Me: Morning bestie! How are you and my baby girls feeling? Y’all blow that joint yet?
Spencer: Hey hooker. Not yet. They said maybe tomorrow.
Her reply is almost instant. She must be bored out of her mind, so I attach the selfie to my response in an attempt to make her feel worse about her situation. I’m a good friend like that.
Me: That’s a shame. Really wish you could be here relaxing with me.
Spencer: Are you slutting it up with my kids, Gina?
Me: Built in babysitters, biotch! We spent a few hours together at the pool, had lunch, then I shipped their asses off to the kid rooms ’til dinner.
Spencer: Just don’t get too drunk, and make sure they don’t like get too close to the edge of the boat. How’s Savage? Is he seasick? Does he love it?
Me: Calm your tits, woman. We’re fine. Everyone is fine. They’re loving it! Go enjoy those babies. I’m gonna catch a little sun. Love you, bestie.
Just as I go to set my phone down it dings. Spencer really needs to learn to let go a little, I think as I bring the phone back to my face.
Aaaand I was wrong. It’s Brent. Stage five clinger.
Brent: Hey doll face. Wanna come over to my place? Netflix and chill?
My eyes roll up into the back of my head. Netflix and chill? Gross.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m used to the millennial lingo and the overall douchiness that goes along with dating younger guys, but Brent just...he doesn’t know when to quit.
Me: I’m on vacation with my godsons. Sorry.
Brent: Awe, bummer. Another time then? When do you get back?
Me: Yeah. I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Brent. A one-night stand with me consists literally of one night.
Brent: All right well...you have a great vacation and maybe we can get together when you get back?
It’s not often I can’t shake a guy. I’ve pretty much narrowed my selection process down to a science, and Brent fits the bill perfectly. Early to mid-twenties, check. Gym junkie, check—I’ve found men obsessed with working out don’t have much time for anything else, making them ideal for me. College student, check. Manwhore, check.
And then there are my own personal preferences: dark hair, tanned skin, eyes the color of whiskey...So, I’m a bit of a doppelbanger. An image of William Levy floats across the backs of my eyelids, and I press my thighs together. Something about that man in those telenovelas just does it for me. I’d add the ability to dirty talk in Español to my list if I didn’t live in one of the least diverse towns in America.
My skin heats beneath the sun’s rays, and I’m finally beginning to doze off when I feel a finger tapping my shoulder. Pushing my sunglasses up, I have to squint to make out Landon’s face. How long have I been out? With a quick glance down at my phone, I realize it’s only two-thirty. “Miss me already, Lan?”
“Uhh,” he mumbles. The shakiness of his voice has me bolting straight up to a sitting position.
Before I even get the chance to ask him what’s going on, I hear a throat clear, pulling my attention to the man and young girl who are standing behind him.
“Can I help you?” My adrenaline starts pumping, going into defense mode as I return his stare.
“Son,” he says, addressing Landon instead of me, “I asked you to take me to your parents, not your sister. I haven’t got time for this.” His crystal blue eyes narrow.
Who the fuck does this man think he is, talking to Landon like that?
“Sir, she is my...uh—”
“Excuse me,” I interject, cutting him off, “Landon is my nephew, and I’m the one responsible for him this week, so if you need to speak to his parent, ’fraid I’m it.”
A slight blush creeps across the man’s stony face. His features are hard, his jaw ticking. “I just caught your nephew kissing my daughter on the main deck.”
My hands curl at my sides as I draw in a deep breath, resisting the urge to squeal. “Like with tongue?” I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth. I can hardly contain my excitement. Oh. My. God. My boy is growing up...
Landon hangs his head in embarrassment as the angry man with the bluest eyes and most amazing blond hair I’ve ever seen begins breathing so hard I practically expect fire to shoot out from his flared nostrils. “I’m pretty sure tongues were involved,” he answers with a curt nod. His arms cross on his chest as he awaits my response.
