“Who actually unpacks a suitcase instead of living out of it until all the clothes are dirty?”
He closes the trunk. “My point exactly.”
“That doesn’t qualify. Not many people unpack their suitcases until they absolutely have to.”
He lifts the handle of the bag and starts to roll the plastic wheels along the cement. “Okay. You never wash dishes. You switched to paper, so you didn’t have to worry about the mess.”
“Again. Logical. Who likes doing dishes?” I open the front door and the warm burst of the heater hits me in the face. Cinnamon and vanilla lingers in the air, and my stomach grumbles. “Did mom make her cookies?” I ask, running to the kitchen.
“You know she did. After all, they are your favorite. They didn’t expect you to be here until later, so they went out to get party supplies," he gasps, inhaling sharply. "Oh shit," he curses.
I pick up one of the cookies and place it on a napkin, tossing it into the microwave for a few seconds. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Anthony.”
“I’m going to take your bag to your room.” He starts to roll away.
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare!” I run to the hallway, blocking his path. “You said party supplies.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Anthony!” I yell over the sound of the microwave beeping.
“Fine. They are throwing you a welcome home party. You better act surprised or I’m going to kick your ass like I did when you were six.”
“You were ten years old! That was an unfair match.”
“Are you declaring war, baby sis?”
“Bring. It. On.” I cross my arms and cock my hip. I don’t stand a chance, but I can at least talk smack.
“When and where, squirt?”
“Hello? Gwen?” my mom’s voice shrieks as the front door opens.
My stomach flips at the thought of seeing my parents for the first time in a year. I smile, bursting from the hallway to the front door. They have so many bags in their hands, but I don’t care. I launch myself at my mom, squeezing her small frame with every ounce of strength I have.
“Can’t breathe,” she wheezes, slapping my back.
I wipe the tears from my eyes as I lighten my embrace. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She pats my face, staring at me with a teary, brown-eyed gaze. “I’m fine, Bunny. Oh, it’s so good to see you. You got here safe? Did you have any car trouble? How were gas prices? I’ll make sure your father takes a look at your car. Did you stay at a good hotel? You’ll have to show me which way you took to get here. Are you tired? You must be exhausted, sweetie.”
“Good lord, Grace. Let the poor girl answer.” My father brushes past the rambling woman and gives me a hug. “You know how she gets.” He whispers in my ear, making me grin. I shoot him a wink, knowing damn well how my mom could be sometimes.
My mom huffs, crossing her arms. “Timothy, I’m just concerned for our daughter’s safety.”
“She’s here, isn’t she? That’s proof enough.” My dad guides Mom back to the kitchen, and it’s then that I notice that Anthony has disappeared, along with my bag. He must have taken it to my old room.
“Oh! My cookie!” I run around the kitchen island and open the microwave. A puff of smoke comes out, billowing into the air and up my nose. I cough, waving my hand in front of my face. “Aw, man.” I keep coughing. I gag from the smell that lingers in the grey fog. Once the inside of the microwave comes into view, I cringe. The cookie has exploded, and now bits of dough and chocolate are clinging to the walls of the microwave and dripping onto the glass. The window in the door has cookie pieces plastered on it, too. I turn to my mom. “I swear I only put it in there for five seconds.”
She grabs her glasses, setting her hand on my shoulder. “What button did you press?”
“The five.”
“That’s five minutes, Bunny.”
Anthony’s laughter booms from the hallway. “And she is home, everybody. Let’s welcome her with a round of applause.”
I stick my tongue out at him.
“You be nice to your sister. She is probably just tired from the trip. Why don’t you go upstairs, shower, and nap?”
“Mmm yes, for the party happening tonight?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my mother hums, grabbing the sponge and cleaning spray.
“Sure. Okay.” I don’t believe it for a second, but I grab another cookie to take upstairs with me. “It’s good to see you guys. Thanks for letting me come home after my epic failure.” I try to laugh it off, but it comes out as a defeated sigh.
