Page 1 of Accepted Precedent (Love & Politics #3)

Evelyn

“ H e’s cute, but not my type,” I grumble, tossing back my watered-down, happy hour gin and tonic. I only have ten minutes until it ends, and I’m hoping to order two more before they’re full price.

To say tonight is a disappointment is an understatement. The bar is full of Grade D assholes—not the kind of dick I want inside me. Why is it so difficult to procure a decent one-night stand in D.C.?

“Oh, come on! He’s your type—like one of the Blake twins, but gay.”

“Andrew!” I swat his chest with the back of my hand, but nearly knock the beer out of his hand.

“Oops! Sorry, but that is so fucked up.” He side-eyes me, pursing his lips.

“Okay, you’re not wrong; he does look like Alex and Chris.

And… now he’s making out with an even hotter guy.

Damn it! How do you two always call it?” I groan.

“I suppose it’s for the best. I need a man who can throw me around a little—he’s too skinny. ”

“I’ll throw you around, angel,” Mickey teases with a wink, making all of us laugh.

“Aw, thanks, Mick.” I sigh wistfully, then whisper, “But I prefer men who enjoy pussy over cock.”

“Hey, I enjoy the occasional cunt too!”

“My apologies. Allow me to rephrase.” I clear my throat and am careful with my word choice—Mickey and Andrew have to keep their relationship quiet and I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear.

The last thing Andrew needs is to be outed before he runs for a Maryland Senate seat next year.

“I prefer men who aren’t dating my best friend. ”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles into his whiskey.

“What about that guy over there?” I gesture with my glass to a man in a crisp navy suit near the bar, flashing a smile that easily cost him a few grand.

“You can do better,” Andrew insists.

Mickey agrees, “He’s a solid six. Don’t settle for less than a nine.”

“It’s just a hookup! I’m not going to marry the guy. A six with a huge cock works for me.”

Mick sets down his whiskey and glares at me. “Not when you can have a ten with a huge cock. Don’t. Settle.”

Over the past few years, I’ve become good friends with Mickey, but he’s always scared off any potential suitors.

Physically, he isn’t a ten—he’s a damn twelve—towering over me at six-foot-five with a barrel chest and sinfully gorgeous emerald eyes that can see into your soul.

The appeal isn’t only how attractive he is; Mick’s a savvy businessman who cares deeply about his friends and family.

A fighter, just like me. He’s a catch… but hopelessly in love with my best friend.

I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.

If he was single, I’d be first in line to climb him like a tree.

Mick’s phone vibrates in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He retrieves it, frowns, then shows Andrew. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles as Andrew pinches the screen to zoom and read. “It’s not looking good.”

“What’s not looking good?” I ask curiously, raising my hand to get the bartender’s attention.

“It’s an email from a market research firm in New York. Andrew’s going to lose the Senate race, and there’s nothing I can do.” Mickey rakes his hand through his hair. “I can’t properly fund the campaign.”

I order another two gin and tonics with extra lime, then reach across Andrew to place my hand on Mickey’s forearm and squeeze once.

“You’re his campaign manager, not his sugar daddy.

” Mickey’s nostrils flare once. “I just mean you don’t need to fund his entire campaign. We’ll work harder to raise the money.”

Mickey covers my hand with his significantly larger one, eyes swirling with anger and sadness. “There’s no amount of money I can throw at it. His opponent is married with children. Andrew’s single and childless.”

“He’s not single,” I deadpan.

“He’s not married,” Mick counters with a cocked eyebrow.

Andrew lifts his gaze from the phone. “ He is right here. You know I can hear you, right?”

“Let me see the data.” I reach my hand out expectantly and Andrew passes it to me. One quick scan confirms Mickey’s right—Andrew will indeed lose. “Fuck. Okay, this is fixable. You two just need to get married.”

Mick leans over and scrolls the document to page twenty-eight. “He needs to marry a woman.”

“Well, that’s bullshit! Maryland is liberal. They don’t care if—” A low growl festering in Mickey’s chest cuts me off. “Okay, so we’ll find him a wife.”

“You saw what happened with Ileah Vasileiou,” Andrew groans.

