by Beth Andrews
It was a far cry from what she had expected.
He was turning out to be a far cry from what she’d expected.
“Sorry about that,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Ready to eat?”
She studied him. His tone was as easy as always but his smile was strained. His eyes sad. “Is everything all right?”
As if by magic, his expression lightened. His grin turned cocky and he winked. “I’m about to have dinner with a gorgeous woman. Things couldn’t be better.”
She frowned. She didn’t believe him. Oh, he was very good, exceptional at pretending he was fine, but she knew, with an inner certainty she’d never had before, that he was lying.
He pulled out her stool and she murmured her thanks. He obviously didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him. Obviously didn’t wish to talk at all seeing as how he dished up her plate in silence then began eating.
She took a small bite of pasta, wiped her mouth with a napkin. “This is delicious.”
When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him, saw him scowling at his plate.
“Leo?”
He lifted his head. “Hmm?”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
He turned so that he faced her fully. “Sorry. I guess I am a bit distracted.”
Usually, she’d mind her own business and give him the space he needed, but what if...what if he needed her to push him, just a bit?
What if he needed her to listen?
“You do seem upset,” she said. “Do you... Would it help if you talked about it?”
He laughed harshly. “I doubt it.”
She shrank back at his sharp tone.
“Shit,” he muttered. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. It’s just... It’s not something I want to talk about.”
Blushing, feeling like an idiot, she stared at her plate. “Of course. I apologize,” she said, unable to stop from sounding so stiff. So hurt. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
He certainly didn’t owe her anything. Not an explanation of his mood or who had called, what they’d said to upset him.
She twirled her fork in the pasta—around and around and around. This would teach her to keep her mouth shut. She knew better than to push for more than someone was willing to give. Better than to reach out to someone.
Reaching out meant there was the chance of your hand being slapped.
“Hey,” Leo said softly, giving her free hand a gentle squeeze. “You weren’t prying. And I appreciate your concern.”
“You appreciate it, but don’t want it. Have I got that right?”
He winced—either at the bite in her tone or her assessment. “I’m being an ass, I know. But could...could we maybe table this discussion, at least for now? Talk about the weather or some new tax law?”
He looked so hopeful, what other choice did she have? Well, she could say no. Could make her excuses, gather her things and leave.
Go to her empty house where she could spend the rest of the night alone.
Or she could set aside her injured feelings, embarrassment and her assumption that she was lacking in some way that made him resistant to open up to her.
She could stay. She could be here for him.
She twirled pasta onto her fork. “I’m sure you’ll find the new estate law I read about this afternoon fascinating.”
His grin was so relieved, she knew she’d made the right decision. He may not trust her enough to open up to her, but he needed her. Whether he realized it or not.
For now, that would be enough.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ANDREW’S PALMS WERE sweating so he wiped them down the sides of his jeans. He wasn’t nervous. That would be stupid. Besides, what would he be nervous about? Nothing, he assured himself as he crossed his backyard. He was just going to see if Gracie was home and if she was, cool. If she wasn’t, no big deal.
She could be out, he supposed. She had friends—he’d seen her with them last night at the game. Not that he’d been looking for her or anything. He’d just happened to glance at the stands and had spotted her with a small group.
What if she wasn’t home? He’d look like an idiot, coming over like this.
Shit.
He turned to head down the porch steps then whirled around and knocked on the door before he could change his mind. Inside, it sounded like chaos. The dogs started barking and kids were yelling. Gracie’s brother banged on his drums.
Andrew winced. Someone should burn that kid’s drumsticks. Who ever thought it was a good idea to give a seven-year-old drums?
Finally, the door opened. “Hello,” Gracie’s stepmom said, her very pregnant stomach stretching her shirt to its limits. “Andrew, right?”
He nodded, then cleared his throat. “Uh...right. Hi. Is, uh...is Gracie home?”
“Far as I know,” she said, ushering him inside before a cat could escape. He stepped into the bright kitchen. It was an explosion of color, like the Mexican restaurant he used to go to with his mom and dad in California, all bright reds, oranges and the occasional splash of yellow. “Make yourself at home and I’ll see if I can find her.”
He should tell her that wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need to actually see Gracie. He could just give his message to her stepmom and get going. He was hanging out with Kennedy and Luke later, anyway.
He wasn’t looking forward to it in the least.
It sucked being the third wheel. And he hated how Kennedy hung all over Luke whenever they were together.
Sometimes Andrew wondered if she was trying to make him jealous.
Last night hadn’t been much better. Yeah, Jess was nice and she was really pretty, but he hadn’t known what to talk to her about. Plus, she had this super annoying laugh, a machine gun rapid heh-heh-heh that sounded like a horse on speed.
Gracie’s stepmom left and a kid, a really little one, walked in and stared at Andrew, his thumb in his mouth, his light brown hair all crazy like he’d recently been electrocuted or something. “Uh...” Andrew glanced around, but it was just him and the kid. “Hey.”
