Chapter Two

Mikah

"Hey. Uh, buddy? Hello? Wake up, please."

A jab to the rib cage from an index finger caused my eyes to spring open. Hovering above me was the redhead I'd brought home last night. Her hands were lifted palm-side up, making me feel as if I'd missed a question. I was staring at a pair of tits, which were ready to burst free from last night's dress. They were nice, but nothing compared to the ass. The ass got her the invite upstairs.

"Dude!" She snapped her fingers in front of my face. "How the hell do I get out of this place? The restaurant is closed."

I peered at the alarm clock. She was correct. The restaurant wouldn't be opening for another five hours. What type of person awoke at five in the morning? Other than maybe a half-awake piss, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been awake this early. If the restaurant opened at ten, that meant the alarm went off at 9:45 and not a second sooner. Sleep was a wonderful thing.

I yawned and rubbed at my eyes. "Why do you need to leave this early? I figured we could repeat last night, Ka... ren?"

"Kristin."

"Right," I agreed, not remembering that name in the slightest. "I knew that. I'm not awake. Don't let that sway your decision."

"Listen..." She picked up my jeans from the floor and tossed them into my face. "Last night was... nice, but I'm not into kinky shit. Now, can you let me out of this place or not?"

"Kinky shit?" I asked, sitting up.

I became dizzy as soon as I was upright. Pressing my eyes closed, I tried to remember what all had gone down last night. Kristin seemed to remember it differently. Tequila shots led to her dancing on my bar. Normally that wouldn't fly, but her ass was swaying in my face, and I had a show of a tiny pink thong for a good half hour. As soon as the bar closed, it was her that admitted to wanting me to see that peep show. Other than she felt the need to claw the shit out of my chest, her riding me was the extent of our night. It wasn't even that good, but if I was going to wake up with a chick in my bed, I'd be up for another go. That seemed to be her intention last night too, but we fell asleep. We had to run out of energy at some point.

"I didn't ask to be used like a cat's scratching post," I said. "That was your idea."

"Yeah. That was fun," she agreed. "The pegging, though... it's, uh, weird. I mean, I like anal too, but a guy who's into shoving dragons the size of my arm up his ass is more than I can handle. Now, can you let me out? I'll set off alarms if I need to."

My hands dropped from my face. "Excuse me?"

"You do you, guy." She moved to the door. "As you clearly do. I just won't be sticking around to see you take that thing."

"What... thing?"

>><<

"She's a goddamn tyrant!"

"Mikah..." Ollie groaned as I followed him with a stack of boxes. It was the second round of them this morning. "She was put on this earth to make my life miserable. You should have seen the damn thing. I don't even know where one goes to find something like it! And when I tried to confront her with it, to prove my innocence to Kathy, do you know what she did?"

"No,"—Ollie pushed the door to our father's old office open and dropped the empty boxes to the floor—"but I have a feeling you're about to tell me."

My boxes were not set down as gently as the ones Ollie had been carrying. When I had the space to make sure I didn't hit my older brother, I tossed them against a filing cabinet. Hallie Reynolds had struck my last nerve this week.

"She acted like she had never seen the damn thing! I held up this massive rubber dragon, and she responds with 'Gross. I told you I don't enjoy seeing your freakish toys!' in her annoying voice. Can you fucking believe her?"

From our father's desk chair, Ollie's brows lifted, showing little concern for what Hallie had done to make my life miserable this time. This was becoming a normal start to our mornings. Even though I felt the need to complain to my brother—because Ollie was the reason I was in this situation—I knew he wouldn't do anything about it.

"She's affecting my sex life," I said. "Can't you talk to your fiancée and get her to talk some sense into her best friend?"

"First off, hell no." Ollie shook his head before opening a desk drawer. Its screech made us both cringe. "Sloan is a complete disaster over this wedding already. I'm not adding drama between the best man and maid of honor to the list of shit she has to worry about. Second, we both know you were going to hit it and quit it, anyway. Who cares what this chick thought of your toy?"

"It's not my toy," I said through gritted teeth.

"We've all been on the other end of Hal's dildo prank." His chuckle was unnerving. "It's a rite of passage. Welcome to the club."

I dropped into an empty chair, sending up a cloud of dust that had my nose threatening a sneeze. The room was covered in a thick layer of it. Our father's suicide was over three years ago, but we had avoided this office at all costs—leaving it more like a time capsule than a room needed to run a business. Cleaning it out was the next step in Ollie's grief counseling, and I couldn't bear to turn him down when he asked for my help. I didn't want to be in this room either, but Dad's death had taken a larger toll on Ollie.

We were quickly learning our father was a hoarder. Multiple generations of Mulligans had run this restaurant, and a piece of each of those men could be found in here. Receipts dating back to the seventies were tucked into every nook and cranny of the office. For a guy who was terrible at running his own books, our dad sure appeared to have his shit together. We understood why he stressed over the numbers until his death, since we now did the same. The entire reason for me having a roommate was to bring in extra income so we could hire another bartender—an addition that needed to happen sooner than later. Ollie's new menu was bringing in a lot of business, and I could no longer keep up behind the bar on my own.

