Too long hayes brothers.., p.2
Too Long: Hayes Brothers Book 6, page 2
After a year of disappointment, I called it quits.
Maybe I’m destined to be a forever bachelor.
“I assume this is the part where you lay down your demands,” I probe, even though I know the answer. “My participation in exchange for your silence, correct?”
“Sounds like blackmail, doesn’t it?” Conor bounces his eyebrows. “Be glad we kept our mouths shut. You’d be one sorry motherfucker if the others found out you’re racing.”
“Don’t worry, though,” Cody coos, treating me with the same sweet, coy voice he uses on our two nieces. “We have your back, as always.” He clears his throat, rising from the stool as he confirms, “Express Dates in exchange for silence.”
“One evening?” I ask, ensuring there aren’t any loopholes they can hang me with later.
Not that I have any say in the matter. They fucking own me and know damn well I’ll do whatever they say as long as they keep my extracurricular activities a secret.
“Yeah... that would be a no.” Conor huffs a laugh. “I mean, if you find the love of your life tonight, then sure, one evening. Otherwise we’ll keep requesting your precious time until the right girl materializes on your path.”
“You can’t manipulate feelings, Conor. Of all people, you should know best that shit like that doesn’t happen on schedule.”
Cody bobs his head with a solemn look. “You’re right. The Cupid acts in mysterious ways, but he sure as hell can’t work if you’re stuck in your office or at home all the livelong day. You won’t meet your future wife in your fucking kitchen.”
“What makes you think I even want a wife?” I ask, watching them share another loaded look. “Never mind.”
They helped me set up my dating profiles, then listened to me vent about the women I met and discarded along the way. They know I want a wife and my own baby-making factory. How could I not? With six brothers enjoying their happily ever after, it’s hard not to believe in the institution.
Conor quickly checks his phone, probably worried he missed a message from his Little Bee. I’m surprised he took time off fussing over his twins. He hardly ever leaves the house without them.
Cody’s yet to become a dad, but his presence is still surprising. He’s so fucking whipped it makes me nauseous.
And jealous.
We’re all twenty-seven, so I expected at least one little Hayes from him, since my family produce kids like we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world and we’re the only ones who can repopulate the planet.
For now, though, Cody says Blair’s busy making a name for herself in the fashion industry, and they have time. I call bullshit. I think he’s perfectly happy as favorite uncle to most of our nieces and nephews.
He’ll probably need to split his charming uncle persona further at some point; I doubt all the baby-making factories in the family are closed.
Conor says his twin chaos generators are quite enough, and seeing the mayhem they cause, I agree. Theo’s happy with two boys, as is Shawn, and Logan officially said enough when he got his daughter a little over two years ago.
That means four out of eight Hayes baby factories are closed, but I don’t think Nico’s satisfied with just one.
In my humble opinion, one is too many for him. I take back everything I ever said about how overprotective he was toward his wife, Mia. He’s twenty times worse with his daughter.
Two gorgeous baby girls born a week apart. Logan never lets us forget that his daughter, Ava, is older than Melody by seven days, making him the first of us to father a daughter.
“Fine. Express Dates it is, but if you breathe a word—”
“We won’t,” Conor says, holding his pinky out. “Pinky promise. We won’t even mention how dumb you are as long as you give this a fair shot.”
Conor points toward the hallway. “The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes. Go pretty yourself up. We’ll be waiting outside.”
I pull off a convincing scowl, taking my beer with me as I rise to my feet. I’m not half as pissed off as I should be. Deep down, a small part of me, the part that yearns for more than casual fucks, stirs to life again.
Looks like I didn’t bury it deep enough.
TWO
Colt
WE STRIDE INTO A HIGH-END COCKTAIL BAR in the heart of Newport Beach. I check my watch: ten minutes to spare before the show begins at nine o’clock sharp. According to Cody, this isn’t the same place they held Express Dates when Logan and Nico went that one time.
Too bad, maybe that other bar had some kind of special powers.
