by Ella James
She replies immediately. What’s not?
The Evil Burkser is here and he brought a bounce house. Set it up on my lawn, killing all the grass. He’s wearing jeans that are a *little* tight. He has the kind of ass that you could bounce a penny off of, and blue eyes. Also he took Hottie for a run around the show course, and Hottie threw a shoe and B fell. So now I hate him but I also am scared he might have a concussion & he’s stopped being a dick & now he’s being nicer? Help me. Come over…can you? I need backup.
She replies a second later. Aww, sweetie. I really wish I could but I’m covering my sister’s shift at the Shake & Bake till 1.
Maybe after?
You’re desperate aren’t u, she asks.
YES. I’m desperate!! Help me. Oh, hell, I forgot the puppies. Bet they’ve peed all in their new crate in the laundry room. G2G, please call at 1 when you get off. Help meeeeee!
Leah sends a winky kiss face. I heave a sigh and wash my hands and flush the empty toilet and check on the puppies, who in fact have not peed, so I haul their fuzzy little selves outside again and point them toward a rough patch in the grass.
Burke’s peering into the castle’s mesh window, but a second later, he and the kids stroll over.
“Margot and Oliver were just asking me about the rodeo,” he says.
“Mmm?” I look at Oliver and Margot. “Whatcha wanna know, babes?”
“Will there be butter popcorn?” Oliver asks.
“There will be. Do you like butter?”
“It’s better than ghee. Sometimes Mom would let us get it at the movies!”
“Is that right? So you want buttered popcorn tonight?” I grin.
They nod their little cute heads.
“Done,” Burke says.
I arch my brows at him. Since they’re both staring at us, I can’t give him the glare I want to.
“My brother was planning to take them,” I tell Burke pointedly. “He’s got their tickets.”
“That sounds good. We’ll sit with him.”
I bug out my eyes—is this guy freaking serious—and he smirks. “No?”
I bug them out again, then look down at the kids. Lord help me. I need some sort of palate cleanser or I’m gonna combust. “I feel like it’s ice cream time, kidlets. What do you say? You want to get a Heat Springs Float?”
Oliver picks up Mario, and Burke scoops up Peach.
“I love ice cream,” Margot sighs.
“I’ll drive,” Burke offers.
I almost say I’ve got the driving covered, but I realize if we roll up in my truck and he gets out alongside me, I’ll be talked all over town. His car would be the smarter choice. Let them know he’s just a visitor, come down to see the kids.
“Y’all want to ride in your uncle’s snazzy sports car?”
Of course they do. I take Mario from Oliver and send the kids toward the potty.
Burke follows me into the laundry room.
He puts Peach into the crate the pups are sharing and then stands up and squints at what’s on the wall beside the dryer.
“Is this a map?” he asks.
“It’s a constellation map. Yes.” I’m trying to look at his face but not stare. He’s so freaking attractive it’s just awful, really.
“Did you make it?” he asks.
“Yeah, you know. I’m mainly a farmer, but on the side I just make these maps.”
I can tell from his face that he’s not sure if I’m serious.
“Of course not.” I give him an eye roll. “It came from Amazon.”
“You guys get Amazon Prime here?”
“Honey, people get Amazon all over the world. Even us little country bumpkins down in Nowhereville.”
I lift my brows, and he looks like he might be contrite. I notice a bruise on his forehead.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says quietly.
I brush by him into the kitchen, mostly so I don’t have to worry that I’ll accidentally stare too long at him.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing two bananas from the counter. I lift my purse off a kitchen chair and stash them inside.
“Can I get one of those?” he asks.
I glance at him. “A banana?”
“Anything, I guess. But a banana works.”
“Didn’t pack any of your special San Francisco snacks? No organic granola? This banana is organic. That should bring you peace.”
He lets a breath out. “I’m sorry, June. I really am. What else can I say?”
