Run to Me (The Millen Brothers #3)

Chapter 1

Calla

“This is the best night ever!”

Laughing, I spin my best friend Carmen around in a circle; both of us wobbling in our heels.

“I’m glad you think so.” I grin, raising my champagne flute. “To the bride to be!”

“To Carmen!” our friends chant back, holding their drinks aloft.

We clink our glasses together, ignoring the overspill of alcohol as the liquid sloshes over the sides.

It’s taken Shelby and I months to plan Carmen’s last outing as a fiancée before she becomes a wife.

Whenever our schedules would align, we could be found with our heads together – brainstorming, making calls, finalizing plans – so, it’s safe to say, I’m more than glad to finally be able to let my hair down.

I swallow down the rest of the bubbles in my glass flute. The fizzy carbon tickles my nose, trickling into my veins, joining the mimosas that I’d knocked back at the spa this morning, in the pit of my stomach.

The bar we’re in, Myth, tilts around me; a kaleidoscope of colours, blues, greens and golds.

Heat licks up and down my spine and sweat pools at my temples.

The short skirt I’m wearing, made up of layers of tulle, as part of my princess Cinderella costume, scratches at the tops of my thighs.

But when I’m offered an apple flavoured shot, complimentary from the bar, I take it from Princess Jasmine – Hannah – swallowing it back in a single mouthful.

Today’s a celebration! The biggest since our university graduation over a decade ago.

We’re moving into another chapter of our lives with our big girl jobs, homes that bear our names on monthly mortgage statements and not so empty ring fingers.

Soon, there will be babies attached to our hips, and I can’t wait for those milestones.

But tonight, while it’s just us girls, we’re going to celebrate.

I’ve got a feeling things are going to get messy…

“Gimme gimme.” I make grabby hands at the inflatable in Shelby’s grasp.

She throws the fake cock to me with a grin, her now free hands coming up to reposition the neckline of her short Snow White costume for the tenth time tonight.

Dressing up in princess themed costumes had been my idea.

Only, I did stumble into a little bit of a hurdle, when the fancy dress shop had sold out of Shelby’s size online, so we had to size up.

None of us thought it was that much of problem – it fit perfectly around her waist and hips – until we realized Shelby had to keep hoisting the neckline upwards unless she wanted to make a tit of herself.

Literally.

Laughing manically at my own joke, I position the inflatable between my legs and smile widely.

The bright flash of a camera burns across my eyelids, and I blink the silver spots dancing in my vision away, snatching the phone out of Hannah’s hand, so I can get a good look at the picture she’s just snapped.

“I’m setting that as your new contact photo,” the beautiful bride to be, Carmen, dressed as Princess Ariel, giggles in my ear. She presses a kiss to my cheek, and then places the bottle of bubbly prosecco, the one she’s being swigging out of for the past half an hour, to my lips.

I swallow back a mouthful of bubbly, pressing the rest of the cool bottle back into her hand.

My head spins, but I’m not sure if that has to do with the alcohol in my bloodstream, or the way Carmen is twirling me around and around the bar.

Myth is a cool place; I must admit.

The building was once a church, the old stain glass windows facing out into the street beyond, while refracting the light from within and creating a myriad of colours.

I like to think the people who created the space before us, wouldn’t mind so much that it’s been changed into an upscale bar.

It’s still a joyous place people come to drink wine at, and sing, and get down on their knees to pray…

Although, I think there’s less getting on their knees to pray to God and more getting on their knees to suck somebody off in the toilets.

I giggle to myself as the sticky floor continues to sway beneath me, reaching my hands out to grab a hold of Shelby and steady myself.

Placing my gloss slicked lips to her ear, I say, “I can’t believe we pulled all of this off without Carm suspecting a thing.”

“Same,” she agrees with a cheeky grin. “Do you think she’s having a good time?”

“The best!” I answer.

Glancing over at our friend, I watch for a second as she snaps a selfie of herself, white princess dress, tiara, fake veil and all.

I get the warm fuzzies just looking at Carmen; she’s going to be the most beautiful bride on her special day and I’m so grateful that she trusted me enough to plan her send off to celebrate her final night out as a miss.

Not to mention, her soon to be husband is an angel personified.

I couldn’t ask for a better person to marry my best friend.

Blinking away the sudden onslaught on tears burning my lash line, I swallow down the lump in my throat. I’m not usually an emotional drunk, but there’s something about this particular occasion we’re celebrating that has me feeling teary eyed because… I want that.

I want someone to love me like Carmen and her soon to be husband share. I so desperately want someone to love me unconditionally and unapologetically. A wild sort of love that’s never short of passion; free and uninhibited.

But right now, I don’t think I could be any further from finding my one.

Unless he’s hiding somewhere around the bar…

I roll my eyes at my own train of thought. Yeah, right.

Trying my best to pull my short attention span back to the present moment, I paint a waxy smile across my face and grip Shelby’s arm. “We should have hired a stripper!”

“Carm would have hated that,” she mutters back.

“For us!”

“I don’t think Jack would be too happy about that.”

I wave my hand in front of us. “Boyfriend shmoyfriend. What about us single girlies?”

“Go find someone, then. There’s a fucking plethora of men here tonight.”