“Way to go Landon!” I shout, wrapping my bony arms around him in a bear hug and rocking from side to side. “We should celebrate! You just had your first kiss...That was your first one right?”
“Aunt Gina...” he mutters beneath his breath. His eyes gesturing to the grumbly man behind him.
“Celebrating is not exactly what I had in mind.” The girl’s father gives her a stern look when a giggle, despite her best efforts to hold it in, escapes her pressed lips.
Giving the flustered little redhead a wink, I rise to my feet, putting myself on more even ground, although he still stands at least a foot taller than my five-foot frame. “And just what did you have in mind Mr....?” I trail off, waiting for him to find his manners and actually introduce himself.
His hand reaches out for mine. “Jeffrey Ryan, CEO of Ryan Drilling.”
Sucking in my cheeks, I try really hard not to laugh at how proud he is of his title. Well, I’m just as proud of my own. “Gina Bourque,” I return, giving his hand a shake. “Sex therapist.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JEFFREY
SEX THERA—. WELL, there went any hopes I had of parental support. Looks like it’ll be up to me alone to keep that kid’s grubby paws off my daughter.
“And what’s your name, gorgeous?” Tinkerbell asks, withdrawing her tiny hand from mine and reaching out for my little girl’s.
“Evangeline.”
“That’s such a pretty name. Y’all have got to be from Louisiana, too, with a name like Evangeline?”
What is it with this woman acting like we’re all pals? I came here looking for some assistance in keeping these two apart, not to help them get to know one another better. And why is she looking at me like she’s hiding some dirty secret? More importantly, why am I so curious?
“My parents are from a town called Catahoula, but we live about an hour from New Orleans in Livingston.” Vangie flips her hair dramatically, an obvious move for that boy’s attention.
“Ah, I know just where you’re talking about. I used to work in New Orleans, and Landon here lived there his whole life, until we all moved back to Cedar Grove the year before last. Right, Lan?” Gina, the sex therapist, nudges the little punk with her elbow, trying to include him in the conversation.
Evangeline’s face turns somber, and my heart grows tight inside of my chest because I know what’s coming. “Well, we used to live in Catahoula until Mom died. We’ve only been in Livingston about three years.”
Gina reaches out a hand, smoothing down my daughter’s hair in an affectionate manner—the way a mother would. I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but I don’t like seeing another woman in Jessica’s place. This is stupid. She’s a stranger. She is nothing to me. “I’m sorry about your mom, sweetie.”
Shaking myself from a daze, I clear my throat. “All right, well—it was nice meeting y’all. If you could encourage Landon here to keep away from my daughter, I’d appreciate it.” Grabbing Vangie’s hand, I begin to move away when I feel someone take hold of my other arm.
“Jeffrey?” The petite blonde calls in a warm, raspy voice that sounds far too mature for her tiny frame and youthful face. She pulls in close, her hand resting on the front of my T-shirt, causing my heart to drum in my chest. She rises to her tippy toes, breathing hot on my ear. Making sure not to let the children hear, she whispers, “I can see you’re having issues with this.”
I grunt in response, trying not to react to her nearness. To the smell of strawberries and coconuts that are engulfing my senses.
“But, there is nothing you or I am going to do
that’s going to keep these two apart, short of locking them in our cabins for the duration of the trip...”
“Please, Tinkerbell—”
Her eyes widen at my slip of the nickname I’ve been calling her in my head.
“Don’t think I’m not considering doing just that.”
“Do you want to make her hate you?” Her warm fingers tighten around my bicep. “Because I can tell you that’s exactly what you’re going to do if you continue treating her this way. I can see that you don’t like me. That’s okay. To be completely honest, I don’t like you either. But, Landon means the world to me. He is a good kid. You couldn’t ask for better for your daughter’s first crush. The way I see it, we’ve got two options. We can either choose to explore this thing with them, together. Or, forbid them, and they’ll sneak around. Hell, even if they don’t...Do you think your daughter will ever tell you about her personal life if this is the expectation you’ve set?”
