Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

his lips, obviously trying to suppress a grin. Brandon shot him a dark look.

Facing Big Ugly Biker Dude once more, he dropped his smile and spoke firmly.

“Thank you for your offer, but I"m not interested.” Praying that the guy would take the hint when it was smashed over his head, he turned back to the bar and took a swig of his beer.

The bottle nearly fell from his hand when that huge, sweaty body pressed along the length of his spine, wet lips drizzling spittle as the Big Ugly Biker Dude spoke directly into his ear. “I"m buying you a drink, boy, and then I"m going to take you to the men"s room, bend you over and shove my entire fist up your ass.” Brandon"s eyes automatically fell to the ham-sized hand clenching the edge of the bar. There was a black crust embedded under the jagged fingernails and thick, nicotine-stained calluses, flaked white with dead skin, lined his fingers.

Brandon shuddered. Good god, the horror.

When the butt-ugliest man in the entire bar made a beeline for Brandon, Patrick almost busted a gut trying to hold in his laughter. Only Brandon. The poor guy hadn"t gotten laid in months and the first man to offer to remedy that was this giant mass of stink and grease. It was nothing short of hilarious.

He figured Brandon, who even Patrick had to admit was blessed with the face of an angel, had plenty of practice beating back unwanted advances. So rather than help, he left his friend to his own devices and sat back to enjoy the show. Only because of their long years of friendship could he see the revulsion and he admired how well Brandon hid it from his…err…gentleman suitor, keeping his green eyes wide, his smile polite.

The guy wasn"t backing down, though, and Patrick gleefully anticipated Brandon dropping his nice-guy act and telling the guy to fuck off. When he was riled, Brandon was every bit as intimidating as the hardened criminals they worked to take off the streets.

To say the guy was invading Brandon"s space was like saying the Pope was just a little bit Catholic. The man"s body pressed the length of Brandon"s, his lips brushing against Brandon"s blond curls. Patrick was actually starting to get a little irritated by this guy. Hell, maybe more than a little. It had to be pushing Brandon to his limits.

But when the guy announced his intentions for their trip to the men"s room, Patrick could do little more than sit with his mouth hanging open.

His whole fist? Seriously, that was just way over the line.

Standing, Patrick rose to his full six foot three inches, deliberately taking up as much space as possible by pulling his shoulders back and anchoring his hands on his hips. While Brandon"s strength in tense situations was his ability to play it cool and 9

Samantha Wayland

smooth things over, Patrick knew his best asset was pure physical intimidation. He was a damn big guy and he didn"t hesitate to use it to his advantage when needed. It went a long way toward encouraging assholes to leave him the fuck alone.

Looking down, he locked eyes with the creep trying to wrap himself around Brandon"s rigid torso. He had an almost violent urge to shove the man away, to force his oily hands off Brandon"s body. Suppressing that impulse tightened his chest and forced his voice down to a growl. “You need to back off. Now.” Cold, little brown eyes narrowed. “Why should I?” Patrick didn"t blink but his mind scrambled for a response. He needed a way to end this quickly and without creating a scene. The truth— my friend isn’t interested in yournasty skank ass and you mauling him like that is really starting to piss me off—wouldn"t do.

He could just imagine the guys down at the station being called in to break up the fight at the gay bar and finding two of their fellow officers right in the middle of it. File that under “Not Pretty”.

No, a fight, though sorely tempting, had to be avoided. Instead, he tried the other obvious way out. “He"s with me, asshole, and I"m not in the mood to share.” If he hadn"t been working so hard to look big and mean, he might have cracked a smile when he glanced at Brandon. It was hard to say who looked more incredulous—

Brandon or his biker friend. Fortunately, Brandon"s face was hidden from everyone except him and the bartender.

Regardless, Brandon"s new boyfriend wasn"t buying it. “I"ve been watching you two. Your pretty boy here,” he snarled, thumping a hand against Brandon"s back, “has been scoping out the scene while you"ve been more interested in your beer and the hot number behind the bar.”

Well, crap. He had to give the creep high marks for powers of observation, but goddamn, he was not going to be caught out by this idiot. Reaching out, he manhandled Brandon from his stool and spun him around so they stood together, a united front. He looped his arm around Brandon"s waist, clenching the soft black leather covering Brandon"s hip and hauling him close.

It was a damn good thing Brandon was an expert at fronting a calm façade, since shock radiated from every inch of his body.

“Just because I like to flirt with the bartender doesn"t mean he"s not with me,” Patrick said.

The big man laughed. “If you"re gay, I"m the Queen of England.”

“Nice to meet you, Liz. You look different in People magazine,” he shot back, his mouth outdistancing his brain for a moment. Damn it. He gave himself a mental kick in the pants and told himself to shut up. As often as Brandon"s quick talking had gotten them out of a fix, Patrick"s big mouth had gotten them into one. He needed this to not be one of those times.

Predictably, his wit was lost on their biker friend. “You"re not funny. And you"re not gay.”

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Destiny Calls

“I am so gay!” he declared vehemently,