My brothers walk a step behind, one on the left, the other on the right, like my faithful wingmen. Although... to the passive observer they might come across as low-grade goons.
I’m forward and center, which, I believe, makes me the boss.
So far, so good.
The interior design lifts my mood a little. This is my kind of scenery: luxurious yet modern. Edison-style lighting arrangements, hanging low above the polished wooden tables, cast a warm glow over emerald-green velvet furnishings.
We navigate through the busy crowd toward the bar at the back. There’s no line, and save for three overdressed women in their prime, the stools stand empty.
If they’re here for the Express Dates, I’m fucked.
They look at least twice my age.
“You think they’re participating?” I ask Cody in a hushed voice, motioning toward the pearl-loving, silver-haired trio.
Cody’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Possibly, but not in the group you’re signed up for. From what the guy said over the phone, they divide the participants into age categories—twenties, thirties, and golden-oldies. If you’re ever curious, they host something like this for swingers on Sundays.”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I share my imaginary wife?” I clip, snatching the ice-cold beer Conor’s got me.
My gaze sweeps the room, my attention stolen by a group of stunning girls near the entrance. They look about my age, which is promising. Especially since they all seem to radiate the kind of confidence I enjoy: chins high, calculating eyes... a bit of an attitude, I bet.
Too bad they pale under closer scrutiny.
The overdone makeup marring their faces isn’t my thing. Ever since I met Mia, I started noticing girls who prefer a natural look, and found I prefer it too.
But hey, never say never.
They’re here to impress men, and with a limited time to do so—five minutes per date—looks unavoidably become the first hook...
As much as I want to detest the idea of having to spend the next two hours with twenty different women, I can’t deny the thrill coursing through my veins. It’s been months since I’ve done any socializing, and this sparkling anticipation is a clear sign my isolation wasn’t the best choice.
Swiveling to face my brothers, I arch an eyebrow at the mischief and cheap wisdom dancing in their eyes.
Cody leans in, grinning like a child on Christmas. “Alright, listen up. You’re out of practice, so you need a few pointers.”
“I’m out of practice?” I scoff, leaning against the counter, my gaze scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. “Please. It’s been five years since you’ve done any flirting and I’m still more equipped to handle this than you ever were.”
“Dream on,” he mumbles, theatrically rolling his eyes. “You only have five minutes.”
“Ten. There are two rounds.”
“Smartass. Alright, fine. Two lots of five minutes. That’s still not much, so forget small talk. Ditch the standard date questions. If you ask their favorite color, they’ll lose interest faster than you can say awkward. Don’t be boring, but don’t try too hard.”
Conor, always helpful, nods in agreement. “Yeah, and don’t brag. Don’t be a cliché. Don’t be predictable. Find the sweet spot in between. We clear?”
Do they really think they’re helping?
“So... unpredictable,” I summarize, tapping my fingers against the beer bottle. “I can’t believe you guys got wives by having a ‘favorite color’ as your standard date question. Who even asks that?”
They both look ready to swing for me.
“Alright, I hear you,” I continue before they take their chance. “I’ll make sure to leave a lasting impression.”
They look between each other, both unappeased, and Cody lifts a warning finger at me. “If you purposely fuck this up—”
“I won’t. Chill out. You’re acting like I haven’t been on a date before. I know what I’m doing. Just don’t get your hopes up.”
Cody crosses his arms, the scowl giving way to a knowing smirk. “I don’t expect this to work first time around. Consider tonight a practice run. You’ve been out of commission for months, bro. You’re a bit rusty.”
“Don’t come on too strong,” Conor chips in. “Keep it light.”
“Not too strong, huh? I should be as chill as you were with Vivienne? You wore her down until she caved. Too strong worked for you, so maybe it’ll work for me?”
He shakes his head. “No way. You lack my charm, and Cody’s right; you’ve been out of the game too long. Just find your rhythm and don’t look so sour. It’ll be fun! You never know what hidden treasures you might find.”