My tongue rolls across my front teeth, and I swallow a lump of pride, because as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. Jessica and I began seeing each other when she was exactly her age. “You may have a point,” I concede.
She winks a triumphant green eye at me, before stepping back and announcing to the children with a clap of her hands, “Looks like Jeffrey and Evangeline have decided to join us at the pool ’til dinner.”
Evangeline looks up at me, so hopeful. With a resigned sigh, I wave her off. “Go ahead but stay by the pool where we can see you, and no more kissing.” My eyes narrow at the boy whose cheeks redden.
“Yes, sir,” he nods, grabs my daughter’s hand, and the two of them scramble off to the other end of the pool.
“Good job, Daddy,” she clamps me on the lower back. “Why don’t you scowl at the children from that chair right there?” She points to the one on the other side of the little table that houses her drink, rather than the one right beside her. Holding up her frozen concoction, she swirls it in the air. “Phil makes a mean strawberry daiquiri.”
“This is a family vacation. I don’t drink when I’m with my girls.”
Her tiny shoulders shrug, and she gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sucks to be you.”
Reluctantly, I plant my ass in the lounger, with every intention of stewing in silence, but that intrusive little blonde has other ideas.
“So, Jeffrey,” she says after sipping from her fruity drink. “What do you like to do for fun?”
Is she serious right now? “Look, Gina, don’t feel like you need to make small talk, okay? I’m perfectly fine to just sit here and keep watch.”
“Fine,” she pouts. Actually pouts—like a child. I can’t believe someone entrusted this tart with the well-being of her children.
“Well, that’s boring.”
“I like boring,” I assure her, trying not to stare as she reapplies tanning oil to her perky little breasts, humming along to the music that’s blaring from the speakers surrounding the deck. My dick stirs. I’m attracted to her, and that’s pissing me off too.
“I must say that I’m surprised, Jeff. You don’t look like a stiff.” Her eyes meet mine, issuing a challenge.
Why won’t this chick just leave me alone? “Trust me,” I say, glaring in her direction. “I’m stiff.” Much to my dismay.
“So that’s your problem.” She nods her head as if she’s just figured me all out. She has no fucking clue. “Been a while?”
“Forward much?”
Again, she shrugs. “It’s the therapist in me. I’m psychoanalyzing you. Does that bother you, Jeffrey?”
“You bother me.”
“I can tell.” This girl actually has the audacity to look to my lap. My dick twitches, hardening beneath her gaze.
Gina’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “You’re not my usual type, but I must say you’ve piqued my interest. How long’s it been?”
“Are you seriously asking that question to a complete stranger?”
“Why not? We’re adults. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?”
She’s got to be fucking with me. “You’re something else, you know that?” I ask, laughing her off.
“I’ve been told,” Tink agrees as she begins flailing her hand in the air at the cabana boy. “Bring me another, Phil?”
His head bobs, and he shoots her a thumbs-up from across the deck.
Gina flashes a blinding white smile, blowing him a kiss before spinning back around in her chair to face me. “You said you were here with your daughters...How many?”
“Two,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Evangeline, who you’ve met, is fourteen. And the little one, Willow, is three.”
“Must be hard, running a company and raising two kids on your own.”
Does she have no boundaries? “I manage.”
I’m caught off guard when she reaches out, patting the top of my left hand where it’s resting on the arm of my chair. “You should know you’re doing a good job.”
“You don’t even know me,” I rasp, both shocked by her nerve and at how relieved I am to hear those words.
The therapist in her must be able to read the doubt in my features. “A bad father wouldn’t go after some boy for daring to kiss his baby...Or worry about drinking around his kids.” She nods, mostly to herself.
Well, this got uncomfortable really quickly—not that a moment of this conversation has been remotely comfortable. “So, uh. You have any kids, Tink?”
I think I see a hint of sadness in her eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that I could’ve imagined it altogether. “Nope,” she answers, popping the p. “Just me.”
“Husband or a boyfriend?” What is wrong with me? I don’t actually care about any of this.
