My Brother's Best Friend: Unexpected Love, #3

By L. Loryn

A bad boy and a virgin….

 

Oliver Nyguen has a fancy house, a great career, and an amazing best friend. He also has a secret. At his late twenties, he's still a virgin, and he only has eyes for one person. The person he wants? Hudson Bailey, his brother's best friend. They shared one kiss in high school, and Oliver saw fireworks.

 

Hudson Bailey is… a piece of work. With an alcoholic mother and a messed up father, he spent most of his time at his best friend's house eating steamed buns for breakfast and rice noodles for dinner. After a mind-blowing kiss, he joined the military, and he forced Oliver Nyguen out of his mind… until he couldn't anymore.

 

Hudson's got one chance to make things work with the love of his life. They've got a lot of catching up to do outside the bedroom and inside of it.

 

This is 27,000 words of a steamy, second chance romantic fantasy about a sexy bad boy and the man he loves. It's fun, quick, and has a guaranteed HEA that'll make your heart melt. If you're looking for 100% realism, it's not here! Don't get too wrapped up in the details to enjoy a sweet second-chance romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Loryn
• Release date: Jun 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227594594

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

OLIVER

I’m excited to work with you on your project. Oliver Nguyen smiled as he led a trio of men from his woodworking studio back through his home, squeezing past their bulky bodies and opening door after door for them. Wooden barrel tables will look great with the aesthetic you have planned.

Thanks, one man spoke up, combing his wiry beard.

We can’t wait to see the results. A man with long curls of blond hair and a sandy blond beard squeezed Oliver’s shoulder. He peered down, and his pale blue eyes met Oliver’s dark ones.

Oh. He brushed the man’s hand away as he opened the front door. "It’s a very involved design process, so you’ll see pictures every step of the way. There won’t be any surprises. Oliver tucked raven locks behind his ear, olive cheeks blushing as the man continued studying him.

You know, I bet we’ve got a few cases we could give you. Just a gift, nothing more, the blond man spoke again.

Um, sure. Beer would be lovely.

"This is small-batch handcrafted beer. It’s nothing like what you get at the grocery store for a bargain price. This is the good stuff." He beckoned Oliver into the driveway and approached the utility van parked behind Oliver’s aging work truck.

Noted. Oliver smiled, biting his bottom lip as the man pulled out case after case. His eyes bulged, and he exhaled in a nervous chuckle. I don’t need so many. It’s just me.

Well, you could share them with your significant other, couldn’t you? The blond man paused, setting another case down in front of Oliver.

I-I don’t have a significant other.

The man’s easy expression turned into a smile. Well, I guess I could come over and help you drink them up. He collected three cases in his arms and carried them inside. Oliver grabbed the last case.

Yeah, I guess you could. You can put them in the kitchen. Oliver set his case on the counter, while the blond man stacked his three on the ground. Thanks.

No problem. The man tipped his head and dug a business card out of his pocket, placing it under the fresh case of beer on Oliver’s counter. I’m Jerry, and this card has my direct number on it. So, if you’re ever looking for some company, you can call me any time.

Oliver glanced at the card. Yeah. Thank you, Jerry.

Jerry tipped his head and strolled back through the house, to join his business partners.

Oliver wiggled his fingers in a wave as the three men piled in their vehicle and disappeared. He kicked the door closed and dug his cell phone out of his pocket, instantly calling his best friend.

Ollie, what’s up?

Hey Maxwell. I’ve got four cases of small batch, artisan beer, and a bear’s number. What are you doing tonight?

Drinking beer with my buddy. What are you going to do with the dude’s number?

I don’t know.

You could call him, you know.

He’s not really my type. If you want him, you can have at it. Anyway, when will you be around?

Couple hours. I’m still at the office, then I have to make a stop at my ex’s place.

Why?

"She wants to talk about what happened with our relationship and why it didn’t work out."

Oliver groaned, Why?

Dunno. She wants closure or something.

You’ll definitely need a drink afterwards. Oliver laughed.