“Hey!” My dad blocks my way. “Trying isn’t failing. You didn’t fail. They laid you off, and that happens, but I don’t ever want to hear you talk about yourself like that again. You made a huge life decision to move away from everything you have ever known, all because you wanted to try to make your own adventure. You know what that takes? Guts. Courage. Bravery. A lot of people are too scared to take the risk that you took. Sure, sometimes your efforts lead you back home, but that doesn’t mean your efforts didn’t get you anywhere. I’m proud of you.”
Tears prickle my eyes. “Thanks, Dad. I really needed to hear that.” I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head against his chest.
“I know, Bunny.” He kisses the top of my head before pushing me away. “Go get some shut-eye before the party.”
“Timothy!” my mom yells. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
I tip-toe out of the kitchen as they bicker with one another. I spin on my heels when Dad twirls Mom around and lays a kiss on her. “Gross,” I whisper, taking two steps at a time up the stairs to my old bedroom.
When I turn the knob and open the door, it’s like I stepped into a time machine. My mom has kept it the exact same way as I had left it. I have a queen-sized bed with a pink comforter, and on the floor, there is a pink shag rug. There may or may not be a few shirtless posters of Dwayne Johnson on the walls, too. For only a split second do I think about taking them down, but considering I have no man in my life, and Mr. Johnson is one hunk of a man, the shirtless posters are staying.
I plop onto my bed and start laughing when I see the poster taped to my ceiling. Dwayne’s famous raised brow stares straight down at me. Okay, that one might need to come down. I slip my shoes off and balance on the bed as I reach for the ceiling. I outstretch my body, and my fingers skim his abs—his poster abs.
Sigh, I wish I was skimming my fingers across those beauties in real life.
“What are you doing?”
My brother’s voice startles me, and I lose my balance for a second, spreading my arms so I don’t fall. “I’m trying to get this off the ceiling. It’s freaking me out.”
He sighs, uncrosses his arms, and toes off his leather shoes. He crawls onto the bed and helps me get half-naked Dwayne Johnson to slowly fall from the popcorn ceiling. Sad day.
“Thank you.” I bounce on my bed for a second and grab my brother's hands after he tosses Dwayne on the floor.
“I’m not bouncing on the bed with you,” he insists.
“Yes, you are. Just like the good old days.”
“I’m too old for this. And I might hit my head on the ceiling.”
He isn’t wrong. He might. My brother stands at a height of six-two, which is an entire foot taller than me. He’s also a whole four years older than me. The last time I got him to jump on the bed before he was too cool, I must have been around eleven. Once he turned fifteen, he became too cool for me.
“You’ll be fine. Come on, bounce with me.”
He groans, clutching my hands. “Fine. Let’s do this. This stays between us, though.”
“Who am I going to tell? Mills?”
The springs squeak as we bounce.
He rolls his eyes. “I meant Reilly.”
The sound of his name makes me lose control of my own feet, and before I can stop myself, my body smashes into Anthony. Everything hap
pens in slow motion, and we stare at each other with wide eyes as we slowly soar off the bed. Anthony hits the ground first, and I land on him, like a double slam into the ground.
“Oh my god, you are so heavy,” he grunts, pushing me off of him and onto the floor.
Well, if he hadn't said the half-Irish gentleman, half-Italian stud's name, this would have never happened. So… this is technically his fault.
Chapter Eight
Reilly
“You have to come to the party, Reilly," Anthony says as he settles onto one of the bar stools.
I pour him a beer—on the house, of course—and toss a coaster underneath the mug before setting it down. “Ah, I don’t know. It’s a Saturday. You know the bar will be busy.” It isn’t going to be busy because everyone in town will be at the party, welcoming Gwen back home. Most people don’t know why she came back, but everyone is already whispering about it out of curiosity and making up stories about her.
That’s the one thing I hate about small-town life.
“I know you don’t like her very much, but come on, man. She is my sister. I need you to be there. You’re basically part of the family. If you don’t come, people will talk.”
Shite. He’s right. “Alright, I’ll come, but not until after nine. I need to be here until then.”
