Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (The Sweet Twins Collection)

Chapter Three

Hannah

Knowing that I have no other clients for the day, I lock up, Lucy trailing behind me as I double check the locks on filing cabinets, sweep the floors, and turn off the lights.

Hearing the clack of Lucy’s nails against the wood floors comforts me. It’s all so mundane, and I know it’d probably be nothing special to anyone else, but this is exactly what I’ve worked to achieve and I will never take it for granted.

Six years of higher education, first getting my Bachelors Degree and then my Masters, allows me to relish the sensation of sitting in a comfortable rolling chair in my own office, at my own desk, in my own business, as I am bathed in sunlight with my dog by my side.

I clip Lucy’s leash to her collar and try to avoid the excited tongue she laps at me as she anticipates going for a walk.

I open the front door and lock it behind us as I take her down the sidewalk to a nearby dog park. The walk is short and part of the reason I leased this particular office in the first place.

I love walking down the sidewalk in Los Angeles. It’s very robust during the daylight hours, but calms considerably after 5:00 when most businesses close for the day.

I love watching all the so-called beautiful people enjoying their lives, almost as if none of them has a job.

I’m always surprised at how many people don’t seem to be working in the middle of any given day, until I remember that I am out and about in the middle of the day, too. So who am I to judge?

Lucy walks directly beside me, her face turned to look up at me, her tongue hanging out. Sometimes I look at her face, full of love and trust, and I just can’t believe that I am lucky enough to call her my own.

I’m so sorry she went through what she did, abandoned in a dumpster as a little puppy, but I do count myself lucky that she ended up with me, coming out of what must have been a horrific situation, still willing to love and be loved.

When I found her she was wearing a collar, but it didn’t have a name or contact info. I can’t imagine how anyone could have left her there.

I open the gate to the park and sit down on a park bench as I let Lucy off her lead so that she can play and roll around in the grass.

As always, she instantly rolls around on her back from side to side, filling her fur with blades of grass and pine needles.

“Go on, girl, run!” I tell her, prodding at her side with the toe of my shoe. She untwists herself and looks at me for one moment before bursting into an erratic run that zigs and zags across the park.

I pull out a medium-sized canvas from my computer bag, a thin one I bought from a secondhand art store and painted over in white, and sketch out just the idea of a painting that I’ll get to later once Lucy has fallen asleep in her crate and I don’t have to worry about picking small, black hairs out of the paint as I go.

I cross my ankle over my knee to balance the canvas across it and draw out the landscape in front of me, paying special attention to the perspective.

The image of Chris’ awe when he viewed the portrait I drew of him pops into my head.

I quickly realize that I would gladly draw a picture of him every day if I could bring out that same look in his eyes.

“You’re so focused,” a man’s voice says next to me, and I jerk in surprise.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I swivel my head to the man next to me -– a lanky, blonde man with an easy smile and brown eyes.

“That’s okay,” I respond quickly, glancing over at the man’s dog, a golden doodle sitting calmly and waiting for him to throw a tennis ball. I look back up at the man.

“Sorry I jumped. You just startled me.”

He laughs a little. “Like I said, you were focused.”

He throws the ball hard, and his dog instantly launches into a high-speed run.

“I’m Scott, by the way.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. “Better shake my hand now before it’s covered in dog drool.”

We shake hands, and I say quietly, “Hannah” before I retreat back into myself and my world, hunching back over my canvas.

I can feel his energy shift as he realizes we aren’t going to be talking, and I feel that familiar shame creep into my cheeks, the blood heating my face the way it’s always done when men talk to me.

I’ve never felt capable of having a comfortable conversation with any man, especially not men that I can tell find me attractive.

It’s like being stuffed under a pile of blankets. I just can’t seem to get comfortable. I feel hot, sweaty, and heavy. Stifled.

Something in me shuts down when confronted with my own sexuality.

I can barely put on a bathing suit without cringing. Before the energy of Scott next to me, quietly tossing the tennis ball for his dog over and over, becomes too much, I stick my still mostly-blank canvas into my bag and stand up.

“Lucy! ‘mere, girl!” I call and force my shaking hands to steady enough to clip her leash on.

