Crazy for Loving You

by Grant, Pippa

  Helene’s lips purse like she suspects this is code for go away. And then she pulls back and sneezes.

  “Oh, and I got a cat…” Daisy adds.

  Helene sneezes again.

  “Or seven…” Daisy murmurs.

  “No! Bad dog!” Alessandro yells.

  I whip my head toward the shout, one hand on Remy, and then I’m shoving him at Daisy and leaping between her and our new guest.

  A dog.

  A St. Bernard, to be precise, who’s sprinting full-steam after Mr. Peabody.

  “Brutus! No!” Daisy cries.

  “Oh my god, the baby!” Helene yells.

  Brutus—apparently—leaps over the couch, hot on Mr. Peabody’s heels. They make the furniture slide. They scramble over the fireplace with a bang. They dart down the hallway, Alessandro in hot pursuit, while cats from all over stream into the room, yowling and hissing, tails poofed, backs arched, and they, too, make a mad rush down the hallway toward the lounges.

  “Ms. Carter-Kincaid, what is going on in here?” Louise demands.

  “Neighbor’s dog—” she starts.

  But she doesn’t finish.

  Because Elvira—the demonic, unicorn floatie-hating, tripping-a-man-on-his-way-to-the-bathroom cat—has decided to make a grand re-entrance.

  From the balcony at the top of the stairs.

  Straight onto the penis chandelier.

  “My art!” Helene shrieks.

  “Elvira, no!” Daisy yells.

  “WWWAAAAAAAHHHHHH,” Remy adds.

  But it’s no use.

  Elvira leaps.

  And misses.

  And lands within a centimeter of a panicked Louise.

  That’s it.

  We’re completely fucked.

  And that’s before a dude wearing seventeen gold chains, low-slung pants, and a sideways ballcap strolls in.

  “Yo. D. We still on for my kids to paint your tramp room?”

  “Who is that?” Louise shrieks.

  “Lil Nutt Sacc,” Daisy whispers as a flock of teenagers filter in behind the hip hop mogul. “Mother. What did you do?

  Helene’s shoulders inch as high as her wince. “I didn’t know today was a bad day for art class.”

  Louise freezes.

  She’s covered in cat hair. Possibly got cat piss on herself too, to go with the baby piss.

  “Lil Nutt Sacc?” she repeats.

  “Who’s asking?” the hip hop mogul says with a jerk of his chin.

  Three cats race back in, but Louise doesn’t seem to notice.

  She’s gaping.

  He squints at her. “Aw, man, Lou Lou-licious? Dog, get out. Whatcha doin’ here? How do you know D? Give it up, girl.”

  My jaw hits the floor.

  Daisy’s mouth is a perfect O.

  And Helene’s eyes are darting between the social worker and Lil Nutt like she’s watching tennis as they approach each other for a chest bump.

  “You know Daisy?” Louise asks him.

  “Hells, yeah. Lets my kids come artify her fancy party lounges. Feeds ’em pizza. Good people. And her mom’s hot too.”

  Daisy sinks to the nearest sofa, Remy clutched to her chest.

  I wordlessly sit down next to her.

  “We have lost all control,” I mutter.

  “That might not be a bad thing,” she mutters back.

  It’s bad.

  It’s always bad.

  Question is, will it be bad enough for us to watch this woman walk away with our baby today?

  Thirty

  Daisy

  For the second time in four hours, I collapse onto the low couch in the center of my parlor and drop my head back to stare at my mom’s chandelier, which has a layer of cat hair sticking to it now. “So, that went well.”

  West settles in next to me, and for once, I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to offer him.

  If we were at a club or a bar, I’d have a double-shot of whiskey put on my tab for him. Or possibly a double shot of whiskey for everyone in the bar.

  But I don’t think he’s the type to drink his troubles away.

  If I was out of the country, I’d head to the nearest beach or winery or club, put on a different wig, tell my bodyguard to call me Liza, and I’d hook up with whoever looked the most fun.

