by Lacey Black
“I’m not divorced yet,” I remind my grandpa as I lean forward and graze a kiss over his wrinkled cheek.
“That’s because he’s dragging his feet like a streetwalker heading to pay her pimp,” Grandpa hollers, drawing attention from those around us.
“I’m handling Chris,” I tell him softly, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.
“If he doesn’t knock off his shit, I’m going to be handling him,” Linkin adds, arms crossed firmly over his chest in that way that I seem to notice, appreciate, and love.
Before I can say anything, Grandpa turns his full attention to Linkin and says, “You do that, son. Make sure that weasely bastard doesn’t hurt my grandbaby again.”
I’m stunned silent, trapped in the conversation they have around me. I should be pissed that Linkin’s speaking for me, or at least on my behalf, but I’m not. It’s shockingly endearing to know that someone has my back and is ready to wage a war in my honor. Warmth spreads through my veins as I gaze up at the man beside me. His short beard seems sexier in the daylight and his brown eyes twinkle with fierceness. He’s so tall and strong it’s like staring up at a tree.
A tree I want to climb.
“Anyway, it’s time for me to go home and nap,” I tell my grandpa, leading Linkin away from my family.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Grandma hollers, bursting through my siblings until she’s right in front of Linkin. “It was nice to see you again, young man. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of you soon.” The way she waggles her eyebrows at him tells me she’s not casually referring to him joining us at another family luncheon. No, this invite has more to do with him losing more articles of clothing.
A bubble of laughter bursts from Linkin’s mouth as he gazes softly down at my pint-sized Grandma. “You’re a handful, Miss Emma,” he says, bending way down to hug her.
“You have no idea,” Grandpa mumbles behind them.
“Oh, Linkin,” Grandma coos, hugging him a few extra seconds longer than deemed appropriate. Sighing dramatically, she adds with a devilish smile, “You’re quite the handful too.” That’s when I realize she’s grabbing handfuls of Linkin’s gloriously taut ass.
“Grandma!”
“What?” she asks coyly, pulling away from the guy I’m dating, but not really dating.
“Let’s go, Emmie. If you’re good, I’ll serve dessert in the red room with that new ball gag we picked up last weekend,” my grandpa says lovingly to his wife. He’s so sweet and sincere that you almost miss the content of his statement.
Wait.
No.
God no!
“I’m going to throw up,” I mumble, unable to look at Linkin.
“They’re so cute,” he whispers, both of us watching the way Grandpa gently touches the tip of Grandma’s nose with his finger. Then she growls and bites at his finger, which makes him thrust his hips forward in a suggestive way that no grandchild ever wants to witness.
“Get me out of here. Now.”
Waving goodbye to my family, I follow Linkin over to his old Blazer. Abby is going with Jaime to help pick a color to paint the kitchen, and then Levi will pick her up when he’s off work. So it’s just him and me heading back to the apartment building.
Suddenly, the inside of the truck cab feels smaller than a two-seater electric car. I can feel his presence, feel his eyes on me as I slide into the truck. I’m engulfed in his scent, wrapped in the heat of his authority, and my body is instantly hyperaware of his nearness. It almost makes me lightheaded.
He turns the key and the old truck fires to life. Linkin pulls from the parking lot and steers the truck towards the place we both live.
“So, dating, huh?” he asks. I can practically hear the cocky smirk in his voice. There’s no need to look at him to know that it’s plastered on his handsome face.
“Yeah, that was kinda sudden. Just forget I said anything,” I say blasé.
“No way, Firecracker. There’s no going back after something like that. There’s no take-backs when you declare yourself in a relationship with someone in front of your family.”
“What are you in the first grade? Of course there is! It’s called life.”
“Well, life has us in a relationship as of about one hour ago.”
I keep my eyes focused on the road, determined not to let it show how much he affects me. When I feel his warm fingers brush the back of my neck, I jump in my seat. Obviously, I need to work on my acting skills.
My left leg starts to bounce against the floorboard, my mind goes back to replay our earlier conversation. I’ve been on the fence, not completely on board but not ready to write off his suggestion either, since he made the big pitch.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start, clearing my throat to buy me a little time to figure out how to say this.
“Yeah?”
“Your offer. It’s not off the table yet, but I just keep thinking that I don’t really know you. So, I’m giving you a week. One week to get to know you better and for you to convince me that you’re the right man for the job.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than ready to show you just how convincing I can be.” His words draw my eyes to him. Even though that smirk is there, his eyes are ablaze with something dirty and suggestive. My blood actually zips through my veins.
“If I can be candid here, I’m getting ready to start my period this week. I’ve decided to cancel my appointment tomorrow at the sperm bank, but only long enough to see if your offer is my best choice. If not, I’ll call them back and go with donor number four.”
“One week, huh?”
“One week. Then I’ll have a few days to purchase my sperm before I ovulate,” I say, glancing at the light traffic along the Bay.
“You won’t be needing that purchase. I’ll be making my own donation about that time.” His confidence catches me off guard and makes me smile at the same time.
“Don’t be so sure,” I suggest, trying to calm my racing heart. He makes me so crazy.
Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment building, he throws his truck into park and turns to face me. “So, I get one week to show you that I’m a decent guy and would make a great dad?”
“Yeah. I know it’s not a long time,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I’m up to the challenge. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll need the full week.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Maybe,” he says with a smile. “Maybe I do it just to get a rise out of you.”
“So you like getting under my skin?”
He leans forward until our noses practically touch. His breath fans across my face and I almost reach out and stroke the hair on his face. It looks so soft and sexy right now that my fingers actually twitch to touch it. “You are already under my skin, Lexi. It’s only fair that I do the same for you.”
“You do,” I confess before I can stop the words.
God, if he only knew the extent of how deep he’s already under my skin.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Twelve
Linkin
“I’ve met someone.”
Mom looks up from the bowl of brownie batter she’s mixing to give me the look. It’s part shocked, part amused, and well, more shocked. She works in an hour at the café that I ate lunch in earlier with the Summer clan. I was bored at home, and since the boys are probably driving her crazy by now, I decided to come see her for a bit before taking the knuckleheads back to my place.
Good thing I did.
Something’s up.
Mom only bakes when she’s stressed, which lately has been a lot more than usual. Not that her life has been a walk in the park these last six months–hell, last year–but even when her marriage was falling apart and secrets were exposed, she didn’t bake like this. She didn’t have time. She was too busy putting out fires she didn’t start and keeping the mess as far away from the boys as possible.
>
“Oh?”
“Her name is Lexi. She’s actually my neighbor,” I tell her, leaning my hip against the counter and tossing an apple into the air and catching it.
“Would this be the woman your brother Jack is planning to marry?” she asks, her lips curling up into a smile. God, I’ve missed that smile. My mom is gorgeous, but she was dealt a bad hand, and life has slowly sucked the joy right out of her. The only time she smiles anymore is usually reserved for the boys and me. And even then it’s rare.
“It would. But in my defense, I kissed her first,” I quip with my own smile, recalling Jeff’s taunts to kiss her before Jack.
“Tell me about her,” she insists as she pours the batter into the pan. I watch as she slides it into the preheated oven. Excitement races through me as I realize I’ll be eating hot, gooey, awesome fucking brownies in about thirty minutes.
“She works at a salon uptown. She’s the youngest of six and a twin. She’s feisty and gorgeous and isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. She’s a smart ass to boot.”
Mom’s quiet so I glance over and see the warm grin. “And you like her.”
“Yeah.”
“Does she know?” Mom asks quietly, averting her gaze. I know exactly what she’s asking.
“No.” When she glances up at me, I continue. “I wasn’t planning to tell her for a bit. I don’t want to bring our shit down on her.”
“Link, you can’t hide it from her for too long. When secrets lay between you, no one really sleeps.”
I get what she’s saying. Shit, she lived those secrets; being kept in the dark and finding out too late that the one you love is a dirtbag.
“I know, Mom. I’ll tell her, I promise. But I want to wait to see where this thing goes first, you know? I don’t like anyone knowing our business.” Ain’t that the truth. As soon as our dirty laundry started coming out, and the whispers started to get too close to the twins, I pulled them out of town and relocated us all to Jupiter Bay. Here, no one cares what our last name is. No one knows why we up and moved to a new town practically overnight. No one knows the secrets that trail behind us like a shadow.
“I know you like your privacy, Link. Hell, I do too. I haven’t told a soul about Arnie.” Fuck, I hate it when she says his name. Makes my knuckles twitch to connect with something hard. “But I don’t want this mess to come between you and this Lexi. Just the fact that you’re telling me about her lets me know that she’s special. I trust that when the time is right, you’ll tell her what she needs to know.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now, grab the container on the counter. I cut up some fresh fruit for you to take home with you. The boys should have it for snack.”
“Fruit?”
“Yes, fruit. It’s one of the basic food groups. You should try it sometime,” she quips, snapping the hand towel my direction. “Tell me more about your girl.” My girl. Damn, I like the sound of that.
“Well, she’s going through a divorce,” I state, waiting for the reaction I know is coming.
“She’s not divorced yet?” Mom asks, the concern I expect written all over her face.
“Not yet, but it’s in the process. The douche she was married to is dragging his feet,” I tell her, popping a grape into my mouth.
“You’ve met him?”
“Unfortunately. He shows up randomly at her place. Both times, I was there to intercept. He doesn’t like to be told no.”
“Most men don’t,” Mom whispers, cleaning up her hand mixer and bowl. Turning to face me, she adds, “Just promise me you’ll be careful. If she’s just coming out of a divorce, she may not be as ready to date as she thought she was.”
“No, I’m pretty sure she’s ready. She told me a bit about her ex and why she left. She wanted a baby and he wouldn’t give it to her. But even before that, she says the marriage was over. He wouldn’t ever do anything with her and worked twenty-four seven.”
