Bro Code Page 11

  “Well, he makes some good points,” she admits. “He just wants to see you happy. We all do. I mean, giving up your own apartment and your job just for a family business that might not even make it? It’s just not fair to you, sweetie. You should be out living a life of your own, starting a family of your own.”

  “And I will. You know that starting a family isn't on my list right now, Mom.”

  “That’s not how falling in love works, Ava.” Mom has shifted into her infamous lecturing voice. “It's not something you put on a list. It happens at the right time when you open yourself up to it. You can’t do that if you’re living at home and trying to hold together a failing factory. You can’t just decide when you’re going to cross love off your to-do list.”

  “Well, right now that’s how it has to be.” I can hear the anger building in the tightness of my voice. I’ve never yelled at my mother, and I’m not about to start now. I try again, calmer, quieter. “It can’t be a priority right now when there are other things that need to come first.”

  The kitchen is silent for a moment as Mom rests her head in her hands, gathering herself with a few deep sighs.

  “He called and asked for you, you know.”

  I freeze mid-sip of coffee. She lifts her head just enough that I can see the slightest smile creep across her mouth. It’s enough for me to worry she’s talking about who I secretly want her to be talking about.

  “Who?”

  Maybe it’s not him. Don't get your hopes up.

  “Barrett.”

  I bite down hard on my bottom lip to steel my nerves. Of course, it's harder to cover up the sound of my heart knocking against the inside of my chest. After a long pause, Mom offers up a bit more context to fill the silence.

  “He called yesterday on his drive back, wanted to thank us for letting him stay, and inviting him to the party and all. Then he asked if he could talk to you. I went ahead and gave him your cell phone number.”

  “Why would you do that?” Apparently, biting my lip only does so much for keeping my mouth shut. Mom chuckles a little under her breath.

  “Oh Ava, honey, you don’t have to bother with pretending. I’m your mother, for heaven's sake. I see the way you’ve looked at Barrett since you were in middle school. You had that same look in your eyes all weekend.”

  “I can’t believe you’re encouraging this, Mom. You should be mad at me.”

  “Mad? Why? Barrett’s a good man. A great man.”

  “Sure, a great man who also happens to be Nick’s best friend.”

  “So?” She looks genuinely confused. Does she really not get it?

  “So, Nick would be furious. Which is why things have to end here.”

  I jump to my feet and snatch my coat from the back of the chair, making it clear that this conversation is over.

  “I need to get to work,” I call out over my shoulder as I pull on my boots and fling open the front door. I don’t care that I'm an hour early; I need to get out of this house. You don’t run a successful business by sitting at the kitchen table arguing with your mother over the things you can’t have.

  This time, when I put my key in the ignition, my car whirs to a start without a single stutter. I mentally thank whatever powers of the universe that are in charge of car troubles for showing me a little mercy. God knows I’m not going to catch a break anywhere else today.

  When I arrive at the factory, I’m one of only five or six cars in the parking lot. The only employees who come in this early are the maintenance guys who make sure everything is in order for the start of the workday. A few cleansing breaths later, I shift into business mode. This week has been the start of the operation completely under my management, with no help from Dad. I don’t have any spare bandwidth to dedicate to Barrett. I’m the boss now, and it’s time to act like it.

  Other than a few machinery upgrades and a nicer coffee maker in the break room, the factory looks nearly the same as the day Dad first brought me here as a little girl. At the time, the enormous industrial building seemed like an endless steel playground to explore. Now that it’s my responsibility, the size of the place makes it a little more daunting and a lot less magical.

  There's comfort in the familiar faces, though. Some of the workers have been here so long that they still know me as the six-year-old visiting her dad’s office after kindergarten. Being at the factory feels like being around family, only this family doesn’t nag me about my romantic life. This family does, however, depend on me to keep this place open and it’s time to get my mind back on track.

  I’m barely five steps into the building when Mark, a maintenance engineer who has worked here for as long as I can remember, steps out from behind a piece of machinery and gives me a defeated wave. It seems a little early to already be facing a problem, but then again, I seem to be having that kind of day.

  “Sorry to hit you with bad news first thing, Ava, but the engine on the belt-line is completely burnt out,” Mark mutters, shaking his head and wiping thick black grease onto his jeans. “I’ve been working on it for a solid hour now, but the thing just isn’t moving. We’re gonna have to get an order in for a new one today.”

  “Thanks for working on it, Mark. Just let me know exactly which part to order and I’ll get it taken care of.” My calm, cool response surprises me a bit. I must have let all my frustration out on Mom. The mechanical side of the factory isn’t really in my wheelhouse, but at least this is a problem with a clear-cut solution. Mark leads me over to the conveyor belt and I jot down the name and model of the engine that needs replacing, assuring him I’ll have it taken care of before the day is out.

  There's something peaceful about being here—this noisy building, the faint scent of oil in the air. I've worked here off and on since I was thirteen and started sweeping floors after school. It's more of a blessing than I ever realized it would be. Rather than resenting their new twenty-five-year old boss, the employees respect me because of all the hours I've put into this place. There was no job too big, or too small for me growing up, I did everything from mopping the floors, to cleaning the toilets, to learning how to turn a wrench.

