Man Bun (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Read online

  MAN BUN

  THE BOYFRIEND SERIES: BOOK TWO

  S. E. LUND

  MAN BUN

  THE BOYFRIEND SERIES: BOOK TWO

  Copyright 2022 S. E. Lund

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

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  Created with Vellum

  ALSO BY S. E. LUND

  CONTEMPORARY EROTIC ROMANCE:

  THE BOYFRIEND SERIES:

  Boy Toy: The Boyfriend Series Book 1

  Man Bun: The Boyfriend Series Book 2

  THE UNRESTRAINED SERIES

  The Agreement: Book 1

  The Commitment: Book 2

  Unrestrained: Book 3

  Unbreakable: Book 4

  Forever After: Book 5

  Everlasting: Book 6

  Drake Forever: Book 7

  Endless: Book 8

  THE DRAKE SERIES (The Unrestrained Series from Drake’s Point of View)

  Drake Restrained: Book 1

  Drake Unwound: Book 2

  Drake Unbound: Book 3

  Military Romance / Romantic Suspense

  THE BAD BOY SERIES

  Bad Boy Saint: Book 1

  Bad Boy Sinner: Book 2

  Bad Boy Soldier: Book 3

  Bad Boy Savior: Book 4

  Military Romance: Standalone

  If You Fall

  BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Macintyre Brothers Series

  Tempt Me: Book 1

  Tease Me: Book 2

  Tame Me: Book 3

  BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Mr. Big Shot Series

  Mr. Big Shot: Book 1

  Mr. Big Love: Book 2

  Mr. Big Daddy: Book 3

  BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: Standalone

  Matched

  PARANORMAL ROMANCE:

  THE DOMINION SERIES

  Dominion: Book 1 in the Dominion Series

  Ascension: Book 2 in the Dominion Series

  Retribution: Book 3 in the Dominion Series

  Resurrection: Book 4 in the Dominion Series

  Redemption: Book 5 in the Dominion Series

  THE ETERNITY SERIES (The Dominion Series Sequel)

  Eternity: Book 1 in the Eternity Series

  For more info:

  www.selundauthor.com

  [email protected]

  CONTENTS

  1. Brooke

  2. Tate

  3. Brooke

  4. Tate

  5. Brooke

  6. Tate

  7. Brooke

  8. Tate

  9. Brooke

  10. Tate

  11. Brooke

  12. Tate

  13. Brooke

  14. Tate

  15. Brooke

  16. Tate

  17. Brooke

  18. Tate

  19. Brooke

  20. Tate

  21. Brooke

  22. Tate

  23. Brooke

  24. Tate

  25. Brooke

  26. Tate

  27. Brooke

  28. Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  BROOKE

  “So, when will I see Man Bun again?”

  My father was amused with himself — as usual. We were Skyping to catch up with each other’s lives and for me to let him know we would be in Brooklyn in less than a week to apartment shop.

  “You going to keep him all to yourself until the wedding day? I barely got a chance to really talk to him, you were so busy with everyone here.”

  “Dad!” I said with a laugh. “You monopolized him at Thanksgiving if I recall. I barely talked to him the entire day.” I wasn’t allowing myself to imagine there was a wedding in my future. “Besides, we’ve only been together for five months. It’s a bit premature to be talking weddings. We’ll be there on Saturday, in fact. We’re coming to find an apartment in Brooklyn.” I smiled, remembering how my father reacted when he saw Tate in person for the first time. I knew he was holding back the wisecracks to seem respectable, but they were simmering under the surface. Most notably, about Tate’s long hair, tattoos and laid-back calm. None of which bothered me in the least — not anymore. In fact, his long hair and tattoos were part of his overall California surfer dude charm.

  In the end, Tate won my father over, primarily with their joint love of the NFL, and the two spent the weekend watching football together, drinking beer and eating popcorn and pizza. Tate offered to carve the turkey on Thanksgiving, but relented when my father muscled his way in.

  “Sorry, Son,” he said to Tate who stepped graciously back. “This is an old man’s job.”

  So, my father bonded with Tate over football. Tate’s intelligence, talent, and of course, wealth only added to his other charms.

  The first time I met Tate, I wanted him. I imagine every young woman did.

  At the same time, I realized he was not for me for one simple reason: He was my boss’s son.

  It may have been okay for young male business executives to meet and fall for the boss’s daughter, but the rules were different for women.

  Besides that, Tate was younger than me by almost six years. He was a bohemian art student at Stanford finishing his residence for an MFA in Art Practice. He painted portraits and urban landscapes using an impressionistic style all his own. Independently wealthy after inheriting his mother’s fortune, he never had to work a day in his life.

