Mr. Pink

by Tessa Layne

  “Maybe you should move,” I offer wryly.

  “Unh-unh,” she says emphatically, shaking her head. “Not with the park and the school within walking distance. “Are you kidding?”

  I guess I was.

  “Mommy?” a high voice drifts forward from the back of the house.

  Macey grimaces. “I’ll be right there,” she calls back. She turns back, chagrined. “I’m so sorry. Another time.”

  Before I can even pull her into my arms for a goodnight kiss, she’s shut the door, leaving me alone on the porch.

  Frustration boils up through me, but there’s nothing I can do when I’ve been cockblocked by a nosy neighbor and a five-year-old. With regret, I turn and hop down the steps, waving at the old biddy who I’m sure is lurking behind the curtains. Once I’m inside my car, I give her the finger and rev the gas extra hard as the engine fires up.

  My next summons comes six days later.

  Is this a booty call? I text back.

  A few minutes later, her reply: I don’t do booty calls.

  “Like hell you don’t,” I say with a laugh. I can picture her as she typed it - spine straight, expression conveying a sense of superiority. At her instigation, we’ve managed to sneak fucks in about every nook and cranny throughout the vineyard, but this time I’m ready. I pull up to the front of the house in my brand new Dodge 2500 pickup. It’s been an adjustment, switching to a vehicle so slow to respond to the gas and sluggish on the turns. But as long as I fit in with the local color and neither Mrs. Townsend or my brother suspect anything, then I’d drive a Dodge Dart if it would help me spend the night with Macey.

  I reach across the seat to grab the bottle of Midleton Bluebell that arrived, special order, the other day. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it to her.

  She meets me on the porch, eyes wide with surprise. “What is this?”

  I flick my eyebrows high with a grin. “Just a little something I thought you’d like.”

  She covers her mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking. She’s hiding an amused smile, and it knocks me off-kilter, like I’ve made an error in judgment. “I don’t get it,” she says, eyes darting from the truck back to me. “It’s not really your style.”

  And then it hits me. She means the truck. I cover my disappointment with a shrug. “Of course it’s not,” I rumble, placing the whiskey on the wide stone rail that’s more like a bench, and closing the distance between us and coming to where she leans against one of the stone pillars holding up the roof. She’s wearing cutoff shorts, loosely slung at her hips. The denim is soft and worn and my fingers ache to skim it, to slip under the fringe to the soft places beneath. I push her hair back from her shoulder and lean in for a kiss, but she stiffens. “What? What is it?” She points her eyes in the direction of the house across the street. Fucking Mrs. Townsend must be at the window again. I step back, jamming my hands in my pockets.

  “Why’d you buy it?” she asks when I’m standing a respectable distance away.

  “Why do you think, Gorgeous?”

  She looks at me oddly, a mixture of surprise and appreciation, and it makes my chest tight. “You’d be noticeable no matter what you drove, Austin. Some people were meant to stand out.” It’s the closest thing to a real compliment she’s ever offered, aside from the obvious comments about how great my cock is. Which it is. But this is different, and I’m surprised by the admiration in her voice. I can tell she means it, and my insides warm at her words. I clear my throat and drop my gaze. Her feet are bare, nails freshly painted in a shade of pink that makes me think of her tits when they’re aroused. Women in my world only have bare feet in the bedroom, and the fact that she’s talking with me in bare feet implies a level of intimacy, of familiarity I’m not comfortable with at all. Like she trusts me. And I am definitely not trustworthy. At least not in matters of the heart. I need to steer things back to safe territory. And by safe, I mean fucking. No doe-eyes or anything smacking of emotional crap. I need to regain control of whatever it is we’re doing because it’s not a fucking relationship. I may have told her she could call the shots, but that stops today. “I should go, I just wanted to bring that by.” I gesture to the bottle.

  “This?” She picks it up, then shoots me a sharp glance as realization dawns. “You brought me this? How did you…” her voice trails off as her eyes move in a triangle from me to the truck to the bottle she holds.