The kid, wearing only a shirt and a diaper, crossed the room and stared at Andrew. Then he lifted his arms. “Up.”
Andrew’s eyes about popped out of his head. Up? He’d been around little kids before, mainly in the hospital, but he’d never interacted with them much.
“Up,” the kid repeated, sounding more demanding and urgent.
If he didn’t pick up the kid, would he start bawling or screaming or something? Andrew lifted him under the arms, held him out away from his body as they studied each other, the kid’s legs swinging.
“I’d tell you he won’t bite, but that would be a lie.”
Andrew glanced over to see Gracie walk in from what looked to be the living room. “He bites?”
How pissed would these people be if he dropped the kid?
“Only when he’s frustrated and can’t verbalize why.”
“Doesn’t seem like a good reason,” Andrew muttered, eyeing the kid warily. He grinned, showing straight little teeth. Straight little sharp teeth.
“I think you’ll be fine.”
“I’ve never held a kid before,” he heard himself admit.
She crossed to them and smiled. “It’s not that difficult. Here.” She gently pushed on the kid so that Andrew’s arms bent. “Set him on your side, right here.” She touched him and he almost jumped out of his skin. “And then put one arm around his lower back.”
He did and the kid settled in like he never wanted to leave. He was sort of cute up close, except for the purple mustache and what looked to be chocolate in his hair. “What’s his name?”
“This,” Gracie said, “is my youngest brother, Chandler.”
Andrew frowned. “I thought the biggest one was Chandler.”
“Nope. That’s Conner. The twins are Christian and Colin. Caleb’s the redhead.” Gracie tilted her head. “What are you doing here?”
She didn’t sound as if sh
e was upset he was there, more...curious. The nerves he’d experienced a few minutes before disappeared. “I—”
He’d wanted to see her. Christ, how lame was that? And it would give her the wrong idea.
Luckily, her stepmom came into the room. She clapped her hands and smiled at Chandler. “Come on, kiddo. Time for your nap.”
Chandler agreeably went with his mom, leaving Gracie and Andrew in the kitchen. Around them, though, chaos reigned. Kids ran in, screaming and chasing each other and the dogs. The twins—both older, taller versions of Chandler—pushed past Andrew then began kicking at each other. The redhead barreled up to them, crying about being left out, shouting he was going to tell on them. A cat zipped through, twined itself around Andrew’s legs, then shot out of there when one of the kids screeched.
“Come on,” Gracie said, “let’s go somewhere quiet.”
She took his hand and he let her, telling himself it was only so he didn’t get lost—her house was really big and had lots of rooms and little alcoves and hallways. But he was honest enough to admit he didn’t mind holding her hand. The feel of her palm against his was nice.
She led him up a set of stairs littered with toys and action figures. For a moment, the sound of those banging drums grew louder but then they turned and went down a hallway, took a right and stepped into a room. She shut the door behind them, the drums muted to a low, distant thrum.
It wasn’t until she let go of his hand that he registered they were in her bedroom. It was huge, like, three times the size of his room, with an attached bathroom and even a small room where she had some sort of paint studio set up.
She sat on the double bed cross-legged. “There. No one will bug us. My room is off-limits.”
He turned, took it all in. He’d never been in a girl’s room before, wasn’t allowed in his own room with a girl there—as evidenced when his mom humiliated him in front of Estelle last spring all because they’d been doing homework in his room with the door shut.
Gracie’s room wasn’t what he’d expected from her or the rest of the house. It was subtle in color and pretty neat. She had a huge bed covered in a deep purple bedspread. She scooted back so she was sitting against the wall. “You can sit if you want.”
“You get three rooms?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands between his knees.
“Molly and Dad figured since I was outnumbered by boys I deserved a place of peace and tranquility away from all the testosterone, so they gave me these rooms.”
It was cool how her parents took her needs seriously. He couldn’t imagine his mom doing something like that. She just did what she wanted and he had to follow along.
“You want to watch a movie or something?” Gracie asked, leaning forward to retrieve a remote control from the bedside table.
“I can’t stay long.” His friends were waiting. But he wished he could stay. Taking a deep breath, he slid back so that he sat next to her. He’d like nothing more than to stay right there, maybe put his arm around her shoulder and watch a movie. Or make out. Both if he was lucky. No one would ever have to know. “I actually just wanted to drop this off.”
He lifted his hips and pulled the book from his back pocket.
“Thanks,” she said, seeming really pleased as she looked at his tattered copy of Animal Farm. “Is this like a first edition or something?”
“I don’t think so. I found it in this really cool used bookstore back home.” He frowned. “In California, I mean.”
She watched him, her gaze searching. “You miss it, don’t you? California?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Not as much as I used to.”
“I’m glad.” She smiled and touched his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, that you and your mom moved to Shady Grove and bought the house next door. And that I ran into you that day when you were having your temper tantrum.”
“I wasn’t having—” He noted her teasing grin. Rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“I’m just... I used to think you were like everyone else, all those stupid guys who only care about scoring—on and off the field. It was wrong of me to judge you without knowing you. And I’m sorry.”