“Hey,” Scott says, “I’m sorry if I messed up your moment or something. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

His smile is crooked and it honestly reads to me like the smile of someone who hopes I’ll tell him that he has it all wrong, that I’ve got a hair appointment I forgot about or a meeting I need to get to, but instead I shrug with one shoulder and half a smile and slip out of the park, telling Lucy what a good girl she is all the way back to the office.

I unlock the door again and let Lucy off the leash.

She scuttles to her water bowl instantly, and I follow her to the small kitchen to scrounge for some snacks, settling on a small bowl of nuts, chips and a couple of string cheeses.

Living out of the office has its pros and cons, of course.

Sometimes a friend will come over and balk at the lack of a stovetop, but the reality is that I can’t remember ever using a stovetop more than once or twice a year, anyway. I never really learned to cook, aside from eggs, and even those I usually manage to burn.

I go into the back office, which I’ve set up as my bedroom, putting my foot firmly on the arm of the couch, so I can yank on the hide-a-bed as hard as I can to pull it fully out.

The stiff metal squeals under my fist before finally giving way and stiffly unfolding in sections.

I slick my sweaty hair back and pull it into a low ponytail before folding my legs underneath me and collapsing onto the bumpy mattress.

I pull out my canvas and try to finish the sketch I started of Lucy, but my mind wanders as I begin to draw her. I know it would stress out my family to know I live here in back of the office.

I haven’t told any of them, not even Tyler. I really don’t want to be nagged about it.

They think I have a quaint little apartment out in Valencia, and the only reason no one comes to visit me there is because Mom and Dad have a nice large home where we can all gather when we get together.

I go over my rehearsed answer should anyone find out the truth.

No, it’s not weird, and I’m not in debt. Oh, my God. Okay, well, I’m in some debt, but no more than the average American, certainly less than the average Californian, so don’t be so dramatic.

Look, I went to school for a long time in order to get this business, and now that I have it, I just want to pay off my student loans, get the business off the ground, and maybe sacrifice some creature comforts the first couple of years so that I can be on a solid financial footing before I get a place of my own.

I cringe at the phrase ‘couple of years,’ I can already hear them shrilly repeating, ‘YEARS? Oh, Hannah, no!’

No, ‘years’ won’t do. Gotta find a substitute for that last part. I nibble on the end of my string cheese, pulling a long mozzarella cord and letting it sit between my teeth for a second before chewing.

But anyone who has their own business would get it. Businesses are sacrifice. Real legacies are hard work. If you think you can be a legend in a comfortable two bedroom in Beverly Hills right out of school, well, you can’t. You’re just another face in the crowd.

I remember when Tyler was going through college, rooming with Chris, and they’d come to our house for holidays, and they’d always look so disheveled, exhausted, and grateful for a real mattress and home cooking.

Tyler would say, “The mattresses, Handy, you wouldn’t believe it. We sleep in bunk beds” and then point to the two of them before they’d burst out laughing. They seemed happy, though, back in their salad days.

Chris. Now there’s someone I’ve been avoiding thinking about. My face flushes just thinking about the memory of him being here in the office earlier.

He was flirting with me, wasn’t he? Was there a moment? Not that I could date my brother’s best friend if I wanted to. Not that I want to, especially since he’s also my client now.

And he’s so full of himself. He talks like someone who’s never experienced a moment’s rejection. But he has. And so publicly, too. I think it’s all just a big defense mechanism.

I look down at my sketch and see that I’ve given Lucy five legs. I put the canvas down and lay back with my hands behind my head.

I’ve never been rejected either, but I’ve never really put myself out there.

What would that even look like?I try to picture it, closing my eyes and feeling slats of soft sun through my blinds and on my eyelids.

I couldjust say to Chris, “Hey, enough work. How about we do something else?” Then push aside all the paperwork, and reach over to pull him to me by the front of his shirt.

No, that’s too…I don’t know what that is. Too forward, I guess. Not me. I shake my head and open my eyes for a second, then close them again.

I could coyly drop a pen and when he goes to pick it up, I do, too, and our hands meet. Then the touch of my hand ignites something in him and he grips my face with his hands, seeing me in a way no man has ever seen me before.

