The Right Kind of Wrong: A Brother's Best Friend Romance, Fabiola Francisco [top 20 books to read TXT] 📗

By the time we land, I’m three scotches in and feeling the heaviness of the liquor in my bloodstream.

“How long is your layover?” Camden asks, reaching for my bag in the overhead compartment and handing it to me.

“Two hours.”

“Eat something, or you’ll feel like shit on your next flight.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” I salute him and giggle.

Camden groans and squeezes his eyes tightly.

I freeze when his hand wraps around my waist, and he presses into me. “If you want, you can submit to me as your captain and be at my mercy. It’ll be a sure-fire way to burn off the alcohol in your system.” His nose skims my jaw, and I suck in a gasp, stuck in place.

When Camden leans back and looks down into my eyes, his carefree smile is painted on his lips, framed in his stubble. “That should do the trick to sober you up.” He chuckles mischievously, and my mouth drops.

“You’re an ass.” I slap his chest and step back, bumping into the armrest and almost landing my ass in the seat.

All he does is wink and step in front of me as the line in the narrow hall begins to move out of the airplane, other people sneaking in, creating more space between him and me. Damn him and his sex appeal. Not only am I sober now, but I’m also filled with desire. And the only person that can scratch this itch is the man who awoke it in the first place. The man that should be so off-limits I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of pulling him into a bathroom stall and having dirty bathroom sex with him. The kind I’ve only ever thought was acceptable in books.

By the time I’m off the plane, there’s no sight of Camden. He’s disappeared into thin air, leaving his final words lingering worse than a scotch hangover on a turbulent plane ride.

chapter 4

Allyson

I walk down the busy streets of Madrid, dodging tourists left and right as I make my way back to my apartment for my lunch break. I’ve been living here for two years, and sometimes I’m still thrown off by the two-hour break I get. I was used to a short lunch break back in Richmond, mostly consisting of eating at my desk or in the break-room.

Unfortunately, no amount of tourists have been able to make me stop thinking about Camden. Three damn weeks since I returned, and I was sure that throwing myself into work would do the trick, but human resources doesn’t exactly provide the type of distraction I was hoping for.

I shake my head, bumping into someone, and I call out an apology over my shoulder in my best Spanish while I keep walking forward. This city is full of life. No matter the time of day or day of the year, there’s always a crowd of people making it exciting.

I do wish the streets were a little less crowded with the heat wave that’s consuming us these past weeks. It’s like a fiery tidal wave, and I can’t wait for the weather to cool down. I’ll take a brutal winter over a burning summer any day of the week. I attribute it to being from the Wyoming mountains and having grown up with freezing cold weather. Virginia doesn’t get as cold as Everton, my hometown, but it still gets cold.

By the time I make it up to my apartment, sweat drips down the back of my neck. One thing I definitely miss is AC. Nothing beats good old air conditioning in the summer—not even an ice-cold beer.

I heat up leftovers from last night and jump in the shower for a quick cooldown. I rinse my body and stop mid-way, leaning forward in the shower to listen to the noise coming in from the cracked open window. Is that? No way…

I chuckle, reminding myself I live in a city, not the country for goodness sake. Turning off the water, I grab my towel and wrap it around me as I step out, this time no shower head competing for the noise coming through my window. I squint my eyes and wait for the noise to come back.

Is that a rooster?

It’s cock-a-doodle-doing in the middle of a metropolitan city. Sure, Madrid isn’t New York, but some would argue it’s better than The Big Apple. I’ve never been to New York, so I always have to keep quiet when that argument arises, which also means my comparison is null and void.

I shake my head, interrupting my inner-conversation, and step out of the bathroom. No time to figure out why a rooster is in a nearby apartment, I get dressed quickly, not caring one bit that I’ll show up to the office in a second outfit, and grab my food from the microwave.

The pasta steams as I sit on the couch and open my iPad to call my best friends, Noel and Berkeley.

“Heyyyy, boo!” Noel calls out immediately.

Berkeley rubs her eyes and winks at me before she croaks, “Hey.”

“Are you still in bed?” Noel asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “Get up! Time to work. Let’s go, let’s go.” She cheers her on with way too much energy considering it’s eight in the morning in Richmond.

“I’m up,” Berkeley sits up. “But let me grab coffee. It’s my day off,” she grumbles as she holds her phone and makes her way to the kitchen in her apartment.

“So, how’s the big life in Spain?” Noel asks, without waiting for Berkeley’s coffee to brew.

I smile at my best friend. “It’s great.” My lunch break has become our chat time since the time difference makes any other time a challenge between work and sleep schedules.

“Funny story, though…” I wait until I have both of their attention. “There’s nothing like taking a shower with the window cracked open and a rooster cock-a-doodling. And you both thought I moved to Spain for the glamour. I moved for the cocks.

Berkeley sputters, her sip of