I blink, trying to look away. His hazel eyes look greener under the light fixture hanging overhead, his hair has dried from his shower, and all of a sudden he looks more like Cole’s older brother than his dad. I tear my eyes away from his smile, just catching a glimpse of the cords in his arm that are flexing as he works in the sink.
I snatch up my phone off the counter and turn to leave, but then remember something.
“May I have your phone number?” I twist back around and ask. “Like in case there’s a problem here or I lose my key or something?”
He looks at me over his shoulder, his hands still in the water. “Oh, right.” He shuts off the faucet and grabs a towel, drying himself. “Good idea. Here.”
He grabs his phone and unlocks the screen, handing it to me. “Put yours in mine, too, then.”
I give him my phone and take his, entering in my first name and my cell number. I’m glad I remembered, actually. Anything could go wrong with the house. The basement could flood, packages could be delivered that aren’t mine, I might not be able to handle dinner on one of Cole’s and my nights and need to alert him…. This isn’t my place where I get to make all the decisions anymore.
I give his back, and he hands me mine, but music starts playing from mine, and he does a double-take at my screen. My music app must’ve been up and he accidentally hit something.
Shit.
George Michael’s Father Figure starts playing, and his eyebrows shoot up as the suggestive chorus starts.
My mouth goes dry, the lyrics registering.
I snatch the phone back and turn it off.
He breathes out a laugh.
Awesome.
Then he straightens, clearing his throat. “80s music, huh?”
I run my fingers through my hair, sliding the phone into my back pocket. “Yeah, I wasn’t kidding.”
After a moment, I look back up and see him staring at me, the hint of a smile in his eyes.
His gaze flashes to the side, and he bends over, picking up one of the home and garden magazines I didn’t realize had dropped from my bag at the kitchen table.
“And it’s Pike,” he says, handing me the magazine. “Not Mr. Lawson, okay?”
He’s standing so close, and my stomach flips, unable to look at him.
I take the magazine and nod, unable to meet his eyes.
He turns back to his task, and I turn to walk away but stop and look back at him.
“You don’t have to do that, you know?” I tell him, referring to the dishes. “Cole said he would.”
I see his body shake with a laugh, and then he bends down to drop some silverware into the dishwasher before glancing over at me. “I was nineteen once, too,” he replies. “‘In a bit’ means eventually, and eventually doesn’t mean tonight.”
I snort, my shoulders easing a little. True.
I don’t know how many times I woke up the next morning to a sink full of dishes. Of course, it wouldn’t make me happier with Cole if his father was carrying his weight with the chores, but I brush it off as ‘not my problem’.
As long as I don’t have to do it.
“Thank you,” I say, quickly darting over to the fridge for a bottle of water to take with me.
But then a thought occurs to me.
“Do you have any other kids?” I ask. I guess I need to know if there will be other people coming in or out of the house.
But when I look over I see his jaw tense and his brow furrowed, looking a little too serious.
“I think Cole would tell you if he had siblings, wouldn’t he?”
Against my will, my spine instantly straightens. His tone is chastising. Of course, Cole would tell me if he had siblings. I’ve known him for long enough.
“Right,” I reply in a rush, shaking my head like I was in a fog and that was why I’d asked such a dumb question.
“Besides I’ve never been married,” he adds, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Having multiple kids from multiple women wasn’t a mistake I wanted to keep making.”
I remain still, watching him and kind of feeling bad. Cole was completely unplanned and, even to a small degree, unwanted by his teenage parents. Some of the mystery of their poor relationship starts to come into focus.
But I also appreciate his pragmatism. It didn’t take a young Pike Lawson long to learn that making babies with just anyone wasn’t what was right for him. That was a consequence I never wanted to experience, not even once.
He seems to realize what he’d said and how it probably sounded, because he stops and looks over at me, thinning his eyes in an apology. “I didn’t mean it… like that. I—”
“I know what you meant. It’s okay.”
I jerk my thumb behind me and back away. “I’m going to go study. I’m taking a few credits this summer, so…’night.”
He turns back, loading the dishwasher with soap and starting the machine.
“Thank you again for letting us stay here,” I say.
He glances at me. “Thank you for dinner.”
And before I leave, I step over to the table where I left a scented candle burning. I should’ve asked him about that. He might not like frilly scents in his house.
Leaning over the table, I close my eyes, take in a breath, and make my usual wish Let tomorrow be better than today. And I blow, almost instantly smelling the pungent stream of smoke curling into the air from the extinguished wick.
It’s always the same wish. Every candle. Every time. I want a life I never want to take a vacation from. That’s my goal.
Except for the match I blew out at the theater. I made a different wish that night.
When I open my eyes, I see Pike watching me. He quickly straightens and turns away.
And as I leave the kitchen and head toward the stairs in the living room, I drop my magazine on the end table next to the couch.
Now someone lives here.
Pike
I blink awake, my eyelids heavy and slow as the dim room comes into view.
It’s still dark. I don’t normally wake up before five-thirty. Why am I…
No, wait. I grunt, opening my eyes a little wider and noticing the faint glow dancing across my bedroom wall.