I sigh. This is so stupid. Nothing will ever happen between me and Chris because I am incapable of reaching out. Unless he reaches out.

But since I basically can’t stand him and find him too arrogant and cocky for words, even that wouldn’t work. But it does conjure up some interesting thoughts…

It’s late at night. We’ve stayed up working on his documents and financial plan. He’s at the door about to leave, and he says, “Aren’t you coming?” and I shake my head. “No, I sleep here.” A brief look of shock crosses his face, but he quickly drops it. “Oh. Well, do you want some company?”

I slide my hand into my underwear, my breathing already heavy, and I hold my lips open, feeling cool air hit the soft, spongy skin inside.

I shrug at him. “Maybe. Are you offering?” He laughs gently and places a hand on my hip, then slides it around to my lower waist, pulling me into him. I look in shock down at his arm and then up at his face. He is smiling and unaware that I’ve never been touched like this…ever.

I slide my finger into my opening, feeling a wall of juices, ready and waiting for something.

I plunge my finger farther into them, coating my digit in the sticky lubricant, and follow the curved tract of my tunnel, then pull it back out achingly slowly, feeling it retract and pulse as I leave it empty.

He puts a finger on my chin and lifts my face to him as he bends down to kiss me softly, his lips two warm pillows. I moan automatically and my hands know what to do on their own as they wrap around his neck and stretch down his shoulder blades.

He wraps arms around my waist and lifts me up to slither my legs around him. His hands are under my ass, holding me up, and he mutters into my ear, “Do you have a bed you want me to take you on or can I take you right here?” and the hair on my arms stands up.

I keep my index finger inside my canal and with my thumb, I slowly increase pressure on the hood of my clit, not rubbing yet, just letting it sit on top and feel the weight of my thumb.

I spread my legs slightly and hold still, enjoying the moment. everythingng is just teetering on the edge. My finger is inside me. My thumb is on my clit. I hold my breath. I’m still.

Even in my fantasy, I don’t know what to say.

I whine a little at the question as he holds me and nibbles on my neck. He brings me over to my desk and lowers me onto it.

“How about I take you right here?” he growls, lowering to his knees. He lifts my skirt and pulls my panties aside, revealing my pussy already wet and ready for him. It’s bald and fat and swollen with a slick of wet sheen.

“Oh, you’re ready, aren’t you?” He looks back at the window then smiles at me. “Do you think anyone can see us? Do you care? Would you like someone to be watching us? Maybe someone is looking now.”

His tongue laps at me, cleaning off my labia and thighs and drinking in my juices.

I run my fingers over my labia lips and feel how soaked I am, really. I’m coated in a sticky gloss.

I hurriedly kick my pants and underwear off and lie back down. My clit throbs with desire, and I give in to it, finally moving my finger back and forth across the delicate knob, feeling my orgasm swelling and building.

I beg him to lick inside me. “Please, please, please,” I whisper, coiling my fingers through his black curls until I can’t tell where his hair ends and my fingers begin.

He lets me guide his mouth closer to my opening and I feel his warm breath against it as he breathes. His tongue plunges inside and I let out a moan that turns into a scream of delight as he holds my ass to push his tongue further inside me.

I can feel his cheeks flat against my thighs. I stroke his forehead as he laps at me like I’m a delicacy. “You taste so good,” he whispers, looking up at me before going in for seconds.

My orgasm explodes from me, and I let out a breathy moan as I feel the release throughout my body. I feel it most in my chest and realize I’ve been holding my breath.

My heart pounds in my chest and in my pussy, and I continue stroking my clit, feeling it throb beneath my fingertip.

I let off some of the pressure, only illuminating the spot with soft touches. The cum on my finger dries quickly, and I finally relax, melting into the mattress beneath me.

As a 25 year old virgin, one thing I know how to do is touch myself. I have developed a strategy that works every time. My masturbation sessions are short. My orgasms burst and typically taper off quickly, but this one was a little different.

This one was longer and came in oscillating waves, each one crashing over me more heavily than the one before.

I breathe heavily, lying on my soaked sheets, and consider whether or not I should go to the gym tonight for a shower to wash off all the sweat and cum I’ve accumulated. Before I can think about it too hard, I fall into a delicious sleep.