Kiss Me Tonight: Put A Ring On It

by Luis, Maria

  Me and the kid—we’ve got something in common, I guess. Neither of us come from families with an ideal father figure.

  Empathy has my mouth opening before I even work out what I’m gonna say next: “Nick will be up here in two weeks to help get the early demolition moving along. The tile and awful shag carpet in the bedrooms have got to go.” I motion toward the floor. “You interested in helping out? We could use the extra set of hands.”

  Blue eyes, so much like Levi’s it almost hurts, land on my face. The kid’s mouth hangs open and he goes so far as to physically clamp it shut with the back of his hand. “For real? I mean, are you sure? I . . . I don’t want to bother you or anything.” His gaze turns downcast, his shoulders narrowing as they slump. “Or get in your way.”

  My rogue, dead heart gives a traitorous thump. It’s the same sensation I always felt when I helped my mentees back with Junior Buccaneers. You can’t change the world for every child out there, but one at a time . . . Yeah, those are the sort of promises I’ll do everything in my power to keep. When it comes to kids, every single word matters and carries a lifelong impact on their psyche. That I know firsthand, though it’s a life skill I could have done without learning so young.

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Topher. If I’m askin’ you to help, then that means I want you here.”

  His face visibly brightens with relief.

  “Well, shit—” At my cocked brow, he points at me, finger-gun style. “You’re right. Completely right, Coach. No cursing, just like Mom tells me. Crap. Is that better? It’s gotta be since I’m all for expanding my vocabulary and—”

  “Is that a yes for lending a hand?”

  “Yup, it sure is!” Topher shoots me two thumbs-ups and a crooked grin. “Now, I like to think of myself as a little bit of a businessman. Is there a possibility that helping might lead to . . . money?”

  Damn if Levi wasn’t right.

  Admiring the kid’s gumption, laughter breaks free from my chest. “You have balls for asking, Toph, I’ll give you that.”

  “Is that a yes?” he asks, repeating my words verbatim.

  I return the finger-gun salute. Cock the nonexistent safety. And “discharge” the weapon toward the space between us, like I’m laying down the law. “You owe both your mom and me a good deal of money after the car mishap, so let’s look at it this way—every time you come over to help with the house, I’ll knock a sum off your total. Sound like a deal?”

  Grumbling, Topher shrugs a narrow shoulder. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Nah, I can’t.

  At least he has the manners to ask, which is a lot more than I did back in the day.

  I rap my knuckles on the wall. “Take a seat or grab something from the fridge. I’ll be ready in five.”

  I’m halfway down the hallway, grabbing a towel from the linen closet, when I hear him call out, “If I take an apple, am I gonna have to pay you back for that too? How do you feel about the charity, Feed Topher’s Belly?”

  My mouth tugs up in an honest-to-God smile.

  Pulling my phone from my shorts’ pocket as I head for the master bedroom that I’ve yet to sleep in, I thumb down through my contacts until I get to Levi’s name.

  Me: Your son is a piece of work, Coach.

  As if she’s been waiting by the phone, her answer is immediate.

  Levi: Have you smiled yet?

  I spy my reflection in the mirror, and sure enough, I’m grinning like an idiot. I scrub a hand over my mouth, turn the hot water knob to get the shower running, and tap the glass screen to bring our message thread back to life.

  Me: Twice.

  Levi: See if you can make it a home run by the end of the day. I believe in you.

  Me: Do you now?

  Levi: Well, I believe in my baby boy. He never lets me down.

  Me: We’ll see.

  Levi: Want some advice?

  Me: Go ahead. I get the feeling you’re gonna offer it anyway.

  Levi: Topher’s not above bending the rules to win.

  Steam whirls around me, heating up the tiny bathroom off the master bedroom. Another section of the house that’ll require some major renovation. No couple would ever want a bathroom this small as the master. The sink and toilet are nearly on top of each other, and the bathtub is the same shade of blue as Aladdin’s Genie. Contrasted against the muted pink shag carpeting, this room is a disaster of epic proportions.

