by Belle Aurora
I use the very tip of my finger to tap in front of the stove and she gets my drift. As soon as she’s in position, I turn on the cooktop and bring over the ingredients for our dinner. I hand her a wooden spoon and ask, “Do you cook a lot?”
She shakes her head. “I can cook scrambled eggs. That’s about it.”
My hip leaning on the counter, I cross my arms over my chest. My mind shouts, What are you doing? when I ask, “Would you like to learn?”
Her eyes meet mine. She speaks a hushed, “Aunt Tina used to let me help, but now with Tatiana and Ava, it’s…” She drifts off. And my heart pangs. Something tells me Ceecee is not just angry with her dad. Something tells me Ceecee is angry at the world.
I respond softly, “Yeah. That happens. When kids come along, it’s hard to make time for anything else. Especially when they’re little, you know? ‘Cause babies get sick, and they need to eat almost all the time, and sometimes they just want to cuddle. It takes a long time before parents can make time to do the things they used to.” I hand her the olive oil and jerk my chin to the pan. “Give it a good swirl. It doesn’t matter if you don’t measure it out, just make sure there’s enough to coat the onion.”
She adds the perfect amount then slides in the onion, and I grin. “Are you sure you don’t know what you’re doing? You’re doing awesome so far.” Her blush is small, but I see it. I add, “Like I was saying, being a parent makes people busy. But if you like, I can come over a few times a week and we can cook together.” She doesn’t give me an indication on how she feels about this, so I nudge her shoulder and add, “I don’t know a lot of people in New York, so if you want to give me something to do during the week, I’d like that very much.”
You’re getting too involved.
Oh hush, brain. What could possibly go wrong?
Using the wooden spoon, she stirs the onion and doesn’t look up at me when she says, “I’d like that.”
Tell her. Tell her now.
“Would you still want to learn if it came with a catch?” I ask hesitantly while wringing my fingers together.
Not skipping a beat, she utters, “You want me to start exercising again.”
My eyes round in shock. Ceecee is by no means a silly girl. “Yes, I would. If we could just get you doing three sessions a week, you’d likely stop cramping, honey.”
Her hand stops stirring a moment as she thinks about this. “You’d be exercising with me? You’d be here three times a week?”
I nod. “Yes and yes. I’d be doing it with you. Of course, you’ll be doing three more days with Whit during the week, but I’ll come here after work on the days you’re not at the center. We’ll cook together, then do a light session. And I promise, Ceecee,” I place my hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention, “I promise if we do something you don’t like, we’ll try something else. There’s plenty out there, and we’ll find something you like.”
She stirs and asks, “So, this is my choice? You won’t force me?”
My heart sinks. She’s going to say no. “No, sweetie. No one’s going to force you. And if you decide you don’t want to do this anymore, we can still cook together and hang out.” And I mean that. I’m starting to think I was wrong about refusing this position in the first place.
I tap my finger on the bowl of ground beef and watch Ceecee add it to the pan. While she works out the lumps, I add the carrot and lentils. She concentrates hard at the task at hand and I smile. She might be hardheaded, but she’s determined; that’s for sure.
We cook in silence for a long while before Ceecee speaks again. “Okay. I’ll start exercising again.”
A breath I hadn’t known I was holding leaves me in a whoosh. I’m shocked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she mutters then goes on, “but only if you come to Sunday morning breakfasts with us.”
My mind sobs. Sunday morning? Oh, hell no!
Sunday is the only day I get to sleep in, and I love sleep. At home, when it was all us girls in one house, if someone dared make noise before eleven am on a weekend, I would calmly get out of bed, beat the shit out of them, and then fall back into a coma until I felt I was recharged enough to face the day.
Grin and bear it, Lena.
Forcing a smile, I grit my teeth and chirp, “Sure. I love breakfast.” Ceecee smiles at the pan, and I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t help but think she’s up to something, the little scamp.