  “Not many people appreciate that kind of quality.”

  “Thank you,” she says, voice going breathy.

  I hate the way her voice works its way through my body, pulling at me, calling me closer. But tonight I’m not giving in. I lift a shoulder. “It was nothing,” I lie. “A friend came across it, and I remembered you like it.”

  She tilts her head sideways, assessing me. “Sophie’s asleep.” Her voice takes on a seductive quality that turns my cock to steel. “Come in for a sip?”

  I give a silent fist pump. I’m back in control of this game. “Better not if neighbor lady is watching.”

  Her eyes dart behind me, and I feel a strange sense of relief at her look of disappointment. “You’re right,” she says with a sigh. “Next time, maybe you should walk.”

  “From across town?” I say with more than a little incredulity. I shake my head, a little of my old swagger coming back. “I don’t think so, Gorgeous.”

  “Then park your car, or your truck, or whatever you’re going to drive next at the park, or the school, or-or, somewhere.”

  “Why?” I tease the back of my finger along her jaw. “Is that sweet cunt of yours hungry again? Such a greedy thing,” I tease.

  A shiver runs through her body, but she shakes her head. “I think Jason heard us yesterday.”

  “Why? What happened?” I ask sharply. I’ll be damned if I let him take away the only good thing that’s come out of my enforced stay.

  “He asked me to keep an eye on the crushing pad door, and to remind the day hands that the crushing pad and barreling room are off-limits.”

  My stomach lurches. We snuck into the barreling room at lunch yesterday, and I’d made her come loud and long. But we thought everyone had gone into town. I clench my jaw and give a nod. “Maybe we need to cool it, then.” My cock might protest, but we’re skating on thin ice, and I need to get a fucking grip.

  Our resolve doesn’t even last twenty-four hours.

  I don’t know if that makes me the world’s greatest fool, or the world’s smartest man. Because, pussy. Macey’s pussy, specifically, which seems to have put me under a spell. Only unlike Ulysses, I haven’t lashed myself to the mast. I’ve indulged, over and over and over, and it may be the end of me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jason bursts into the tasting room where I’m bent over my laptop, studying the spreadsheet of yet another vineyard my family owns that’s not living up to its potential. This place is barely breaking even and they should be bringing in three times that. At least. They’re growing pinot noir in the Russian River Valley for fuck’s sake.

  “I need you to drive over to Macey’s,” he says gruffly.

  My head snaps up, and I’m immediately on guard. “Why?”

  “We’ve got a private party booked this afternoon and she’s got childcare issues.”

  “Why can’t she bring Sophie here?” It’s not like Sophie hasn’t been here before. She runs around like she owns the place on weekends.

  Jason scowls. “Does everything have to be a battle with you?”

  I snap my laptop shut. “I’m pretty sure the family business doesn’t include babysitting.”

  “It does when my somm has a childcare emergency and I need her here an hour ago,” he bristles, irritation sparking off him.

  “Then tell me what the emergency is,” I grit out.

  “None of your damn business,” he yells.

  “Like hell it isn’t,” I yell back. It always goes this way. Ever since… well, since ever. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be relegated to
babysitter.

  Jason glares at me, eyes glowing embers. “Here’s the deal, and if word gets out, I’ll know exactly where it came from.”

  That grabs my attention. I’m all ears.

  Jason takes a deep breath, and for a fleeting moment looks… anxious. I’m too surprised by the look on his face to listen and I miss the first part of what he says.

  “What?”

  “I said, Millie’s pregnant.” He looks at me expectantly, as if he expects me to start jumping around and clapping or something.

  “Okay.”

  That earns me another glare. “That’s all you have to say? Okay?”

  “What do you want me to say?” I snap.

  “Congratulations might be nice.”

  If I cared, which I don’t. “Your life, your choice.”

  “You’re a fucking asshat.”

  “Look who I learned it from.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that.”

  He deserves so much more than that.

