Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors Book 7) (9 page)

“What would that prove, Bri? That you’re just as shallow and commitment-phobic as everyone else? What’s the point?”

“It would prove to me that I could do it. That for just one night I could at least successfully follow through on a one-night stand, and not fuck everything up,” she said. Her eyes were pleading with him.

It took every ounce of self-restraint he had to not pick her up and rush her straight back to his apartment and do exactly as she asked.

Gabe’s jaw tightened. He’d wanted her for so long, but he’d been pretty successful in putting it out of his head. He and Eric were as tight as brothers, after all. But here she was, unattached at last, and practically throwing herself at him.

But this wasn’t what he wanted, and he knew it wasn’t what she really wanted. She was still in love with Eric. He wanted all of her, not the broken remains of the girl his best buddy had left in a lurch. He had no intention of becoming some drunken experiment on her capacity for casual sex.

“C’mon, Gabe. Be a friend,” she begged, leaning toward him from across the table.

Reaching out, he brushed her hair off her face. “Trust me, Bri, I am being a friend. This is not the way to prove you’re not a fuck up. Just look at everything you’ve achieved. You’re smart, generous and your events are incredible. You’re the person people turn to if they have a problem. That doesn’t sound like a screw up to me, honey.”

His body was screaming for her, but through sheer force of will he didn’t realize he had, his brain was winning. “You need a friend right now much more than you need a fuck buddy. You would hate yourself in the morning.”

Bri’s bottom lip trembled.

He wanted to take her in his arms, to ease her sadness, but he didn’t trust himself.

She’s killing me, and she has no fucking clue.

Gabe knew he should get up and leave the club, putting Bri and her proposal and their whole messed up relationship behind him. Hell, he shouldn’t even have come down here at all. Every time he was near her, his heart did little flips and his hands got sweaty. Not to mention what happened to other parts of his body, especially when she was looking as sultry and luscious as she did now. With Bri, he had tried to apply an “out of sight, out of mind” policy, and usually it worked. But usually, she wasn’t begging him to sleep with her.

“Come on, babe,” he said, gathering his resolve and standing up. “I’m taking you home.” She looked up at him with big, luminous eyes, and he almost had a change of heart. He wanted her so badly. But he was going to do the right thing. He would have killed anyone who tried to take advantage of her while she was so vulnerable—he damned well wasn’t going to be the one who deserved a good ass kicking.

“Up,” he repeated, averting his eyes from her beautiful face. He held out his hand, and after what seemed like an eternity, she took it. Gabe pulled Brianne to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed. Alone.”

“Okay,” she snuffled. He placed his arm lightly around her shoulder and guided her out of the club.

Chapter Seven

“You’re going to do what?” Gabe asked Brianne as they sped out of downtown to her apartment in Silver Lake. She had sobered up enough that she wasn’t throwing herself at him, but he was relatively sure she was still plastered because she had just told him her newest event idea.

“Glamping. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s like camping for the Beverly Hills set, isn’t it?” She sat demurely next to him in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap. She suddenly looked unsure that she was talking about the right thing.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called, and that’s what it is, but you’re going to do it? For a contest?” he asked, incredulous. He checked in the rear view mirror of his convertible as he switched lanes on the Ventura Freeway to get off on the 2.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” she said, with a scoff that turned into something of a drunken snort, telling him she wasn’t as together as she was trying to make out after all.

He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Bri, you thought you had measles when a mosquito bit you. That’s not outdoorsman—or rather, outdoorswoman-like behavior. You’re just not a nature girl.”

“I could be!” she protested, then sighed. Her head lolled back onto the rest, and she grinned at him. “Crap. You’re right. I know you’re right. Do you think you could help me?”

Bri never ceased to amaze him. Sometimes she was all patrician, upper-class elegance, and then she was girlish and full of uncertainty. He pursed his lips.
I walked right into that one.

He knew he should avoid spending time with her, knew that being around her did nothing good for his sanity, but he also knew how vulnerable she was at the moment, and how important her career and reputation were to her. She thought of herself as a screw-up when it came to relationships, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her start thinking she was a screw-up at work, too. Bottom line, they were friends, and he’d always be available to help her out.

“Yeah, of course I’ll help you, but I think before you get too wrapped up in all your plans, it might be a good idea to do a trial run. If you want, I can take you out for a night.”

Spending even a single night alone in a tent with Bri would be torture for him. But he didn’t want her investing a whole lot of time and effort into something only to find it was a big no-go because she couldn’t deliver on it.

“Um…sure. I think a trial run is a great idea,” she said quickly. “I can’t arrange for my guests to do something I have no experience with.” She began to rattle off some nonsensical thoughts on how they should have color-coordinated marshmallow roasters. Gabe tuned out, and focused on the road. He let her talk, nodding and making assenting noises when she paused. Eventually, her words got slower and quieter. Sure enough, by the time they got off the main road and headed into the neighborhood of Silver Lake, she was snoring quietly.

As he made the twists and turns through the streets in her neighborhood and found her apartment building, he thought about the woman asleep beside him. How long he had known her, and how quickly he had come to care for her. And not in a platonic, you’re-my-best-friend’s-girl kind of way. Even now—her head lolling around, with gentle, snuffling little drunken snores occasionally escaping her lips—she was the most stunning, most wonderful woman he had ever known.

Gabe pulled up to the curb outside her Spanish-style building and killed the engine. He let himself look at her for a long moment, taking in her creamy complexion, her full lips, her thick hair. Hell, even her earlobes looked beautiful as he studied her in the meager light from the streetlamp outside. Pulling himself together, Gabe got out of the driver’s side and walked around the front of his car. He popped the passenger side door open and if Bri hadn’t been buckled in, she would have practically oozed out on to the sidewalk.

