by Susan Gable
“Um, hello? I’m married. Hayden’s boots haven’t been under my bed.” Though Ronni had to admit to herself that the more time she spent with Hayden—and he’d been way more than fulfilling his court-appointed obligations to Nick since school had let out last week—the more drawn to his looks she became. That was how bad boys sucked you in. They looked damn good. They made you laugh. They made you feel...special. Protected. And before you knew it, you were lusting after them.
Which only led to trouble later on.
“You’re married, not dead.”
“And neither is my husband.”
“You’re a widow-in-waiting to a cheating son of a bitch.”
“Hey. Vera’s not a bitch. Be nice.”
“A lot of media types have already decided you’re involved with Hayden. When’s the last time you had real sex?”
“It’s been so long I forget.” Ronni sighed, watching the ripple of Hayden’s back as he stretched, then picked up the repaired screen, setting it with the others completed.
Then he said something to Nick—the in-wall air-conditioning unit hummed too loudly for Ronni to hear what—and dragged the sawhorses closer together. He placed one hand on each, then eased himself into a handstand between them.
Upside-down now, facing them, Hayden bent his arms, dipping lower between the boards, then pushing himself back up, his legs shaking, his abs contracting with the effort.
Making Ronni’s stomach tighten, too.
“Ohmygod,” Tamara whispered. “I think I just had a mini-orgasm.” She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out, humming in pleasure. “No wonder women wait in line for thirty days with Hayden Hawkins. And then do nothing but sing his praises after he moves on.”
Ronni tore her attention from the window. Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, she glared at her friend.
“What? I hear the same girl talk in my salon chairs as you do in yours, sister. And the talk around town about that man... If you don’t want to take a number and get in line, maybe I will. Just imagine the things he could do with that body.”
Turning back to the glass, Ronni shivered.
Tamara laughed. “I see you are imagining it. That’s my girl.”
Outside, Hayden swung himself off the sawhorses and moved to the grass, gesturing for Nick to follow him. Her son shook his head.
Hayden crooked a finger, then pointed to the lawn at his feet.
Shoulders slouched, Nick slunk to the spot Hayden indicated. Hayden stepped back. He held his hands up and rocked forward on his feet, demonstrating how to plant palms on the ground.
Once more Nick shook his head. Hayden cocked his, propping his fists on his hips. His mouth moved, but Ronni had no clue what he said. Finally, Nick tentatively leaned over, placing his hands on the ground and kicking his legs up.
His uncle caught his ankles and gripped them, not just helping the boy balance, but, judging by the way Hayden’s biceps popped, supporting his weight, as well.
Nick’s entire body shook. He bent his arms as Hayden had on the boards, dipping lower. Then he struggled to push himself upright again.
Hayden called encouragement; that was easy to read through the window. And he slowly coaxed Nick into a full-arm extension.
At which point Nick gave up, leaving Hayden holding him fully. He lowered the boy to the ground, laughing.
Nick laughed, too.
Ronni smiled.
It had been a long time since she’d seen her son laugh like that.
“All kidding aside, he seems like a good man, Ron.”
“Yeah. If you overlook that whole can’t-stick-with-one-woman thing.” She shook her head. “Why is it men can’t keep it in their pants if they’re supposedly committed to someone?”
“Hey, I’ve never heard anyone say Hayden’s a cheater. And we’d have heard if he was.” Tamara had actually been the one to come to her with suspicions about Scott based on tidbits she’d heard in her salon. Which proved exactly how good a friend she was. When someone came to you, terrified of hurting of you, but not willing to let someone else keep doing so, that was a friend.
“He doesn’t have to cheat,” Ronni stated. “He doesn’t have time to get bored with a woman. Thirty days and she’s history.”
“Maybe he hasn’t met the right woman yet. Until then, you can’t really hold it against him. He’s up-front about it. Women go into it with eyes wide open.”
Ronni shrugged. It really wasn’t any of her business how Hayden ran his love life.
