Cocky Fiance(7)

By: T.L. Smith & Melissa Jane

He’s your boss.

Your brother’s best friend.


“Uh oh,” came a familiar voice from behind. “What’s she done now?” Slate asked, striding in, a playful smile on his face.

I, on the other hand, was not smiling. Instead, I was frozen in place, silently freaking out whether he’d heard any part of the conversation.

“You know your sister,” Hawk’s gravelly voice rumbled. “She’s always full of interesting ideas.” He smiled, yet my brother remained none the wiser of Hawk’s wicked insinuations.

“Is that so?” He sat in-between us, breaking the friction. “Party? Tonight,” he demanded.

Parties had almost become a ritual to these boys. They knew how to throw them because they’d had plenty of practice hosting them. The group of close-knit fraternity brothers, real brothers and friends, took turns in orchestrating the event. Parties usually averaged every second weekend, and while I always got an invite, I typically declined. Working with Hawk kept me busy. Too busy at times. I loved what I did, and everyone knew it.

But this week had me under the pump, and I’d already decided that the weekend was going to be used as catch-up.

But then there was my brother and his puppy-dog eyes, always ready to turn on the charm when needed. Slate may be my brother, but he’s also my best friend. I considered him to be my person. While Hawk, being older, hung out with my eldest brother. Slate and I were usually paired in games and left to hang out, while the others grew of age to do stuff we couldn’t. We were tight as siblings and still were as adults. I told him everything. Well... almost. Stories about my ex were often sugar-coated or avoided altogether, simply because Slate was not only devastated for me but ready to break Roman’s neck.

“You know your sister,” Hawk chimed in, bringing me back to the present, a playful challenge in his eyes. I raised my eyebrow at them. “She will think of some excuse not to go. She always does.”

He was right, but I was out to prove him wrong. Work was not an excuse. It was a legitimate reason.

“For your information, I have—” Slate covered my mouth with his hand preventing any further words.

“Not one excuse,” he warned. “Everyone asks about you every time you say you’re coming and then back out last minute. They’re beginning to think you don’t like them anymore. And your brothers miss you... so, therefore, you’re coming.”

Rolling my eyes, I pushed his hand away and stood, smoothing my skirt.

“Fine, I’ll come...” I finally conceded and was rewarded with gleaming smiles. “For a little bit at least,” I added. “Then I’m leaving.”

Turning, I started for the door when Hawk’s husky voice caused that familiar pang between my legs.

“She’ll come all right...”

Slate laughed but again was none the wiser with the insinuation. I, however, heard it loud and clear and almost needed the door for balance.

That man was a menace.

A delicious, uncontrolled menace.


Slate had sent me five messages since I’d been home demanding to know what was taking so long. He expected me at the party as soon as I left work. Of course, he would. Typical man.

Granted, I was last to leave the building, but before I made any sort of appearance, I needed a hot shower to resist the ever so tempting urge to crawl into bed.

Staring with a sudden distaste to the beautiful yet currently offensive dress on the bed, I was about to pick up my phone and call in my absence when I heard a knock at the front door, followed by someone yelling my name.

I froze, hoping if I remained still, they’d go away and leave me in peace.

No such luck.

Again, there was a thump at the door, and this time I could make out the voice yelling my name.

Damn you, Slate!

He knew my game.

Sighing heavily, I pulled on my dressing gown and walked down the hall.

Goodbye bed.

Goodbye soft pillows.

See you later dreams.

Walking to the door, I pulled it open to a very smiling Slate.

“I’ve come to drive you.”

Could I flip him the bird and slam the door in his face? Probably not, so I turned, walking back to my room.

“Five minutes, Britta, we’re already late as it is.”

Closing the door, I dropped the gown and slipped my little dress on then fixed my hair before walking back out to Slate who was looking down at his phone.

“Is it a small one?” I asked, referring to the party. He lifted his face up, his eyebrow raising, then a smirk appeared on his lips.

“Do we do anything small?”

I should have known the answer to my question.

“I’m not staying long, I’ll Uber it home.”