“Okay, come on, honey, let’s get you to bed,” he said, reaching over to release the seat belt. His forearm, naked from the t-shirt he was wearing, brushed against her soft curves and her silky skin, and he had to concentrate hard to not get distracted as a fiery bolt went zinging through him. She started to stir. “Atta girl,” he crooned, “let’s go inside.”

Bri muttered something that sounded like “maternity,” and Gabe looked at her sharply. But then he realized she was holding out her key ring. He took the keys from her and helped her stand. She leaned against him heavily as they walked up the cobblestones to the central courtyard of the building, and then stopped at the second apartment on the left.

Holding Bri up with one arm, Gabe managed to get the key in the lock and swing the door open. He flipped the light switch next to the door on the wall, and herded her inside. She tossed her purse toward an easy chair and missed by a mile. Gabe nudged the door closed behind them and looked around her apartment. He had been with Eric when they had dropped her off on several occasions, but he’d never actually been inside. It had struck him as odd, more than once, that even after six years, even after getting engaged, Brianne and Eric had never moved in together. Hell, it had struck him as odd that Eric had waited almost five years to propose to her. According to his friend, neither had wanted to rush things, and both had been happy in their own space and content with frequent sleepovers. If it had been Gabe? He’d have wanted Bri in his bed every night. Within arms reach as much as possible.

Yet not once had he questioned whether something could be wrong with Eric and Brianne’s relationship. He’d just taken it as a given that they were meant for one other, when maybe there had been clues that they hadn’t been.

When he stepped into Brianne’s apartment, it was with his belly tight, in anticipation of discovering another, more private side of her. How she lived. Where she spent her time alone. In bed and out.

The first thing that struck him was the clutter. It seemed that every square inch of available space not used for sitting was covered with stuff. As Bri ungracefully kicked off her shoes in the middle of the living room, he walked over to a low, modern-style coffee table to check out what all the strange objects were. In a million years, he never would have guessed her secret obsession.

Ashtrays. Every flat surface was packed with ashtrays. Round ones, square ones, glass ones, plastic ones, metal ones, some shaped like animals, freestanding ones, ceramic ones—every possible kind of ashtray he could imagine, Bri had it in her apartment.

If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her, he knew that this strange eccentricity would have been enough to push him over the edge. But that ship had sailed long ago. She unknowingly held his heart and always would.

“What the hell, Bri?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “You don’t even smoke.”

She giggled and walked over to a console table, picking one up. It was small and white, with a gold rim around the edge. The two “G’s” emblazoned on the center were familiar.

“You like my crazy collection?” she asked, with a proud smile. “This one is a vintage Gucci ashtray from the nineteen-seventies. It was five-hundred dollars. I bought it on eBay,” she said, then hiccupped. She placed it back on the table with great care then stumbled to the kitchen and picked up another one. It was a hula girl in a grass skirt holding half of a coconut, and her dark porcelain hair had a chip missing. “This is one of my favorites—I call her Leena. I got her at a flea market in Santa Monica.”

He picked up a square crystal ashtray off the coffee table, emblazoned with “Disneyland Hotel,” in sixties-era lettering. When he realized his jaw was gaping open, he snapped his mouth shut.

“Good Lord, Bri,” he breathed, overcome by…what? Awe? Confusion? Admiration? He had to admit, anyone who had clearly put so much time and effort into collecting something was dedicated—if not a little wacky.

“I know, it’s weird,” she said, putting the hula girl back down. “But I think they’re so cool. Nobody makes ashtrays anymore. It’s a lost art. These used to be everywhere, and nobody thought twice about it. An ashtray was as necessary as a toilet or a coffee cup. And now, nada.”

“Nada,” he repeated, putting the Disneyland ashtray down.

“You don’t find them anywhere, so I like to think of it as preserving a little bit of Americana,” she said, starting to pull her hair out of its loose knot on top of her head.

“Well, that’s very interesting,” he said, at something of a loss for words.

She yawned dramatically, stretching her arms over her head, her halter top hitching up to reveal a little bit of her flat stomach.

“All right, you need rest,” he said, crossing the room to where she stood. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around and guided her to the hall that he figured led to her bedroom.

He marched her down the hallway, and tried doors until he found the right one, opposite the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room was immaculate. Her queen-sized bed was neatly made with a cozy-looking quilt. The surfaces were neatly arranged, and a huge cabinet stood on one wall. Filled with even more of her damned ashtrays.

Shaking his head with a smile, he led her over to the bed and started to flip back the quilt.

“Mm,” she said, almost asleep on her feet. “I am so tired.”

“I’ll bet, babe,” he said tolerantly, arranging the pillows for her. For a split second he panicked, wondering if he should try to get her into pajamas, and then decided to skip that as much for his own sanity as for her modesty.

Bri sat down heavily on the bed and smiled up at him, her eyes squinty. Then she flopped backward, and he tried to help her get her head on the pillows and her feet under the covers. He pulled the quilt up and tucked it around her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. His instinct was to kiss her on the cheek, but he resisted.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said sleepily. Her eyes closed, and she curled into the pillows. “Do you think you could, you know,” she mumbled, “stay with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bri.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Please? I—I’ve been so lonely. So cold. I just want to feel warm again.”

Gabe swallowed hard. The last thing he should be doing was hopping into bed next to her, even in an innocent way. Looking at her and hearing her soft pleas, however, there was no way he could say no.

He sighed and cursed himself. “Yeah, sure,” he said, quietly, and walked around to the other side of the bed, flipping the light off on his way. He didn’t have to stay long; he could jump up as soon as she was asleep, which, judging by her level of drunkenness and her nap in the car, would be pretty soon. Kicking off his flip flops, he sat down on the opposite side of the bed from her. As he sank into the mattress, he had a horrible revelation.