Shannon's Fairy-Tale Foursome (20 page)

Sam threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. What can I get you?”

“Jack Daniel’s,” Drew replied, hoping that drink would be strong enough to drown the gnawing ache growing inside of him, demanding he go back on his hands and knees to beg for forgiveness.

After escaping, his anxiety had shot through the roof as reality set in and comprehension dawned. He saw that he’d overreacted a bit. Mentally, he chuckled in self-condemnation.
A bit?
That would be an understatement of epic proportions. He’d overreacted
a lot
.

None of this morning’s fiasco added up. She might have apologized in her sleep, but it couldn’t have been about fucking them. If she regretted it, she wouldn’t have been moaning in the bathroom with Randy first thing this morning. She wouldn’t have told him that she wasn’t giving up on them.

No, she would have thrown them out on their ears, probably naked and without the keys to their trucks. His woman was a spiteful, vengeful little thing who would keep his life colorful.

If she’ll take your stupid ass back
. He had royally fucked up, and she would make him crawl, begging and pleading the whole way. Like the besotted fool he was turning into, he would do it for her, and her alone, if it meant he could have her in his arms and in their bed.

Damn, he didn’t even know how to apologize. It wasn’t like he’d done it before. If he figured out what to say and how to say it, would he even be ready? The jury was still out on that one.

“I’m so sorry.” Her words popped into his head, latching on and refusing to let go. God, he’d never known three words could hurt the way those three did. He’d thought the pain would surely suffocate him.

Okay, so he wasn’t ready to apologize, even though he knew she was right. He
was
scared.

God, he hated this. He felt helpless and confused, weak and out of control. Was this how his bastard father had felt when his mother closed him out? Were these emotions responsible for a father turning his aggression on his own son? He couldn’t answer those questions and neither could his dead scumbag father. Drew would go to his grave never knowing why his father abused him—and only him.

Drew rubbed his hand across his face, remembering every detail of the years he had sworn to never think of. He relived it and breathed it, the air poisonous to his lungs.

His breathing became harder and harsher, each breath feeling more painful than the last. Air barely passed the massive lump in his throat, tightening his windpipe and choking him. He gasped for air, his mouth going drier than the Sahara desert and his lungs burning hotter than a forest fire.

No! I’m not that boy. I’m a man with a choice.
And he had chosen to not go back there—in mind or body—years ago. It had been the right decision then, and it was the right decision now. He couldn’t live that way again.
Then why did I dream about him last night?

Someone clapped Drew on the back, startling him. He wheeled around to find out who had approached him and found Katie-Anne’s friends, Ethan Bartlett and Brett Monroe. Those two, along with Sam, had created quite a stir in town. Shane and Landon were jealous. Gray was murderous.

Honestly, Drew had no beef with the three men, but they hadn’t given him a reason to. If they sniffed around Shannon like they had with Katie-Anne or played jealousy games with her like they had with Jaycee, he would be their worst fucking nightmare. His three friends combined would have nothing on him.

“Hey, boys,” Drew greeted coolly as if he wasn’t coming apart at the seams, as if the emotion turmoil wasn’t eating at him. “Want to join me?”

He preferred that they declined his invitation and got the hell away from him. But, of course, no such luck.

Brett, the big, burly former marine, took the stool two seats down from Drew’s while Ethan plopped down on the worn bar stool between them. Smiling congenially, Ethan said, “So, we heard your yelling match with that luscious lady of yours.”

Drew’s hackles rose and he growled reflexively, warning everyone around him. The bastard apparently did want to gain another enemy in Serenity.
Bring it on, pretty boy
.

Pouring the amber liquid into a highball glass, Sam placed it on the dark, glossy hardwood bar. Drew plucked his glass up and slung back the entire contents of the glass in a single, lengthy swallow. Relishing the blistering heat ripping down his esophagus, he slammed the glass down and demanded, “More, damn it.”