  I strip out of my shorts, letting the material drop to the floor. Do the same with my T-shirt, which I whip over my head. No boxers or briefs to take off. I prefer to go commando.

  The insane, devil-may-care part of me wants to find out what Levi would think if I let her know that we’re texting while I’m naked. Would her cheeks turn the same red as my skin after I step under the hot jets? Would she care that I enjoy our easy banter—that it turns me on, despite the fact that I’m not looking for a fling or a one-night stand or anything remotely . . . couple-y? I’m not looking for it, but for reasons better left unanalyzed, Levi still manages to worm her way under my skin at the most inconvenient times.

  In the men’s bathroom at the Golden Fleece. At practice when she’s running drills with the kids and her tits are bouncing. Now, when her son is waiting for me to hop in and out of the shower and take him mini-golfing so that I can learn what it’s like to have fun.

  One glance down past my stomach shows my cock on the rise—literally.

  Jesus fuck.

  It’d be so easy to slip my fist around the thick head and give it a slow, feel-good pump. Tight along the root, then looser, quicker, over the shaft. Imagine what it would be like to have those berry lips of hers pursed and ready to—

  No.

  No.

  I drop my head forward, chin to my chest, fingers white-knuckling the lip of the Genie-blue counter. Suck in a heavy, labored breath. Remind myself that I’m here in Maine to avoid any and all entanglements.

  Yeah? Is that why you cleaned her up at the Golden Fleece? Why you couldn’t stop touching her, even after you wiped away all the caked-on makeup? I’d had no reason to keep caressing her skin. No other reason but that she’d felt soft and smooth and I’d enjoyed the hell out of watching the pulse in her neck flutter to life the longer I lingered.

  My phone vibrates again.

  Levi: Head’s up. Topher’s going to invite you over for dinner. He’s wicked excited to have you living next door. I tried to tell him that just because we’re neighbors doesn’t mean we’re friends but . . . kids. They pretend cluelessness to get what they want, and Topher wants you over for dinner.

  I close my eyes. Pretty sure I’m already getting entangled, and I’ve only been in Maine for a week and a half.

  I jump in the shower without responding to Levi’s text. I wash my hair. Rinse out the suds. Purposely ignore my angry hard-on that’s begging for some sort of release. When I accidentally brush it with the bar of soap, I swallow a desperate groan.

  Head coach.

  Assistant coach.

  I’ve got to keep the lines between us firmly drawn.

  If I give in . . . I have no doubt that I’ll end up driving her away. I’ll fuck her body and then somehow fuck up her life because that’s generally the way things work out for me. And, as a single mom who’s been through a divorce and probably a nasty marriage, Levi doesn’t deserve having to deal with my hang-ups too.

  Before we head out to the golf course, I send her one last text.

  Me: Thanks for letting me know. I’ve got plans—I’ll figure out a way to make it up to him.

  15

  Aspen

  “Oh, hello there, sexy.”

  The words are crooned into the crook of my neck.

  “Willow,” I mutter, craning an arm behind me to swat at my younger sister’s face, “seriously. Do you not know how to knock?”

  She plunks down on the matching Adirondack chair next to mine. “Did you or did you not give me a key and invite me to visit whenev
er I wanted?”

  Hand to the back of the laptop, I hastily snap it shut, all the better to keep my secrets. Dammit. I’m the worst sleuther in the history of sleuthers. Can’t a girl catch a break and do a little online stalking in peace nowadays?

  “I could have been naked,” I protest, tucking a flyaway blond strand behind my ear.

  “Seen it,” Willow says with an exaggerated yawn. “Nothing I don’t have myself. Plus, you stopped walking around naked the day Topher was born. I had nothing to fear.”

  Ugh. Touché.

  Racking my brain for a counterargument, I settle on, “I could have been having sex?”

  It’s not supposed to come out as a question.

  Willow only kicks up her legs onto the bottom of her chair, ankles crisscrossed, and turns her face up to the sky. She’s wearing one of those sun hats that’s three times the size of her face and looks good on her but would look absolutely ridiculous on me.

  “Sex with what? That vibrator I got you for your thirtieth birthday that you never used?” She pokes up the front of her hat so she can still see me. “Sex isn’t your thing.”