“Oh, nothing.” I shrug. “Never can be too sure that I would understand it anyway, what with my limited education and all.”
The kids come bounding down the hall, and I walk toward the front door.
“Let’s go eat some ice cream, kiddies.”
Chapter 8
Burke
She’s right. I was a dick. During negotiations in my corner of the world, it’s pretty normal to low-key shit-talk someone. Twist their arm a little using insults—especially if those insults focus on past failures. Everyone knows tech is mostly one big sausage fest, so I don’t worry about being dickish to the other dicks.
Yesterday, I was in default dick mode. I didn’t think about how she would feel. Mostly because I didn’t give a shit.
Today, that’s not as easy.
I’m driving us toward “town,” where the bookstore/coffee place is—where they apparently they serve some kind of Coke float that the kids are squealing about. June is in the front seat beside me, her knees angled slightly toward the door. She’s wearing pale blue-ish leggings and a big, thick, corded beige sweater, with her blonde hair in a top-of-the-head ponytail, Ariana Grande style. She’s got on big, dark glasses like some kind of movie star, and every time her gaze is pulled in my direction—usually by something the kids are doing in the back seat—she makes an irritated face, which only makes her pretty mouth twist in a pretty pout.
I’ve got something I could put in that mouth.
I clamp my molars on the inside of my cheek and tell myself to get a fucking grip. I work so much, I’m hardly ever with a single woman for more than an hour or two—not unless you count the women that I work with, and I don’t, because I’d never fuck someone from work.
Unfortunately for me, June is billboard beautiful, like one of the old-school cover girls I used to jerk off to when I was thirteen, and she also seems to hate me. Every time she rolls her eyes or sends a glare my way, it makes me want to carry her to bed and fuck a smile onto those soft lips.
At the very moment I think that, right as my dick is twitching like it’s ready for a party, she flicks her eyes over at me and then digs something out of her purse. And that something is a little tub of lip stuff.
Fuck me. She rubs her finger in the pale pink stuff and starts to smear it on her lips, and I’m hard. Just like that. One pass of her finger over that full lower lip, and if she looks my way—if she looks down below the steering wheel—she’ll see my dick outlined in black denim.
My dick that hasn’t fucked in almost three months. My dick that could have gotten play at a fundraiser last week had I not been in a weird place because of Asher. My little brother. Who is dead.
Even saying those words in my head doesn’t put my over-eager dick back in its place. I grit my teeth.
“I didn’t see this place when I drove through before,” I say as I turn onto the paved county road.
“Probably because you don’t know where it is.”
She pops her lips together just a little, and I grit my teeth.
“Yeah. I don’t.”
She does something new with her mouth. Is that a smirk? I can’t tell without shifting my eyes from the road, but I think it is. A little fucking smirk. I let my breath out, trying to be quiet about it.
“You gonna tell me?” I ask.
“Unless you have mind-reading capabilities and plan to read it from my brain, I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”
I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. I guess I d
o a lousy job of keeping my amusement off my face, because she says, “What?”
I hold my hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”
“It would be ideal if you could hold onto the wheel.”
“I had it with my knee.” I put both hands around the wheel again, still trying to hide how damn much I’m enjoying this.
“Do you even drive?” I know the muttered question wasn’t mean to be voiced, because her jaw drops in surprise just after she asks.
“Do I drive?” This time I can’t help a laugh. “You mean at home?” I grin at her. “You think my driving skills are shit, huh?”
“I think what you mean is crap.” She lifts an eyebrow, reminding me the kids are right behind us.
“Why wouldn’t I drive?”
She lifts a shoulder, staring out the window with her jaw set like she’s feeling stubborn.
“All that money,” she drawls after a second.
“You think I use my money to pay someone else to drive me around?”
She makes a soft sound, maybe a snort, but I can’t tell because I’m turning left, so I’m focused on the road. “People do it,” she says.