Before I know it, I’m switching off the stove and bringing over an oven-proof dish to where Ceecee’s parked by the counter. I open the bag of corn chips and dump them into the dish. Ceecee tops the chips with the ground beef mixture. I tell her to top it with cheese and she sprinkles it on. When she’s done, I pop the dish into the oven and set the time for fifteen minutes.
I quickly put Ceecee to work by helping me clean the mess we’ve made in the kitchen. Soon enough, the timer beeps. Ceecee suddenly looks worried. I open the oven and the smell hits me. “Oh dear God, Ceecee.”
She panics, “What?”
Grinning, I turn and whisper loudly, “It smells amazing!” I carefully remove the dish from the oven. As I place it on the stove, I tell her, “Do not touch that. It’s hotter than hel—” In the presence of a minor! Oops. “It’s hotter than Ian Somerhalder.”
She smiles. “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”
Of course she has. She’s grown up with Max, Nik, Ash, and Trick. It’s a miracle her ears aren’t constantly bleeding, the poor dear. “Right. I’m going to tell your dad to clear up the dining table so we can eat.”
As soon as I walk out of the kitchen and into the hall, I jump up and down on the spot, silently cheering at the fact that I’m doing something right. Ceecee agreed to exercise without me having to bribe her. I made it her choice.
Wait a minute. My bouncing body stills. I made it her choice. My eyes widen. Oh my God. I made it her choice! A smile spreads across my face. That’s it! I look into the dining room and my vagina jumps off of a trapeze, freefalling with her arms spread wide by her sides.
Max sits at the dining table in front of an open laptop, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee, his foot on the base of the chair. Chewing on a pen and looking into the screen distractedly, his glasses are perched on top of his nose.
He has glasses. Not just any glasses. Trendy, geek chic, rectangular reading glasses. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. A frown tips my lips. I raise my head and mentally pray.
This isn’t fair, God. I’m not allowed to touch him. Why are you playing with my emotions like this? Is it because I asked Jacob Schmidt to show me his thing in the first grade? I was young and curious! Give me a break!
Lowering my face, I glance over at Max and swallow through my thick throat.
Let me tell you something about myself. Men with glasses…they do it for me. Something about a good-looking man changes when he puts on glasses. He becomes someone else, a gorgeous version of himself. While women were swooning over Superman, I was swooning over Clark Kent. Oh yeah. Give me a man with glasses any day of the week.
I clear my throat and he looks up at me with a lazy smile. “Hey.”
I motion to his laptop. “You almost done? Dinner’s ready.”
“Yeah, I’m done.” He removes his glasses, placing them down on the table.
My feet move of their own accord until I’m right in front of him. I pick the glasses up off the table, lift them, and gently place them back on his head. I state softly, “Don’t take them off. They look good on you.”
I turn to walk away, but he snags my wrist and yanks. I land on his lap and his long, muscular arms wrap around me, holding me in place. I don’t fight him this time. I’ve seen him with the other girls. I know this is how he is. It doesn’t seem right for me to ask him to be someone else around me. He’s right. I’m just going to have to get used to it. He asks quietly, “How’d it go?”
I feign boredom. “Oh, you know. We cooked. We talked. We had fun. Girls stuff.” My eyes smile down
at him. “She agreed to cooking lessons and exercise sessions three times a week. But only if I come to Sunday breakfasts with you guys, so please tell me that’s after ten am, because otherwise, I might just cry.”
I expect something. A smile. A laugh. A victorious hi-five. I get nothing. Instead, his arms tighten around me. He closes his eyes and drops his forehead to my shoulder. He holds me for a long while and I lift my hand to rub his forearm. I’m not sure why, but it feels as though he needs comfort right now.
I give him his moment before gently removing his hands and standing. I make my way to the kitchen to find Ceecee has already put together plates and cutlery. She moves out of the kitchen, and as she passes me, I can’t help myself. I lean down and kiss her head. “You did good, sweetie.”
She smiles up at me. “I had a good teacher.”
