Two Brutes, One Barista: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (Alaskan Romance Book 3) Read online

  Two Brutes,

  One Barista

  Shaye Marlow

  Two Brutes, One Barista

  Shaye Marlow

  Copyright © 2016 by Shaye Marlow

  All Rights Reserved

  This story is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Shaye Marlow

  Alaskan Romance

  Two Cabins, One Lake

  Two Captains, One Chair

  Erotic Sci-fi

  Erotic Adventures of an Alien Captive

  Dreamer Awakened

  Firefighters

  Serviced by Firefighters

  Shared by Firefighters

  Sandwiched by Firefighters

  Spanked by Firefighters

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Acknowledgements

  This book was a labor of love—emphasis on labor, not gonna lie—and I’d like to thank the people who I frustrated, and the people who stuck with me as I wrote about ten versions of this book, and then had to narrow it down to one, and then had to rewrite that version about ten times, and then polish it a lot… So, to my family, thank you. And also to my awesome editor, my thoughtful beta-readers, and all of my patient fans: Thank you—and dammit, next time I’m gonna try writing from an outline.

  Chapter One

  J.D.

  Wrappers crunched and crinkled as my brothers converged on me, wading through the mess I’d made in their living room. I didn’t look up, just kept playing. If I didn’t acknowledge them, they’d go away.

  Yeah, I didn’t really believe that. But I hoped.

  I ignored Zack right up until he clicked off the TV. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he was wearing that look, the one that said he was up to something.

  “J.D.,” he said. “This is an intervention.”

  “Turn the TV back on.” I wasn’t in the mood for their crap, not by a long shot.

  I leaned back so as not to get a faceful of Rory’s junk as he crowded between me and the coffee table. Then he sat, and he had a look on his face, too—one of earnest sympathy. It was an expression I hated instantly.

  “J.D., we’re worried about you,” Rory said.

  “I’m fine. Turn on the TV.”

  “You’re not fine. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

  I glanced around. The trash was six inches deep, at least. I felt kinda ill from all the crap I’d eaten in the past week, and I was afraid if I lifted my shirt, I’d find that my six-pack had dwindled by a third. I hadn’t exercised at all, no weights, no cardio. I’d just sat, and played.

  Yeah, I was a mess. Problem was, I didn’t much feel like moving. Or, doing much of anything at all, really. “Turn on the TV,” I said, feeling tired clear through to my bones.

  “No.” Zack moved around to my other side while I searched half-heartedly for the remote. He sat next to Rory, making the coffee table creak in protest. I really hoped it’d collapse and dump them.

  Zack fixed me with his serious blue eyes. “You’ve brought shame upon the family,” he said.

  I experienced a stab of pain very near my heart, along with the crushing weight of loss. My hand went automatically to my shoulder. I felt the bump on my collarbone, and was swamped by echoes of dread, resignation… and shame. Over the past couple months, I’d been drowning in it.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one I’d disappointed.

  I drooped. “I know. I can’t believe it happened.”

  Both brothers wore almost identical expressions of confusion. “‘It’? What ‘it’?”

  They were gonna make me say it? They were punishing me, I guess, but that’s okay; I deserved it. “I lost. I was beaten. By a stupid Frenchman. One who—”

  “Pffft.” Zack waved a hand. “That isn’t what this is about.”

  Bewildered, I looked around for a clue. “Is it the video games, then? I’ve been playing too much?”

  “No, it’s not the video games,” Rory said. “Though the fact that you didn’t take Zack’s head off when he killed the TV really illustrates our point.”

  “What point?” I was getting annoyed. Shutting off my TV was one thing. Babbling inanely before turning it back on was another.

  “You’re too sensitive,” Zack said.

  “Too nice,” Rory added.

  “Almost effeminate,” Zack mused.

  “You’ve become…” Rory took a deep, shuddering breath “…a metrosexual.”

  A vein in my temple throbbed. “What?”

  “Zack and I are worried about you,” Rory said, leaning forward. His face was annoyingly earnest, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was gonna put his hand on my leg.

  If he put his hand on me, I was gonna break it off.

  “This is Alaska,” Zack said. “I don’t know how they do it in the Lower 48, but up here, men are men. We defend what’s ours. We take what we want.”

  I looked at him. “You realize I beat people up for a living, right?” Or, I did.

  “We dress in a manly way,” Rory continued. “Carhartts, suspenders. Fur hats. Not,” Rory said, waving a hand at me, “like that.”

  I was about to point out that the dicks weren’t wearing any of those things—T-shirts and jeans, the both of ’em—but glanced down instead. I wore my signature black, sweats and a T-shirt. Perfectly serviceable, perfect for lounging. Perfect for kicking someone in the head.

  “Bug dope is our cologne,” Zack added. “Not that Axe shit you insist on dousing yourself with.”

  “It’s Old Spice body wash, actually.” Any product with Terry Crews in the ad had my complete support.

