It looked perfect.
Damn it.
I stomped back into the house, retrieved my son, and got back into making Christmas cards. And let me tell you, being pissed way the hell off and trying to fashion unique, festive, jolly or elegant cards that shared the Christmas spirit was not easy.
An hour later, no longer having a million things on my mind, I didn’t miss it this time when I heard a car approach.
We’d had lunch, and it was nearing time to get Brooks down for a nap, I was in a foul mood about Toby, so I didn’t want company.
And sadly, I no longer wanted to have everyone over to put up Christmas decorations either.
But I was stuck.
And I blamed this on Toby.
I got up from the desk, rounded the side, reached to the curtain, pulled it back and saw Toby’s truck had returned.
He was out and unloading a six pack from the passenger side.
“Oh no you don’t,” I snapped at the window. “You don’t get to be the generous-with-booze-and-Christmas-lights hero and an asshole all at once.”
I caught up Brooklyn mid-throw of a ball Dapper Dan was bored of retrieving for him (but he still did it because he was that good of a dog) and got a screech from my needs-a-nap, bordering-on-cranky son.
I ignored it, stomped down the hall, the stairs and stood five steps down from the bottom, stunned to see Toby already in my house, loaded down with bags on his shoulders, walking toward the kitchen.
He always knocked.
He never just strolled in.
“Dodo!” Brooklyn squealed.
“Hey,” I called right before Tobe turned into the kitchen.
He said nothing.
I made it to the bottom of the stairs just as he was walking back out.
“Hey,” he belatedly replied, looking me right in the eyes. “Got more.”
With that, he ambled with his awesome male grace to the front door as I stared at him doing it and my son struggled in my arms.
He closed the door behind him and Brooklyn wailed, “Dodo! Dodo! Dodo!”
Feeling my son’s desperation for attention from someone he adored, something he was not getting, I was not pissed.
I’d never felt this feeling before.
Not even with his father.
I wasn’t sure what it was.
But if pushed, in that moment, I’d describe it as outright fury.
So I stood rooted where I was, containing my distressed son, and watched Toby walk in with hands carrying two six packs (when I knew he’d already brought in at least one) and shoulders weighed down with more bags.
But this time I saw they were those killer, burlap grocery bags Macy sold that were one of the few things I’d spied in a long time that I wished I could buy (two with the black thistle flowers printed on the side, two with the black-eyed Susan, which would have been my call since both designs were fabulous).
“Dodo!”
“This is it,” he declared, sauntering right by me, not even looking at Brooklyn.
Automatically I followed him to the kitchen.
Dapper Dan came with us.
When I arrived, my son’s struggles went into overdrive, so I put him on his feet on the floor.
He was walking, not about to enter any 5Ks, but he could get around, and all wobbly he was adorable as hell doing it.
Right then, he didn’t fuck around with walking.
He dropped to his hands and knees and used what he had down pat to crawl swiftly to Toby.
I monitored that action until Toby spoke.
“Christmas cookies.”
At these bizarre words, my eyes lifted to his.
He was looking at me, but when I looked to him, his gaze shifted to Izzy’s island.
I turned my attention there and saw it was covered in burlap bags.
Eight of them, as well as four six-packs of beer.
“Flour,” Toby said, “sugar, butter, milk, food coloring, shit like that to make Christmas cookies, ’cause every kid should have Christmas cookies at Christmas.”
With that amount of bags, did he expect me to make every kid in Matlock cookies?
“Dodo, Dodo, Dodo, Dodo,” Brooks chanted.
I glanced down to him to see he’d made it to Toby, pulled himself up to his feet using Tobe’s jeans, and was banging on his leg with both of his chubby hands to get attention.
For his part, Dapper Dan was hanging close but giving my boy priority spacing to get to their guy.
Totally a good dog.
“Hamburger,” Toby said, not to my son, to me, and my gaze lifted again to his. “Chicken. Pork shoulder. A coupla steaks. Tortillas. Beans. Rice. Cous Cous. Spice packets for tacos, chili, pulled pork. You can cook it, freeze what you don’t eat, take it out in the morning and have a decent meal that night, right along with Brooks.”
Oh my God.
He’d left after installing the Christmas lights to go grocery shopping for me.
“Dodo, Dodo, Dodo, Dodo, Dodo,” Brooks kept chanting.
“Deli meat,” Toby carried on with his grocery litany. “Cheese. Bread. Condiments. Chips. Snack packs of shit like pudding and granola bars. For you to make lunches.”
“Toby—” I forced out.
Apparently, this effort took too much time because Tobe talked right over me.
“Frozen pizzas. Frozen pies. Ice cream and cupcakes. So you can give yourself a treat. And other shit, just to have to eat. As well as laundry detergent, fabric softener, crap like that. And for the party tonight, wine and beer.”
Stiltedly, I looked down at the big bags covering Izzy’s island.
I sensed Toby move and I looked that way, something that had been weighing me down lifting inside me as I saw him bending to my son.
