Endurance (Harris Brothers, #2)

by Amy Daws

I should go tell Indie. I should go tell Indie. I should go tell Indie. Bugger it. I’d rather torture Tanner Harris.

Tanner Harris is a knobhead spunk bubble who runs around like a dog with two dicks.

I wouldn’t marry Tanner Harris if he was the last tosser on Earth,

“What are brothers for?” “To make it glaringly obvious that I’m the best looking Harris Brother.”

As a result, this is the lifestyle I’ve chosen for myself: Single, ready to mingle, and happy to have a dingle on a regular and satisfactory basis.

“Well, I was enjoying the view for a while, but then I started to feel a bit pervy staring at your arse hanging out of those tiny shorts. I figured I’d better make my presence known before I took a bite of the wrong treat.” He winks.

“Maybe this arrangement won’t be so bad after all. Let’s get naked and talk about our fears.” The look she gives me reminds me of smelling a carton of rotten milk. “If you think I asked you up here to fuck, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

We arrive at a restaurant called The Barbary. It’s a brand new North African cuisine hot spot located in the alley of Neal’s Yard.

But nothing about the night tops the way Belle’s eyes light up when she sees they have a dark chocolate ganache truffle dessert. She looks like a kid getting a puppy on Christmas morning. It’s sweet and hilarious and innocent.

How did this bird go from throwing her wine in my face to making me as hard as a rock within the space of an hour? She’s a witch. A temptress. She’s got me completely under her chocolatey, crazy chick spell and I’m entranced.

believe me when I tell you, Belle, these past few days you were all I thought about. Naked. Panting. And so fucking wet.” I pull her hip toward me and she greedily arches into my touch. “So if a call is all it takes to get you back in that position, baby, you better watch your mobile because I’m going to blow it the fuck up.”

I feel Belle begin to stir in my arms and I reflexively tighten my grip on her, my morning erection pressed up against her supple arse. “If you’re going for accidental anal, I’m going to throat punch you.” Belle’s morning voice is deep and throaty.

I hear Belle huff beside me and immediately wrap an arm around her, inserting her between me and the ladies. “This is my girlfriend, Dr. Belle Ryan. She saves babies.”

But hearing her speak so fluently about not only the sport I love, but the team that is my pride and joy, makes me want to drop down on one knee and marry her on the spot.

“It reminds me of how I looked at your mother when we first started dating. And well, you see how that turned out.” He looks out at Gareth like he has “whoopsie child” printed on his forehead.

Nothing else will ever feel so big when I’m able to save something so small.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of my knickers. Not the ones I was wearing tonight, but the ones he nicked out of my suitcase in Manchester.

“No more fake dating. No more bullshit. You’re mine. I’m yours. We walk back in there and we act like it. But this time, it’s not an act.”

But once you have someone that you don’t want to let go, it makes you wish you never would have taken hold of anyone else.

“You really want to waltz into Tower Park wearing a shirt that says big spoon on it?” I ask, propping a hand on my hip. The merriment on his face is infectious. “Only if you wear your little spoon shirt. Otherwise, I’d look ridiculous!”

“No, I don’t want you to leave. No, I don’t think we’re different than Cam and Indie. No, I don’t want you to believe that you’re not a part of this.”

and he just snapped back at me like he knew how to figure it out because he wasn’t a moron. So I asked him if he was sure about that because I seem to remember him naked on a street corner only a month ago.

After his first practice back, he showed up at my door, smelly kit and all, and asked me if I wanted a shower, a forking, and then a spooning.

“I’d say you helped me not turn into a completely cynical arsehole.” Indie beams. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“First, and most important, is how they make you feel about yourself. Are they good to you? Do they accept you for your flaws? See the best in you? The second is how they feel about themselves. Do they take pride in what they do? Do they strive to become more? Do they love themselves? And the third tier is…” She pauses and pushes her glasses up on her nose. Then she pins me to the chaise lounge with her eyes, showing me she’s one hundred percent serious. “Do you inspire each other?”

He dives across the bed and tackles me, silencing my words with a kiss. “I fucking love you, future wife.” I giggle and look up at him. “I fucking love you, future husband.”

“Dad, I love her. It was like…it felt like…” I stammer. “Like…marry her or quit breathing, and I chose to marry her. Football wasn’t even a factor.”