He taps his hands on the bar in an uneven pattern before taking the beer mug in his hands. “Good lad.”
“You did not just say that!” I laugh, filling another pint. I slide it down the bar toward Grant.
“What? Did I not use it right?”
“It just sounds funny coming from an American, that is all. I haven’t heard that since…” I don’t finish my sentence. Instead, I swallow, because I remember the last time that I heard it was from my grandpa.
“Yeah, Lucky loved saying that to everyone, didn’t he?” Anthony asks, pulling his suit sleeve up to look at his watch. “Alright. I've got to go. My mom will kill me if I'm not back in time to help set up.” Anthony winces when he gets up from the stool, arching his back in a funny way.
“What’s wrong with ye back?”
“Gwen. That’s all you need to know.” He holds onto the bar, twisting his back left and then right. One side gives in, and even though it isn't even my back, I swear I feel it in my bones.
I wince, touching the area of my own back where his had just popped. That can’t be healthy.
He groans, hanging his head. “That’s been killing me for hours.” He shakes it off and drains the rest of his beer. “I’ll see you later.”
I sigh, not looking forward to this party at all. I mean, I am, but I hate that I have to pretend I don’t want Gwen like my life depends on it. Anthony has it all wrong. He thinks I despise his sister, but it’s the exact opposite. I’ve always noticed her beauty, even when we were much younger. I changed the way I treated her. Hell, for the most part, I ignored her.
As hard as it had been to ignore her, as time went on, it became easier to treat her like gum on my shoe. What else could I have done? The years passed by, and when she graduated college, I hadn’t seen her at all during her undergrad, but I sat next to Anthony and watched her walk across the stage to get her diploma. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her. Her long, brown hair flowed in loose curls down her back, and the light reflected off of her olive skin. She waved to the crowd, and at that moment, I wished she had been waving to me.
Afterwards, everyone came together for pictures, and when she saw me, her smile had faded, but I had smashed her to my chest, whispering congratulations in her ear. She had felt so good in me arms. I wanted to kiss her so badly that day. She smelled like strawberries, which were my favorite fruit, and I wanted to taste her.
That moment. That brief moment had been captured by a camera, and it’s the only picture I have of us together. I keep it in my wallet. The coloring has faded, and the edges are worn, but I can still see the embrace. Her hands were wrapped around my neck and my arms were wrapped around her waist, as if we had finally come together.
Only to be pulled apart.
I slap the edge of the bar with the rag, cursing from the memory.
“You alright over there?” Grant asks as he reaches his arm around a dark-haired woman named Lilly. She’s a regular, just like Grant, and they always end up together at the end of the night. Both of them have demons they’re fighting, and it isn’t my business, but part of me is afraid their darkness will eventually consume one another.
“Fine. I just forgot to get another tap ready before the big fight comin’ up,” I lie.
Grant slams his fist on the bar. “You have to have all the taps, Reilly. We need beer during the fight!” Everyone hollers and raises their glasses.
“I’ll have them. Don’t ye worry.” I stare at the clock on the wall. The small hand points toward the eight and the large hand points toward the six, telling me it’s almost time to go, and yet, damn Brock still hasn’t arrived. I don’t know what my grandpa saw in him, but he never fired him, and because of that, I can’t let him go, but he really loves testing my patience.
I dry the pint glasses with a clean rag, trying to busy myself, but the only thing on my mind is a beautiful woman with olive skin and blue eyes that steal my soul. I bounce on my heels, glancing at the clock again just to find that only five minutes have gone by. I have to shower and change. Am I supposed to bring a gift to a welcome home party? I grab a bottle of the same whiskey I gave her on her graduation day and tuck it in the back room, next to my coat. I wipe my palms on my jeans. My nerves are starting to get the best of me.
I polish up another glass, and then the door to the pub slams open, revealing a disheveled Brock. “I’m sorry. I know. I know. I’m late.” He whips his coat off and tosses it onto the hook, running his fingers through his blonde hair. He has bags under his eyes—like he hadn’t slept all night—and a regretful look on his face as he steps behind the counter.