“She’s rumoured to marry Timothy McKinnon in the next year to appease her father.

He’s a nice guy, but she’ll have to give up her career and everything she’s worked for.

And did you see how much weight she lost this month?

She’s not happy. I’m not going to be a political pawn and force some poor woman into a loveless marriage. ”

The bartender sets my drinks in front of me. As I’m squeezing one of the limes into the drink, Mickey offers, “What about Evie?”

“What?” I screech, the lime escaping my fingers.

“College friends fall madly in love, get married. You can’t get more wholesome than that.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just suggest I throw my own career away. Still, there’s a tinge of jealousy layered in his tone.

Jaw tight, Andrew shakes his head. “No.”

“Think about it. It can be temporary—a year or two. Once you’re in office, you have a quick divorce, say you’re better off as friends. Evelyn returns to lobbying.” Mick’s lips turn up in a smirk. “And you’ll be back in my bed.”

“Two years?” I chew on my lip as I consider it. We’ll have to be affectionate in public. Andrew and I hug, and occasionally hold hands, so it shouldn’t be an issue. But we’ll also have to… kiss.

I gulp half of my gin and tonic, then cover both of them with my spandex lids.

While I trust the guys to watch them, all it would take is glancing away for a moment, and anyone could slip something into my drink.

Sliding off my stool, I swivel Andrew in his seat, stand between his legs, and take his face in my hands.

Then, like a drunk college girl, I kiss him.

It takes him by surprise, laughing against my lips, but he doesn’t pull away. “What are you doing?”

I break our lackluster kiss to reply, “Testing something. You’re not a very good kisser, Andy.

Mick, how do you put up with this one?” I poke Andrew’s chest. “That was worse than my first kiss in eighth grade. The poor guy ran six blocks to my house to kiss me and was a sweaty mess—but even he beat whatever the hell that was.”

“Fuck that.” Andrew grips my ass and pulls me flush with him. “I just didn’t expect my best friend to kiss me.” Leaning in, he whispers beside my ear, “Have I told you lately that you have a great ass?”

I bite my lip as a blush creeps up my neck. “No, you haven’t.”

Mick chuckles into his glass, watching us from the corner of his eye. “If you’re not going to properly kiss her, then I will.”

“You’re both drunk,” I laugh nervously.

“I’m not,” Mick insists, lightly licking his lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a woman, but I can promise I’d be the best you’ve ever had.”

Andrew pulls back, his eyes searching mine.

Since we met in our macroeconomics class in undergrad, he dated both men and women—mostly men.

We’ve never been more than friends, never dated, and certainly never kissed.

Through every failed relationship, job I didn’t get, and even when my mother died of cancer, he’s been my rock.

If we do this—pretend to be in love—it could ruin our friendship.

I do love him, even if that love is platonic, and I don’t want to lose that.

But if a few public displays of affection get him to the Senate, then I need to risk it.

I glance over to Mickey to tell him I’ll marry Andrew, but he’s no longer in his seat.

My breath hitches as a large hand splays across my stomach and tugs me flush to a firm chest. The fresh, pine-scented cologne gives Mickey away, and I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Andrew’s eyes darken as mine widen. Mick’s hard cock pressed against my ass is unexpected but not unwelcome—the feel of him gives my pussy a heartbeat.

He’s my best friend’s boyfriend, I should pull away, laugh it off as friends flirting after too much to drink.

I don’t. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve had sex, and with tonight continuing my dry spell, I’m the terrible, asshole friend enjoying being in a gorgeous man’s arms.

Hooking his finger in the waistband of my pants, Andrew pulls me closer, forcing me to brace myself with my palms on his shoulders. “What do you say, Evie? Are you up for being my fake wife for a few years?”

“To think, I came here for a one-night stand and walked away with a fiancé,” I tease, but if it helps him, I’ll absolutely get married for show.

“You want a one-night stand, I don’t mind sharing Mick.”

His suggestion jolts me back to reality. “What? No! That’s a joke, right?” I crane my neck to check for Mickey’s reaction. “We’re joking.”

