Reckless, p.21
Reckless, page 21
“Tiny Dancer got an eyeful,” I joke, loving how he’s nestled against me, arm slung around my chest, his face tucked into my neck.
When he doesn’t respond, I reach back and thread my fingers through his hair, but I’m met with silence.
With a groan, he slides out of me, and I wince at the bite of pain between my legs, but hell, I’d take being sore any day if it means sex that hot.
I watch as he takes care of the rubber I didn’t even realize he’d slid on earlier. I’m on the pill, and he knows that, but he’s been meticulous about using condoms.
We’re quietly putting on our soggy clothes, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t said anything, when he reaches for me and clears his throat. “Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?”
Smiling, I reach up to stroke his face. “I love every kind of sex you have to give me. Feral happens to be my favorite.”
A chuckle vibrates his chest. “I love having you here. You and my kids are the best part of my day.”
My stomach quivers, every part of me lighting up from what he just said as he leans down to kiss me.
It’s sweet and soft and a complete one-eighty from what we just did, but it makes me want to take an emotional snapshot of this moment. Of us and his gentle touches in the half-lit barn. Of the tender look in his eyes that tells me more than any words he’s uttered. Of the full-bodied wave of affection welling up in me for this man.
For once in my life, I’m not afraid of the future or my place in this world. Because Ethan brings me hope that maybe my past happened for a reason. That it brought me to this place with him. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.
38
Ethan
Exhaustion weighs my bones, and I sink deeper into the couch. Next to me, Cody snuggles on Tori’s lap, and I smile to myself as I watch him gingerly stroke the tendrils that cascade over her shoulder. He’s obsessed with her hair. Like father, like son.
I reach over and grab a long lock from her other shoulder and twist it in my fingers. So soft.
She smiles at me from under those thick lashes, and even though I got up at four this morning and baked all day outside in ninety-five-degree Texas heat, that one glance gives me a kick of adrenaline.
I can’t stop thinking about what we did in the barn last weekend. How she let me take her hard and desperate, like a goddamn animal rutting away to release. I’ve never been that rough with a woman before, and as soon as we were done, I felt a pang of shame for not being more delicate with her. Even more shocking, though, was the playful look in her eyes when she told me how much she enjoyed it. How she likes it “feral” and wild. If the scratches on my back from last night are any indication, she’s not lying.
That I have any energy at all to do more than fall face first into bed each night is a miracle, but Tori seems to give me superpowers.
“Daddy, can I have one more?” Mila is kneeling in front of the coffee table, reaching for the last slice of pizza.
“Sure thing.”
I probably shouldn’t be ordering pizza for dinner—I should be counting every penny and praying the judge doesn’t dismantle my ranch this week—but with how hard Tori’s been working alongside me this week, I couldn’t let her cook one more meal, and I barely had the energy to drag myself in from the barn.
She’s been a lifesaver. An angel. But the girl is running herself ragged, looking after the kids, helping me with the office, cooking for us. You’d think she’d be cranky as fuck—I am—but she does it all with the sweetest smile. Makes me want to lavish her with love and affection.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Is Tori your girlfriend?”
Alarmed, I look at my daughter, whose attention is darting between me and Tori, and I realize we’re sitting side by side on the couch, with Tori in a corner and me right next to her even though there’s a good three feet on my right side. And some time in the last few minutes, I put my arm around her shoulders.
Sitting up and resting my elbows on my knees, I rub the scruff on my chin, wishing I had planned for how I was gonna explain this new development in our lives. Because I know whatever happens between me and Tori affects Mila and Cody too.
A quick glance to Tori tells me she’s worried about how this will go down, and she gently shakes her head at me, which I know is because we’ve already agreed to keep things quiet for a few months. To see where things go. To ease the kids through the divorce. But I don’t need more time to know what I want. I had years with my ex-wife and couldn’t get a good reading about where we were headed sometimes, but with Tori, it’s clear as day. I want this to last. I want something permanent, and I’m ready to invest my heart and soul into making our relationship work.
As for the divorce, I’ve been honest with Mila from the beginning, and I don’t want to backtrack now. I’m not sure where she’s learned about girlfriends and dating, but my guess is Logan talks too much about his social life.
“Honey, how would you feel if I said I liked Tori and wanted her to be my girlfriend?” No need to tell her she already is. Anything I can do to ease her shock is worth stretching the truth a bit.
The huge smile on her Mila’s face is an instant relief. “I’d say YAY!” She jumps around like I just told her Santa was about to shoot his happy ass down our chimney.
I chuckle and pull my daughter onto my lap where I give her a big hug. “Listen. Tori and I are really good friends, okay? That’s where this starts, being boyfriend and girlfriend. This summer, she’s become my best friend. I like having her around. She makes me smile, and I think she makes you and your brother happy too, right?”
My daughter is nodding emphatically, the excitement and joy in her face so sweet to see after I’d worried she might have a difficult time with this transition. But nope. She’s as happy as a clam. All of this makes sense. Since Tori came to the ranch, Mila’s nightmares have almost disappeared.