“Hidden treasures?” I cock an eyebrow, chugging half my beer. When did he get so sappy? “That a bedtime story you’re reading the twins? If there are any treasures here, they’re hidden in a minefield of potential awkwardness.”
Cody throws an arm around my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “Hate all you want but give it a fair shot.” He yanks me closer, lowering his voice. “Look at the girls by the stairs. They’re all pretty.”
I follow his line of sight and my eyes are naturally drawn to a deep, rich purple dress.
Purple is my favorite color.
The girl wearing it is standing with friends, but I don’t notice anything about them. I focus on her thick, heavy, waist-long, chocolate-brown hair. It hides most of her face as she turns between two girls who hang on her arms much like Conor and Cody flank mine.
She turns again, tucking a handful of strands behind her ear as if she senses my gaze and is trying to offer a better look. I’m a fucking goner as I catch sight of her lips. Full and juicy, ready to be bitten. Barely a hint of raspberry color: a faint lip stain or natural shade, either way, it suits her.
I treat myself to a cursory once-over. Cody’s right. She’s pretty, but an exasperated look paints her face—upturned nose, eyes rolling. Paired with the in-your-face sexy dress, she gives off a pick-me-girl vibe. An attention-seeking flirt. It’s hardly a good first impression, but under closer scrutiny, her posture suggests she’s uncomfortable with it.
She tugs the hem lower, even though her dress doesn’t reveal much skin, grazing two inches above her knees. Long sleeves add an illusion of modesty most men wouldn’t notice, more prone to eyeing her soft tits peeking from the plunging neckline.
I’m more interested in the way she holds her glass of red wine. Knowing her drink preference will be useful later, but that’s not why I noticed. It’s because she doesn’t hold the glass like every other girl here. No, she’s pinching the stem between her thumb and forefinger, and that means she either comes from money or, at the very least, she’s well-versed in high-end table etiquette.
I should probably stop staring, but... I can’t. She looks like a girl on a mission. Determined, resolute... not a shy bone in her body.
Despite the well-defined high cheekbones, immaculate jawline, and straight-as-an-arrow posture, there’s a softness to her. An innocence and cuteness that scream youth. If I were to guess, I’d say she only just turned twenty.
Too young, but she’s far too appealing to dismiss on a guess. It’s not easy to figure out ages these days.
She’s got that natural look I enjoy. Nothing besides a touch of mascara accentuating her long lashes and the raspberry tint of her lips—I can’t decide if it’s lipstick or all her.
I won’t mind either way.
Among a throng of women made up like fashion models, she’s the odd one out. A picture of restrained confidence, calculating eyes on her glass while her friends whisper in her ears, pointing out different men.
I think she may need saving as much as I do. Perhaps we can come up with a suitable arrangement.
With a plan forming inside my head, I nod at Cody, injecting as much fake conviction into that nod as I can muster. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
“That’s the spirit!” he cheers, whacking me across the back with typical enthusiasm.
He’s lucky I’m almost done with my beer, and only a mouthful sloshes inside the bottle, not enough to spill out. Though come to think of it, a wet, beer-smelling t-shirt would be a valid excuse to bow out early.
Damn it. Missed opportunity.
Conor orders another round just as a waiter grabs a microphone, urging the participants upstairs.
“That’s you, bro.” Cody pats my back again, lighter this time as if he read my mind and won’t take the risk. “Remember. Confidence, intrigue, and be yourself.”
How on earth he managed to find a wife is a mystery.
“Don’t linger upstairs during the break,” Conor adds. “We’ll be here somewhere. We’ll want an update.”
I leave my empty Corona on the counter while my brothers share more last-minute tips and insights on engaging conversation starters.
Their wisdom falls on deaf ears. I walk away toward the staircase, my step lighter than I thought it would be. With all the disappointments under my belt, I don’t expect miracles, but what’s the worst-case scenario?
I’ll go home alone like I do every fucking day.