Footsteps pounded on the concrete sidewalk. The door in the entryway burst open.
Peals of Nick’s hysterical laughter echoed through the confined space of the hallway, bouncing into the salon. He staggered into the room, clutching his stomach. “Mom! Mom!” He laughed again. “You won’t believe it. It’s too freakin’ funny!”
“Yeah. Hysterical.” Hayden appeared in the archway, shirt balled up in his hand. “I need to borrow your shower, Ronni.”
“Heat getting to you?” Tam asked.
Nick straightened, wrestling for control. “You know that crow? Mr. Black?”
“Yes,” Ronni said.
“Well he...he...he...” Stifled guffaws made him stutter.
“He dive-bombed me,” Hayden said. “So can I use your shower or are you going to make me drive home like this?”
“Dive-bombed?”
“He pooped on Uncle Hayden’s head!” Nick collapsed on the floor, laughing again.
Ronni struggled to keep a straight face.
“Damn bird. I told you that thing hated me, Ronni.”
“Surely you don’t think he did it on purpose, do you?”
“Hell, yes, I do. That thing has the accuracy of a military smart bomb.”
Tam made sympathetic noises. “Now, you don’t want to get in a shower with bird poop in your hair. Why, that’s just going to make it run down your head, and...” she paused, giving his torso a long once-over “...your whole body. You don’t want that. Come here.” She crooked her finger at him, just as he had with Nick. Then she strode to the shampooing station and caressed the yellow chair like a model on a game show demonstrating a product. “You just sit right here and we’ll get you all fixed up.”
Hayden glanced warily at Ronni.
“She’s right. We can wash it a lot easier here. Shampoo in the eyes is one thing. You don’t want to risk—” she cleared her throat to silence the giggles “—bird droppings. Ick.”
Nick finally settled down enough to climb to his feet. He wiped his eyes. “I’m going upstairs to play Halo. You know where to find me if you need me for more chores. Or, you know, to protect you from birds.”
“You’ve done a lousy job so far!” Hayden called after him as the teen headed up the stairs. “And keep laughing. I’m telling you, payback’s a bitch. Soon, kid, real soon.”
“Come on, big boy.” Tam patted the chair again. “Have a seat and Ronni will get you cleaned up.” She glanced at her watch. “Because much as I’d love to get my fingers in your hair, I simply have to run.” She retrieved her purse from Ronni’s desk, slinging it over her shoulder. “You get the chance, you hit it for both of us,” she whispered as she hugged Ronni.
“The only thing I’m hitting is you,” Ronni murmured back, slapping Tam’s arm. “Thanks for coming. Even if you are ditching me already.”
“Forgot I have a meeting with a product salesperson over lunch. My bad. Later!”
When she got behind Hayden, she paused just long enough to make groping motions near his butt.
Ronni shook her head. Tam grinned, offering her a thumbs-up before heading for the stairs.
“You sure about this?” Hayden asked. “’Cause I can just get in the shower and be done with it.”
“Frankly, I’m not crazy about the idea of bird poop in my shower. I’d rather sanitize my sink here.”
“Okay.” Ever since coming inside, Hayden hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Ronni. Not even for t
he friend, who as a curvy, buxom platinum blonde, should have been registering on his radar. She’d certainly been sending off enough signals.
Instead, it was Ronni who captured his attention. She wore a powder-blue baby doll type blouse with a plunging V-neck. The flouncy hem featured lacy details. “You look really pretty today. That shirt suits you.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized what a bad idea they were.
What a bad idea thinking about Ronni that way was.
But he’d never controlled his flirting. And apparently couldn’t start now.
Her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head. “Thanks.”
Hayden once more cursed Scott Mangano for what he’d done to her. For making her feel so...how had she put it? Defective.
He parked himself in the shampoo chair, his clammy skin sticking to the yellow vinyl.
Ronni pulled a towel from an overhead cabinet, wrapping it around his neck. “Okay, lean back.”