  When I head toward the second floor where the offices are located, it's still a pleasant surprise to see my name on the door of Dad’s old office. Sitting in his chair and booting up his computer, I have to keep reminding myself that these aren’t his things anymore, but mine. Yes, Dad will be there to answer questions when I run into problems, but the paperwork is signed, the business cards are printed, and this is my factory, my motor that needs replacing, my employees who are relying on me to keep this business running. It's the most gratifying thing in my life right now, and I'm going to make damn sure it succeeds.

  I pull up the spreadsheet for the year-end budget and start pricing out replacement engines. With each click on a different retailer’s website, the lump in the base of my throat gets bigger and bigger. Who knew engines were this expensive? No matter how I fudge these numbers, the money for a replacement motor just isn’t in the budget. How much had Dad been cutting his own salary, or worse yet, paying out of pocket to keep this company going? I open file after file of budgets from every quarter, crunching numbers and looking for where Dad was able to cut back. The numbers are tight. For the first time, an errant thought that maybe Nick was right flits through my brain.

  “How are things looking, Ava?”

  Mark peeks his head into the office. The smile on his face is hopeful, cautiously confident. I remember how Mark used to let me hold the wrenches when I was little while he did simple repairs on the machinery. He’s a bit younger than Dad and, from what I remember, still putting his kids through college. I can’t let him down.

  “Things are looking great.” I fake a smile and press the button to place the order for the engine. I’m going to make this work no matter what I have to do. “We should be in good shape to get this thing installed as soon it arrives. Let’s go assess how everything else is running in the meantime.” I close out of the
spreadsheets and put the computer into sleep mode. One thing at a time.

  It’s a quarter after seven by the time I finish taking stock of the factory equipment with Mark and the other maintenance workers. I apologize profusely for keeping them so late, but they’re grateful when I give them clearance to leave a bit earlier tomorrow after the new engine is up and running. As for me, I’ll be awake all night trying to cut costs somewhere in the budget to keep us in the black. The work may be stressful, but at least it’s enough to keep me completely distracted. I forgo the radio in the car and instead spend the drive home doing mental math. I already gave up my apartment to save on rent by staying with Mom and Dad. What's next?

  The engine runs as I sit parked in the driveway, running options through my head until my buzzing phone interrupts my thought process. It's a text message and when I look down and read it, I have to blink twice, to be sure I'm reading it right.

  Can't stop thinking about the other night.

  It's Barrett. My heart trips over itself in an effort to speed up. My smile is immediate, but I can't help but tease him.

  That bad, huh?

  It takes him a second to reply, but my smile still refuses to fade as I watch the screen.

  Best night of my life.

  My fingers fly over the keys, tapping out a reply before my brain can filter it.

  Mine, too.

  I like that we're being honest, that we're not hiding behind the truth of what we did. And the truth is, it was a magical night. By far the best sex of my life, but it was more than that, too. When I was with him it was like nothing else in the world mattered—I didn't think once about the weight of my obligations, about work or my family. I could just be myself, and he liked me just the way I was. It was so easy to make him laugh, or smile, or to please him in bed.

  And I'm not going to lie, there's something incredibly sexy about being with an older man, about letting him show me the ropes, the way he looked at me was almost worshipful, like I was pure sin but worth going to hell for every minute he was inside of me.

  Well ... next time you're back in Indiana ...

  I type the message, and stare at it for a full minute, then hit delete before I accidentally send that message.

  It was a one-time thing. A flash of lightning in an otherwise dark night. Let it go, Ava.

  But then another message pops up on my screen, and I realize, with my heart in my throat, it could change everything.

  Come to Chicago this weekend?

  Wouldn't that be like playing with fire, delaying the inevitable heartbreak this fling will surely result in?

  When I don't reply three minutes later, he calls me. I let the phone ring twice, then take a deep breath before answering his call.

  “Didn't scare you off, did I?” Barrett’s rich voice pours through the phone and straight inside me. I can hear him smiling through the phone.

  My toes curl in my shoes, and I open my mouth to respond, but my breath wavers and, “Hi, Barrett,” is all I can manage.

  “I had a great weekend with you,” he says, voice low and teasing.

  Memories of our stolen kisses, of teasing him and fleeting glances shared across the room. Of his muscular body moving over mine, and the deep, sexy groan that tumbled from his lips when he finally pushed inside. My nipples pebble inside the lace cups of my bra, and my breathing grows ragged at the memory that’s still so fresh in my mind that I swear I can feel him.

  “I did, too,” I admit, voice soft.

  “Then you should say yes. Ava…come spend the weekend with me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava

  I'm nervous.

  I ease my car into a parking spot and crane my neck to look up.

  Even from where I’m parked a few blocks away, the enormous silver tower that I’m almost positive is Barrett’s building stands taller than everything else around it.