“Maybe I will.” I smile coyly, batting my lashes at her until she breaks and laughs loudly. “And then when I get married to him, I’ll allow you to stand up and tell this exact story.”

“Deal.” Shelby grabs my hand, forcing me into a handshake.

I’m thinking of maybe hitting the bar before I start prowling around to find whatever man takes my fancy. That way, my hands won’t feel as awkward because I’ll have something to hold.

I take a step towards the bar, but I don’t get very far when Melanie dressed as Princess Aurora links her arm through mine.

“Toilet break?” she asks sweetly, dragging me along before I can say no.

Tottering across to the ladies, I empty my full bladder, flush, and wash my hands.

I slick on a fresh layer of plumping gloss onto my lips, re-zip Melanie back into her pink, polyester costume and follow the crowd of giggling women away from the strong smell of disinfectant and bleach.

The smell of the bar gives away to yeasty hops and cheap aftershave.

While out on the dance floor, the music pounds from the speakers; I swear I can feel my eardrums vibrating.

What was I doing before my bathroom break?

Oh. Right.

Bar. Drink. Find man…

Men?

Hm. Either. Both. Both is good.

Tipping my head towards the bar in a silent gesture, Melanie gives me a nod to show she heard me, before beelining back to the table our party has claimed for our own.

I push through the throngs of people singing along to the catchy tune and dancing badly, putting one heeled foot in front of the other and ignoring the way the thin edges of my stilettos stick to the floor.

The marble bar top, when I reach it, I notice, has the same sticky sheen to it from one-to-many spilled drinks.

“Another bottle of bubbles?” the bartender guesses with a grin, pushing his floppy fringe out of his face.

I shake my head. “Water, please. Just a glass.”

I need a little something to clear my head before Carmen shoves another shot down my throat.

Chuckling to himself, he grabs a thin rimmed glass, filling it up at the sink and pushing it towards me.

I utter my thanks, wrapping my fingers around the cold material, bringing it to my gloss slickened lips and sipping slowly.

The water slips down my throat easily, cooling my overheated skin.

Taking another small sip, I turn to lean my back against the bar, taking some of my weight off my feet.

I’m rather used to wearing heels, but still, it’s nice to not feel my pulse pounding through the ball of my big toes.

Blowing out a breath, I allow my eyes to take in the space around me.

Myth is packed out. Not that I’m surprised. It’s a popular bar to start with; parked smack bang in the middle of Soho – the partying borough of West End, London.

Plus, it’s a Saturday night. Socialites, influencers, and the regular 9-5 office work crowd, fill the tables and high stool bars of Myth, taking up space to let their hair down without having to worry about deadlines and managers and being… perfectly perfect.

Monday through Friday is a never-ending hamster wheel of work.

We’re supposed to eat a healthy breakfast, be on time, look presentable, act perfect, mind our manners, never say a bad word about our co-workers or our senior bosses, head home, cook dinner and then dip into bed ready to do it all again the very next day.

Saturday and Sunday are a completely different story. Liberty awaits in the form of no alarm, leftover takeaway for breakfast, comfy clothes, a family sized chocolate bar devoured on the sofa, in front of the TV, hardly even listening to the reality show playing in the background.

There’re no deadlines; the emails can wait. There’s less pressure to be perfect twenty-four/seven.

Our life is actually our own for those forty-eight hours of freedom, and I plan to the make the very most of it.

Skipping over a gaggle of freshly turned eighteen-year-old boys, – they stand out like a sore thumb with their baby faces and too baggy jeans – I gulp back another two mouthfuls of my water, feeling it smother out the warm flames of alcohol bubbling in my stomach, until I feel a little more sober.

I make eye contact with a few men dotted around the bar, but none of them—

“Isn’t Cinderella supposed to be only wearing one shoe?”

I glance over my shoulder at the sound of a male voice. Except, it’s not one man, but two, who catch my eye.

Straightening up, I knock back the rest of my water as I gloss my eyes over both men.

They’re both tall, towering over me even in my heels. It’s the dirty blonde who spoke to me, I’m sure of it, I can tell in the silent quirk of his lips. While his friend – the brunette – stays silent, face mostly unreadable, watching me watch him.

We lock eyes; the overhead strobe lighting swinging above us at just the perfect time that I can make out the forest green of his irises.

Good god, he’s attractive.

Tall, brunette, cuts a lean figure in the button down and the jeans he’s wearing; he’s my type to a T.

I lick my lips, taking stock of the way his eyes widen imperceptibly at the sight of my wet tongue darting out.

“What’s your name?”

I see the stranger’s blonde friend smile out of my peripheral vision. A faux one if I’ve ever seen but I don’t mention it.

Slapping his friend on the back, he waves his hand between the two of us.

“I see how it is. Leave him in one piece, won’t ya?”

Narrowing my eyes, I feel the edges of my gloss slicken lips curl up at the corners with mischief. “Maybe I will… maybe I won’t.”

Blondie guffaws, slapping his friend on the back one last time before slipping away. I don’t care enough to watch where he goes.

“Do you have a name or are you going to make me work for—”

“Blake,” he rumbles.

“Blake.” I taste his name on my tongue, the single syllable rich like a decadent piece of chocolate.

I can’t help but wonder if he’ll taste just as decadent sitting heavy on my tongue.