The chair reclined, a footrest rising to support his legs. Water hissed behind his head. Ronni splashed it over her hand, adjusting the temperature. “Too hot,” she said.
She leaned over him, presenting him with a delectable peek down the V of her shirt. A pale pink, push-up demi bra—Victoria’s Secret, if he wasn’t mistaken, and he wasn’t often when it came to lingerie—offered up the creamy swell of her breasts. “Oh, I’ll say,” he agreed.
“I’m sorry!” The handles squeaked as she adjusted the water further.
“No problem.” Actually, it was a big problem.
And growing bigger by the moment. He shifted in the chair, trying to adjust the lazy half-mast he sported. He should close his eyes, or look at the ceiling, and yet the view was beautiful.
Had it been any woman other than Ronni, he’d be exploring the option of peeling the baby-doll shirt and low-rise jeans from her to see if the panties matched the bra.
She blasted his head full-force with water, momentarily distracting him, and he shut his eyes tightly as spray misted his face.
“Just want to do a really good rinse before I get my hands in there,” she explained.
He’d like to get his hands in there, too. And his mouth and—
Ronni. Ronni. This is Ronni you’re fantasizing about, sport. Ian’s girl. Nick’s mom. Scott’s wife.
Hayden conjured up the image of Ronni and Scott’s wedding picture from the newscast, then recalled Scott, secured in a wheelchair at the nursing home.
That did the trick, short-circuiting his trip to Fantasyland faster than a cold shower.
The spray shut off. Two quick squishes were followed by the unmistakable sound of hands working a lather. The scent of coconut filled the air. Then she plunged her fingers into his hair. She followed the first wash quickly with a rinse and another lather. This time she rotated her fingertips across his scalp, massaging deeply.
He sighed. While he’d had his hair washed by a woman before, it had never felt quite like this.
Soothing, yet stimulating...
Far more intimate than the way he’d seen her touch her husband’s hair. More caressing, more exploring...
More erotic.
Was she feeling it, too?
Fighting a losing battle, he decided to just go with it. Purge it from his system. Envision the pair of them naked in a shower, her lathered hands massaging a lot more than his scalp. His own soaped-up palms caressing every last inch of her.
If she had any clue what was running through his hopelessly dirty mind, she’d give him a frigid cold rinse.
Or would she?
He damn near choked when she asked, “You want me to blow it?” while running a towel over his hair.
“No. No, that’s quite all right.” He grabbed the cloth from her, bolting upright and out of the chair. “Thanks.” He turned his back on her, making a production of drying his hair, at the same time willing his now full erection to vanish. In a hurry.
Which wasn’t happening.
So he dried slower. The scent of cleaning solution flooded the room as she scoured the sink. His cell phone chirped from his pocket. “What should I do with this?” he asked, holding out the yellow terry cloth.
She held her hands up like a catcher over the plate and he tossed it to her, then pulled out his phone, reading the text.
He chuckled.
“Oh, that was a dirty laugh if ever I heard one,” she said, putting the towel into a hamper drawer she’d pulled from the oak-colored cabinet near the shampoo station. “What’s up?”
He grinned at her. “Remember that payback I keep promising Nick? For laughing at me the day of his probation hearing, when I got stuck in the Captain Chemo suit?” He’d told her the story of what had happened, along with Nick’s reaction when they’d gotten to Greg’s house.
“Yeah.”
“It’s time.”
CHAPTER NINE
“COME ON, NICK. Let us see,” Uncle Hayden said through the wooden slats on the dressing room door.
“No freakin’ way! I’m not coming out there like this.” Another glance in the mirror made Nick shudder. No way in hell he was even going out the door into the seamstress’s shop, let alone appear in public in this getup. There were other ways of doing community service.
He’d rather pick up rotten garbage on the side of a highway.
Aunt Amelia and Aunt Shannon had sold him up the river. Those measurements hadn’t been about skeletal size. They’d been sizing him up for this suit.
“Did you put on the mask like I told you?”