“That’s true.” People I know do it. “But I don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Oliver says. He leans up toward us, then looks out the window. “I just saw a cow!”
“I want to see a cow,” Margot says.
“That money I offered you,” I say quietly to June, “was because I care about this. Not because I have plenty to throw around.”
She snorts loudly. “Oh, puh-lease. I know how to navigate to Wikipedia, believe it or not. And Forbes, and the San Francisco Chronicle. I even have a little bitty sort of photographic memory. So anyway, don’t give me that baloney sandwich.”
I chuckle at that. “Baloney is for people who can’t afford bologna, you know.”
She throws her head back, rolling her eyes. “They’re the same thing, Burke Bug.”
I wink, looking over at her as I roll up to a stop sign.
“Mama knows her Oscar Mayer.” She smiles. Then, without looking at me, she turns around and talks to the kids between our seats until we’re on that little strip with all the shops, and she turns back around and points. “Take a right there, into the playground parking lot.”
I do, and I see it—a little shed-looking building with wooden walls and pale, worn shingles. It’s about the size of your typical boardroom. Definitely no bigger.
“There’s a playground!” Margot shouts.
June nods, looking smug. “I thought we could go there with our floats.”
The kids squeal happily, and I help Margot out of the car on my side.
The inside of the Floatin’ Bean looks like a barn, but with racks and shelves filled with strange things like cans of peanuts, dark brown walnuts in gift bags with silky red bows, a whole, big case of fudge, a jukebox with stickers slapped on every inch of it, and three mounted deer heads whose antlers are laced with blinking Christmas lights.
The jukebox is playing twangy country music, which doesn’t surprise me. What does is the reaction of the cashier to June. When she first sees our party of four, her heavily-made-up eyes widen. Then she bolts around the counter, smushes boob-to-boob with June, and hugs her like they’re long lost sisters. Then a second later, I hear a sound that can only mean that one of them is crying.
Shit. Should I distract the kids? I look around and realize they’ve gone over to the jukebox, so I join them there. I don’t know how much time June needs, but I don’t want to be around for that stuff.
Naturally, the moment I glance over my shoulder to see if they’re still doing the waterworks, June is wiping her eyes. Her gaze fixes on my face. I try to smile, but I think it’s a grimace. The woman beside her doesn’t notice. She must be old enough to be June’s mother, though I know she can’t be. She wipes her eyes, too, smearing mascara all over her face, and then gives me a quivering, red-lipped smile and starts toward me.
Hell, no. I can feel it coming, can sense it in her long strides and that focused look on her face. Yep—she goes in for it: the hug.
I grit my teeth and try to stand still and just breathe. That’s when I smell it. I haven’t smelled it in so long, but there it is. It fills my nose and then my head, and then I have to get away from it. I have to get away from her, from how it feels to have her hugging me and smelling like…that.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can only move. And then I’m outside, and it’s windy and the air is too cold, and I’m fumbling for the car keys and I’m striding to the car. I’m getting in the car. I want to drive. I really want to drive away, but I can’t, so I lay my chair back and put one shaking hand on my chest. I try to feel my diaphragm moving below my palm. Just feel it. And nothing else. There’s nothing else.
My heart is racing, though. It’s hard to breathe. I run through my mental checklist. What color is the car? The ceiling’s black…maybe more charcoal. The dashboard is black. The seats are tan. I look at the buttons on the dashboard, and the text and numbers on them is white. I look at the miles-per-hour gauge. It goes to 160. That’s higher than average but not so high for a car like this.
It’s okay. If you start breathing too fast, just observe what’s around you.
I remind myself that my reaction is just physical. I’ve never really talked to anyone about it, but I read all the books. It’s all about breathing if this stuff happens.
I do that for a while, and then I sit back up and spot June and the kids at a picnic table under a big tree, right beside the playground. Thinking of walking up to them makes me feel so fucking cringey, but I have to do it.