  I swear, younger sisters are put on this earth purely to torture their older siblings.

  And Willow can be the worst.

  “Oh, don’t look so put out.” She pats the back of my hand all sweet and innocent-like. “I still love you even if you’re testing the hymen theory.”

  Since we were teenagers, Willow always liked to joke that without consistent sex, a woman’s hymen regrows. I’m here as proof that the theory is wrong, even if it’s a ridiculous theory to begin with.

  Letting out a sigh, I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Now will you please tell me why you’re—oomf!”

  All one hundred and thirty pounds of Willow Levi Lloyd land on my lap. I don’t even have time to process the fact that my sister has jumped me before she’s opening my laptop. Her back blocks my view, as does her massive hat, so all I see are her tanned shoulders and the tank top she stole from my closet three weeks ago and never returned. I buck my hips, trying to upheave her, but she holds on with enviable inner-thigh strength.

  Oh, God.

  “Willow.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “I see you changed up your regular password, dear sister,” she says, her voice muffled since she’s turned away from me.

  I have zero regrets about taking desperate action in the face of inevitable humiliation.

  My fingers pinch the skin at her waist, twisting hard in the same way we used to do to each other when we were kids and fighting over toys.

  “Ow!” she shrieks now, batting at my hand. “Rude.”

  “Willow”—I grab her hips and attempt to throw her off to the side, computer be damned—“you owe me after forgetting Topher at Kevin’s. Remember? You forgot to pick him up!”

  If anything, her ass only grows heavier in my lap as she lets me take on her full weight.

  The. Worst.

  Tap! Tap! TAP TAP TAP!

  I’m seeing my life flash before my eyes. It’s going to be horrible. I’m going to live in shame until the day I take my last breath. Which could be five minutes from now, given the chaotic way my heart is threatening to leap right out of my chest. And, honestly, it wasn’t my fault. Not really. The internet is a strange, strange place, and one site led to another which led to another, and the next thing I know I was—

  “Aha! Topher’s birthday.” More tapping ensues, and I hope—oh, I friggin’ hope—she doesn’t get curious and click on one of the open internet tabs. “You are so predictable—”

  The sounds of moaning and ass slapping explode in my small courtyard, overtaking the chirping of the birds and the rhythmic lull of the waves slipping over the sand.

  “Aspen.”

  Resigned, I close my eyes at the shock evident in my sister’s voice. “Please,” I whisper, heat charging its way up my throat, “please don’t.”

  Because Willow’s favorite thing to do in life is torment me, I’m treated to the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard before the volume hikes up and I’m forced to listen to the play-by-play happening on the screen.

  “Oh, Dominic! Dominic, right THERE!”

  “Fuck yeah, baby. I’m gonna come all up inside you. You want this dick? How bad do you want this dick?”

  More moaning. More ass slapping.

  More moments of me wondering what I did to deserve a sister like Willow.

  She leans forward, her butt squashing my bladder. “That’s not Dominic DaSilva.”

  This could not get any worse.

  I drop my head back. “No, it’s not.”

  “Fan role-play?” She sounds incredibly impressed. “Good for him. I want to be famous enough one day that someone pretends to be me in a porno.”

  “Yeah, baby, ride that cock. Ride it, yeahhhhh.”

  Eyes closed in defeat, I beg, “Please turn it off.”

  Willow pokes me in the thigh. “Hold on, he’s about to come.”

  “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “You were the one who found this!”

  “It was right there. On Google. I can’t be blamed for clicking a link.”

  “That’s what people say before they contract a computer virus and spread it around like herpes.” A small pause. “Do you think DaSilva is actually uncut like this guy?”

  “Oh, my God, I don’t know!” I push at her back once more, but she’s too engrossed with the sex on the screen to pay me any attention. “It’s not like he’s coming over to my house, pants unzipped and ready to do the deed.”

  “Are you saying that if he did do any of those things, you’d be game to find out what he’s rocking in his briefs?”

  I swallow, thickly, then whisper, “I don’t think he wears briefs.”

