Hilariously Ever After

by Penny Reid

  Laughter filled the room. That deep, raw, rough sound that forced goosebumps onto my arms made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Slow, easy steps closed the distance between us.

  “Kali.” Brantley said my name slowly, sexily, temptingly. He set his hands on my shoulders, pulling me forward as if my feet were nothing more than his slaves, until I stood in front of the sofa. “Sit,” he said, pushing me down.

  I sat.

  He left me there, sitting in silence while he went to the kitchen and into the fridge. A cupboard, a clink, the swish of a fridge closing.

  Returning to the front room, Brantley put a glass of white wine in front of me. He dropped himself on the sofa, his beer dripping with condensation as he put it on the table.

  “Just one,” he said. “I know you drove. It’s the least I can do after you looked after my hellions.”

  “They’re weren’t too bad,” I said honestly. “But, shit. I feel like I could referee an international soccer tournament after this.”

  “Don’t. They dive a lot.”

  “They’re on grass. How can they dive?

  He stared at me. “You don’t watch soccer, do you?”

  “No. Baseball is where the tight pants are at.”

  He leaned back on the sofa and laughed at me. “Of course. All right—never mind. Tell me about your mom. Stepmom?”

  I shifted uneasily. I never really talked about Portia or my mom. Everyone here knew about my family, so it was never an issue.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “But she’s just my mom, really.”

  Chapter 13

  He looked at me. Not judgingly. Not even expectantly. Patiently. Waiting for me to elaborate.

  I was ready to respond when there was a knock at the door. I knew that was the pizza—there was only one pizza place in Rock Bay and they prided themselves on super-fast delivery.

  Freaky-fast delivery, actually.

  Brantley got up and took the boxes from the young guy who was responsible for it. The door clicked shut, and I tucked my legs beneath my butt as he set the boxes on the coffee table in front of us.

  “Eat it,” he said. “It’s my thank you for helping me. I know you’re hungry.”

  I glanced between the box and him. I was hungry, no doubt about it, but there was something about him buying me food that didn’t sit right. Nothing nefarious, but it felt…weird.

  Still, I slid the box from the table to the sofa in front of me.

  Silently, I picked off a slice of pepperoni, watching as the hot, stringy cheese desperately tried to keep its prisoner safe on the slice.

  We ate. Both of us. Questions faded in the silence we shared.

  Or, so I thought.

  “Portia. Your stepmom?” Brantley’s question came again after three slices.

  Man, he wasn’t going to let it lie, was he?

  I shut the lid of my box and out it back on the table. “Yep.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

  “I never have to,” I admitted. “Everyone here knows everything about me. That’s what living in a small town does to you.”

  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I’d like to.”

  I cast my gaze over him. Over that dark hair and those full lips and that stubble and those strong shoulders.

  Those compellingly bright eyes.

  “My mom died when I was five.” I pulled my wine glass onto my lap.

  Brantley took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  I drained the rest of the wine and looked at the empty glass. Words danced on the end of my tongue, teasing and playing. In the time they’d done that, Brantley had gotten up and returned with the bottle.

  He filled my glass. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why would you?” I cradled the now-full glass in my hands. “You just moved here.”

  “True.”

  I looked away from him, sipping slowly, focusing on anything but him. Anything but his gray sweats and white tees and muscles that wanted to distract me from reality.

  “When did you meet her? Your stepmom?” Brantley asked, voice soft like silk. “How old were you?”

  I didn’t even glance at him when I said, “Thirteen.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. Once. “I hated her for three months, then she became my best friend. She’s been my mom ever since.”

  “You call her Mom?”

  Side-eyeing him, I smiled. “Of course. I was so young when my mom died. Me and Dad were alone for years. Portia came along when I needed her most, and it’s just how we are. She’s my mom, but she’s a different kind of mom. She’ll never replace my mother.”

  Brantley tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. I love your perspective on it. It’s very…open and honest.”

  I brought my glass to my lips and sipped. “I don’t think it’s my perspective. It’s just how it is.”

  “You say it like it’s nothing.”

  “On the contrary, it’s everything.” I pulled both legs up onto the sofa and crossed them, Indian-style. The base of my glass rested on my ankles, and I stared into the swirling mass of my wine. “Portia was there when nobody else was. She guided me when I was alone. She was the friend and support I needed when my father was lost. Our relationship isn’t perfect, but she’s the best friend I’ve ever known.”

  Brantley nodded slowly. He tipped his beer bottle up, draining what was inside it. Wordlessly, he got up, retreating to the kitchen. I cradled my glass and stared at where he’d left until he appeared again.

  He handed me the bottle of wine.

  Against my better judgement, I poured.

  I set the half-empty bottle back on the table.

  He popped the cap of another beer. Settled back. Sipped. Sighed. Breathed easy. “Moving on is hard,” he said quietly, staring into the brown-tinted neck of the Budweiser bottle. “Sometimes it seems impossible. You just made me feel like, one day, my kids will feel some kind of happiness.”

  “You think they aren’t happy?”

  “I know they aren’t.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  He hit me with his bright gaze. “You think?”