I don’t have a plan until I’m right there by the table. Then I give June a little nod and say, “Sorry, got a phone call.”
“Did you?” She frowns down at her float.
The kids jump up right then and run off toward the playground.
“Yeah,” I say sharply. “I did.”
“Well that was rude.” She looks up at me, and her face is guarded. “Sadie thought she scared you off or hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelings? How would she do that?” I ask in a tone that says the idea is ridiculous.
“Offended you, is what I mean.”
“All she did was hug me.”
“Maybe you don’t like hugs. I think she thought it might be something like that. There’s a little boy in Heat Springs who has autism. He doesn’t like hugs. Overwhelms him.”
“Yeah well, I’m not a little kid. And I don’t have autism. I’ll have to use that next time I’m somewhere and want to leave, though.”
Disgust twists her face. “Yeah, Burke. You do that. Pretend that you have autism. That’s real mature.”
Then she stalks off toward the playground. She won’t look at me for the rest of the outing, not even when I get up on the jungle gym and start playing Wild Attack Ape with the kids. Just as I’m feeling almost like myself again, she whistles between her fingers from where she’s sitting on a wooden bench and the kids run to her.
“I think we’ve gotta be going. Burke will drop us off at home. You two can nap, and I’ll have some June time, and then we’ll get ready for the rodeo.”
I smile down at her, because when she seems pissed at me, I think I find her even hotter than I usually do. “June time?”
“Yes.” She looks at me with her mouth pinched, batting her lashes like a malfunctioning doll. “Time to center myself. Sometimes I do yoga.”
“They do yoga down here?”
“I don’t know who ‘they’ is, but I definitely do yoga. In fact, I teach a yoga class at the community center every Saturday. What about you, Uncle Burke?” She folds her arms. “Do you do yoga?”
“I can get down with the downward dogs.”
I look down, mostly to look away from June, and I find tears on Margot’s cheeks. “Oh no, buddy. Uh, buddy girl,” I correct.
That makes her giggle.
“You’re not buddy, are you?”
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She shakes her head then wipes her eyes. “What are you, then?” I ask. “Little sistah?”
She gives me her kid version of a what-the-fuck look. Then she heaves a deep sigh. “You’re so weird.” She wipes her eyes again, and I ask, “What’s the matter?”
Her lip trembles, and I pick her up. I don’t know why. I used to carry her around more a few years back, before I got so busy with work. It feels natural, but she’s heavier now.
I pretend I’m swaying. “Whoooaaa! When did you get so heavy?”
“I’m not heavy. Maybe you’ve lost…energy or something.”
“What?” I feign shock.
“Superheroes can lose energy, you know.”
“And I’m a superhero, right,” I nod, “so that makes sense.”
“You’re not a superhero,” Oliver says.
“Oh yeah I am. I’m Captain Burke.”
I hear a snort, and I assume it came from June, who’s slightly behind me as I sway like a tree in the wind under Margot’s pretend weight.
“You are a superhero.” Margot wraps her arms around my neck, and I start walking, stumbling zombie-style toward the rental car.
I wrap her closer to me with one arm and then dip down and give a low roar.
“It’s the crazy ape again,” Oliver cries.
I keep it up until the crazy ape has deposited both kids into the car’s small back seat. June won’t look at me as she buckles Margot. She slides into the passenger’s seat and says, “Go straight to my house,” as if there’s grave danger I might go somewhere else.
“Damn,” I murmur, snapping my fingers. “Wanted to go rob the bank.”
“Team Greedy,” she mutters dryly, sliding her shades off her face so she can rub her eyes.
“You got a headache?”
“Can’t imagine why I would,” she says drolly.
“I’m Team Minimize,” I say as I turn up the radio and fade it to the back of the car. “Just for the record.”
She snorts. “Oh yeah.” She lets her gaze rake over me and pulls her ponytail out of her hair. I can’t see what she’s doing to it—my eyes are on the road—but I can sense her messing with it.