“Whoa there, big brother.” Randy strolled up behind him and laid his palm on Drew’s back, leaning over him and ordering, “I’ll take a scotch on the rocks, Sam, before you refill the lush’s drink.”

“Randy, leave the poor bastard alone,” Jared chided, joining them. He stepped between Randy and Ethan before he explained to everyone within hearing distance, “Drew didn’t get any this morning.”

Randy snorted, taking his scotch from Sam’s hand. “Neither did you, but you aren’t being a pain in everyone’s ass.”

“He isn’t being a pain in my ass,” Ethan chimed in with a grin. “I’m enjoying his discomfort. A man willing to take on that handful deserves everything he gets.”

“By handful, I hope you are
not
referring to our woman.” Randy’s jovial mood disappeared, his face darkening dangerously, and ice dripped from his tone, directly contrasting the blazing furnace in his blue eyes. “I will kill your ugly ass. Don’t look at her. Don’t talk about her. You stay the fuck away from her.”

Ethan laughed, his clean-cut, too-pretty face lighting up. He looked more like the lead singer in a boy band and less like a full-grown cowboy-turned-businessman. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t take that crazy woman off your hands for all of the porn stars in the world.” He paused, sipping the beer from his frosty mug. “She may be as gorgeous as a 1920s pinup model, but she’s even more than I can handle.”

“You needn’t worry about that, pretty boy. You won’t be handling a hair on her head unless you want to lose your arm,” Randy sneered contemptuously, towering over the object of his animosity.

“Back off, Randy,” Jared decreed, unruffled. “Ethan’s just trying to get our goat.”

And he succeeded beautifully. Drew’s hand itched to pummel Ethan’s supermodel face. When he was done with him, Ethan would require a team of surgeons to repair not only his face, but also his body.

Jared seized Drew’s clenched fist in a firm grip and said sternly, “Don’t do it. He’s not worth it.”

Drew didn’t agree. Evidently, Randy didn’t, either. He curled his lip and jeered. “I don’t give a fuck. He’s about to get something, all right, and it isn’t our goddamn goat.”

Brett smacked Ethan on the back of his head. “Cut it out. You’re about to swim in scalding water. I’m not in the mood to save your pretentious ass.”

Ethan rolled his dark eyes, seemingly oblivious to the fact he treaded a fine line with three enraged men. “I’m not scared of these doofuses.”

“You don’t need to worry about just these three,” Brett told him, the warning explicit in his gravelly tone. “Keep pushing and every man in town is going to bury you alive and dance on your grave.”

Sam refilled Drew’s whiskey and remarked mockingly, “Don’t worry about him. He loves to push everyone’s buttons.”

“I do not,” Ethan disagreed with a sullen frown.

Drew eyeballed Ethan, dissecting and inspecting. This man needed a reality check before harm came to his front door, barged in, and kicked his ass from here to the end of the world and back again. Drew wasn’t so sure that he, and his brothers, wouldn’t be the ones doing the ass-kicking. “He’s going to push the wrong person’s buttons.”

“Oh, he already has,” Sam announced animatedly. “Brooklyn Sokolov’s best friend, Josie Martin, can’t stand the sight of him. Mr. I’m-God’s-Gift hit on her with the cheesiest pickup line ever.”

Sam broke off with a snicker. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” He barely managed to utter the entire pickup line before laughing his ass off. “Needless to say, she wasn’t exactly appreciative of his attention and didn’t take him up on his offer. And, now, she breathes fire in his direction every time he gets within ten feet of her. Doesn’t she, angel boy?”

Ethan grimaced, flushing slightly. “I plan to stay the hell away from that crazy woman. She’s worse than Shannon.”

Randy grumbled unintelligibly, but his thunderous face made discernible words unnecessary.

Brett plucked a peanut out of the bowl sitting in front of him, tossed it high in the air, and caught it with his mouth. “You haven’t been so far. You follow that girl shamelessly. You’re worse than a lost puppy looking for a new home.”