  How esoteric and dilettante is that?

  In contrast, I was a single thirty-year-old serious business executive, putting in sixty-hour work weeks for one of the biggest tech corporations in the country, ensuring it was safe from all manner of black swan events that could disrupt business. On the West Coast, where I was the new head of the Emergency Planning Unit, I was focused on the coming earthquake that I knew would rock the Pacific. I went to business school, had an MBA, and spent my days thinking about business continuity, emergency planning, and making sure the buildings the corporation owned were retrofitted if they were constructed prior to the 1970s.

  It was like we were polar opposites, made from completely different and opposite materials.

  And yet…

  And yet, the first moment I saw him emerging from the California surf, his long dark hair wet, his wetsuit half-off to reveal washboard abs, tanned skin, and his tattoos, I wanted him.

  I’ve wanted him every single day since.

  And as luck would have it, I’ve had him — almost every day since.

  “We’ll be there at five in the afternoon on Saturday and we’ll be staying for a week so we can find a place. We’ll have lots of time together. You can interrogate him all you want about Super Bowl history. He said he’s brushing up on his stats, so he’ll be ready.”

  My father laughed out loud at that. “Saturday? That’s great. I wish he could have come out with you when you came back at Christmas but at least he’ll be here for Valentine’s Day, when he asks me for your hand in marriage. It’s only fitting and just.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “If you talk that way in front of him, I swear I’ll kick you under the table. And you
’ll deserve it. I’ve already told you that the reason he didn’t come out with me at Christmas was because he had a local gallery opening to prepare for and had to finish a piece. Plus, his half-brother was in town visiting from Paris. You knew that. I certainly wasn’t hiding him from you.”

  In fact, I had been a bit apprehensive about how my father would take Tate McNaughton, 24, son of my boss, John McNaughton, of McNaughton Inc., but I needn’t have been worried. Tate had so much fun with my father, he wanted to come with me at Christmas, but his half-brother Louis was in town, and he did have a piece to finish for his gallery opening.

  That five-day period was the only time that we had been apart since the day I moved in with him after his father tried to fire me. I flew home and spent Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and three days with Dad in Brooklyn where he had retired on his Firefighter’s pension, living in a rent-controlled brownstone near Owl’s Head Park and the East River.

  Now, in less than a month, when my term ended and Tate was finished his residency, we would be moving to Brooklyn, where Tate wanted to start a gallery of his own to feature young emerging artists. All we had left to do was find a place to live, and that was why I called my father. Tate had appointments set up with a real estate agent, and we were going to see what was on the market.

  Although I had been a bit nervous about their meeting, my father wasn’t at all a judgemental person, but still. Tate was sleeping with his only daughter.

  A father couldn’t be blamed for wanting the best for his daughter.

  Tate was the best — at least for me.

  We fit together like two spoons. He was yang to my yin.

  Our relationship felt effortless. The only issues had been the outside world interfering — namely, his father. John McNaughton, who I discovered to my utter horror, wanted me as his piece of ass on the side.

  I thought John had mentored me purely because he saw my potential as an executive in his company. I never did anything to encourage anything else but that, wearing chaste women’s business suits, little makeup and only the most minimal jewelry. For some reason, he must have fixated on me, and saw me as potential fuck buddy material. He planned to set me up in his beach house and have me to himself.

  I knew nothing of this and went to the West Coast thinking he put me in San Francisco because he thought I was the best “man” for the job.

  He had other plans.

  Then I met Tate, and well, the rest is history.

  Luckily for Tate and me, John relented and left California, allowing me to finish my term in San Francisco without firing me.

  Tate’s threat to expose his philandering worked.

  “Do you want me to meet you at the airport?” my father asked. “Or does Man Bun have a limousine service he’ll call up to bring him to the city. Perhaps you’ll chopper in, like the ultra-rich. Where are you staying? The St. Regis?”

  “Dad!” I shook my head. “We’re staying in Brooklyn, so we’ll be near you. We have a nice Airbnb close to Owl’s Head Park.”

  “That’s good. We can go to the local joint where I have dinner. They have great Greek souvlaki and decent craft beer. Does Man Bun eat regular food? Isn’t he the son of a French Diplomat or something? Do the French even drink beer or is that too gauche?”

  I smiled but didn’t take the bait. My father liked to imagine that Tate was a descendent of French Royalty because of his father’s identity. Tate’s real father was dead, but he had two half-brothers and a half-sister in France. One day, we planned to meet them during a holiday in France. I hoped to take my dad along for the trip so he could visit the graves in Normandy where his grandfather was buried.

  “How’s work wrapping up? You have only a couple more weeks in San Francisco after you get back.”