  The edge comes off Jason’s voice. “I wouldn’t ask you if there was anyone else.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his close-cropped hair. Even after retirement, he’s still chosen to keep his hair regulation short. “Look, I know you don’t like kids, but Sophie’s great.”

  “I wouldn’t know, the way you and Sterling fuss at her like two mother hens.”

  “Yeah, well it’s our job. We made a promise to Macey.”

  That’s news to me. Although to be fair, I’ve been so busy mining Macey’s pussy, I haven’t asked much about Sophie. She seems nice enough as far as kids go, but I have no desire to stick my nose or my person where it doesn’t belong, and Jason and Sterling have made it clear I don’t belong anywhere near Sophie. “So why can’t Sterling watch her?”

  He grimaces. “Emma’s pregnant, too,” he says after a pause.

  “And I care about this, why?” I open my hands in question.

  “Because two kids at the day camp came down with Rubella, and they’ve had to shut it down.”

  “Okay?” I don’t even know what the fuck Rubella is.

  Jason looks at me like I’m an idiot.

  “If you want my help, don’t look at me like I’m a fucking moron.”

  “It’s a form of measles that causes birth defects in unborn children.”

  Oh. But wait a minute… “So you want me to go hang out with a kid who’s been exposed to measles?” Unfuckingbelievable. No. Fucking believable. I shake my head firmly. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  Jason looks like he’s warring with himself. “Please? I’d owe you one.”

  I drop my head back with a laugh. A long, deep belly laugh. “Say that one more time?”

  Jason glowers at me with open dislike, and I fucking love it. He hates that he’s had to come to me and I plan to use this to my advantage. My brain whirls, because an opportunity like this won’t present itself again, and I need to capitalize on it. Wring as much concession from him as I can. If I was Jacob and he was Esau, I’d ask for his birthright, but I don’t want what Jason has. I want freedom, and only unlocking my trust fund will give me that. “Help me make a rosé as good as the one you made.”

  Jason’s eyes widen. “Come again?”

  “You heard me. Help me make a rosé as good as the one you made.”

  His eyes narrow. “Why should I help you?”

  “Why should I help you?” I reach for my laptop bag. I get all the way to the door before he calls out.

  “Are you willing to do exactly what I tell you?”

  My hand rests on the knob. He knows doing what he says won’t be easy - there’s too much baggage between us, too much resentment. I don’t love my brother. I don’t even like him. But I’d be a fool to underestimate him. I’m confident he won’t undermine me - he wants me gone as much as I do. I go over the numbers again in my head. I could be a beach bum for the rest of my life with the money I currently have. But it’s not enough. Not after going over the conglomerate’s numbers with a fine-toothed comb. We’re flabby and bloated, just like our wines. And I could make it better. I want to make it better.

  The realization hits me like an anvil. My rowing coach’s words ring in my head. Nobody likes a half-assed loser. Go down fighting or get out of my boat. I rowed my balls off for Coach Mickey. Everyone did. He inspired us to row even when we had nothing left in the tank. No one in my family inspires me, and I don’t give a shit what they think of me. But I do give a shit about what Coach Mickey would say if he saw me half-ass an opportunity to win big. I turn around and eye my brother. I’m going to hate every second of this, but I’ll do it. Because I’m not walking away a half-assed loser. “Yeah. I am.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My truck rolls to a stop in front of Mrs. Townsend’s house, and I make a point of waving when I get out of the truck. She can let the whole town know I’m here for all I care, I’ll get hero points when Jason confirms I’m doing him a solid.

  Macey answers the door with a guilty smile. “Thank you so much for doing this, we all appreciate it.”

  We all. The fact that I’m an outsider in the Macey-Jason-Sterling besties triangle grates at me. I know Macey’s body inside and out - the super sensitive spots that drive her wild when I kiss them, the way she likes her oral, and just how hard she likes her gorgeous nipples sucked. I know she loves to make out while we’re fucking, but only if we’re not in a hurry. I know she likes variety. I know her in all the ways that matter to keep her pleasured… and nothing else. And suddenly, I like that a whole lot less.