Ethan picked up a peanut and launched it at Brett’s head, hitting him on the side of the face. “Shut up, Brett. You’re as bad as I am.”

Brett scowled gravely, replying with a condescending, “Not hardly.”

Sam cut in. “They both are.” He grabbed a damp bar cloth and wiped away the mess and stickiness, leaving a wide, wet streak behind. “It’s kind of funny.”

“What about you? Don’t you like her,” Randy quizzed Sam, arching his eyebrow inquisitively.

Sam stared off into space, half-heartedly rubbing the counter with smooth, even strokes. He explained, “She’s not my type.”

“But
Brooklyn
is,” Ethan responded dryly, swallowing the last of his beer.

Randy shook his head in confusion. “How is that going to work? I thought you three shared.”

“Sometimes,” Sam clarified, “but only when we need it. I wouldn’t share on a permanent basis with those two.”

Ethan ribbed, “Yeah, Sam. We wouldn’t share with you, either.”

“You know you two want my banging body.” Sam’s glib rejoinder was accompanied by eyebrow wiggling and a lascivious smirk.

Ethan flipped Sam off. “Bullshit. You couldn’t keep me half as satisfied as Brett.”

“Yeah?” Sam winked, maintaining his crude harassment. “That’s because I haven’t been fucking you anytime we don’t have girlfriends.”

Randy stopped middrink, spilling a drop or two of his scotch down the front of his shirt. “Whoa! You two are…” He trailed off, visibly baffled and unsure of how to continue without overstepping any tenuous, friendly boundaries. Randy swiped a napkin from its holder, wiping at the dribbled liquid.

Brett filled in the blank easily and without hesitation, “Friends with benefits.”

Randy unabashedly persisted with his intrusive prying, “How did no one know that?”

“Because people only see what they want to see,” Ethan declared, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “We love women, so they assumed we’re straight men who share. When, in fact, Brett and I are bisexual, and we occasionally play around with each other.”

Brett nodded earnestly, his eyes sad. “People don’t know shit about us. Ethan and I have been fuck buddies for years, and we share purely for the fun of it—with or without Sam. One day we’ll each find our own woman, and that will be that. No more sharing, and no more friendly fucking.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the end of it,” Sam agreed. Dropping his cloth on the bar with a
plop
, he shuffled down to the sink and washed his hands.

Tense silence ensued, engulfing the group. No one seemed to know what to say or how to act.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ethan finally said as he stood clumsily, his movements stilted and jerky. “I think I’m going to head out.”

Brett got to his feet, his powerfully built body overshadowing all of the men around him, and murmured, “Me, too.”

The men strolled away without another word.

Randy summed up what all of them thought. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jared scratched his scruffy chin. “That was interesting. Wonder what that was all about?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Drew stood up and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, tossing down enough to cover the drink and a tip. “I’m gone.”

He turned to leave, but he was blocked by Jared and Randy. They trapped him in between their two bodies, blocking his exit. He wanted to pump his fist in the air. Jonesing for a fight, his brothers provided the perfect excuse for a bar brawl.

Come on, boys, just a little more aggression,
his inner warrior whispered.
I’m ready to take your asses down, but let’s make it worthwhile.

Randy chuckled, “You are aware that we feel the fight inside of you, right? Well, brother, open up and feel ours.”

Opening his senses fully, awareness hit Drew squarely between the eyes. They craved what he craved, wanted what he wanted, needed what he needed—to pound each other into the ground. Their reasons varied, but the compulsion was clear.
Fight.

Jared probably believed that knocking some sense into him would fix everything, that he would fall in line, his fears disappearing and his attitude changing.
Poof.
Life would be as perfect as living in a rerun of
Leave It to Beaver
, only with three Mr. Cleavers.

Revenge for Shannon would more than likely be Randy’s motivation. He’d want Drew’s blood. Drew snorted inaudibly. The day Shannon Roberts needed help with retribution would be the day the world stopped turning.