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“I’m going on a road trip tomorrow. How about Thursday?”
She nods. “He can clean your house, wash your car, walk your dog—whatever you need.”
Zane’s nostrils flare. He reminds me of me when I was his age. I had an attitude problem, but my coaches worked it out of me. Maybe that’s what he needs, too.
“Can I get your number?” I ask Tess.
Zane narrows his eyes at me. That kid hates my guts, and I didn’t even do anything to him.
“So I can text you about when and where on Thursday,” I clarify, since Zane seems to think I’m hitting on his mom.
Not that I wouldn’t. She’s beautiful, and under different circumstances, I’d take a shot. It looks like she’s a single mom, though, and now that I’ve seen her kid, it feels different than meeting a stranger at a bar. It seems wrong somehow.
Fuck. Who am I? I’ve slept with moms, soon-to-be-divorced women, twins and even a few smoking-hot fortysomething grandmas. I don’t discriminate—I’ll slip the old Pringles can into just about any hot woman who wants me.
Tess definitely does not want me, though, so it doesn’t even matter. We exchange numbers and I call for an Uber, walking out to the curb to wait.
Even from that distance, I can hear her yelling at her kid once they’re back inside. I fight a smile, remembering getting lit up that way by my dad a time or twelve as a teenager.
Not only is Tess gorgeous, she’s a good mom. It’s a damn shame she hates my guts, because I’d like nothing more than to give her a night she’d never forget.
Chapter Four
Tess
* * *
“Those are real muscles, not the airbrushed ones. I wonder if he can make his...what’s the boob area called on men? Do you think he can make those move up and down?”
I glare at my sister from the kitchen sink. “Is that the benchmark now? You want a guy who can jiggle his pecs?”
She considers as she stirs the pot of pasta in boiling water on the stove. “I don’t know if jiggle is the right word, but yeah, I like a man who’s stronger than me.”
Cam won’t stop talking about Dom—or looking up photos of him online. One would think being abandoned by the father of her twins seven years ago and having three failed relationships since would have soured my younger sister on love, but one would be wrong.
“Mom, what’s another word for scary?” my eight-year-old nephew Sam asks from the kitchen table.
“Spooky?” Cam suggests. “Terrifying?”
“Do we have hamburger buns?” I ask absently.
Cam leans back to check the spot where we keep bread on the counter. “We have two.”
“Should we let the kids have a cage match for them? Losers use bread?”
“Obviously.”
I shape a hamburger patty in my hands, still thinking about the confrontation with Zane yesterday. It’s hard being a single mom, but Cam and I moved in together a couple of years ago to try to make it easier.
Now we have help from each other. Cam takes my twelve-year-old daughter Hannah to early morning school dance practices when I have to work. I take care of her twin boys Sam and Tate when she has class two evenings a week. And while the bills are a little lighter this way—we’re always able to cover the house payment and groceries—some things will just always be a struggle for two single moms. Our kids know there’s not much money for extras in our household, but it hurts my heart that my son stole money to pay our electric bill in an effort to lighten my load.
“It says here he’s the team’s comic relief. Always cracking jokes and playing pranks.”
Cam’s back on Dom again. Since I sent her that photo of him, she hasn’t let the subject drop. She’s been looking up photos and interviews of him, getting all starry-eyed like I’ve seen her do many times with men. I’ve got more important things to think about.
“I’m sure he thinks he’s hilarious,” I mutter.
She sighs softly. “Aw, he said in this interview last year that his parents have been married for thirty-eight years and he hopes to find the one someday, too.”
