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Grant eyeballs me weirdly. “Are you feeling okay?”
I don’t blame him for asking. I’m pretty feverish between my legs. Wanna take my temperature? I swear the offer is shining openly in my eyes.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Suspicion draws his brows together. “You look flushed.”
“It’s hot in here.”
He glances at the digital thermostat on the wall. “The AC is set at sixty-nine.”
He had to say 69? The man is diabolical. A fine mist of sweat breaks out on my forehead and down my back. I’m back sweating now. Terrific. “Whatever. You want pizza or not?”
His face puckers at my snappy comeback. “Man, you’re in a mood tonight. Yes, I’ll have pizza.”
“Grant, will you play Madden with me?”
“Maybe Grant has stuff to do, Sam. You can’t expect––”
“Yes, I wanna play,” he answers, cutting me off by wrapping his arm around my neck and covering my mouth with his massive hand.
Sam giggles, and as my gaze meets Grant’s, his lids grow lazy, dragged down by what is indisputable lust. Whatever issues he had about us before he flew to L.A., he has most definitely left them there because he’s not even trying to disguise his desire.
A shiver zips up my back while we continue to stare at each other, exchanging silent promises. He brushes his fingers ever so gently over my lips and it’s like my hormones shove reason and intellect over a cliff and take over. I stick my tongue out and lick him. His eyes widen and his breath catches. I smile as his palm peels away.
You play with fire, buddy. You get the tongue.
He pulls me closer, our bodies side by side, touching from hip to shoulder and a strange, electric sensation skates over me. I haven’t felt this alive, this energized in…well, never. It’s then I realize that I’m the one playing with fire.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Sam for the millionth time. Tomorrow he leaves with Ronan for Malibu and I don’t know who’s more nervous––me or Sam.
After we ate pizza and Grant told us about his trip––minus the part where I went haywire with jealousy––Sam hugged him goodnight before coming upstairs to get ready for bed. I nearly expired from the sight alone, biting the inside of my cheek to stem the tears. Which are becoming hella inconvenient. Seems all I do these days is cry.
“Yeah, I guess…Dad said he would teach me how to play drums.” He tugs on his ear, expression pensive. Like he’s not sure how to feel about it.
I place another stack of colorful underwear in his luggage while he pets Roxy’s head and watches me from his spot on the bed.
He started calling Ronan, Dad, last week and I haven’t discussed it with him in fear it would make him feel self-conscious and possibly cause him to stop.
“Are you excited about it?” I ask while crossing the room to delve into the dresser for his t-shirts.
“Kind of…I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”
“Honey, you won’t know unless you try.”
“Yeah, but what if I’m not good and Dad…” He tugs on his ear again. “Then maybe Dad won’t want to spend time with me anymore.”
My poor heart. I’m going to need a transplant if it keeps getting abused like this.
Taking a deep breath, I squash the sting in my chest and begin, “Sweet love––” Dropping the clothes in his bag, I sit next to him and pull him onto my lap so he’s straddling me. With his face cradled in my hands, I meet him eye to eye.
“You are perfect the way you are. You don’t have to do anything to make your dad love you or like you. You’re part of us. We will love you no matter what. And your dad likes you already. Why do you think he’s so excited to bring you to his home?”
The doubt on Sam’s face shifts to curiosity. “He’s trying real hard for you to like him. That’s why he wants to teach you the drums. He’s scared you won’t think he’s cool.”
“I think he’s cool,” my sweet, sweet child murmurs.
“But he doesn’t know that.” The clouds part in Sam’s stormy gray eyes, the same eyes as his father’s. “Always remember that he wants you. He pestered and pestered me until I let him spend time with you.”
I tickle his sides and he smiles. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Sam mumbles. He nods and I slide him off my lap.
“Let’s finish packing so you can get to bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”
By the time I walk into my bedroom, it’s around midnight. The table light is on and there’s a man in my bed. Stopping at the threshold, I lean against the frame and take in the view.
Hand tucked behind his head, bicep bulging, ankles crossed. My eyes slow-crawl from his bare feet up the delineated lines of his quads and over the erection growing in his underwear. The one stretching the fabric within an inch of its integrity. He has got to be the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on, bar none. He is literally a walking perfect DNA bank.