  “It’s fine. I’m meeting my replacement who will be the permanent head of the unit on Monday. So, we’ll have a week to work together to get him up to speed before Tate and I leave for Brooklyn.”

  “What’s he like? No doubt some hotshot MBA from Harvard to be able to replace you.”

  “He is exactly that,” I replied with a laugh. “He must be good. John may be a bastard, but he is really serious about hiring the best.”

  “Of course, if he hired you. Anyway, gotta go. Meeting the boys for a beer down at O’Hanlon’s. I’ll take you and Tate there when you’re here. The boys will want to meet Man Bun. I’ve told them all about him and they’re curious.”

  “Oh, my God, Dad, you tell them to be on their best behaviour. No teasing him or giving him a hard time, okay?”

  “What - he can’t handle a few old firefighters giving him the future father-in-law treatment?”

  I shook my head and blew him a kiss and then said goodbye. “See you on Saturday. Love you.”

  “Love you back, Sweetheart. Give Man Bun a hug for me.”

  I chuckled at that and ended the Skype session, wondering how the two would get along. I expected they would be fine together since my father was one of those get along with everyone type of people. Besides, while Tate came off as a bit cool at first, he was friendly once the ice broke, and he warmed up. He was good and decent. That mattered to me.

  My father was a good and decent man. He was my role model for the male of the species. Strong silent type, honorable, solid morals.

  Tate fit the mold, despite his very unconventional career, looks and upbringing.

  I sighed and glanced out the window. Tate had spent the morning at his studio in town working on a piece and planned to be back around four so he could surf a bit before dinner. I heard the front door unlock and turned to see him enter, a canvas in hand.

  “Hey,” he called out.

  “Hey back,” I replied and watched while he positioned the canvas against the wall and removed his boots. He was wearing worn black jeans, a white t-shirt with short sleeves that revealed his tattoo and had his hair in a man bun.

  My father would be delighted.

  “You finished the piece?”

  “All finished,” he said and carried it into the kitchen where I sat with my laptop open on the table looking out over the yard. “Take a look.”

  He turned it around and there, in all my glory, was me. I was naked except for a black velvet drape thrown tastefully over my breasts and covering my torso. My legs were thrown over the arm of the settee. And my head was resting on the other arm, my hair spread out beneath me. My eyes were closed, and one hand was resting on the arm beside my face like I was asleep.

  “Even your father could see this and not blush,” he said, tilting his head to admire his own painting.

  “It’s fantastic,” I said, for it really was excellent. The colors were intense, alternating fire engine red of the settee, my pale skin and white-blonde hair, and the black velvet drape plus shadows in the background. The lighting made my skin seem even paler, if possible. It was amazing.

  He was very talented, and he had a definite vision.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said with a sigh.

  “You’re beautiful,” he replied and reached down to pull me into his arms for an intense kiss.

  When the kiss ended and we were both breathless, he glanced at his watch. “I was going to surf before supper, but maybe we could delay for a while before Ross gets here.”

  We kissed again, but before anything else could happen, we heard a knock at the front door.

  “Too late,” I said and kissed Tate quickly. “Later.”

  “Definitely later,” he replied and kissed me back. “You going to come along and surf with us?”

  “Not today,” I said. “I’m going to help Kelli with something work related. Go with Ross and have some bro time.”

  “Okay.” He went to meet Ross, who came through the beach house.

  “Hey,” he said to me as he passed. “We’re on for the concert in town Friday night before you guys go on Saturday?”

  “You bet,” I replied. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Good, because Kelli is really excited.
”

  The concert Ross referred to was Kelli’s favorite Brit band, who were in town for a concert. Kelli demanded we go with them, and we agreed, seeing as soon, the four of us would be separated when Tate and I moved to Brooklyn. We wanted as much time together before then.

  With that settled, Ross and Tate went out the back to the shed where their boards and wetsuits were kept.

  For the next hour, while I waited for Kelli to arrive from work, I watched the guys surf.

  I would miss the California sand and surf, but Tate wanted to leave and move to a more arts-oriented city, and I wanted to be closer to my dad, whose health was not getting any better.

  I felt so lucky that things had worked out with Tate and with McNaughton Inc.

  Only a mere four months earlier, it looked like my brilliant career as an Emergency Planning executive was over before it even started.

  Now, John seemed to have given in and I still had a position in the New York office if I wanted it.

  As I waited for Kelli to arrive, I felt like everything was perfect. The only thing that would make my life even better was for my bestie to be moving to New York City instead of staying on in San Francisco. Other than that, I couldn’t have asked for more.

  Only thing was that nothing ever is perfect.

  As I was soon to find out…

  2