  “I know.” I glanced into my glass before our eyes met again. “Look at them, Brantley. They love you.”

  “Sure, they do. But happiness is something else.”

  “They’re happy with you. Anyone with a brain cell can see that.”

  He stared at me.

  Really stared at me.

  Moved closer to me, closing the distance between us.

  “You’re a great dad,” I said softly, cradling my wine glass. “You have to know that.”

  “I do,” he replied. “But I have no choice. I’m a great dad because I have to be. Because without me they have nobody.”

  “You don’t believe in yourself enough.” I turned my head and finished what was in my glass. It clinked against the coffee table. “You’re an amazing father because you love them beyond anything I could ever understand.”

  He met my eyes. “You know love, Kali. I watched you braid my daughter’s hair earlier.”

  “Out of kindness.” I swallowed hard and put my glass down. “You were busy. She wanted her hair braided. It was easy.”

  Weird, to be precise.

  But easy, sure.

  Brantley swigged his barely-touched beer and put it down. His sigh echoed off the walls.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I put my glass on the table, closing my barely-touched pizza. I had to go home. His intentions had been good in buying me dinner, but this was wrong. Mostly because I didn’t really want to leave at all.

  I looked down as I shuffled toward the edge of the sofa. “I should go. I—”

  “Kali.” He reached for me as he said my name. His fingers brushed my lower arm, and I took a deep breath in.

  Brantley’s hand raised then fell, hovering close to my hair almost as if he was going to push it behind my ear.

/>   I took a deep breath in.

  I wanted him to kiss me, but at the same time, I knew that if he did, I’d probably never be able to look him in the eye again.

  “Don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t have to leave.”

  “I do, I—” The words caught in my throat.

  He glanced at my lips, and my tongue flicked out across my lower one. His jaw twitched as he brought his gaze back up to mine.

  My heart thundered against my ribs.

  Yeah. I needed to leave. But I couldn’t. I was basically frozen in place, eyes focused firmly on the mesmerizing blue of Brantley’s.

  Then—he did it.

  Touched his lips to mine.

  Kissed me.

  His hands framed my face, holding me in place. Not that he needed to. I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to, because here I was, leaning into him, into the kiss, into his touch.

  He pulled back. His lips hovered inches from mine. I drew in a sharp breath. His hands were still on my cheeks, and there was no way he couldn’t feel the way they heated beneath his touch.

  Brantley met my eyes for a split second, then he kissed me again. This time, one hand slipped around the back of my neck. My scalp tingled as he wound his fingers in my hair.

  This kiss was harder, needier, more insistent than the last.

  Like he’d tested the water, and now, he was ready to drown.

  I leaned right into him. My fingers found his shirt and rested on his stomach, fisting the soft cotton of his tee.

  Closer and closer we became. His other hand trained down my body, sliding around my back, pulling me against him. His tongue flicked at the seam of my mouth, and I let him kiss me deeper.

  Let him drag me further into the regret I knew I’d feel the second this stopped.

  I didn’t care.

  My whole body was alive. Skin tingled, my chest burned, my heart beat so crazily fast my pulse thundered in my ears.

  Everything else had melted away, just as long as his lips were on mine.

  I slid my hands up his body, cupping his neck. I barely swallowed a whimper as he dragged my lower lip between his teeth, leaning back on the cushions and pulling me with him.

  His hands went lower. His thumb brushed the bare strip of skin at the base of my back where the t-shirt didn’t quite meet the waistband of my shorts. I shivered at the fleeting touch, and—

  A scream ripped through the air.

  A gut-wrenching, ear-splitting scream that had, quite possibly, just woken the occupants of the nearest graveyard.

  The other thing it’d done?

  Brought both me and Brantley crashing back down to Earth with one hell of a fucking thump.

  “Fuck,” we both said.

  But, I bet it was for different reasons.

  I shuffled up the sofa as he stood and ran out of the room. My heart was still thumping against my ribs, and I buried my face in my hands as the reality of what had just happened fell down onto me.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  I’d just kissed my client.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  I’d just fucking kissed my client, and Lord above, my body damn well knew it, too. Swollen lips, a struggle to catch my breath—an aching fucking clitoris that throbbed inside my little lacy panties.

  What the hell had I done?

  I grabbed my phone and stood up. I couldn’t see my shirt, not that I could wear it. At least I hadn’t drunk so much wine I couldn’t drive.

  God, I wish I’d had more wine. That might have made the fact I just kissed my client easier to bare. Blame it on the wine and not my inner slut.

  Yup.

  Shit.

  I clutched my phone to my chest and went to the hallway to grab my keys from the bowl where I’d thrown them in my effort to hustle the kids inside without losing one of them. They clinked and scraped against the glass bowl.

  The stairs creaked.

  I hesitated, hand on the door handle, and turned my head back toward the stairs.

  Brantley stood halfway down, leaning against the wall. His hand gripped the banister, making his knuckles white. His hair probably looked in better shape than mine, and his shirt was stupidly crinkled where I’d grabbed it.

  “Everything okay?” I asked lamely.