A sniffle next to me makes me turn my head in time to catch Tori wiping a tear. Man, she kills me. “Come here.” I pull my two girls close, with my son giggling in the middle of our group hug. Squeezing them tight, I press a kiss to the top of Mila’s head.
But my son steals the show because he wiggles and squirms in Tori’s lap, a gleeful smile spreading on his face as he points to his crotch. “I go pee pee, Daa-deee! Yay! Pee pee!”
We choke back laughter and high-five my boy like he hit a grand slam. Tori’s been talking to him about letting her know when he has to go, so she can get him to the john in time. At the very least, she wants him to gain an awareness of it to set the groundwork for potty training. Just one more thing I’ve been too busy to think about.
It’s a small victory at the end of a very long day. I’ll take it.
39
Tori
A freaking ambush. That’s what I’d call this.
Sighing, I glance around the Lone Star Station. The diner is pretty empty, but then again, it’s mid-morning on a week day.
My sister bats her eyelashes at me, a huge, self-pleased grin plastered on her face. Traitor.
“Mija,” my mother says, reaching for the cream, “your father and I were concerned.”
Here we go.
They don’t call me all summer and now they’re concerned.
I shoot my sister a dirty look across the table, but she avoids my glare and rubs her ginormous stomach.
My parents sit on either side of me at a small four-top table, right next to the table I sat at with Ethan and Logan that one time. God, that seems ages ago.
“And why is that, Mom?”
She gives me that look, that you know what you did look.
I give her one in return. Seriously, I have no clue.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait her out. She likes the buildup. The drama. My Mexican mother is where I get all my crazy, so I know how this goes.
“We called you, Tori. Your sister says we haven’t called, but we have.” I start to shake my head, but she cuts me off. “¿Por qué me dices que no?”
Why do you tell me I haven’t?
I pull out my phone and wave it around. “Maybe because I have this thing called a phone, and it never rings with calls from you. Either of you.”
Not sure why being around them makes me whine like a teenager, but two minutes at this table with them has me crawling out of my skin with anxiety. At Ethan’s, I’m all cool, calm, and collected, but seated next to my parents and sister, I’m the fucking basket case everyone thinks I am.
I’m twenty-three. I shouldn’t care that my parents don’t call me. I sooo get that. But I care. More than I want to admit.
“You guys didn’t really drive from Corpus to argue about this, did you?” I shift in my seat, wondering why today of all days they’re here.
“No,” my dad interjects. “We wanted to make sure Katherine’s nursery was all set up.”
A part of me is disappointed they’re not here for me, but I nod. I get it. They adore my sister. Hell, I adore my sister. She’s why I considered working for Ethan in the first place. It makes sense my parents would want to check on Kat since she’s so pregnant.
My mom digs into her purse. I sit back, knowing it could take a while before she ever finds what she’s looking for in there. Toothpicks, antacids, a sewing kit, an extra shoe lace, mints. All shit she lines up on the table in her search at the bottom of the faux leather bag.
Then she waves her tiny red flip phone. “Mira. Aquí.” Look. Here. With the speed of a turtle, she opens it, turns it on, and waits for the device to light up. Finally, she holds it to my face. Like, right to my face so I have to lean back to actually read the screen.
I see my name and my number.
I blink a few times.
Huh.
“Um. Mom. That’s my old number.”
She makes a face. It’s the See, I’m right. As usual face.
“What? I told you I changed it last spring.” She lifts an eyebrow that warns me I’m going to hell if I lie to my santa madre. “I left you guys a message. Swear to God.”
“Don’t swear.” She crosses herself, likely making a mental note to say a rosary for her heathen daughter this Sunday at church.
My sister snickers across the table, and we all turn to her.
“Aww, you guys! I’m just so happy we’re together. We should do this more often. I love having you in one place.” Tears well in her eyes. Oh, Jesus. No.
I sigh, feeling too wrung out to get emotional right now. Ethan’s court date is the day after tomorrow, and I’m on pins and needles for him. I can’t get all worked up in my family’s version of a telenovela.
Needing to switch gears, I blurt out an apology. “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry I said you didn’t call. You obviously did.”
All three heads swivel around, their eyes wide as they stare at me like I’m a monkey in a zoo exhibit, scratching its ass, about to throw a turd.
I shrug, wanting this weird moment over so we can get back to talking about how my cousins are spoiled or my aunts are gossips or whatever. Anything but this. “You’re right. I could’ve called you guys too. I probably should have.” I’m a brat. I know this. But I’m the baby of the family, and sometimes I need love too, damn it. “So yeah. Sorry.”
After a long minute, my mom blinks a satisfied smile, and my dad leans over to hug me. “You look good, chiquita.”
Smiling at my childhood nickname, Little One, I hug him back. “You too, Pops.” I pat his round stomach. “Enjoying Mom’s cooking, I see.”
He chuckles. “How’s the farm? Your sister tells me you’re working for a nice family.”
My eyes catch Kat’s and I tilt my head, wondering at my father’s meaning of the word ‘family.’ Does he think I’m working for a married couple or does he know it’s a single dad? I figured my sister would’ve told him all the details.
“It’s a great family.” I sound like the freaking Frosted Flakes tiger, but why spill the beans now if they’re under the wrong assumption?