Ollie's silence caused me to return my attention back to him. It wasn't the first time my brother had gone quiet when clearing out a drawer or shelf, and it wouldn't be the last. Finding little tokens from our childhood caused some laughs and some tears. Our sister, Kit, spent all but twenty minutes in the room before she found a pink Power Ranger action figure Dad had bought for her and lost at some point. The birthday card was still attached to the wrapped gift. After that, Kit vowed she was done with this project. Now, Ollie seemed to have found a photograph that had his jaw clenching, holding back another round of tears we didn't speak of outside of this space. I couldn't see it completely, but it appeared to be of Ollie and Dad in the kitchen—a spot the two could always be found when we were younger.

"You okay?" I asked, knowing the answer was a no, but also knowing Ollie would lie and say he was.

Ollie's head bobbed yes as he tossed the picture into a pile of other documents and photos we would keep. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a toothpick he'd be chewing on until it would snap. "Just wish he would have stuck around to see me get married."

My lips curled upward. "Another chef in the family? He would have loved Sloan."

"Yeah," Ollie agreed, leaning back in his seat. "Listen, if you like this girl, I can talk to Sloan about Hallie... to get her to make it right. No promises anything will change. Sloan isn't exactly on Hallie's good side right now. I've never heard them argue like they did last night. I'm telling you; this wedding is doing a number on her."

"Shit, no." I didn't want to stress Sloan. "I'm not interested in anything serious, for obvious reasons."

I took the love route once, and it bit me in the ass. Ollie and I shared a lot growing up—clothes, toys, cars. Sharing an ex wasn't one of our proudest moments. At one time, we both loved the same woman. Even though I later learned my fiancée still loved my brother, and that Ollie no longer returned those feelings, I still believed—knew—there were still intense feelings between us. Shelby messed up and knew she did. I couldn't bring myself to forgive her yet. I wasn't mad at her for loving Ollie—the man she'd been with for over a decade. However, I was mad that she lied about it. If she had been honest, I would have waited to propose.

The life of a bachelor was what I needed right now.

"If I do all the work of getting them up there, I'd like to get the most out of it. I would have got laid again if it hadn't been for that damn prank. They either flee because of my roommate or become stage-five clingers. There is no such thing as a good one-night stand."

"Stop kissing them." Ollie shrugged, making it sound easy. "You make it too intimate. If you're going to fuck them, fuck them. Them waking up in your bed the next day and you ready for a second round isn't helping. You're giving them hope."

"How'd that work out for you and Sloan?"

Ollie's eyes narrowed. "That's different."

"How so?"

"She puts up with my shit. That's wife material."

We shared a laugh. It was true. It took a certain person to tolerate the many attitudes of Oliver Mulligan, and Sloan Smith had mastered them all.

"I don't know how she does it," I agreed with a shaking head. "Between putting up with you and Hallie, she's a saint. Don't you guys have a spare room to take her in?"

"She really riled you up this time." Ollie's eyes rolled with the millionth mention of the roommate fiasco. "Just how big was this toy?"

I held up and spread my hands to show that it was a minimum of one foot long. Then, I put my fingertips and thumbs together to form a circle for its girth—guessing that it was around the same size as a wine bottle. Ollie's unrestrained laughter only proved that no one was on my side in the rift between roommates. This just meant I was going to have to get even.

>><<

There wasn't much room in the hallway, but I made do with what little space there was. The apartment had fallen completely quiet an hour ago. Either Hallie was studying, sleeping, or doing something I didn't want to know about. Her door was shut, as it usually was at two in the morning.

The stool had my back pressed up against one wall and my knees directly against the Ludwig drum set I'd dismantled and brought up a spiraled staircase piece by piece. It was possibly the worst posture I could have while playing, but that was the beauty of it. The worse I sounded, the more fun this was going to be.

With a grin plastered on my face, the drumsticks collided first with the snare, but I focused on the crash cymbal. I rapped on it with both sticks proudly, moving my wrists as fast as I could. The countdown had already begun in my head.

"What in the actual fuck?" Hallie's voice bellowed from behind the door.

My smile widened as the door flew open. An appalled Hallie stood in her usual sweats, blonde hair piled high on top of her head, and wrapped in her comforter. It didn't stop me from my solo act, playing the most annoying thing I could think of without my band to accompany me. "Can Can" was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed to do the trick perfectly.

"Mikah! What are you doing?" she yelled, dropping the comforter to shield her ears.

Hallie looked back at her room and again to the hallway, now taking notice that she had no escape route from her private concert. With her face distorting the irater she became, I withdrew one stick from the drums, using it to place one of my earbuds from around my neck into my ear. Metal filled my ears, barely drowning out the barking of my name by my roommate. I smiled again, proud of myself for sneaking in some extra practice on a weekday.

"Mikah!"

"What?" I questioned, unapologetically, shaking my head and pointing to my ear piece. "I can't hear you!"

"Because you're fucking loud!" she was all but screaming. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm playing the drums!" I beamed. "Welcome to the show! Take a seat! I'll be your entertainment all fucking night!"

The door slammed.

I counted that as a win.