  He nodded. “Ellie. Thought there was a crocodile under the bed.”

  My lips still tingled where he’d kissed me.

  Four-year-olds: taking you from kissing to crocodiles in under a second.

  “Right. Glad she’s fine. I, um…” I paused, glancing away briefly. “I thought I should go. It’s getting late and stuff, so…”

  Christ, Kali. Just say goodbye and be done with it.

  He didn’t reply. Just stared at me with his unnaturally turquoise eyes—eyes that, if I stood there for much longer, would probably be able to see right through me.

  So, I left.

  I walked through the door as quickly as I possibly could without running, got in my truck, and got the hell out of there before I did anything else stupid.

  Chapter 14

  Jayda blinked at me. “Well, you’re an idiot.”

  I groaned and wrapped my hands around the coffee cup. “I know that. I told you that like five times.”

  She leaned back against my kitchen counter, picking up her own mug. “I can’t believe I’m here at seven a.m. in my pajamas because you can’t keep your mouth to yourself.”

  I dropped my head so my chin touched my chest and closed my eyes. “I didn’t kiss him deliberately.”

  “No, no. I’m sure you slipped on a banana peel and your mouth landed on his.”

  “He kissed me.”

  “That makes the world of difference.”

  “I know it does. Thank you.”

  She stared at me. “Kali…That’s called sarcasm.”

  “I know.” I propped my chin up on my hand. “I’m pretending it wasn’t so I feel better about my monumental fuck up.”

  Jayda pushed off the counter and joined me at the table. “Is it really that bad? So, you kissed the guy. He’s handsome, he’s single—you’re single. Who are you hurting?”

  “Well, nobody, but—”

  “Suck it up, buttercup. If you don’t want it to be awkward, put your mouth back in its cage.”

  “It’s the number one rule,” I said before she could carry on with her speech that would ultimately end with telling me to pull up my big girl panties. “Don’t mix business with kissing.”

  “You’re not very good at following the rules.”

  “No shit. Sherlock better watch out, or your ability to state the obvious is going to put him out of a job.”

  She waved her hand. “Cumberbatch will take one look at me and not mind at all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Still, the point remains. Don’t get involved with clients. It always ends in disaster.”

  “Um, didn’t your dad meet Portia on a job?”

  I paused.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “But they didn’t get involved until after he was done.” Another pause. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “You believe that if it makes you feel better, honey.”

  “Don’t honey me. The only person who does that is my mom and she’s not a sarcastic bitch like you.”

  Jayda grinned, her make-up free eyes crinkling at the edges. “Your compliment is heard and accepted.”

  I flipped her the bird. “What am I supposed to do now? I have to show up today and start painting and he’s going to be there. What am I supposed to say to him?”

  She tapped a blood-red nail against the table. “I’d start with good morning.”

  Oh my god. She was so fucking sarcastic. I was going to pin her down and force some genuine shit out of her soon.

  “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil. I hadn’t thought of that,” I said dryly. “But after that? “Sorry I let you kiss me last night? It won’t happen again? How dare you kiss me you ba
stard?””

  She toyed with a lock of her hair. “In the interest of keeping this job, nix the last idea.”

  “At least you finally answered sensibly.”

  She rolled her eyes, planted her forearms on the table, and leaned forward. “Kali. You kissed him. So what? You’d done him a favor, he thanked you with pizza, and you both got carried away. It’s never going to happen again because you’re too professional for that. You weren’t working when you kissed, so you didn’t break the rules, technically speaking.”

  “I like how you’ve laid that out.”

  “You’re welcome.” She nodded with a solemn look on her face. “Now, you get over it. Show up like nothing happened and do your job. If he’s at work, problem solved. If not, he has kids to look after and will leave you alone.”

  Yeah, no. She didn’t know Ellie and Eli.

  “Just deal with it. You’re both adults, you’re unattached, and you’re free to kiss whoever you like in your personal time. End of freak out.”

  That was easy for her to say.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it go. “All right. What you’re saying is, show up, act like it didn’t happen, and pray like fuck he’s working in the office today.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then, she pursed her lips and nodded. “That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Hey, it could be worse,” she said, swiping the screen on her phone to unlock it. “Check this message I got from a wannabe Casanova last night.”

  I slid her phone toward me and swiveled it so I could read. ““Hey, saw your profile. You’re hot,”” I read. ““Wanna have dinner? Don’t wear underwear, you won’t need them where we’re going.”” I finished in a slower tone. “He wanted you to go commando on a date?

  “Right.” She took her phone back. “When I messaged him back—”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Curiosity. Why didn’t I need underwear? Were we seeing a gyno? That’s the only reason I think underwear is useless,” she said. “Duh. So, I message him back, and he tells me he has a leather sofa perfect for fucking on.”

  I frowned. “He wanted you panty-less on his leather sofa?”

  “Basically.”

  “Doesn’t he know our vaginas clean themselves? There’s nothing remotely comfortable about not wearing panties. And you sure as hell don’t need to be panty-less on a leather sofa. Nobody wants to clean that up.”