  Except that doesn’t even seem appealing right now.

  I think I’ve been ruined for one-night stands and weekend flings.

  And I don’t know that I’m sad about it.

  “They’re not looking for perfection, Daisy,” West says quietly. “You did great.”

  “Of course I did. I always do great.” I have a house with more potential dangers for a child than a nuclear waste facility. The world thinks I’m an airheaded party girl. My cats got drunk on the organic catnip Luna sent over and went on a rampage after the neighborhood’s free-range St. Bernard—who is the laziest fucking dog on the planet when he’s not being a total sweetheart—decided he wanted a little pussy.

  And I’m letting my family down.

  Remy. My mom. My grandma. My dead cousin, who might’ve been awful, but who didn’t deserve to die so young and tragically.

  “You did.” West brushes my hair back with a gentle hand, and my wig falls off and topples to the floor behind me.

  He snortles.

  It’s adorable.

  “Quit laughing, Mr. Suit. You dressed up for this too.”

  “Is that a Halloween costume, or do you parade around Miami like a fifties housewife just for fun some days, handing out chocolate chip cookies to all the neighbors?”

  I freeze.

  I did, indeed, provide pizza lunch for Lil Nutt Sacc and his class of future artists. But I don’t talk about buying all of Miami Beach’s lunches at Beach Burgers, or filling up the parking meters all along Ocean Drive and all the side streets so that no one has to pay, or randomly—and anonymously—having Carbs ’n Coffee deliver donuts to all the local hospitals’ staff once a month.

  And actually—I did buy this dress for Halloween, and then also use it to hand out cookies once.

  At a bar, not in a neighborhood, but close enough.

  “Daisy?” West says.

  “Did you always know you wanted to be a Marine, or was that what you just settled on when you didn’t know what else to be after high school?”

  He settles an arm along the back of the sofa, close enough that I can tell myself he’s wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  I mean, if that’s what I wanted to believe.

  “I…don’t know.” He’s staring at the fireplace.

  I’m staring at him.

  “I’m the oldest of six. Always had a lot of responsibility. Dad’s a retired carpenter. Mom worked long, weird hours, and her stand-up career didn’t take off until I was in high school, so I always knew it would be the military or student loans for college. Taking care of me. Taking care of my sisters and Ty—it’s what I always did. When the Marine recruiter came and talked…I guess it just clicked. Felt right. Never gave it much thought after that.”

  “Is that why you date single mothers? Because they need to be taken care of?”

  “No.”

  He’s lying. Or maybe he thinks he’s telling the truth. He’d probably tell me single mothers are strong and more capable than he’ll ever be, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to take care of them, whether he realizes it or not.

  I shift on the seat, pulling my knees up until they’re resting on his thighs. “Who takes care of you?”

  The corner of his lips hitches up. “I’m a simple guy. Don’t need much taking care of.”

  “Everyone needs taking care of sometime. No man is a bubble.”

  “You mean an island?”

  “No. Islands are awesome. Sand. Palm trees. The beach. A lifetime supply of chocolate, peanut butter, and books in the secret hideaway you find when you start exploring…”

  He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “And a bubble is just a lone
pocket of air trapped inside a cage of soap water?”

  “Exactly. You’re one smart cookie, Westley Jaeger.”

  He tilts his head to study me, and my breath whooshes out of me. Hazel. He has magic, color-changing hazel eyes that have seen more of the world than I have.

  Maybe he hasn’t been as many places.

  But he’s seen more. Bad stuff that would reduce me to a crumpled mass of helplessness. Can’t be a Marine in this day and age and not have experienced bad things.

  And he doesn’t have anyone taking care of him. He does it himself, because he doesn’t think he needs anyone.

  His family must want to throttle him on a regular basis.

  But this is their lucky day.

  Because I, Daisy Imogen Carter-Kincaid, am going to take care of this man.