  “Boxers, then?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know, Willow. All I know is that when he’s running around at practice, sometimes I notice his you-know-what roaming a little too freely in his shorts.”

  “Dick, Asp. If you can sit here and watch porn about a guy who’s pretending to be the hot football player living next door, the least you can do is use the right word. Or cock. Cock works too.”

  “Mom! Mom, are you outside?”

  I don’t know which one of us moves faster.

  “Shut it down!” I hiss, reaching around Willow to grasp the laptop. Her fingers shoo mine away.

  “Dammit, we were just getting to the good part.”

  I’m going to throw her off the patio and hope, for her sake, that she lands in the water below.

  “Willow.”

  “Oh, my God, calm down already, Grandma, it’s closed.” She leaps off my lap at the same time Topher appears in the open doorway. He’s dressed in the same pair of cargo shorts that he left in this morning to go mini-golfing with Dominic, but his shirt is different.

  Immediately, he jabs a finger to his chest, where a T-Rex has golf clubs for arms. Across the top of the dinosaur’s massive head is a single word: Unstoppable. “Like it?” he asks. “Coach DaSilva bought it for me on the course.” He glances to my left, then offers a small wave. “Hey, Aunt Willow. Did you find the house okay?”

  My sister nods, even as her mouth twitches with the effort to hold back a grin. “You do remember that I sold this house to your mom, right?”

  Topher rocks back on his heels, his expression eerily blasé. “Sure do. Just had to ask since you couldn’t find Kevin’s place the other day, and he lives a block over from you.”

  I cringe.

  Willow, for the first time in her life, seems to struggle for words.

  And then I hear his voice: “Ouch, kid. Rein in those T-Rex clubs, will you?”

  Dominic steps out onto the patio, dressed in his usual black ensemble. The jeans, the shoes, the T-shirt, the black, tattered baseball hat. He’s the devil come out to play and I just spent the last hour of my life stalking him online, where twenty of those minutes were spent watching a man who’s not him pretend
to be him as he screws some random woman.

  Is it blisteringly hot outside or is it just me?

  Dominic keeps his distance, hands shoved deep in the front pocket of his jeans, and then cocks his head to the side. Like he’s curious about something. About me, maybe.

  If only.

  No! Not if only.

  Clearly, the uncut penis on the screen has rattled my brain cells—even if it wasn’t actually Dominic’s.

  “Dominic DaSilva, am I right?” Willow pokes me in the side as she sweeps forward, her blond hair curled to perfection as it hangs down her back under her hat. “I’ve heard so much about you. Aspen—weren’t you just telling me that you love the way Coach DaSilva plays . . . ball?”

  I’m going to kill her, it’s official.

  Lurching forward, I snake my arm through hers. “Dominic, this is my sister Willow.”

  Dominic peers down at her, his expression unreadable. “You the one with the EXWIFEY license plate out front?”

  My sister practically preens beside me. “I have a morbid sense of humor.”

  “Doesn’t morbid mean you like dead people, Aunt Willow?” Topher asks, narrowing his eyes in that way that always alerts me he’s got something up his sleeve. “You know what? Now that I’m thinking about it, Uncle Larry always did seem a little pale.”

  Willow audibly chokes. “I did not marry a vampire, kid. And you should probably invest in a dictionary because that is not the definition of morbid. Don’t schools give them out free nowadays?”

  “There’s a thing called the internet. I don’t need them to give me a dictionary.” My son leans in, innocently batting his eyelashes. “You’re too old to remember having internet at school, right?”

  This time, I can’t help but laugh out loud. It bubbles to life in my chest, making me gasp for air a little when I say, “You two are insane. Also, no fighting in front of strangers.”

  “Not quite a stranger anymore,” Dominic cuts in, jutting a finger over my shoulder to point at his house next door. “Also, based on the way Topher here hustled me today, I should be awarded an honorary Levi medal. It was brutal out there.”

  In the midst of Dominic-wannabes and morbid wordplay, it totally slipped my mind as to why he’s here. In my courtyard. Particularly when he made it a point to mention that he has plans tonight . . .