Pretty much, Maxwell snorted. Anyway, I’ll see you in a few. Don’t drink too many without me.

I won’t. I’ll be in the shop when you get here. You know the door code.

Yep. I’ll bring some Chinese take-out.

Oliver smiled. Awesome. He ended the call and returned to his garage, reviewing all of his current projects. Oliver was a master woodworker, and he had been perfecting his craft for almost ten years. He started in his junior year of high school after he made a minimalist jewelry box for his mother. It was a random gift, but the challenge of creating objects out of wood piqued his interest. It was different from drawing or painting, more like sculpture. Useful sculptures.

Despite his parents’ best efforts to convince him to attend college, he picked woodworking, built a shop full of second-hand tools, and made a career. His items stocked local furniture stores, and almost every local business had one custom piece from him. He enjoyed woodworking’s rustic qualities, the smell of cedar and oak, and the ability to zone out as he worked.

Not only that, but he had a name for himself and a place of his own, a place with his name on the mortgage, a place with equity. He had friends, too. The only thing he didn’t have was a relationship. Most days, he was okay with that. Some days, he wasn’t. Today was one of those days.

As he waited for Maxwell, he worked in his shop, rotating between different projects and letting his mind drift. Maxwell had been his best friend since he moved from the suburbs to the city. While Oliver had been single for years, Maxwell had a new lover every month. Women and men. He wasn’t selective, and he was good-looking with rich mahogany skin and striking light-brown eyes. He had a dazzling smile that sometimes even made Oliver’s knees weak.

His cell phone dinged with a message from Maxwell, a simple OMW, and full lips tugged into a little smirk. He tucked his projects away and swept the wood shavings off the shop floor, depositing them in the trash. After a quick shower, he draped himself in an old shirt and shorts and pulled his hair into a loose bun, securing it with two non-slip hair ties.

His front door opened, and the smell of steamy rice and sweet seasonings filled his house. The door swung closed.

Ollie? Maxwell called. I got your favorite. The Americanized General Tsao’s chicken.

Oliver met him in the living room and smiled. Hey. Thanks. I love Americanized Chinese food. He collected the bags from Maxwell and carried them to the kitchen, resting them on his granite countertops.

Maxwell followed, hooking his thumbs in the loops of his slacks after loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. So, these are the spoils?

Oliver slid Jerry’s business card across the table. Have at it.

Mm. Thank you. Maxwell slipped the card into his pocket.

Are you really going to call him?

I need to see him first, so no, I’ll probably go to his bar, though. You know, you’re always getting people’s numbers. I’m sure one of the dudes would be worth the time.

I’m sure they’re not bad guys. I’m just not interested. Oliver popped open a take-away container and dug a pair of chopsticks from his kitchen drawers. He propped his elbows on the counter as he ate.

Why not? Maxwell opened his container of orange chicken and popped open a bottle of warm beer. He tipped it up to his lips, guzzling down the first taste and sighing. Hey. This stuff isn’t half bad.

I’m fine being single is all. When the right guy comes, I’ll know it.

Or, Maxwell lifted a finger, wagging it towards Oliver, Or you won’t because you’re not giving anyone a chance.

I don’t like their approach, and there’s no spark. There’s supposed to be a spark, right?

I don’t know. Maybe? You know what, sure, there’s a spark. There’s some excitement that bubbles up in you when you see a person you want to get with. Sometimes it’s horniness. Sometimes it’s real.

Well, I haven’t felt that.

Ever? Maxwell lifted his eyebrows.

Oliver sucked in his breath, rolling his chopsticks around in his rice before reaching for a beer. Like once. I’ve felt it once.

Maxwell’s eyes sparkled. For who?

This guy I knew in high school.

Oooh. A high school lover. Tell me more.

He wasn’t a lover. I mean, we kissed and fooled around a little, but that’s it.

So, y’all didn’t fuck?

Oliver shook his head. No. He, um, he went off to the military before we got there. Plus, Oliver inhaled a