“Hmmm. You’ve always said you wouldn’t marry. And you work two jobs,” she reminds me. No, I know she’s not trying to upset me, but more like playing devil’s advocate. Still, her comments make my gut burn. Yeah, I might have said I wouldn’t marry, but that was after watching my mom try to divorce an ungrateful prick who used the fuck out of her and then ran like the fucking coward that he is. And yes, I do work two jobs, no thanks to the ungrateful prick.
“I know I did, but she’s different.”
Her deep brown eyes, reflecting so much love and hope for me, stare up at me. “I’d like to meet her. It’s not right that the boys got to meet her – and kill her, as I was told after I picked them up from school the next day. Promise you’ll bring her by soon.”
“I promise,” I tell my mom, bending over and kissing her forehead. Her brown hair has much more gray in it than it used to, and she refuses to color it. Every bit of extra income is gone and things like hair dye, pedicures, and manicures are things she doesn’t indulge in.
Thinking of Lexi, that gives me an idea.
The front door bursts open with a bang and noise follows in the wake of two brown haired little eight-year-olds.
“Linkin!” Jeff hollers as he runs into the room, tossing his book bag onto the middle of the floor and causing Jack to trip over it.
“Hey, dorkface! Pick up your stuff so people don’t trip over it,” Jack reprimands his twin brother.
“Whatever, peabrain! You leave your Legos all over the room for me to step on,” Jeff says, standing right next to me, his arms crossed over his chest, mimicking my own stance.
“Both of you need to be more considerate and pick up after yourselves. One of these days, Mom is going to trip over something that one of you left lying around and she’s going to get hurt.” I give them both a pointed look, waiting for them to make their next move.
“Sorry,” Jeff says, walking over and grabbing his book bag.
“Come on, doofus. Let’s go booby-trap the door so the Army guys shoot Linkin when he comes in,” Jack suggests as they both take off down the small hallway.
“That went well,” I huff, making Mom giggle.
“They’re constantly booby-trapping everything. I have to check the toilet seat before I sit down.”
“I don’t know where they get it,” I retort, waiting for her attack.
“Whatever!” she exclaims. “Those boys are the spitting image of their older brother,” she adds, snapping the towel again and hitting me in the bicep.
“Fine, they might get it honestly.”
After a few minutes of silence–well, silence in the kitchen. You can hear what sounds like a war zone coming from the small bedroom at the back of the house–Mom continues. “Promise me you’ll bring her by. I want to meet her.”
“I already promised.”
“I know you did, but I just wanted to make sure you knew how serious I was.”
“I wouldn’t have told you about her if I wasn’t ready for you to meet her,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around the woman who raised me. She’s small and frail-like, which pisses me off all over again. Mom has always been full of life and energy, but the king-sized dick sucked it out of her in just eight short years of marriage.
Mom and Arnie hadn’t dated long before she got pregnant with the boys. For some reason, she decided to marry him. At first, it seemed all right. I was in high school, working part time at an auto parts store, chasing girls, and drag racing cars, so I’ll admit that I didn’t pay as much attention to her and him as I should have. Everything seemed fine–at least on the outside–so I went about my teenage life, making money, chasing tail, and getting my own shithole of a place. Things had been going well, until about nine months ago.
Then everything changed.
Everything came crashing down.
I’m a lot more cautious with my own life, but I’m damn sure more aware of her and the boys. I know I’m going to have to tell Lexi about it, but I just hate reliving this bullshit. I don’t wan
t her to look at me with pity in those deep green eyes. That would kill me. Because I don’t want or need anyone’s pity. I’m fixing the mess he created, and that’s all anyone needs to know.
When the brownies are done and the bags are loaded into my car, I head towards my place with two mini tornados riding in the backseat. I can’t help but wonder what Lexi’s doing tonight. If I’ve only got a week to convince her to let me father her baby, then I’m going to take advantage of every free moment I can get with her.
Starting tonight.
It’s time that ‘Operation Knock Her Up’ commences.
* * *
I knock on her door just after five. The television is on, some high-drama reality show crying through the wall. When she opens the door, I’m struck stupid for the second time today. Just looking at her hurts. She’s gorgeous. Much shorter than I am, with long sexy legs that beg to wrap around my waist, long brown hair with streaks of copper running through it, the biggest, brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen, and soft, fragrant, lightly tanned skin. She instantly reduces me to a hard-on.
Always.
“Hey,” she whispers, rubbing her eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I had been up for a bit. I needed a little nap after… I don’t usually drink in the mornings on a Sunday, okay. Especially after a night with my sisters.”
“Hey, no judgment,” I assure her. Nope, not me. I remember my early twenties, when I was living on my own and drinking and partying most of my paychecks away. Sunday morning drinks were a common occurrence for a period of my life.
“Anyway,” she starts, but leaves the sentence hanging.
“Oh, so the knuckleheads are over for the night, and I was thinking that since I only have a week to convince you, I’m making dinner. Would you like to come over?” Then I hold my breath, which is crazy because I’ve never been this excited and nervous for a woman to accept a dinner invitation before. Of course, actual dinner invites haven’t been that common either. I’m more of a meet a girl at a bar and take her home for the night kinda guy.
At least I was.
“Oh,” she says, a hint of nerves laced in her voice.