by Maria Luis
Her heart squeezed. No one had ever asked her that—everyone assumed that she’d been living the life. For the first few years, she’d definitely enjoyed her newfound freedoms. It had been fun to wake up at noon on a Sunday just because she wanted to, even more fun to go out on a Friday night and not stress that her mama might give her a lecture on sin at the crack of dawn Saturday morning. Or that if Shaelyn wasn’t careful, she’d end up just like Anna, alone as a single mother.
Charlotte hadn’t been evil, and in relation to other mothers, Shaelyn understood that she’d had it good. Food had been on the table; she’d attended a prestigious grammar school; she hadn’t been abused. She’d just wanted love, an emotion that her mother and father hadn’t deemed important when raising a daughter.
“I wasn’t unhappy,” she told Brady truthfully. Lonely, yes, and in the last few years under Carla Ritter’s “guardianship,” also ashamed and embarrassed. But the only times she had felt truly unhappy were on the rare occasions when her parents visited and . . . well, the times she thought of the man standing in front of her.
Shaelyn almost laughed out loud, because wasn’t that a bitch and a half. After twelve years, she was just as emotionally entangled with Brady Taylor as she had been the summer before college.
“So, the house?” he prompted, his hands still locked around her arms like he feared she might turn skittish and scamper away.
“It feels like a noose around my neck.” Some of the pressure in her chest eased with the admission. “I know Meme wants me to have it, but between the funds needed to maintain the property and”—her gaze flicked up to his briefly—“everything else, I just can’t seem to drum up any excitement.”
Then, in true Brady no-nonsense fashion, he simply said, “Tell your grandmother you don’t want it.”
“And squash her dreams in the process?” Shaelyn shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Aren’t you squashing your own dreams, then?”
For somebody like Brady whose career fit him to perfection, it should have been an easy question to answer. But for Shaelyn . . . God, this was so not the time to develop allergies. Her nose suddenly felt itchy and her eyes watery. Okay, so maybe not allergies after all.
Do not cry!
The truth was: Shaelyn didn’t think she had any dreams of her own.
Since that seemed too embarrassing to voice out loud, she opted for sarcasm. “I’m sure that Anna is just thrilled to have me lurking around.”
“I’m pretty sure that Anna isn’t waiting with baited breath for your resignation, Shae,” he said wryly. “You two seem like a good team from what I’ve heard.”
Raising a brow, Shaelyn leaned into his hold and tilted her chin up to look at him. “And just where have you heard anything?”
He jerked his head toward the dining room. “You really have to ask? Gran is like a goddamn fly on the wall. She knows about everything that happens in this city.”
“Does she really know about everything?”
A.k.a, does she know about you, me, and the sexy-time activities on your kitchen table?
Oops, that was said out loud.
Large hands tightened around her arms. “Did you just—”
“Did I what?” Shaelyn ducked under his arms with a small skip in her step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It was crazy—this was crazy—especially as she’d been the one to tell him that another hookup was not in their future. Their easy camaraderie as they’d washed the dishes and the easy way he’d listened like he still cared, all made her crave things she shouldn’t, though.
Like the last handful of buttery popcorn or the last slice of pizza.
Crazy as it was, maybe the reason they couldn’t stop arguing was because their chemistry wasn’t being properly addressed. In bed.
Honest truth time here: as bad as it was for her, Shaelyn wanted that last handful of popcorn and that final slice of pizza. Even if that meant switching gears and embracing the risk that he might A) call her crazy, or B) tell her that she was indecisive.
Brady must have sensed the shift in her body language because he slowly stalked her across the kitchen. What was it about them and kitchens? Him, her, and stainless steel appliances. It sounded like the start of a bad naughty ballad.
Her back hit the refrigerator door at the same time that his hands came down to clutch her hips. “Are you playing games with me, Shae?”
His close proximity, mingled with the deep timbre of his voice, weakened her knees. “No.”
“You said the other day that this was a mistake.”