Shame filled him. He’d judged her, too. Had thought she was a freak with her weird clothes and odd family, with how she was usually alone. How she was comfortable being alone. Hell, he’d gotten mad and embarrassed when she talked to him after the game. “It’s okay.”
She slid closer, her hip pressing against his. “Andrew?”
Her voice was soft, a whisper of air, her breath washing across the nape of his neck. He swallowed. “Hmm?”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
He jerked his head to look at her. “What?”
She didn’t seem embarrassed in the least. Just watched him serenely. “I asked if you want to kiss me. You can, you know.”
He knew. He knew she had a crush on him. Had liked the idea of it. He’d never considered taking advantage of it, though.
Liar, his inner voice whispered.
He ignored it.
He turned slightly and, before he could overthink it, could talk himself out of it, brushed his mouth against hers. Her lips were warm and soft and full, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, so he kissed her again. And again. Slow, deep kisses. She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t experienced, couldn’t seem to tell that he’d kissed only a few girls. She responded to his every move, her tongue touching his when he swept it into her mouth.
He kept kissing her, settled his hand on her side, his thumb centimeters from the side of her breast. Heat suffused him and he rubbed his thumb back and forth. Back and forth. She didn’t stop him. Growing bolder, he slid his hand higher when a loud bang had him jerking upright.
Gracie smiled. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It was just the boys messing around.”
She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he slid away. “I have to go. I’m, uh...meeting Luke,” he said, for some reason not wanting her to know Kennedy would be there, too.
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”
He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and stood, wishing he still had the book so he could hold it, cover his hard-on. Praying she didn’t notice it. “Maybe I could come over later?” he asked, his heart in his throat. “When I get home?”
“What time will that be?”
“Around eleven.” His mom hadn’t extended his curfew yet. He held his breath, hoping Gracie would say yes. “Unless that’s too late,” he added quickly.
She nibbled her lower lip and he grew harder thinking of her mouth on him. “I guess that’ll be all right. My parents will be asleep, but there’s a trellis you can climb up to the window. Just text me before you come over and I’ll make sure it’s unlocked.”
Triumph and relief flowed through him. It was just like all those stupid movies and TV shows. And they usually ended with the neighbors hooking up. “Yeah. Okay. See you later.”
He left, more excited about getting his time with his friends over with so he could see Gracie again.
* * *
“WHAT’S THE MATTER?” James asked Leo with a hard slap on the back. “You’re looking a little pale.”
Leo’s mouth flattened. “Shut it.”
James followed Leo’s stare then laughed and slung his arm around Leo’s shoulders. “That’s a pretty picture, isn’t it?” he asked, nodding to where their mother and Penelope stood by the living room window, deep in discussion, their heads close together. “Mom and your girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Leo muttered. He wasn’t sure what Penelope was, but they’d gone out only twice—and that was including dinner at his house two nights ago.
“No?” James asked. “Could have fooled me. And everyone else. Not that it matters what label you give her. Here she is, having survived her first Sunday family dinner, having a friendly chat with Mom.” He sighed. “Ah, look at them. Bonding the way females do.”
/> Bonding. Leo was sure he could feel the blood leaving his face. He didn’t want them to bond. It hadn’t bothered him that his mom had invited Penelope and Andrew to Sunday dinner. At least, not much. When he’d asked Rose why she’d felt the need to ask a woman she’d only just met to a family function, his mom had told him she thought Penelope could use some friends.
Which was what she and Leo were. Friends. Possibly becoming more.
And things had gone smoothly tonight. Better than he’d imagined when he’d picked up a nervous Penelope and a sullen Drew two hours ago—the kid obviously still didn’t want his mom seeing Leo. But his family had been on their best behavior so far and, as the evening progressed, Leo could see Penelope relaxing and enjoying herself.
Even Drew was having fun.
Then again, he’d perked up quite a bit when he’d met Maddie, Sadie and Harper. He was, at this moment, sitting on the sofa laughing at some story Sadie was telling him. Nothing like the attention of a beautiful woman—or three—to make a teenaged boy happy.
Cassidy climbed onto Drew’s lap and gazed at him adoringly.
Three women and one very enamored three-year-old.
So, yeah, things had gone pretty well.
Except his mom and Penelope had been huddled together going on fifteen minutes. That had to mean something. But what?
Finally, his mom laughed, patted Penelope’s arm then walked toward the kitchen. Leo shrugged off James’s arm and hurried after her.
“What were you talking about?” he asked as he stepped into the room.
Rose frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You and Penelope. What were you talking about?”
Rose filled the coffeepot with water. “What do you think two intelligent, interesting adult women were discussing? You, of course.”
His head snapped back as if she’d tossed the water in his face. “What?”
His mother—his middle-aged, way-too-old-to-be-rolling-her-eyes mother—did just that. “No other topic of conversation could possibly compare to the wonder that is you. It’s just lucky that we both find your life so fascinating or Lord only knows what we would have to discuss.”