  “You’re going to take Remy from me one day, aren’t you?” he says quietly.

  A lump rolls up from the bottom of my neck to the top of my throat like it’s chasing Indiana Jones, and I have to swallow hard to get it back down.

  Westley Jaeger’s body and mind might be made of steel, but his heart is cotton candy.

  Cotton candy that he’s freely given to a baby that, by all rights, never should’ve been his, but is now firmly settled in his heart.

  I shake my head and draw an X over my own heart. “No. Never.”

  His eyes narrow slightly, his lips part, and I hear the question that he doesn’t voice.

  Even when whatever this is between us fizzles out?

  It’s a legit question.

  I don’t date.

  But then, I’ve never had a Westley in my life.

  I honestly can’t imagine my life without him now though.

  “Long term, I’m not in your grandmother’s plans,” he reminds me.

  He’s not wrong, and we both know it. She likes him short-term because he gives me credibility. Like he did today, talking about his time in the service, his experience with his sisters, his brother, his nieces and nephews, talking about how well I’m doing with the baby despite not having a lot of practice.

  What mother does before her first kid? he’d asked.

  My grandmother was correct to fight to keep him here right now. But she’s wrong if she thinks there’s a day coming when West shouldn’t be in Remy’s life.

  “I will fight her tooth and nail,” I whisper. “And she might be immortal, but I have a way bigger army.”

  He doesn’t crack a grin. Like he knows I’m serious.

  My grandmother is in peak shape for an eighty-two-year-old woman. Her mind’s sharp. Her body’s strong. She gives zero fucks and feeds off of fear, which is relatively abundant when she’s around. It’s an endless source of energy.

  She could honestly live past one hundred.

  But my friends outnumber hers a thousand to one.

  A lick of power rolls through my belly as the full impact of having friends sets my nerves humming.

  I can stand up to my grandmother. And I will land on my feet.

  No, check that.

  I can fucking soar.

  West is still studying me, but he’s not in growly overprotective Marine mode.

  No, this is something else.

  It’s white-hot attraction mixed with…pride?

  “You do have the bigger army,” he murmurs. “But having a Marine Corps is better.”

  I slide a hand over his stomach and lean closer. “Maybe I should have both.”

  His lips are mere inches away. My mother will be upstairs with Remy for the next fourteen years. The doors are all locked and guarded.

  I can kiss this man for the rest of the day if I want, and no one will disturb us.

  There’s no shame in being caught doing what comes naturally, but this—this isn’t just raw, carnal pleasure to be had.

  This is more.

  He’s not asking for just my body. He’s asking for me.

  And I don’t want just his body.

  I want this strong, capable, dependable man who asks for so little for himself to know that there’s someone in this world who will put him first.

  “What are we doing, Daisy?”

  “Shh. You have a little something…” I brush a thumb over his lower lip. “Right here.”

  There’s that half-grin again. “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re about to.”

  He doesn’t stop me.

  He probably should. This is me, diving into the deep end with both feet like I usually do.

  Except when my lips brush his, and his fingers wrap around the back of my head, and his heart leaps beneath my hand, I know this is the deep end I’ve been looking for my entire life.

  His short beard scratches the delicate skin around my mouth, lighting up my nerve endings. His lips part, brushing open-mouth kisses to my own parted lips, and I’m not melting.

  I’m toasting like a marshmallow. Hot and sticky and pliable.

  Knowing I’m in danger of going up in flames, and not caring a bit, because oh my god, his mouth.

  And his hands.

  And his—“Well. Someone is certainly happy to see you, Daisy.”

  We fly apart. West leaps off the sofa. I flail my arms, uncertain what to do with them. “Mom. Where’s Remy?”

  “Sleeping. Your grandmother’s on her way.” She turns to West, who’s not pacing, but looks like he wants to be slipping into the dark corners of the room. Outside, lightning flashes.

  Stupid tropical storm.

  “What are your intentions toward my daughter?” Mom demands.