THREE
Addie
“YOU LOOK THISRTY,” he says, taking a seat at my table. He places a glass of red wine beside the one I drained two dates ago.
I glance at the tag stuck to his pec—Colt.
Ugh, sounds like an asshole. Looks like an asshole, too. All brazen confidence.
If I’ve counted every boring man correctly, Colt’s number eleven, and not one thus far deserves my number.
Opting for silence, I take a second to look him over. He doesn’t come across as someone who needs Express Dates to coax a girl into bed. He’s at least six feet tall and well-sculpted. Couple that with his tattoos, chiseled jaw, deep voice, and that dark brown, sizzling stare, which has surely given a few girls heart palpitations, and you’ve got yourself a panty-melter.
His dark, curly hair is buzzed short on the sides, the rest longer, falling carelessly over his forehead, and his plain, light gray t-shirt uncovers his inked arms. Hot as the tattoos are, I’m more into the way the fabric hugs his muscular shoulders.
Pretty, pretty, pretty.
Too bad the expensive watch on his wrist and the decadent smell of his cologne are a dead giveaway he doesn’t belong here.
He also doesn’t fit my profile.
I need a guy who’ll follow orders for fifteen grand. Colt probably doesn’t leave his bed for less than twenty.
Besides, he’s emanating a pure bad-boy trouble vibe. Not the best fit.
Then again, were this a regular date, he’d score major points for the wine... even if I won’t touch it.
I like observant, attentive men. Colt sat at my table at the precise switch time, so he must’ve cut his previous date short to order me a drink.
“Either you lost a bet, took a bet, or your friend dragged you here, claiming it’ll be fun.” I push the wine toward him. “Thank you, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers unless I see them being poured.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking me over. I’m aware that I indirectly accused him of being a drink-spiking psycho, but whatever. Better safe than sorry.
To my surprise, instead of getting upset, he smiles small, his laid-back attitude shining like a beacon. “Smart,” he says, velvety voice reminding me of rich dark chocolate.
Without another word, he grabs the wine and walks away.
I raise a questioning eyebrow. He didn’t look offended, so I don’t think he’s ditching me... I hope he isn’t. That would be pretty awkward.
Thankfully, he doesn’t go far and returns after forty seconds, armed with a fresh, empty glass and a sealed bottle of a 2004 Château de Beaucastel.
As if buying a two-hundred-dollar bottle for a girl he met a minute ago is a regular occurrence, he takes a seat, uncorking the bottle with long tattooed fingers.
“Watch my hands, Audrey,” he chides, pinning me with a pointed stare until I drop my gaze. “And as to your question, the latter is correct. No bets.” The cork pops out, and Colt checks I’m still watching.
Another point—he’s not ogling my chest, even though the low-cut dress my best friend talked me into wearing acts like a black hole for men’s eyes, dragging them down. I told Ruby sexy is the least of my concerns, but she didn’t listen. Not even when I said I won’t pay with my body.
“It won’t fucking hurt if they find you attractive, will it? Bigger chance someone will agree.”
She knows men better than I do, so I took her word.
Colt here is either very well behaved or has seen enough breasts that mine don’t leave much of an impression.
“Eyes on my hands,” he reminds, sounding amused as he pours the red liquid into the glass. “You’re not here voluntarily either,” he continues, replacing the cork and sliding the wine toward me. “But you’re enjoying this more than you expected, even if most guys are boring you half to death. You know exactly what you want and aren’t wasting energy on men who don’t meet your requirements.”
I cross my arms over my chest, impressed how easily he reads me. He hasn’t mentioned any specifics, but he’s more observant than anyone else I’ve spoken to. Maybe because he’s not distracted by my boobs.
Pinching the glass, I take a measured sip, savoring the taste exploding on my tongue.
“Better?” he asks, leaning back against his chair.
“Much better. Thank you.” I take another sip—a tiny pause to gather my thoughts. “I’m sorry for not trusting what you said, but I still think you’ve bet a friend you’ll leave with more numbers than him.”