And then that something froze solid when I watched him detach Brooklyn from his leg, set him away on his ass, and move to the island.
Brooklyn sat there, stunned, staring up at Toby, his little baby face openly confused.
And the freeze inside turned to fire.
My attention shifted to Toby as he got close, but I had to look down when I saw him pull something out of his back pocket.
He set a white envelope on the edge of the counter.
“That’s five grand in cash and a check for the same,” he announced.
My gaze darted back to his.
He was still talking.
“You use the cash for face-to-face shit. Gas. Food. Paying Johnny. Whatever. You do not deposit it, Adeline. The check, you deposit and use on bills.” He stared hard at me a second before he went on, “If you keep it. Whatever you got in your head that might make you refuse it, I don’t care. Do whatever you want. I don’t give a fuck. What you can’t do is give it back to me. I won’t accept it. Either use it or do whatever with it. But do not try to give it back to me.”
“To—”
“I’m leaving town.”
I shut my mouth as I tried to beat back the pain of what felt like a sudden, unexpected, and very brutal blow to my chest.
“After the new year,” he continued. “Goin’ down to Florida to work with a bud. I’ll be back for Johnny and Izzy’s wedding in the summer. Whatever you do with that,” he tapped his middle finger on the white envelope, “is your call. But for Christmas I’m givin’ Brooklyn toys, but also clothes and shit he needs because he’s growin’ like a weed and he’ll be out of his stuff in no time. And I’m warnin’ you now, I’ll be givin’ him a lot of all that. You don’t accept it, you’re not just proud, you’re stupid.”
And with that parting blow, he went on the move, strolling past me, out of the kitchen, and as I stiffly turned to watch, I saw him disappear.
But my son cried, “Dodo!”
And my dog barked.
Dapper Dan followed Toby on a trot while Brooklyn motored on his hands and knees as fast as his chubby limbs could take him.
I heard the front door close, my dog bark again, and another plaintive cry from my baby boy of, “
Dodo!”
And standing in the kitchen with ten thousand dollars in an envelope and hundreds of dollars in food, beer and wine on my island, I experienced the excruciating feeling of my head exploding.
Toby
Toby was on his back on his couch, a bottle of beer resting on his stomach, his eyes trained to a game on the TV.
His mind was not on the game.
His mind was on, That’s cool. See you then!
See you then?
With an exclamation point?
From Addie?
Jesus.
Fake.
He fucking hated fake.
They have a fight. Johnny gets up in his shit. Toby knows Addie’s sister talked to her. The whole town was gabbing about it. Addie doesn’t drop him a text. And when he contacts her, he gets see you then! like that shit didn’t happen at all.
Like she was just going to ignore it. Pretend he didn’t know she was broke, not eating enough, surrounded by people who gave a shit about her and were not only willing to help, but wanted to and had the means to do it, and she was just going to blow it all off, go her own way and be fucking fake about it.
Fuck that.
Fuck it.
He knew she might, and probably would, eat the food he dropped on her.
But he figured the ten large he’d given her would be at some animal shelter or something by next weekend.
Whatever.
Fuck that too.
If the woman let pride blind her to that point, it wasn’t his gig.
That’d be on her.
And when she was eating cat food in a couple of months, she’d regret paying for enough cat food for the cats in a shelter to eat for a year.
It was not his business.
And he was actively denying the fact that knowing she’d pull shit that fantastically stupid was driving him out of his mind, and he wanted to get off his back, in his truck, go to her house and shake some sense into her (or better, spank some into her).
This was why he had no idea what was happening with the game on the TV.
And this was messing with his head so badly, it was why his body jerked in surprise when his doorbell rang.
His body tensed when it didn’t stop ringing.
He lifted up and looked over the back of the couch to the door, which was windows separated by a diamond panel of wood in the middle, lines formed of wood coming out from the points. So he could clearly see Addie standing there, head bowed, pushing on his doorbell, her face set firm to ticked.
Right.
They were gonna do this.
And he was ready.
He knifed up, put his beer to the coffee table, and prowled to the door.
Addie saw him, stopped with the bell, but glared at him through the glass.
She didn’t have Brooklyn.
Even better.
He could let loose.
Tobe made it to the door, flipped the lock and opened it, his mouth opening to start them off.
He didn’t get a word in.
She had both hands in his chest, pushing so hard his torso swung back, shouting, “You don’t ignore my kid!”
After that, she shoved past him, slamming into him with a shoulder.
He turned with her, closing the door, and he barely got around before she whirled, leaned his way, and screamed, “Don’t you ever ignore my boy!”
Fuck.
“Addie,” he murmured.
She lifted a hand and stabbed a finger at him. “Fuck you, Tobias Gamble.” Another stab and, “Fuck you!” She dropped her hand and yelled, “How dare you show at my home and stand in my kitchen with my son banging on your leg, and you don’t even look at him!”
He’d done that.
Intent to do what he’d decided he was gonna do, whether she liked it or not, he’d done that, and he’d made it fast so he could get it done before she said shit to piss him off further.