Swallowing her nerves, she straightened her shoulders. He wasn’t going to let her off easy, not with the way she’d shut him down twice now. “I know. I did.”
“You wouldn’t even look at me during dinner.”
She understood that from his point of view, “fickle” might as well have been her middle name. Hell, it might as well have been her first. In all honesty, she wasn’t even sure the exact moment when she’d changed her mind about them getting naked together. All she knew was that she wanted him, and even though hooking up with him might actually be the biggest mistake of her life, she wanted him anyway.
Getting naked didn’t have to mean spilling all of her secrets . . . right?
Wetting her bottom lip, she glanced up at the man she’d once loved. The common thread of fear that slipped through her body moved aside in the face of her desire for him. His blue eyes were dark with desire, his pupils dilated. Warmth hit her square in her belly, a tingling sensation that slid lower the longer that they held eye contact.
“Do you think, maybe, we just need to get it out of our system?”
His hands moved to her back, then slid into the back pockets of her jeans. “Get what exactly out of our systems?”
Like a bucket of water being splashed over her head, realization dawned that he was really going to make her work for it. His parting words from the night she’d left him on his porch rang in her ears: “I like it when you beg.”
So, he wanted her to grovel.
He was out of luck—Shaelyn didn’t beg. Not like this. Not for anyone.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t play his game, though.
Tipping her head back against the fridge, she ran her hands down his arms until her hands rested over his, which were still tucked into her back pockets. The pose arched her back, thrusting her breasts up for his gaze.
“Maybe,” she murmured slowly, “you need a reminder?”
His blue eyes dipped to the girls, which were, admittedly, completely concealed by her blouse. Not her fault. She hadn’t factored in “seduction” when she’d picked her outfit for the day. Which . . . oh, crap. She’d worn boring white cotton underwear today. Extra points for the fact that they weren’t her period panties, though. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she worked for a lingerie boutique and yet didn’t own a single pair of fancy underwear.
“What kind of reminder?”
Brady’s voice was so gravelly that the deep pitch reverberated through her. Her nipples tightened like he’d physically flicked on her switch. It was so unfair that he did this to her.
Time to take control of the situation.
Tipping her hips forward to meet his, she whispered, “This sort of reminder,” and then promptly wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down for a heart-wrenching kiss.
They moaned simultaneously, needy sounds that echoed in the kitchen. This kiss, unlike the one they had shared at his house, was a battle for control. Leaning up on her toes, she combed her fingers through his hair and nipped his lower lip.
Brady chuckled against her lips, muttering, “tease,” just before he dug his fingers into her butt and jerked her close.
Yep, definitely the right decision, she thought, as he teased her lips open. Brady was sex on a stick, and Shaelyn wanted him desperately. Just his body, though. She wasn’t in the market for his heart.
But, boy, did she ph
ysically ache with all the wanting. She wanted him kissing her like he was now, as if he would never tire of the taste of her. She wanted him in her bed, his bed, or any nearby flat surface. She wanted to see that slow, teasing smile of his just before he said something inappropriately sexy.
If she wanted anything more than that, Shaelyn didn’t let herself dwell on it. Sex was one thing. It didn’t have to be complicated and hearts didn’t have to be involved. If he saw someone else, well, hey, no harm, no foul, right? It wasn’t as though she planned to stick around in New Orleans for that much longer anyway.
Shaelyn pressed herself so close that she could feel his rapid heartbeat echo in her own chest. He kissed her like he did everything else in life—thoroughly, confidently. Her hands coasted down the back of his neck to his hard chest.
“Shaelyn!”
Abort! Abort!
At the sound of Meme Elaine’s voice, Shaelyn whirled away so fast that she slammed the back of her head against the fridge, and let out a four-letter expletive that would have shocked a Bourbon Street regular. Clutching her head, she swiveled away from Brady at the same time that he reached for her with a look of concern.
She put her hands up. “It isn’t what it looks like.”
Brady snorted.
She wasn’t even sure why she bothered. Maybe if she’d hit her head before her grandmother had walked in they could have faked a need for CPR, but . . . nope, this scene was pretty damning.