“Now who’s being forward?” she asks, arching her brow. “No hubby and no boyfriend.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her eyes give me a thorough once-over. “I’m enjoying the single life entirely too much...I just borrow my bestie’s kids and give ’em back when I’ve had my fill.”
“That’s probably for the best...You don’t really strike me as the mothering type.”
“Well, then. Maybe the man upstairs knew just what he was doing when he dealt me a bunch of faulty equipment.”
CHAPTER FIVE
GINA
“I’M SORRY. I shouldn’t have just assumed you didn’t want children,” he says, his brows dipped inward with concern. “I wish I hadn’t said that.”
With my best poker face, I tamp down the pesky emotions that still threaten to make an appearance now and again, forcing myself to smile. “No worries.”
He starts to speak again then seems to think better of it, and his mouth clamps shut. The silence shouldn’t feel this awkward between us. We hardly know each other. “Hey, Jeff?”
“Yeah, Tinkerbell?”
Why does my stomach flip when he calls me that stupid name? It’s not at all original. I’ve been called that or “pixie” my entire life, given my small size, blonde hair, and green eyes. But when he says it, something deep inside stirs giving me a little throb between the legs—a vaginal heartbeat, if you will.
Dammit. I’m going to have to fuck him. I’ve never slept with an older man before. Well, I mean...he can’t be all that old. But I think twenty-five has been the oldest I’ve been with. Jeff needs me, poor man—I reason with myself. Plus, my vagina would never forgive me for not scratching this itch. And I’m finding myself very curious about his sex noises. Every time he growls, I wonder what he sounds like moaning in pleasure.
It’s settled. Jeffrey and I are going to do the nasty!
“Tink?”
“Huh? Sorry, I guess I kinda got lost in my own head for a sec.”
His answering laugh is hearty and rich and oh, so manly. What the hell am I doing crushing on a single dad? A fucking widow at that?
“You said my name.”
“I did?”
“Yup.”
Oh, yeah. “Hey, has anyone ever told you that you sort of look like Chris Hemsw
orth?”
“Chris Hemsworth, eh? Don’t women find him kinda hot?”
Gulp. “Definitely.”
“Are you saying you find me attractive, Tink?” Damn him and that fucking smirk straight to hell.
“You’re not bad for an older dude.”
Jeff’s hand goes to his chest, “Ouch, you wound me. Just how old do you think I am?”
Eyeing him head to foot, I take in the light dusting of gray mixed in with the blond at both of his temples and in the scruff on his chin. The fine lines in the corners of his eyes, which somehow only add to his appeal. He’s in great physical shape—long and lean with defined muscles. His Adam’s apple, prominent in the front of his throat, makes my mouth water. “Um. I’d guess thirty-five-ish?”
His laughter reveals a perfect set of straight, white teeth. “How old are you?” he counters. “That you think thirty-five is old.”
This should be interesting. “How old do you think I am?” I lift my brow, crossing my arms on my chest. It doesn’t escape my notice how his eyes zone right in on my breasts.
“Well, you look about twenty-three.”
I feel heat flood my cheeks as I beam at his answer.
“That’s not a compliment, by the way. I really thought you were his sister. But, having spoken to you, and since he’s your friend’s kid...shit. Umm. I’ll go with thirty...No. Let me say twenty-nine, to be safe.”
“Thirty-five,” I deadpan, enjoying the look of shock on his face.
He sputters for a moment in disbelief. “How old are the guys you date?”
I give him a noncommittal shrug. “To be clear, I don’t date...I fuck. And usually somewhere in the twenty-two to twenty-five range.”
“Cougar.”
Gasp. “No...I just have a thing for young, eager men. They fuck like they have something to prove, and aren’t out searching for their future brides.”
“Thirty-eight and you’d be amazed how much better a man gets with age.” He leans back further in his chair, trailing his eyes up and down my body.
“Is that an invitation?” I ask, biting my lower lip.
“To be clear, I don’t date,” he answers, throwing my words back at me. “I fuck.”
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