“Not jokin’.” Mick moves my chunky braid over my shoulder until it’s resting on my chest. “Could be fun to have your pretty red hair wrapped around my fist while you come so hard you forget your own name—making your future husband watch.”

I swallow thickly, my cheeks heating. “But you two are…” I’m at a loss for the right word. They’re more than dating, they’re in love.

“We’ve shared partners before,” Andrew purrs. “It’s just sex.”

“Just sex?” My eyes fly back to him. “What you’re suggesting is ridiculous.”

“Do you want me to touch you?” Mickey kisses my neck, making my nipples peak.

“Yes. Fuck! I mean, no! ” I rush out, making them both laugh. I shouldn’t entertain any of this. I’m practically sober, alcohol isn’t to blame for how turned on I am by the thought of being with two men—especially if one of them is Mickey Gallagher. Could we really do this and remain friends after?

“What about Andrew?”

“I don’t know,” I quietly admit. “We’re just friends, and he’s… yours.”

Mickey’s hold on me tightens as he whispers, “Aye, and I’m his.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to be mine too—even if it’s only for one night.

” My body warms at his admission. “If you decide to marry Andrew, the public will need to believe you’re in love.

We’ll have to be careful. It would just be for a night. No sneaking around after.”

“Why would you want me to go home with you? If I marry Andrew, shouldn’t you be spending as much time as possible with him while you can?” I ask Mick, my gaze darting between the two of them.

“I think it’d be fun to tame you.”

“Tame me?” I nervously laugh. “Like I’m some sort of tiger in a wildlife documentary?”

“He could, and you’d love every second of it,” Andrew chuckles darkly.

Taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he closes the distance and brings my lips to his.

I’m unsure what I expected kissing my best friend, but it certainly wasn’t this.

It’s warm and sweet, and I can’t help melting into him.

Pretending to be in love won’t be as difficult as I thought.

Is this really happening? Do they really want a night of no-strings-attached fun?

Mickey presses closer. “You spend your days being in charge, taking on the world. For one night, let someone else lead.” His voice is low and gravelly, and an involuntary whimper escapes me.

He slides his hand to the front of my throat and forces me to break my kiss with Andrew, his sinfully beautiful eyes pinning me with a heated gaze.

“Are you going to be my good girl and do as I say tonight?”

“Maybe,” I taunt, struggling to hide my smile. “But I’m not calling you Daddy.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mick moves his hand higher to grip my jaw, and crashes his lips to mine.

Unlike Andrew’s softness, it’s rough and full of fire as he demands entry I willingly grant him.

As his tongue sweeps across mine, there’s a hint of whiskey and something smoky—like he had a cigar hours ago.

In this single kiss, he owns me, and I hate to admit, it’s easily one of the best kisses of my life.

He pulls back abruptly, and I can’t help thinking I did something wrong. Guilt slithers into my soul. These are my friends, and we’ve all been drinking. Except, I am clear-headed, only feeling a little buzz. I can’t blame the gin. I’m a selfish woman for letting this get out of hand.

This was a mistake.

As I’m about to apologize, Andrew tosses a hundred dollars onto the bar.

Mickey takes my hand and leads me outside, not saying a word.

We didn’t order a rideshare, and there are rarely cabs in this part of town.

We continue walking down the street to where he likely parked his car, Andrew hot on our heels.

“Mick, you can’t drive,” I insist. “You’re drunk.”

“Hardly. I had two-fingers, and you had two gin and tonics—which for both of us is basically the equivalent of drinking water. Andrew was sipping his first beer of the night. None of us are drunk.”

As we approach his SUV that easily costs as much as a down payment of a small house, he leans in to tell Andrew something I can’t hear. I have a million questions but can’t seem to voice any of them.

“I’m driving,” Andrew announces, and Mick tosses him the keys.

I reach for the front door handle, but Mickey swats my hand away. “You’re in the back seat with me, angel.”

While he’s always called me that, it’s never affected me until now.

Today, there’s something delicious and mysterious about it.

He opens the back door for me, and I slide in, sealing our fate for the evening.

Once we do this, there’s no coming back from it—and I can only hope our friendship can survive it.