Meme Elaine folded her hands over her breasts and arched one overly plucked eyebrow. “What do you think it looked like?”
I plead the fifth.
She shifted her focus to Brady, widening her eyes and making small gestures with her hands toward her grandmother. Brady, the jerk, did nothing but give her a look that all but said, She’s yours.
She tried again. “We were just . . . ”
“Saving the dishes?” Meme Elaine supplied with a lift of her chin.
“We finished those, Miz Elaine. Don’t worry.”
Oh, so now the mute wanted to speak.
“Will it be necessary that I wash them again later?” her grandmother asked pleasantly. “By that, I mean, should I assign Shaelyn dish duty when you aren’t around to distract her?”
Shaelyn wondered if anyone would notice if she shoved her head into the broken dishwasher and inhaled the mold. Nothing could make this conversation any more uncomfortable—actually, scratch that. If Miss Mary decided to join the fray, then, yes, things could get worse.
“Is everything all right in here, Elaine?”
This, Shaelyn realized dumbly, this was her life.
She watched in silent horror as Brady’s prim grandmother wandered into the kitchen, wine glass grasped delicately in one hand, while she cuddled a rather content-looking Freckles in the other.
Never before had she seen her cat look so peaceful. Had the woman plied him with liquor? Freckles usually hovered between Royally Pissed Off and Cat PMS and . . . did he just purr?
“What have I missed, Elaine?” Miss Mary asked again as she ran the tips of her fingers through Freckles’s mane.
“You didn’t miss anything, Gran.”
Really? Shaelyn waited for Brady to glance her way, then subtly scratched her forehead with her middle finger.
“Promise?” he mouthed, flashing her one of his perfectly executed slow smiles.
She hated him, she really did.
“Your grandson was playing tonsil hockey with my granddaughter.”
While Shaelyn considered the ramifications of throwing herself off the second floor veranda, Brady held up a finger like he was checking the wind direction. “Hold on now—”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?” Miss Mary ducked her face to nuzzle Freckles’s furry nape, and Shaelyn’s traitorous cat stretched lazily in the older woman’s arms, dropping his head back in abandoned submission.
“My eyes don’t lie,” Meme Elaine averred, and tapped her black frames.
Miss Mary withdrew her attention from the cat long enough to ask, “Are you planning to go home with my grandson tonight, Shaelyn?”
After this interrogation? No, she was not. She wanted to head upstairs, slip on her ratty pajamas, and binge-watch The Bachelor until this whole debacle was viscerally erased from her memory.
Shaelyn slid a finger under the fabric of her necklace and tugged it away from her clammy skin. Sweat beaded by her hairline. “Not that he’s invited me—or, um, that we have a relationship like that—but I’ve got work tomorrow.” Shaelyn snuck a peek at Brady, not surprised to find that he was leaning against the kitchen table, looking completely at ease.
Did the man not care that his grandmother was this close to discovering his sexual preferences?
She looked at her watch and clapped her hands together. “Okay, wow, look at the time! You certainly don’t want to be driving so close to midnight, even if your own grandson is a cop, Miss Mary.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Brady’s grandmother murmured agreeably. “I’ll gather Arthur. I think he’s watching a Viagra infomercial.”
“Gran,” Brady ground out, sounding pained.
Meme Elaine patted her old friend’s hand sympathetically. “Has he finally hit that age? Never had a problem with me, but ‘vitality is youth,’ as the Parisians say.”
Out of the corner of his mouth, Brady muttered, “I don’t actually think the Parisians say that.”
Miss Mary froze in putting Freckles down on the ground, changing direction so fast that Shaelyn’s poor cat startled from his nap, paws swiping through the air like a pinwheel. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Arthur chose me after you’d already—”
“Fragile ears!” Shaelyn shouted, clapping her hands over her ears. “No more, for the love of God.”