Raindrops. Ah, shit. It’s not dark out. It’s cloudy.
I turn over onto my back and squint at the ceiling as I wait a moment and listen. And then, almost immediately, I hear it. The pitter patter of little dings bouncing off the rain gutters outside.
I let out a sigh. Goddammit. Not good. I dig my palms into my eyes and rub away the sleep before I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Five-twenty-nine.
Yep. Like clockwork.
I stopped needing an alarm clock years ago, my body just getting used to waking up at the same time every day. I still set it, though, just in case. Reaching over, I feel for the switch on the side and nudge it over two spots, turning off the alarm before it goes off.
The rain could really set us back today. I don’t need to be at the site for another hour and a half, but half the guys will probably try to call in, thinking we won’t be able to put in a full day anyway, so may as well stay in bed.
Not gonna happen, though. We’re working on something today—anything—because I don’t feel like side-stepping my kid’s bad mood and foul looks all day if I stick around this house. I’d rather be at work.
When he was younger, it was different. He was mine. We did things together and talked and he wanted to be around me, but now…
She’s gotten to him. My kid is the only hold anyone could ever have over me, and man, his mother knew how to use that. She pushed him around like a chess piece until he believed everything that came out of her mouth and that she was the victim in every situation, and I was the enemy. She could do no wrong, and I could do no right.
After a while, I just decided to be there for him. Eventually he’ll wise up, and we’ll get through this. He’ll see through her lies, and I just need to hang on. No matter the patience it’s going to take o
r the arguments in the meantime.
At least Jordan is pretty great. She’ll be a welcome buffer between us.
Even if I was knocked on my ass when I found out who she was.
I close my eyes, resting the back of my hand over my eyes and thinking back to that night.
I had fun hanging out with her at the movie theater. Her comebacks, her humor, how easy it was to talk to her…. The way she just relaxed next to me during the movie, and it was so fucking comfortable and natural.
The way her smile felt on me…
I wouldn’t have asked her out. She’s way too young, and I knew she had a boyfriend.
But it was hard not to entertain the idea for a little while. She’s cool.
And then when I found out who she was, I was almost angry.
I remember hearing her on that phone call and clenching my teeth so hard my jaw ached as realization hit. I was angry, because in that moment, I was jealous of my son. I was jealous of any guy who’s nineteen and gets a chance to be with her.
Her flawless skin and pert nose. Her gorgeous bottom lip that I think she caught me staring at.
The way she tipped her head back, put her feet up, and could just be next to me.
Everything felt easy.
But the girl of my dreams is off-limits. She’s Cole’s, and she’s nineteen. There’s no way.
She’s a kid, and my brief, sordid thoughts will stay hidden in my head.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I reach over and grab it, looking at the screen.
And I groan. Not now.
But I swipe the green button anyway and close my eyes, holding the phone to my ear. “A little early for you, isn’t it?”
Lindsay, my ex, laughs softly, the sultry sound of her sexy voice well-honed by now. The woman is used to getting what she wants from anyone.
Almost anyone.
“Not when you haven’t been to bed,” she taunts.
I keep my snicker to myself. Some women who become young mothers later feel as if they’ve missed out on their youth by jumping into parenthood so early. Lindsay Kenmont, mother of my child, didn’t miss a damn thing. She didn’t let being nine months pregnant hold her back any more than she let Cole hold her back when he was a toddler.
“How is he?” she asks.
I throw off my covers and sit up, swinging my legs over the bed and yawning. “Warm, fed, and safe.” I rub my hand over my scalp. “That’s about all I know right now.” But then I add, “I’m surprised you’re okay with this, by the way.”
“So that’s why you offered to let them stay with you? Because you didn’t think it would actually happen?” she presses. “I’m fine with him staying with you. It’s about time you took on some responsibility with him.”
It’s about time I…Jesus. I laugh under my breath and shake my head, standing up. “You’re not how I like to start my day, Lin. You know that. Now what do you want?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then I hear her smooth voice return to its teasing tone. “Oh, you know what I want.”
And despite the disdain I feel for her now, blood still rushes to my groin, much to my displeasure. We had some fun, after all. Back in the day.
And my body remembers.
Plus, I haven’t been laid in a while.
But I’m not desperate enough to be used. Not yet anyway.
“So that’s it?” I tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear as I pull my jeans off the bench at the end of the bed and slide my legs in. “You think I’m going to just be ready to go every time you break up with a guy, get drunk, and want to get laid?”
“Why not?” she shoots back. “No matter who comes into your life or walks out of mine, there was always one thing we did really well together, right?”
“Sure, Lindsay.” I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm from my tone.
“Well, you’re not seeing anyone, are you?” she inquires, but she already knows I’m not. “And it’s not like we haven’t jumped into bed together over the years to blow off a little steam from time to time. I don’t remember you ever not liking it.”
“Yeah,” I let out a hard sigh. “It’s called a lack of options. Small town and all?”
“Asshole.”
I chuckle despite myself. I have to hand it to her. The woman can roll with any insult.
