standard check-ups?”

  “Sure,” I reply without missing a beat. Small lies go a long way, and my father has been obsessed with doctors and health since Mom died ten years ago.

  “Everything fine, then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This is standard conversation over lunch. My father has very strict views about eating habits. Also about exercise habits, hygiene habits and living habits.

  “You know I’m worried about you, son.”

  Surprised, I look up. This is out of order. I mean, sure I know he worries in general, but this direct statement… “I’m fine.”

  He’s staring at me, and I shift in my hard seat.

  Hard seats, hardwood furniture, dark paneling, medals and diplomas hanging from the walls. The house my mom loved has been slowly turning into a dark castle. A man cave.

  My father never even considered looking for another wife. For all I know, he hasn’t even as much as looked at another woman in his life.

  “Good,” he eventually says, and goes back to cutting up his steak in precise little bites. “What about your love life? Anyone you’d like me to meet?”

  Fuck, no.

  Though this question isn’t so out of the ordinary, so I settle back down, chewing my greens. “No, sir.”

  “You know I’m here for you, Ryan.”

  I smile at that. “I know.”

  He’s a good father. He could never replace Mom even if he tried. He’s too rigid, too curt, too… cold.

  But he has tried. Done his best. He made sure I lacked nothing growing up. And he accepts me as I am.

  At least I think he does. We’ve never talked about my sexuality. Hell, we’ve never even talked about my favorite food or color, so yeah.

  I mean, I like girls. A lot. I’ve slept with my fair share of women. But I like guys, too, although apart from a few casual encounters, a blowjob or a handjob in the dark, I never gave them much thought.

  Anyway, I assume my father is telling me that he’d be fine whether I brought home a girlfriend or a boyfriend.

  Then again, I might be wrong. It’s not like he explains himself much. In fact, this conversation is the most we’ve had on any average week, during our ritual lunch meeting.

  “Nobody at all you like?” My father sends another of those searching looks my way.

  Or maybe he’s looking for the salt. I’ve been looking for it, too.

  “No, I…” There’s one girl. One persistent, annoying, funny girl. But… “No.”

  He shakes his head. “One day you’ll find the one meant for you, like I did,” he says.

  And then lost her, I think, a shadow passing over my soul. That almost broke you in half. Almost sent you after her.

  Nobody should have to go through such pain.

  ***

  Work is okay, same old, same old. I shouldn’t complain. I was lucky to land this investment analyst job first thing out of college. I’m good at it. My colleagues are nice. My boss isn’t an asshole.

  Everything’s awesome.

  So I shouldn’t be checking out the door every five minutes for a certain girl’s voice and laughter.
/>   I don’t even want to admit it to myself, but I was hoping that Brylee would come in and invite me for a drink again.

  Why would she? I’ve brushed her off too many times.

  I have my reasons.

  Reasons she doesn’t know, and won’t ever know, if I have anything to say about it.

  There’s a meeting in ten minutes. I’ve prepared everything. I’m ready.

  That’s how my life is these days: ticking away like a clock, every activity planned and slotted in my schedule, every meal prepared with an eye toward health factors, every exercise selected for maximum benefits and minimum damage.

  As it should be.

  My mom wouldn’t have approved. She was all for fun and carpe diem.

  She’s not here to tell me so. And that has to mean something, though I’m not sure exactly what. Would she have lived, had she done as I am doing? Would it have been enough?

  I’ve been thinking a lot about that, lately. Her carpe diem. Did she live enough? Did she do all the things she wanted?

  Am I? Doing the things I want?

  Cursing, I grab my folder. I’ll be late for the meeting. Why the hell am I having these doubts now? Christ. I’ve made my decisions. I’m sticking to them.

  Fuming at myself, folder in hand, I stride out of the little office I share with my colleague Dale and down the long corridor toward the meeting room.

  Caitlyn, our receptionist, wiggles her fingers at me and strokes her neck.

  Frowning, I turn away, clutching the folder harder. She’s new here. Doesn’t know I’m not in the game, not anymore. Not for a while now.

  Then Joan steps out of her office and falls in step beside me. “May I join you?”

  “You have.”

  She smiles. “Meetings make me so thirsty. I was thinking of grabbing coffee later. They make these great cappuccinos down the street.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  She says nothing more as we take our seats around the big, round table and open our files. There’s a disappointed tilt to her mouth, but she’ll get over it.

  Over me.

  She’s an analyst, like me, and we went to school together. Slept together, too, a few times, and that was a mistake.

  Don’t get me wrong. She’s a beautiful, elegant woman with a mind sharper than mine and a bright future ahead of her.

  But she thinks we can pick up where we left off. That I’ll change my mind.