it was time to start fulfilling them. It was time to either put up or shut up. Either Tessa could take care of herself or else she was going to end up like Stella or with a boyfriend like Chaz who would want to sleep with Tessa’s friends—all at the same time.
No way. Not Tessa. She was going to do this.
No more sex. No more sex at all.
WHEN GABE CAME HOME at two in the morning, Tessa was sacked out on the couch, his old throw cuddled in her arms. The TV was tuned to MSNBC, which gave him a short pause, but he turned it off anyway.
A book was tucked underneath the throw—“New York State Real Estate Requirements”—and he noticed Tessa’s accounting book lying suspiciously next to the trash. There was a new wind blowing, and Tessa wasn’t wasting any time.
Gabe watched her sleep, then shook his head. Damned if he’d leave her on the couch all night, so he gathered her up in his arms, happy when she curled into his chest as though she belonged there.
Carefully he carried her to her bed, wishing she’d picked out something nicer than the futon. If he didn’t think she’d have a heart attack, he’d move her into his room, but Tessa had her whole personal-boundaries issues, and he was going to respect them.
Actually, Gabe wanted to see Tessa make it. For four years he’d watched her press forward, her forehead worried into one long line that even BOTOX couldn’t fix, but she kept going on, roommate after roommate, roadblock after roadblock, never asking for help, never complaining. The little bartender that could—that was her.
Gabe gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, smoothing the lines of worry away.
She was complicated, irrational, skittish…and completely irresistible.
So it’d be complicated. So what? Gabe gave her a long look and then snuck out, closing the door behind him.
Yeah, he’d respect her personal boundaries, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t seduce her personal boundaries right out of the equation.
In fact, it’d be his pleasure.
DANIEL O’SULLIVAN WASN’T a man to complain, but by the time he interviewed the fifth of Sean’s candidates for the new bartender position he decided to forget tradition and raise holy hell.
The blonde was cheerful, flirty, and didn’t know whiskey from vodka. However, she did have breasts that torpedoed out from here to eternity.
Daniel sighed, told the woman to have a nice day, and then went downstairs to the office. This was Prime, not Hooters, and he’d be damned if he would spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon wasting his time, although, to be fair, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do than waste his time. Daniel had become very good at wasting time.
Meanwhile, Sean was sitting at the desk playing solitaire on the bar’s computer. Wasting time seemed to be an O’Sullivan family trait.
“What are are you doing?”
Sean turned and quickly clicked over to a spreadsheet. “What do you think? She’s great, isn’t she?”
Daniel could feel the start of a world-class headache.
“Stop coming up with candidates to interview, will you? This isn’t your own personal casting couch.”
“You could make it yours. It’d probably improve your disposition.” Sadly, Sean was completely serious.
“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it, Sean?”
“It’s not my fault I’m a people person. I bet you didn’t know that lately people have been coming to me for advice, and I’ve discovered a new talent. Giving personal advice. You know, people come to me as a lawyer all the time. Why not come to me as a personal advisor? The best part? I don’t charge by the hour.”
“What idiot comes to you for personal advice?”
“Our younger brother is having sexual difficulties. But you wouldn’t notice, would you?”
“Gabe?” asked Daniel, too shocked to doubt the truth of the matter.
Sean nodded. “He’s having women problems.”
Gabe? Women? Hell, Daniel would be having women problems before Gabe. Gabe was grounded, levelheaded, knew what he wanted and didn’t waste anybody’s time. Gabe didn’t have problems, period. “I don’t believe you.”
“Ask him.”
“For real?” asked Daniel, only because Sean didn’t have the little gleam in his eyes that he got when he was lying.
“Yeah. Pitiful.”
Daniel listened as Sean filled him in on the details, until eventually his curiosity overcame the need to respect his brother’s privacy. “Who is she?”
“Some woman he picked up.”
“Did he say that?” asked Daniel, because Gabe didn’t pick up women. They tried to pick him up, and he always said no. Well, almost always. For the past four years Gabe had barely looked at women at all.
Except for one.
It had become something of an inside joke to Daniel, watching Gabe and Tessa together—and yet not. In some ways, Daniel was living vicariously through his younger brother, remembering what it felt like. That smile when she walked into the room, the easy comfort of knowing that there was always someone waiting for you at home.
There was never any overt sexual tension between Tessa and Gabe—they were too casual for that. It took a detail man to notice the way they got along so easily, knowing what the other one needed before asking, laughing at jokes that no one else got. And then there was the way Gabe protected Tessa, making sure the problem customers were never sitting at her bar. Looking out for her when she was shorthanded and in general making sure that Tessa didn’t hurt.
Daniel understood that. Understood the idea that there was only one woman created exactly, specifically for each man. Life was very precise, as was love.
Fate had decreed that they be together. Maybe it wasn’t fate, maybe it was God. Daniel believed in both.
Eight years ago Daniel had found Michelle, loved her to the exclusion of every other female on the planet—and in a single moment God took her away.
But Gabe still had his moment. He had an entire lifetime to celebrate the exact, specific woman who was created perfectly for him.
Daniel looked up at the betting pool. Saw the neatly written numbers and the names next to them and then laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Sean.
“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Daniel. Sean wouldn’t get it. For Sean, sex was the be-all and end-all to women.
And to prove Daniel’s point, Sean pulled out an application from the pile. “Whatever, but let’s talk bartenders for a moment, shall we? This is Leslie, and she’s got this long, long, dark hair, and the woman is ready, willing and completely bedworthy. I think she’d be great. Really.”
ON SATURDAY MORNING Tessa emerged from her bedroom in a Grateful Dead T-shirt that skimmed her knees.
Gabe looked up from the Post, not wanting to imagine what was under the T-shirt, and if he wasn’t going to imagine what was under there, he needed to make sure she couldn’t read it on his face.
“So how was last night?” he asked.
Tessa padded over to the cabinets, and pulled out a box of cereal, then seated herself at the table next to him. “Fun,” she answered, taking a handful of cereal and popping it into her mouth like candy.
“And class?”
She stopped crunching, and then swallowed. “Not fun. I’m quitting.”
And wasn’t that about time? “New plans?”
“Yeah.