If there ever was a compliment to receive from a child, that would be the one. My stupid nose tingles, and before I start blubbering like a loon, I quickly take the dish of nachos off the stove and move it into the dining room. Max sits while Ceecee places the plates down. He looks to the dish I place in the middle of the table and grins. When she passes him the next time, he quickly grabs a handle and pulls her chair backward. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and utters, “This looks good, baby girl. My mouth’s watering. Feed me.”
When she mutters an unsure, “Thanks, Daddy,” he kisses her cheek and lets her go.
Heart fluttering, I sit at the table and look around me. A small smile graces my lips. I quickly realize there is no place I’d rather be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Helena
I’m pissed.
Stupid brain.
After last night’s dinner, I decided it was too late to do a session with Ceecee. Not only that, but we’d eaten our weight in nachos. Ceecee had done such a great job with cooking that I’d gone back for seconds. And it wasn’t even sympathy seconds. The nachos were good.
Watching Max eat was something else. I had seen him eat before, but I never really noticed the little noises he makes when he’s eating something he enjoys. His small murmurs of approval, his discreet nods, and furrowed brows of concentration—it was almost as if he was having a conversation with his dinner. And, of course, it was completely adorable. The ass.
We showered compliments to the chef, and from her shy smile and neon pink blush, I think she liked that. When I asked her what days she’d like me to come over, she looked at her dad, then back to me and responded, “You can come any day after five pm.” She suddenly looked nervous, but added quietly, “And you don’t have to come just three days. If you don’t have anything to do or whatever, you can come here.”
My body stilled in stunned disbelief. Was this Ceecee’s way of telling me we are friends? I believed it was. Not being able to stop myself and craving the affections of this little creature, I leaned down, wrapped my arms around her, and told her, “I will definitely keep that in mind, sweetie.” As I pulled away, I added, “I’d hate for you to get sick of me though.”
She lowered her eyes and mumbled, “That won’t happen.” And my heart soared.
Max told Ceecee to get her things then, and confusion settled over me. Then I remembered what Max had told me the other night about Ceecee not wanting to be at home, about her avoiding him. She was likely going to sleep at Nik and Tina’s. Ceecee looked up at her dad. She didn’t move. When she spoke softly, I melted on the floor in a big puddle of sap. “Actually, Daddy, I think I might stay here tonight.”
To say Max looked surprised was a complete understatement. He looked like he might just break into interpretive dance. They dropped me off at home and I thanked them for dinner. When I made my way inside, I couldn’t stop smiling. And as soon as I turned on the light, glancing around my very empty apartment, I couldn’t help but feel a loss.
I didn’t understand it. I had always been the type of person who was able to entertain myself, and do it happily. I liked my alone-time. So why did being alone right now feel so…lonely?
I avoided being attacked by Tedwood by catching him mid-attack and dropping him out into the hall. I made my way to the bathroom and showered before bed. As my soapy hands roamed over my body, I imagined another set of hands on me. A large, masculine set of hands that would explore me, a pair of golden eyes looking into me, and a sexy dimple I wanted to lick taunting me. My palms glanced over my nipples and my body convulsed.
I was panting. My stomach dipped. I was already there. My hand slid down my belly, down further, lower to my spread legs. My fingers glided over my clit, and my legs became weak. Leaning my head on the tiled wall of the shower, my touch firmed. I rubbed harder over my swollen bud, images of sex assaulting my mind. Max’s mouth on me, all over. His hands gripping me tight. His cock deep inside of me, thrusting hard enough to make me whimper.
Holy shit.
My body jerked. I felt it happening. A sweet numbness swept over me. Gentle tingles hit my core. I tipped my head back, mouth parted in a delicious wave of pleasure. My fingers worked harder, harder, the tingles intensifying, and then I was there. A long moan was torn from deep in my throat as my pussy convulsed, over and over. I cupped myself. My body jerked uncontrollably. Then suddenly, I was tired.