Is this why Kat picked me up this morning and told our parents we’d meet them at the diner? She wanted to avoid them meeting Ethan? Avoid them seeing my living situation?
“¿Y la esposa?” My mother sips her coffee, her expression not giving me a hint of what she wants to know.
Is the wife… what?
I look to Kat for a clue here, but she’s too busy gorging on the omelet the waitress set down in front of her to notice my distress.
Come on, Kat!
She’s chowing down, making these hungry sounds like she’s starving to death.
Meanwhile, my stomach gurgles, from acid reflux or some kind of ulcer, and I press a sweaty palm to my belly.
Fuck it. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
I glance between my parents. “You know they’re divorced, right? That I work for a single dad and his brother?”
Based on the shock on my dad’s face and the horror on my mother’s, they did not know.
Folding my hands in front of me, I wait for the apocalypse to rain down on my head. It’s a position I’m used to in my family. Because this is what I do. I screw up.
Kat finally pauses in her race to fend off starvation and waves a fork at us.
“Ethan is awesome. I told you guys,” she says around a mouth full of food. “He’s good friends with Brady, and he pays his taxes, and he’s an awesome dad.”
That’s your argument? That he pays his taxes?
Where has my sister gone? The one who could argue the devil out of his due?
The bell over the front door jingles, and goosebumps break out on my arms. It’s the most insane thing ever that as I look up, I already know Ethan is here. He’s strolling up with his daughter.
My first reaction is the one I always have when I see him. Elation. The same feeling I got as a kid when I’d daydream one day my parents would win the Lotto and buy me a pony.
When our eyes connect and his lips tilt up, I swear I hear that old time-y song my parents love by Frank Sinatra about flying to the moon.
Or maybe it’s playing on the overhead speakers. Whatever. The important thing is Ethan Carter is mine, and booyeah, baby, I’m fucking psyched!
But then I remember we’re not alone.
That soaring sensation of being batshit crazy about him takes a steep nosedive as I quickly tabulate all the things that can go wrong when he meets my family.
Sweet Jesus. I’m so sorry I haven’t been to church in ten thousand years!
A gurgle bubbles up in my gut.
What is it they say? When it rains, it pours? Here comes the deluge. I brace myself for my parents to lose their shit. At least our brunch will be memorable despite the hole in my stomach lining.
When my sister called this morning and asked if I could join her for an hour, Ethan said he and Logan could watch the kids, that I’d earned a reprieve from the ranch. I hadn’t known my parents were lurking to ambush me, just that Kat wanted to grab something to eat.
Had I known, I might’ve mentioned something to prepare him in case he randomly decided he needed to come to the Lone Star diner in the middle of a work day.
He’s holding Mila’s hand as she skips toward us. They’re so freaking cute together. Pretty sure the people next to us hear my ovaries explode and splat on the floor.
“Hey, babe.” The smile on his face makes my insides somersault. I smile back, likely looking dumb and in love, but he gives me all the damn feels. What am I supposed to do? Be a robot?
My parents look slowly between us, like they’re trying to gauge, one, if Ethan is a serial killer; two, if he really pays his taxes; and three, if we’re sleeping together.
No, yes, and definitely.
When my father’s searching gaze reaches mine, my smile fades, and I cough. “Mom, Dad, this is Ethan Carter. My, um… my, uh, boss.”
God, that doesn’t sound right, though technically it is. But I can’t exactly put an asterisk by that statement and add he makes me want to spawn and have his babies. That’s not brunch-appropriate.
I’ve never brought a guy home to meet my parents. Never ever. I saw how they gave Brady the nth degree when he was trying to get Kat on the love lockdown. I didn’t want any part of that drama.
Ethan glances down at his shoes, a brief but shy smile on his face like he knows I have no clue how to do this, and then he reaches over and gives each of my parents a friendly handshake.
In my head, I’m yelling for him to ignore everything we say at this table. Every. Thing. We. Say. And that he should run far, far away before this conversation goes to shit. Because it will.
My father is in the middle of taking a drink of his coffee when Mila leans up on the table, gives us a wide grin, and declares, “Tori is Daddy’s girlfriend. They have sex.”
Oh, holy fuckadoodle.
Well, that was fast.
40
Ethan
There comes a time in every man’s life where you think you can’t be easily embarrassed anymore. That you’re grown up enough to withstand whatever trivial things life might throw your way.
Your baby puking on you? No biggie.
Your son peeing in your face during a diaper change? Gross, but not the end of the world.
Your child pooping straight through his diaper and your jeans too? Survivable.
But your kid saying whatever crazy thing enters her brain at any given moment? That I had not taken into account.
For instance, take my child, the cute one with the delighted smile on her face. My tiny intercontinental ballistic missile dressed in pink is one hundred percent clueless that she just detonated the fuck outta any chance I had to get Tori’s parents to like me.
I didn’t realize that was who she was meeting up with this morning when her sister picked her up. Wasn’t even thinking this was where they went for breakfast or brunch or whatever this is. But Mila heard that Tori was going out to eat and asked if we could too. She looked up at me with those sad, puppy-dog eyes, and I couldn’t say no.