The truth is, she’s right. After the break-up when Cole was two, we still hooked up from time to time, but what I said is true, as well. The sex was good, she still has a great body, and bed was the one place we never hated each other, but I only kept going back because it was easy. Every other woman in this town is someone’s sister or daughter, and you can’t just screw around with them without them expecting a ring at some point. And I wasn’t ready for that. Not after the mess I found myself in becoming a father at nineteen. If I ever get another woman pregnant it’ll be my wife, and my wife is going to be someone I can’t get enough of.
And I do want more kids. I’ve always wanted more. But at thirty-eight—two years shy of forty—it’s likely Cole will be my only kid now. I’m getting too old to start over again.
“Come on,” she prods. “What have you got to lose? I know you remember, and I know you like everything you remember, Pike. That summer when I was seventeen? Still the best memories of my life.”
Yeah, but not everything that came after it.
“You and me going at it under a blanket on the couch with my parents sleeping right upstairs?” she tells me as if I don’t remember. “I know you still have a very healthy appetite.”
Heat rises to my skin, and I pause.
“So get over here and fuck me then,” she says.
I hesitate for only a moment, but then I shake my head. It’s tempting. My body wants it. And if I only admit it to myself, I am kind of fucking lonely when I slow down long enough to let myself feel it. There are so many mornings I hate waking up alone.
But no. My pride is sick of taking a hit every time she thinks I’ll be ready to go at her beck and call.
“Gotta get to work.” I hang up the phone before I have a chance to think about it more, or worse, reconsider. I slide my cell into my back pocket and walk over to the dresser for a T-shirt. My phone buzzes again.
“She’s fucking relentless,” I grumble and pull it back out of my pocket.
But this time, I see Dutch’s name on the screen.
I answer it, holding it to my ear. “What?”
“It’s raining.”
“Really? No shit?” I chuckle, pulling my shirt over my head. “You’re a genius.”
“Look outside.”
I pause, every muscle instantly tightening. Dammit. By his tone, I know what I’m going to see, but I walk to the window anyway and pull open one of the curtains, peering out into the morning storm.
“Shit.”
The street outside is lined on both sides with rapids of rain water, all racing for the storm drains, the whitewash crashing into the curb before sinking down into the sewers. The street itself is an orchestra of white noise, the drops bouncing off the ground or pummeling hoods of cars, the rain so thick I can barely see the houses across from me.
“I’m meeting the guys over at the shop,” Dutch tells me. “We’ll load up tarps and sandbags and meet you at the site.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” I say, and we both hang up.
Grabbing some socks out of my drawer, I slip my phone back into my pocket and walk into the bathroom, doing a quick sweep with the toothbrush before I leave the room. I walk down the hall, past the empty bedroom, the main bathroom, and then a closed door, the other spare bedroom, quickly remembering it’s no longer empty.
But as I hit the top of the stairs, a sweet and heady scent hits my nose, making my skin buzz, and I stop to breathe in. A slight hunger pang hits my stomach, and I flinch. The girl blew out a candle yesterday. Did she leave another one burning all night? We might have to have a talk. Not only is that unsafe, but I’m really not into this whole aromatherapy thin
g where your body is tricked into thinking there’s blueberry muffins in the house when there’s really not.
I head down the staircase, the house creaking under my weight, but when I reach the bottom, I look around, noticing the living room lamps are on and there’s soft music coming from the kitchen.
Stepping in, I spot Jordan sitting at the island in the dark. Her laptop is open in front of her as she warms her hands around a cup of coffee.
I hesitate for a split-second, taken back by how different she looks at the moment. The light from the screen makes her eyes glimmer as the steam rises from the mug in front of her face. Then she purses her lips and blows, trying to cool the drink, while strands of her blonde hair fall around her face from the messy bun piled on top of her head.
The narrow slope of her jaw, the long lashes, the soft point of her little nose, and…. My eyes drop before I can stop them, and I take in her flawless, smooth and tanned legs, visible because she’s still wearing her sleep shorts. Heat stirs low in my stomach, and I turn away, digging in my eyebrows.
They can’t be the same age. My kid is a kid, and she’s…
A kid, too, I guess.
It’s just weird. Last time I met one of his girlfriends the chick had braces. It’s off-putting to think of him dating girls now that were my type back in the day.
“Morning,” I say as I walk past her to the Keurig.
I see her pop her head up out of the corner of my eye. “Oh, hey. ‘Morning.”
Her voice is small and cracked, and I hear the laptop close shut as I stick a K-cup in the machine and a metal travel mug under the spout. I look over my shoulder to see her quietly sliding off the stool and gathering up her computer and notebook.
“You don’t have to leave,” I tell her. “I’m on my way out anyway.”
She gives a small, tight smile but doesn’t look at me as she tucks her things to her side and picks up her coffee again.
“Have you been up a while?” I ask.
“I’m a light sleeper.” She finally raises her eyes and laughs at herself. “Thunderstorms are hard for me.”
I nod, understanding. The heat is the same way for me. The AC needs to be set at sixty-five degrees every night for me to be able to sleep. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if the temperature bothered her last night, but there’s really no point. I need to sleep, I’m not changing it, and she knows where the extra blankets are if she needs some.
Birthday Girl Page 5