So yeah.
He’d done just that.
To Brooks.
“Honey,” he whispered.
In a flash she was in his space, in his face, her tits brushing his chest, her beautiful face twisted with rage, her mouth shrieking, “Don’t you fucking ‘honey’ me, Toby! Fuck you!”
“Calm down,” he urged quietly.
“Fuck calm, Tobias,” she snapped. “He gets that from his father.”
Pain tore through him as sure as if she’d stabbed him with a blade to the heart and slashed it down to his gut.
“He’s not gonna get it from you!” she finished, poking him in the chest.
Toby lifted both hands to her jaw, dipped his head to put his face into hers and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. That was so over the line, it obliterated the line. I’m so sorry, Addie. I was pissed and wanted to get done and I didn’t think. Really, honey, believe me. I’m so fucking sorry.”
From close he watched her blink, rage faltering, she started to look confused.
It was cute.
Shit.
And she was close.
He could still feel her tits against his chest, her skin soft on his hands, smell her hair.
Shit.
He needed to take his hands off her so they could talk this out.
He didn’t take his hands off her.
“He crawled after you,” she whispered.
Fuck.
Gutted.
He’d done that.
Toby closed his eyes and his head dropped, his forehead hitting hers.
“He couldn’t handle you dropping off groceries without getting a snuggle from you,” she went on quietly, and Toby opened his eyes. “What’s he going to do if you go to Florida?”
“Addie—” he started, beginning to lift his head.
He got nowhere when she caught his cheeks in her hands.
They both stilled and stared into each other’s eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She was way too close.
And him having his hands on her was one thing.
Addie having her hands on him was another.
“We need to talk,” he told her.
“Fuck talking,” she replied.
And then she kissed him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
For a beat, he thought of pulling away.
In that beat, the tip of her tongue touched his lips, and nothing was in his mind but opening his mouth and sucking that tongue inside.
He tasted her, finally tasted Adeline . . .
And what was left of him she didn’t already have was lost.
To her.
He closed one arm around her, hauling her tight to his frame, the other hand he shoved into her soft hair and gripped it tight, holding her head steady while he pushed her tongue out of his mouth, thrust his in and claimed hers.
She made a little noise that seared through his cock.
And that was when he was done.
Half a kiss and he broke it, took her hand and dragged her to the stairs.
It wasn’t until they were halfway up that he realized he wasn’t dragging shit.
She was racing up with him.
That made his dick feel so tight in his jeans, he thought it’d break the zipper.
He started taking the steps two at a time.
She started running.
He pulled her into his room, to the side of his bed, let her go and instantly tugged off his tee.
By the time he got it off, he saw her bomber jacket was on the floor and her eyes were on his chest.
“Babe,” he called.
Those eyes lifted to his. “Condom.”
He felt his brows go up just as he felt his dick jerk. “Now?”
She tore off her peach Henley.
Cream lace bra.
Sweet, full tits.
His cock throbbed.
Jesus, fuck.
She dropped her shirt to the floor and whispered, “Now.”
He wasn’t going to ask again.
He reached to his back pocket for his wallet.<
br />
Addie moved right in, wrapped her lips around his nipple and drew . . . deep.
Jesus, fuck.
That made his cock weep.
Christ.
He pulled out a condom and dropped the wallet to the floor.
The hit barely sounded before she was moving away, hands to her belt.
He put the edge of the condom to his teeth and his fingers to his own belt.
He had his pants open and was experiencing the relief of pulling his aching cock out while watching her slide her zip down.
“Toby.”
He lifted his gaze to her flushed face, seeing her eyes locked on his dick, her expression filled with a need so extreme, he’d never witnessed the like of it.
Well then . . .
Fuck it.
Toby lunged.
Addie didn’t fight it.
He lifted her and set her on her knees on the edge of the bed, back to him, yanked her jeans over her ass and it came at him again.
That need.
“Toby.”
She was drifting down, jeans around her thighs, settling with her arms tucked under her against his comforter, head turned, eyes to him, ass up, and her pretty, wet pussy was on offer.
She was beautiful. He’d never seen a woman more gorgeous.
But right then, she was a knockout.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he ripped open the condom, slid it out, rolled it on, moved in.
“Addie, baby,” he whispered, gliding the head of his dick through her wet, his attention on her face, his mind torn, wanting inside that pussy so bad, the taste of it was crawling up his throat. Also wanting to slow this down so they both knew they were in the same place in their heads.
“Please,” she whispered back.
Well then . . .
Fuck it.
The head of his cock caught, and he slid in.
And as her tight cinched around him, he watched her eyes slowly close and her lips part, her cheek sliding on his comforter as her head tipped back.
Nope.
Now that . . .
That was a knockout.
And the feel of her sleek closing around him.
Everything.
He looked down at her round ass, the root of his cock the only thing he could see as the rest was embedded inside her. His balls drew up, his throat grew tight, and his chest depressed with fighting back the need to fuck her, hard and rough.
“Toby.”
The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil Series Book 2) Page 11