  “‘Body wash’, eh?” asked Zack, getting a sly look on his face. “Real men use Borax, when they’re not curing their fish eggs with it.”

  “Bullshit you use Borax. Turn on my TV.”

  “Our point,” Rory said, “is that we’ve been remiss. All those years you were down in the Lower 48 doing God-knows-what, without our guidance… Well, all that stops today. You’re here, now, and we’ve decided to take you under our wing. Mentor you, if you will.”

  “Enable you to uphold the Adderack family name,” Zack added.

  ‘Enable’, my ass. This was just another one of their crazy schemes, I was sure of it.

  But. I enjoyed their crazy schemes. Any red-blooded man would. And I’d already been ‘lounging’ on this couch for a week—and hadn’t actually used my body wash, or seen the inside of a shower at all in that time (which seemed pr
etty manly to me, but whatever)—so I was ready for a change. If they wanted to drag me out of the house to burp and fart and shoot at the wildlife, then so be it. I was game.

  I set down my controller. “What did you have in mind?”

  Zack slapped a three-ring binder into my hands.

  “What’s this?” I asked, cracking it open. “More catapult orders?”

  “Instructions. You have ten minutes to review the materials.”

  Under a little pic of a buffalo, the header read, ‘AMERICAN EXPEDITION VEHICLES’. First line: ‘BRUTE KIT. 01. Preparation of the Jeep Body Tub.’

  “What… Jeep?” I flipped through a couple more pages, seeing a Jeep in various stages of undress.

  Rory looked across at Zack and slowly shook his head. “He hasn’t seen it.”

  “You’ve been here a week, it’s been next to your weight set this whole time, and you haven’t seen it?” Zack asked.

  I frowned at him. “Weight set?” I went back to trying to make sense of the binder’s contents. “What’s a ‘Brute Kit’?”

  Zack frowned at me. “I could revoke your man-card just for those four words.”

  “Things are worse than we thought. He’s in serious need of help,” Rory said, getting up.

  I kinda wanted to tackle him. He was really lucky the huge binder was in the way.

  “Come with us,” Rory said.

  I eyed them, then looked again at the binder on my lap. Then at the controller, the TV. Felt again the snap, the loss.

  Brute Kit… What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t wanna put a damn Brute Kit on a Jeep. This scheme sounded neither crazy, nor fun. And it would require getting up, off the couch.

  “No,” I told them. I was staying right here. I refused to be ‘rehabilitated’. I was moping, dammit.

  Rory looked at Zack. Zack looked at Rory. “Plan B?” Zack asked.

  I barely saw Rory nod before Zack lunged for my head, muffling my yell.

  “What the hell are you doing? Watch the collarbone!” I yelped. It wasn’t until Zack got me in a choke-hold and hauled me to my feet that I began to struggle in earnest.

  But my struggles weren’t doing any good, ’cuz Rory’d grabbed my feet. I hammered my elbow into Zack’s side as they carried me toward the door, but he didn’t ease up at all with that forearm across my windpipe. I jerked my legs, twisted and flailed like a fish in a net, but Rory’s hold on my ankles proved to be a genuine death-grip.

  “Wait. Wait!” I croaked as Rory reached for the door.

  They both gazed at me expectantly, obviously ready for my capitulation.

  “Hugo’s out there,” I panted. “He’s in Dotty’s pocket, and he’ll see. You can’t carry me across the yard like this.” I wiggled to emphasize my point.

  Zack grunted. “Tough nuts.”

  Rory opened the door, letting in the drone of the riding lawn mower, and they started through.

  I caught the doorframe, and held on like my life depended on it. My reputation certainly did. “You can’t!” I cried. “He’ll see. And then he’ll tell Dotty, and she’ll tell everybody, and… you wanna talk about shame?!”

  “Oh, gimme a break.” Zack started to shove me through.

  “Wait, wait,” Rory said, staying him. His eyes had a thoughtful squint. “You saying you’ll cooperate?”

  I hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the bar.”

  The bar? I liked the bar. There were fights at the bar. There was booze at the bar. But it’d be painful, being on my old stomping grounds, and not being able to participate. And people would ask questions, remind me of what had been…

  Zack squeezed, and his bicep threatened to pop my head off.

  “All right, all right. I’ll cooperate. Until the boat,” I amended. Then, I intended to beat the ever-loving shit out of them.

  The look they exchanged said they understood, and they were willing to take that risk. They set me down, and Zack gave me a little jab in the back. “To the boat,” he said.

  I tugged the creases out of my shirt and smoothed my greasy hair, then marched out the door.

  Hugo pulled the mower into a sharp turn at the far end of the lawn, and started along the path toward us. I nodded to him as we crossed the yard. Headphones in place, he gave us a little wave and drove on by.

  I trooped past the row of catapults at the edge of the river, and out onto the dock, then stepped down into my brothers’ boat. I sat in a rear-facing seat, and crossed my arms. I’d said ‘until the boat’, but I’d wait till we were well out onto the river, when there was no one else around.