“What difference is a mask going to make?” He stared at his reflection. Skintight purple spandex with green trim. Green...briefs was the best word he could come up with to describe them. A yellow triangle with the radiation warning symbol plastered the middle of his chest. The green cape intended to fasten at his shoulders was draped over the back of a chair in the enormous dressing room that usually held brides, judging from the magazine clippings taped to the wall-size mirror.
“Trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about.” The doorknob rattled. “Look, let me in, okay?”
“No. Tell Uncle Greg I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” He reached around the back of his neck and started to unzip the thing, but couldn’t reach it once he’d lowered it an inch or two.
Metal rasped. The push-button lock on the door popped, and Unk, clad in his own ridiculous costume, which now sported a new zipper, slipped in. He relocked the door behind him.
“Good. Get me the hell out of this!” Nick presented his back to his uncle.
“Nope. Not yet.” He yanked the zipper to the top, attached the cape, then put his hands on Nick’s shoulders and turned him on the platform to face the mirror again. “Tell me what you see.”
“An idiot.”
“Fair enough.” He lowered the purple mask over Nick’s eyes, securing it in place. “And now?”
“An unidentifiable idiot?”
Uncle Hayden laughed. “There is that. Nobody has to know who’s behind the mask but you.”
“And the whole rest of the family, including you, and you have a big mouth.”
“Good thing I’m well-adjusted or I’d get a complex.” Unk settled his own mask into place and stood beside him, draping his arm around Nick’s shoulders. “Wanna know what I see?”
“Two idiots?”
“I see Captain Chemo and his sidekick, Radiation Boy. Two characters who can bring smiles and laughter to people who need it.”
“Exactly my point. I don’t want people laughing at me.”
Uncle Hayden sighed. “Nick, do you remember seeing the videos of Jordan when she was in the bone marrow transplant unit? With sores in her mouth so bad she could barely speak? Hair falling out?”
Nick glanced down at his bare feet. “Yeah.”
“Now imagine you could make her feel a tiny bit better, even for just a minute. Would you do it?”
He dragged his toes back and forth across the carpet. “I suppose.”
Unk slapped him
on the back. “Look in the mirror.”
Nick tried not to grimace as he did.
“Besides chemo and radiation, there are two powerful tools in the fight against cancer. Laughter and hope. That’s what we represent, Nick. We don’t just stand for chemo and radiation. We’re hope.”
Nick let that sink in for a minute. “Is that why my dad died? ’Cause without my mom, he didn’t have hope anymore?”
Uncle Hayden stepped off the platform, standing between him and the mirror. He bent his knees, sinking lower until they were eye-to-eye. “I used to believe that. But now...” Unk shrugged. “For some reason, he thought he was fated to die. Why, I don’t know. But it wasn’t your mom’s fault.”
“What do you think he’d say if he saw me in this getup?”
A twinkle appeared in Unk’s eyes, behind his red mask. “I think he’d say, ‘The two of you get in the back of the pickup and let’s crash a parade.’”
“Really?”
Unk nodded. Then his smile faded and he gripped Nick’s shoulder. “And I think he’d tell you how proud he is of you.”
“I’m—I’m on...” Nick’s throat tightened, making it hard to speak. He averted his gaze. “Probation.”
“Hey...” Unk’s fingers tightened. “You made one lousy judgment call. And got caught. Your dad raised a lot of hell in his short life. He just never got caught. Nick...”
He lifted his head, met Unk’s eyes again.
“He’s proud of you.”
Nick blinked a few times, cheeks growing warm beneath the edges of the mask. Superheroes—or their sidekicks—didn’t cry.
Unk cleared his throat, then poked him in the ribs. “Now you know why I’ve been so tough on you in our workouts. We gotta get more muscle on you. Trust me, women love superheroes.”
He snorted. “Women love vampires. Or werewolves. Not men in capes.”
A slow smile curved Unk’s mouth. “You’ll see.”
Someone rapped hard on the door. “What’s going on in there? Is something wrong with the costume? I want to see how it looks!”