  “Mom.”

  West silences me with a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, you know. The usual. Pretend I like her. Take naked pictures. Post them online. Sue her for emotional distress when people call me an asshole online. Use the proceeds to buy a hot air balloon and an amusement park. Then pursue my porn star career.”

  I gape at him.

  Mom can’t stop blinking. Her jaw’s unhinged.

  “And this is why I don’t date,” I mutter.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll leave room in the budget for Remy to have lots of funnel cake for breakfast. And nannies with hooters the size of small houses.” He pats my shoulder and straightens again, spearing my speechless mother with a glare I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “Any other questions?”

  I snort.

  It’s not a delicate snort.

  It’s a full-on, I should not be laughing at this snort.

  But despite the growly voice, I don’t think West is truly offended. There’s this fuck, yeah, I can have fun too twinkle in his eye that makes me want to jump him.

  He’s not just a responsibility-first military man.

  He’s hiding some fun under that exterior.

  Thunder rolls through the house.

  “If your grandmother gets stuck here during the storm, I will utilize military training to get Remy to safety,” West adds.

  Hello, hot flash in the chacha. “Will you take me with you?”

  “Only if you leave everything but that leopard print thong bikini behind.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I know he’s joking just to horrify my mother some more, but I don’t actually have a leopard print thong bikini. And I think I need to rectify that. Stat.

  “Oh my god, Daisy. He’s the man-you,” my mother gasps.

  “See?” he growls. “Things can always get worse.”

  He turns on his heel with military precision—which is also hot as fuck—and strolls to the staircase while my mother gapes wide-eyed at his back.

  “Mother,” I hiss. “Apologize.”

  “He just sassed me.”

  “Because you interrupted us and then questioned his honor.”

  Her eyes light up, and she rubs her hands together in glee, and I realize I’ve made a very big, very bad, very fatal mistake.

  And now my mother thinks we’re getting married.

  Not now.

  But eventually. When I fall so hard I can’t see my life withou
t West in it.

  And she thinks I don’t know what she’s thinking.

  But I do.

  And I need a paper bag.

  Because for once, she might actually be psychic.

  Psychic.

  “Oh my god,” I gasp, and I lunge for my phone.

  It’s all suddenly crystal clear.

  I just need a few hours to prove it.

  Thirty-One

  West

  The storm’s rolling in hard and heavy tonight, and I’m mentally going through the condo renovation I’m helping a buddy with. Pretty sure I remembered to seal all the windows, but I’ll need to go check it out in the morning after the storm passes.

  I’ve barricaded myself and Remy in the Pepto Bismol room—the one Daisy called the Strawberry Daiquiri suite—and I’m debating texting her to ask if the community has bad weather sirens—and which room is safest in a tornado—when there’s a knock at the door.

  I watch, and the lock unlocks, the door cracks open, and I catch sight of a blue eye and dangling purple hair. “Come quick. My grandmother’s in the shower and my mother’s having a video call with a gallery up in Atlanta.”

  Fuck. Her grandmother is stuck here.

  I need to prepare some contingency plans. “Go where?”

  “My wing. Security’s better there.”

  “Tornado shelter?”

  “I have four. My staff will keep us separate from Mom and the Graminator if anything worse develops, but the weather reports say the storm’s weakening fast.”

  I’m not actually surprised Daisy checked the weather.

  But I am worried about how much I want to go with her. Without Remy. And there’s not much about my sleep shorts that’ll hide how I’m feeling.

  But I grab the sleeping baby and a book and follow her down the hallway, watching her hips swing in those pink velour pants and that strip of skin low on her back flash beneath her short black T-shirt. Our window to sneak out of here is short.

  And I have to get my cock under control.

  “Sorry about my mom,” she whispers. “You were awesome. And I told my grandmother you know what her Achilles’ heel is, so she should leave you alone lest you turn her to a pile of dust and ash. Also, I found something. You should probably see it.”