I stayed in the shower longer than I should have, glued to the spot. After I rinsed myself a second time, I stepped out, got dressed feeling like a tramp, and went to bed, my loneliness eating away at me.
There was only one place I wanted to be, and it wasn’t home.
And that’s why I’ve spent most of my night awake making three trays of breakfast muffins, eating whatever I had in the house, and getting angry with myself. Sure, it’s not my fault I was forced into a friendship with Ceecee. It’s Max’s. So, really, I should be angry at Max. My face softens.
Who could ever be angry at Max?
I stomp my foot on the ground, ball my hands into fists, and growl. Damn him. I have never been so befuddled before. Part of me is ecstatic that I’m breaking through Ceecee’s wall, the other part of me is pissed that Max is breaking through mine. How was I ever meant to keep my heart safe?
Max is a good guy, down to his core. He’s a great dad, and the type of friend any person would count herself lucky to have. Let’s be honest here. I never stood a chance. Shaking my head in frustration, I take the three full containers of muffins and place one in my freezer. I open my apartment door, write on my little portable whiteboard, and make my way across the hall. My finger presses the button at the side of the door. A few seconds pass before it opens.
Mrs. Crandle looks up at me through her coke-bottle glasses. Smiling, I hand her a container full of muffins and hold the board up for her to read. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Crandle. I made these for you. I’m on my way to work, so I can’t stay and chat, but I promise to come over for tea again!’
Her eyes follow my words. She looks up at me and smiles softly, taking the container. “Why, thank you, dear.” Her smile turns sad. “You’re a good egg, Helena.”
Walking backwards, I quickly write, ‘I’ll come by soon.’
She answers quietly, “That would be lovely, dear.”
I turn, raise my hand, and knock on Nat’s door. No one answers. I lift my hand to knock again when guilt assaults me. She and Ash wouldn’t need to wake up so early if it weren’t for me. If I had a car, they’d be able to sleep in, and lord knows when the babies get here they won’t be doing much of that anymore. Guilt seeps from my pores. I’m a shitty sister. I lower my hand, walk down the stairs, and lift my cell to my ear. He answers immediately, “Hey, everything okay?”
I silently cringe. “You wouldn’t happen to be going past my place, would you?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m about three minutes away. Meet you in the parking lot.”
I let out a relived breath. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, he pulls up and rolls down the window to tease, “Hey, I’m not going to get roughed up again, am I?”
I snort. “Jam
es Whittaker, you bite your tongue. As if I would let that happen. Besides, the bear is still asleep.”
My muffins and I slide inside and we drive on. I look over at him and smile to myself. Reaching over, I scratch at his bald head with my nails and he leans into it. “You need luck?”
Chuckling, I scratch harder. “Bucket loads of it.” I pull away and utter, “Thanks for the ride. I really need to get a car.”
He looks over at me, eyes searching my face. He frowns a little. “You look a little off today. Everything okay?”
James. He doesn’t skip a beat. I open the container of muffins and break one in half. Nibbling at one half, I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought I was fine…until last night. I think,” I sigh, “this is going to sounds stupid, but I think…” God, I’m such a loser. “…I think I’m lonely.”
As we stop at a traffic light, James turns to me. Without asking, he takes a muffin out of the container and bites into it. His eyes glaze over. “Man, that’s good.” He makes another noise of pleasure before stating, “That’s not unusual. Remember, I told you I moved here myself?” I nod. The traffic lights change and he looks to the road before adding, “Same thing happened to me. It’s a mixture of things though, isn’t it? It’s being homesick and away from your friends. It’s not being able to step outside and visit people, because you barely know anyone. It’s being single too, right?”
My eyes widen. “Wow. You really do know what I’m talking about.”
His lips thin. “Yep, I do. I never told you this, but I wouldn’t have stayed long if my mom and brother hadn’t moved down here. It’s hard being away from people you love. Lucky, you’ve got your sister and her extended family here. Can I ask you something?”
Looking over at him, I tell him, “You can ask me anything.” And I mean it.