Brady raked his hands down his face, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets like he could rake out the images staining his retina. It was too late. She wasn’t sure which was worse: her grandmother, probably riding Arthur like a rodeo cowboy, or Miss Mary, all prim and proper and instructing her husband “a little bit more to the left.”
“I think it’s time to head out, Gran,” Brady said as he moved beside her. Slipping Freckles out of Miss Mary’s grip, he set the cat on the ground. “Don’t you have a snobby meeting early tomorrow morning?”
“How many times have I told you,” Miss Mary muttered, “Charity is not snobby. I like helping others help themselves.”
“The Viagra is making sense now.”
Everyone turned to Elaine.
“What?” Meme Elaine asked, blinking way too innocently.
Oh yeah. Shaelyn’s grandmother was this close to needing a muzzle.
Shaelyn sent Brady a beseeching look that she hoped he interpreted correctly as, End the madness. Run far, far away. From the grin that tugged one corner of his mouth, she assumed he’d received the message loud and clear.
“All right, Gran,” he murmured, dropping his hands onto her shoulders and steering her toward the living room. “Let’s collect Gramps and head out.”
“He’s watching Jimmy Kimmel; we’ll have to force him.”
“I thought he was learning about the little blue pill,” Meme hollered after the Taylors.
The single glance that Miss Mary spared over her shoulder said it all: Elaine Lawrence had been had.
“I knew I hated that woman,” Meme grumbled as she stomped her hot-pink cane on the ground. “No class whatsoever.”
“What bothers you more, the fact that Arthur Taylor doesn’t need Viagra or the fact you don’t know one way or the other?” Shaelyn asked as she listened to Brady bribe his grandfather away from the TV with the promise of taking him to a Saints game. The sound of the front door closing came moments later.
Harrumphing, Meme Elaine demanded, “Does family loyalty mean nothing to you?”
Shaelyn waltzed over to her elderly grandmother and pressed a kiss to her papery-thin cheek. “I’m experiencing déjà vu. From when, you a
sk? Oh, the time you signed me up for a fake engagement with a married man.”
Shaelyn might have expired on the spot from the withering look her grandmother gave her, if it weren’t for the twinkling gleam in the older woman’s blue eyes. “I helped, didn’t I? Although it certainly was never my plan for Brady to dry-hump you against my fridge . . . ”
Her eyes narrowed. “Can we agree to never say the words ‘dry-humping’ again?”
“I call it like I see it.” Meme Elaine rapped the tip of her cane against Shaelyn’s leg. “I give it a week before y’all are goin’ at it like rabbits.”
Shaelyn held up a finger. “First of all, ‘goin’ at it like rabbits’ just made it to the Things-Never-To-Be-Mentioned-Again list.” Another finger went up. “Secondly, you didn’t ‘call’ anything—you told me to stay away from Brady. You don’t even want me near him.”
Meme Elaine stared at her steadily from behind her blacked, cat-eyed frames. “You don’t know what I want, cher.”
And with that mysterious comment, Meme Elaine headed off to the living room—probably to catch up on What Not to Wear reruns.
The words “you don’t know what I want” nagged Shaelyn as she scrubbed her face clean and brushed her teeth for the night. They stuck around as she changed into her ratty, I Love NY T-shirt and even rattier cotton shorts.
It wasn’t until she was settled in bed, staring up at the ceiling, that she realized that she and Brady hadn’t finished their conversation. She checked the time on her phone, noting the fact that she had no new messages. It was nearly one in the morning. Way too late in the evening to text him.
He probably thought she didn’t want him. Considering that she had turned him down twice in the matter of weeks, Shaelyn could see why he might be hesitant to believe her now. Plus, what would she even text him?
Hi, I know you think I’m indecisive, but I’d like to jump your bones.
Or: Hey there, I haven’t had sex in four years. How about you do me a solid and help a girl out?
Better yet: I’m tired of just dreaming about having sex with you. Let’s make this a reality. You bring the condoms. I’ll bring the post-coital snacks.
Shaelyn shoved her face into the pillow. He was probably counting his lucky blessings for avoiding what would have been a massive mistake for the both of them.