  Zack climbed in, and stepped past me to start the engine. I guessed Rory was untying us.

  “You should put on a life vest,” Zack suggested as he donned his own.

  I glared at him, letting him know with my eyes just how much pain he was about to be in. The dumb brute’s lips quirked.

  We pulled away from the dock, and motored upstream. I watched Hugo mow, waiting for the angle to become severe enough to block him from sight.

  Ten seconds later, I jumped on Zack, and commenced the pummeling. That float coat of his cushioned my first couple blows to center mass, so I concentrated on his head and neck.

  He released the throttle to defend himself, and the boat slogged in the water. I stayed on him, punching and wrestling in earnest now that he was fighting back. I was a professional fighter, yes, but I favored my right arm, and Zack was an ex-hockey player, outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, and pain didn’t bother him.

  Zack managed to buck me off as the throttle opened up again. Rory had taken the helm and was steering us upstream as our brother distracted me. I reached for Rory, intent on giving him his portion of the beating—but Zack tackled me from the side, taking me onto the grimy floor of the boat, right next to the gas cans.

  He was choking me, so I kneed him in the nuts. I helped him fall to one side, and then got my hands on Rory.

  Beating on Rory was one helluva lot more satisfying. He screeched with fear and squealed with pain. He squirted out from under me, and I chased him to the front of the boat, where I swept his legs out from under him. He wound up bent over the bow, face-down in an extremely undignified manner.

  I gave him a moment to rethink his posture, but he just cowered and covered his neck. So, I obligingly administered a few love-taps to his kidneys.

  The engine revved, and Zack was back on the tiller, steering us implacably toward the bar. I turned my stumble into a lunge, and plowed head-first into his stomach, knocking him back off the seat.

  “Get his feet!” Zack howled, his voice muffled by me this time. He had me in a one-armed bear hug, lifting me off my feet until I thrashed my way free. Then he doggedly hung on to the throttle as I beat on him some more, impressing me with his commitment.

  Gleefully, I opened my can of whoop-ass on him. I upended it, splattered him with the contents, doused him so thoroughly, so completely—

  Mid-can, something tightened around my ankles. I face-planted in my brother’s chest as my feet were yanked out from under me. He cursed and shoved me off. I turned as I fell, banging my head on the bench, but catching sight of what had me.

  Rory stood at the other end of a long steel pole, his eyes wide with an ‘oh, shit, what-have-I-done’ look. On my end of the pole, a cable noose emerged and was snugged tight around my ankles. “What on earth…” It resembled one of those dog-catching poles, the noose end to be tightened around the dog’s neck so it wouldn’t bite the handler. In fact, I was pretty sure that’s exactly what it was. “Why do you even have one of these?” I demanded.

  “The animals around here can be vicious,” Zack said.

  “What animals?” I asked incredulously, imagining my brothers wrestling wolves.

  “Suzy’s goat, in particular. That she-devil is out for blood.”

  “Wait… you bought this for a goat?” But, that wasn’t important now. We were approaching the bar. Enough of this idiocy. “Let
me go,” I said.

  Rory shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”

  “Let. Me. Go,” I repeated.

  Rory was breathing fast, sweating. But again, stubbornly, he refused.

  I lunged for him, using my upper body strength to pull myself forward.

  Rory shrieked and jumped out of the boat, high-stepping the last couple feet through shallow, icy water to get to the shore.

  I contorted and strained my knees, reaching for the end of the pole. It must have been ratcheted down somehow, because even after he dropped it, the line stayed tight.

  “Hey, guys,” Ed called, striding down from the lawn.

  Breathing hard, I peered up at him from the bottom of the boat. “Hey.”

  Without comment, he released my ankles and gave me a hand up. “You guys here for the fights?”

  “Abso-frickin-lutely,” Zack said. He skirted around me to throw out the anchor.

  I thought very strongly about dropping him where he stood—or chasing down Rory, where he was hot-footing it to the bar—but we were on Ed’s property, now, and you didn’t disrespect Ed. Or his woman. On this river, in this neck of the woods, it just wasn’t done. My brothers had learned that the hard way.

  Mentally grumbling, I followed them up from the beach. The bar was a ramshackle log building that hadn’t changed in years. That said, it was obvious some sort of renovations were going on. Part of the second story was torn up, and piles of building materials dotted the front yard.

  “You know, we could help you with this,” Zack told Ed.

  Ed gave him a flat-eyed look. “Not likely.”

  “What are you building?” I asked.

  “We’re updating the guest rooms a bit,” Ed said. “Adding a few more onto the back. Suzy wants to change the name to The Gold Bar, Bed & Breakfast.” His expression was caught somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

  Ed opened the door, allowing music and laughter to pour out into the crisp evening, and led the way inside.

  I hesitated at the entrance, the sounds of merriment provoking within me a deep and aching pang. Listening to other people enjoying themselves, I suddenly felt all the more dejected, and sad, and lonely. I wanted my couch.