I lean my hands against the bar, gripping the edge. I turn my head so no one else could hear our conversation. “Listen, Brock. I know my grandpa allowed ye to come and go as ye pleased, and I don’t know why. He kept it private. But I have other plans, and I expect ye to be on time when your shifts start. If ye have something going on, I need to know. Me grandpa trusted ye enough not to fire you when ye weren’t on time, and I want to do the same—not fire you, that is. Help me help you, Brock. Alright?” I try to curb my lilt when I speak, but every time my temper rises, my accent gets heavier.
Brock's distinct Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “Yes, sir. I understand. Are you firing me? Just give me another chance. I can explain—”
“I’m not firing ye, but know it is only because of my grandpa. I trust him. I don’t trust you. But you need to trust me, too. You can explain everything next shift. I’m running late, but next shift, okay?
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m leaving for the night. These people will probably be your only customers tonight. Everyone else will be at the welcome home party for Gwen.”
“Oh, Gwen! That’s right. Man, if I had my shit together, I’d ask her out. She is gorgeous. Have you seen the—” He stops speaking when he sees the expression on my face. “I haven’t actually seen a thing. Haven’t even looked at her. Not even once.”
I grimace, clenching my fist at the thought of him looking at her. “Good answer.”
I snatch my coat, as well as the bottle of whiskey, and head out the door. The wind blasts into my face. I huddle over to stay warm, and I start blaring the heater as soon as I get into my sixty-nine Mustang. I rev the engine, letting it growl as I tear away from the parking lot and head home. Anthony is going to be pissed if I arrive later than I told him I would.
Ten minutes later, I pull into my driveway, hop out, and run inside. I undress, leaving a trail of clothes in my wake as I head toward the bathroom. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t even wait until the water is hot to start my shower. The cold water hits my skin, but it does nothing to ease the ten
sion and anticipation, nor my erection that points straight up toward the ceiling.
“There’s no time for that,” I grunt, brushing the rag over my cock and lathering my balls before moving down to my legs. Gwen's big tits and long legs keep flashing through my mind and my cock jerks. I lean forward and slam my fist against the wall because the ache in my shaft just keeps getting worse.
I have to make time.
I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke. The tip peeks out of my fist and the water rushes down my body, adding to the sensation. I think of Gwen. Of her lips against mine. Of her hard, aching nipples rubbing against my chest. “Oh, fuck,” I groan as my sack tightens against my body. I think of her hands sliding down my chest and cupping my ass. I imagine her pulling me closer to her, letting my weeping cock rub against her inner thigh. “Gwen,” I whisper her name as the first stream of come hits the wall. I keep stroking through my orgasm, pointing my cock toward the drain so that my seed washes away.
I chuckle, trying to catch my breath. I press my forehead against the tile wall as I finish rinsing off. That was way too quick. I turn the knobs to shut off the water, and then I grab a towel. I dry off as fast as I can, brush my teeth, throw some product in my hair, and brush my beard.
I try on three pairs of jeans and five shirts before settling on an outfit. I stare at my collection of ties, only to put them away and stick with a more casual look. I don’t want to make it look like I’m trying too hard. Damn, now I know how women feel before dates. Shite, this isn’t even a date and I’m already going out of my mind.
“Alright, Reilly. Everything is going to be fine,” I mutter to myself in the mirror. I spray a squirt of cologne on my shirt. “She is going to be in love with you by the end of the night.” I shake my head. “You’re a hopeful damn shmuck, ain’t ye?” Figuring this look isn’t going to get any better, I turn off the light and head out.
I skip my way down the steps and open the door to my car. “This is a bad idea,” I tell myself, wondering if I’m doing the right thing by going there tonight. My heart aches at the thought of not seeing Gwen. I’m not afraid to admit to the excitement that has been building in me over the last few days. The messages here and there. Gwen coming home. Knowing I’m going to see her tonight. The stars are aligning. Maybe time will finally be on our side.
Unexpected Daddies Page 5