  Part of me still can't believe I'm actually doing this. The three-hour drive passed by quickly with an audiobook about the Nepalese people of Katmandu. But now I’m here, and the anxiety of highway driving in a large city like Chicago subsides to make room for a new kind of nervous, a Barrett kind of nervous.

  Suddenly, the trip out seems a lot less scary than telling him that I’m here. I fumble for my phone, reminding myself that he is the one who invited me. He wants me here. He wants to see me. Just call him already. My fingers tremble, but I manage to press his name on my phone. Not even half a ring later, he picks up.

  “Hello?”

  I haven’t heard his voice since he invited me a couple of days ago, and just one “hello” is all it takes for my cheeks to heat up and my toes to curl. Keep your cool, Ava.

  “Hey, I’m here,” I say, trying to even my breath behind my shaking voice.

  “Great, I’ll come get you. Where are you parked?”

  I list off a few of the names of the shops I’m parked by.

  “Be out in a sec.”

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach. It still doesn’t feel real that I’m about to see him again. And this time there will be no meddling parents—or my brother—in our way. The reality of it doesn’t completely hit me until I spot him across the street. I could recognize that sculpted frame from a mile away, his black jacket zipped tight so that the fabric stretches across his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a fitted pair of dark wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of dark brown boots, the same color as his hair, which is somehow untouched by the reckless Chicago wind. My heart clenches in my chest. I knew I missed him, I just didn’t realize how much.

  When I step out of the car, Barrett shoots me a smile that lights up his entire face and makes my knees weak.

  “You made it,” he says, pulling me in for a quick hug, which is all we can safely manage before the oncoming traffic starts laying on the horn. “Come on, let’s get out of the cold.” He takes one of my gloved hands in his and leads me down the block to his building, which seems even bigger up close.

  “After you,” he says, gesturing toward the revolving doors, which officially make this apartment building fancier than a lot of hotels I’ve stayed in. The foyer of the building reflects that sentiment with its leather couches and marble floors.

  I had assumed his place would be nice, but nothing I dreamt up during my three-hour drive quite lived up to this. An apartment with a front desk attendant? I didn’t even know that existed. Between this fancy apartment and his plush job at the law firm, why would he ever leave Chicago? A lump forms in my throat at the thought, but I force it down. No time to deal with the distance thing right now.

  “Have you been doing alright?” he asks, leading me into an elevator. “When I talked to your mom, she couldn’t stop talking about how worried she is about you. Said you’re working yourself to the bone at the factory.”

  I roll my eyes. Of course, Mom talked to him about the factory.

  “She sounded so worked up about it. I figured I’d better get you out of the house and away from work for a bit. Maybe it’ll do both you and your mom some good.”

  “So, you invited me here because of my mother? That's hot.”

  He laughs.

  I try not to sound too defeated, but I could hear the disappointment in my voice. Why had I bothered wearing my sexiest underthings if this was nothing more than a favor for my mom?

  The elevator dings and the doors part to reveal a navy blue carpeted hallway gently lit with a warm yellow glow. I follow Barrett to the third apartment door on the left, which he swiftly unlocks.

  “Come inside,” he says as I cross through the door, but I hardly have the time to give the place a once over before he closes the door and takes my jaw in his large hands, pulling me into a fiery hot kiss. Maybe my sexy panties weren’t such a bad idea after all.

  I part my lips to welcome his tongue, which strokes and twirls around mine. The fact that I went even a week without this is unbelievable. Barrett weaves one hand through my hair while the other latches onto the wool coat I dug out o
f the garage, keeping me locked tight against his chest. He softly tugs my lower lip with his teeth, releasing me just enough that I can catch half a breath.

  “Does that feel like your mother has anything to do with this?”

  My smirk matches his. “I guess not,” I whisper.

  “You guess?” he says, one eyebrow cocked. “Well then, let’s take the guesswork out of it.”

  Barrett presses me against the door, kissing me again and again, each kiss more demanding than the last. Our hands work in a frenzy, shedding layers, leaving behind a trail of boots, coats, gloves, scarves, all tumbling onto his apartment floor. He takes a step back to admire me, dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved t-shirt. His large hands span my waist, his thumbs pressed to my hips. My body is already tingling.

  “I don't want to rush this. We need a time out. Come here.” Taking my hand, he tugs me into the living room where we sit down on the couch.

  His place is nice, it's small but cozy with a gray couch and matching ottoman, a rustic wood dining table piled with work papers and his laptop. There are framed photos lining the bookshelf across the room, mostly shots of him and Nick, or other groups of guys doing various outdoor sports. None of a woman, other than his mother, which I think is a good thing.

  “A time out?” I ask, raising one brow.

  “I just think we should talk. We jumped into this, and…. What?” He's smiling.

  I realize my brows are scrunched together, and I'm giving him a confused look. “I'm sorry. I'm not used to guys who want to talk. Please continue.”

  He takes my hand, and laces our fingers together. “I'm not a guy, Ava. I'm a man. A man who is very, very interested in taking you to bed, but I happen to think consent is sexy as fuck.”