  I can’t ask about her past, because all roads point to Johnny McCaslin and his ghost that stands between us. And I sure as fuck can’t ask about her future, because this is just a fling. Nothing more. But now that I’ve been made the adult in charge of her daughter, it doesn’t feel right that I know nothing more about her than she’s a somm, and she likes to quote Bridget Jones on occasion.

  “Austin?” Her brows knit together. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I nod, giving myself a mental shake. This is just business, I remind myself. I don’t want to be on the inside. There’s too much baggage to deal with, too much emotion.

  Her face melts into an expression of relief. “Good, good. Sophie’s just finishing up breakfast. Why don’t you come in and say hi.” She steps back and lets me into the house. The inner sanctum I’ve been trying to breach for weeks. The irony that I’m here at my brother’s invitation, and to do no more than babysit, isn’t lost on me. It’s modest, but tidy. The wood floors and fixtures look to be original. Macey leads me into the kitchen, where her mini-me sits at the table. “Soph, you remember Uncle Jason’s brother, Austin?”

  She turns her big blue eyes on me, and fuck me, it’s like she can see straight into my soul. “You’re the one Uncle Jason doesn’t like.”

  “Sophie,” Macey admonishes, cheeks burning bright.

  I wave her off. “It’s okay.” It’s awkward as fuck, but I’ll manage.

  “No it’s not,” Macey answers firmly, staring directly at Sophie. “She needs to remember her manners.”

  “Why doesn’t Uncle Jason like you?”

  I jump in before Macey can respond “Because big brothers never like their little brothers.”

  Sophie gives me an assessing look, then nods. “Joey doesn’t like his little brother. He says he’s a brat.”

  “Sophie.” Macey’s voice holds a note of warning.

  “Most little brothers are,” I say, relieved that my answer was enough.

  “Can you please take your cereal bowl to the dishwasher?” Macey asks Sophie.

  Sophie scoots off the chair and carries her dish to the sink, where she climbs on a stool, rinses it, then places it in the dishwasher. I’m slack-jawed as I watch. I’ve never seen anything like it. Macey turns to me. “Sophie can help you make sandwiches at lunch. You can go to the park this morning. The kids at day camp
usually lay down after lunch. I told Sophie she could watch a movie or read books. I’ll be home by dinner time.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Inside, I’m less certain. I don’t know the first thing about kids - what they like, what they don’t like, and most importantly, how to keep them safe. As soon as Macey leaves, I’ll be consulting the hive mind called Google.

  Macey bends to give Sophie a hug, and when the little girl’s chubby arms wrap around her mother’s, and I see the fierce love reflected in Macey’s face, my chest squeezes tight. The pain is so sharp I have to look away. I look back just in time to see Macy placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, and then she turns to me. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yep,” I lie. I’m absolutely not up for this, but I’ll manage. Compared to lashings in the barn, this will be a cakewalk.

  Only it isn’t.

  Sophie is an insane monster, and I swear she’s powered by atomic energy. It’s freaky how smart she is, and the kid is fearless. I mean, fear-less. I step into the bathroom to take a piss, and come out to her doing backflips on the couch. “Sophie,” I say sharply, rushing to where she is. “I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to do that.”

  “Yes, I am,” she says primly with a challenging smile. “Ask my mom.”

  She’s a fucking little devil. She knows I’m not going to bother Macey. “How about dolls. You have dolls don’t you?”

  She scowls. “Dolls are for sissies.”

  I have to remind myself this is the daughter of an Army Ranger, and both her ‘uncles’, are retired Rangers. They probably taught her to swing from trees before she could walk. “Okay…” I stretch out the last syllable, at a loss for what to suggest next. “Books?”

  She crosses her arms. “Park.”

  “Park, okay. We can go to the park.” Then I realize Macey didn’t leave me a key. I get the feeling that if I say no to the park I’m going to be dealing with hellfire and brimstone. I hold up a finger. “Hang on a sec, I need to ask your mom where the key is.”