Her Boyfriend's Brother

Ana didn’t know what was better: the first sip of her brunch-time mimosa or the coastal sunshine tanning her on the quaint, art-deco patio. With her second sip, she promised herself she would never live in the Midwest. The sun there could never be this good. A lake could never be an ocean.

“Alright, see ya.” Brendan put down his phone. Ana was lucky to be with him. He excelled at fulfilling her second most important love language: receiving gifts. However, her new jewelry collection couldn’t compensate for her single most important love language: physical touch. They had only been fucking exclusively for three weeks now, so Ana wasn’t going to run away with her diamonds quite yet. But, if he didn’t want to lose his hot, new girlfriend soon, Brendan needed to learn how to pleasure her by the end of this meal. “He should be here soon,” he said to her.

A third and fourth sip later, she replied, “Okay, I’ll go to the bathroom now.” She got up from her seat, leaving her dear mimosa behind. This Naomi-Campbell wannabe transformed this bistro’s aisles into her runway. She walked at least two miles per hour slower than the average woman, happy to let the men drink in all of her slow-motion perfection. While the single, anxiety-riddled women cried at her radidance, the men -- regardless of relationship status -- all salivated like Pavlov’s dog. She had them all desperate and trained. Her red dress dyed with the blood of all the hearts she’d broken. Her high heels boosted by the dense air of her narcissism. With the fifth desperate smile she received, she gave her fans a smirk, and the whole crowd’s breakfast went cold. Who cared about food at a time like this? 

All were frozen, except for the bitch leaving the bathroom.

WHAM!

***

“Miss, are you okay?” She blinked a few times to dust her eyelids open. “She’s awake,” said the strange man in her face.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Nick. I work here. Are you okay?”

“My head hurts. Where am I?” She now turned from her spot on the floor in front of the ladies’ restroom to see the whole restaurant wearing one, unified furrowed brow. All worried for the woman they wanted, who fell to the floor just as quickly as that bathroom door hit her precious, partially plastic face.

“Oh no, she must have a concussion,” members of the crowd chimed in.

“Poor thing.”

“I can take you to the hospital!”

“No, I can!”

“What the hell is going on?” Like untangling a marionette, Ana staggered to her feet. Her now puzzled face was the antithesis to her once modern-Aphrodite charisma. She stumbled through the crowd of hungry peasants, her heels dragging and a bit deflated. Once outside, she looked around at the new people surrounding her. She didn’t recognize a single freckle until she saw... “Logan?” She ran to the one person she knew. He was her saving grace, her last resort, her land-ho. “Logan, thank God,” she hugged him with all she had, too dazed to notice he didn’t hug her back. “I just passed out, and I have no idea where I am, what  --”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “Do I know you?”

She scoffed.

“Logan, this is Ana,” Brendan said, from his spot at the table.

“Oh, Ana!” Logan started. “Nice to meet you. But, apparently, you already --”

“Who are you?” She looked down at the strange man.

“Ana, come on,” Brendan replied.

“How do you know my name?”

“Ana, really? Just sit down. Relax. You’ll feel better if --”

“Who are you?”

“Really? I’m your boyfriend.”

***

“We have to make this quick.” She fumbled with his belt buckle, like a teen high on energy drinks and Adderall. 

His hands came down onto hers and froze the moment. She looked to him like a gladiator to her emperor, wanting for his command. “Who says we have to make it quick?” Logan asked, not looking for an answer. He hoisted her up onto the bathroom counter, as if his years and years of weightlifting all led to this.

“Oh fuck,” Ana moaned. “Why can’t your brother ever treat me like this?” she asked with 20 percent voice and 80 percent breath, as he painted her neck with his lips and molded her thighs with his hands.

“Because he already has you.” He pulled back from her and froze the moment again, like any other superhuman could. “I still have to prove myself.”

***

Ana gasped, absolutely floored by having her first vision. “I need to sit down.” Her heart rate was increasing with every second, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the shock or the steaminess. “Damn,” she added, having noticed that Logan’s hands were the exact same ones she envisioned. “Whose is this?” She pointed to the unfinished mimosa.

“Yours,” Brendan answered. She downed that juice, trying to put out the fire that was intensifying in her southern hemisphere.

“So you’re my boyfriend?” she asked Brendan.

“Yes,” he replied.

“And us.” She turned to Logan. “This is the first time we’re ever meeting?”

“Correct,” he replied, his husky, burly, brawny, powerful, strong, sturdy, sexy voice making her scour for another mimosa.

“So we never,” she started and snuck a glance at Brendan, as if asking him for permission for something he was never aware of. “We never,” she paused and snuck another glance. “We never hooked up?”

“What the hell?” Brendan got upset.

“No, no, no,” Logan started. “Dude, I swear I’ve never met her before!”

Hearing his sexually inspiring voice again, Ana lost it. “Goddamnit! Where is our waiter?”

“You two hooked up?”

“No, dude, I swear!”

“What does a woman need to do to get a drink around here?”

“Hello,” the waiter appeared like a magician’s assistant. “Are we ready to order?”

“Yes,” Ana started. “I’ll have a pitcher of mimosas. Thank you.” She leaned back in her artisan, hand-woven, wicker chair, practiced the breathing exercises her yoga instructor taught her, and tried to figure out how and when she has destined to fuck her boyfriend’s brother.