Page 45 of Second Chance

“Mati’s not broken,” I defend, and then I reconsider. “Does she need money? Are finances bad since Chris…” The words fall away like the leaves of the trees at my back. Does Mati need help?

“Mati doesn’t need money,” Cora snorts with a humorless laugh. “She needs a man.” Her eyes roam down my body, with no shame in pausing at my zipper region and then rolling back up my ripped abs.

“I’m man enough,” I snap, my voice strengthening in defense. What the hell is she implying?

“Then I suggest you get fixing.” One brow raises like I’m to understand her. I shake my head, dismissing her with a chuckle. Mati doesn’t need mending. She’s always been tough. She doesn’t need a man, either. She made that clear the other night. Or maybe it’s just me. It doesn’t matter. I’m not giving into Mati unless she sees me and not some substitute for Chris. The other night she was pretending, like me, until her guilt caught up to her. Guilt for a man she’s still hung up on, and I don’t blame her. Chris was her husband. He was a great guy.

“What’s going on out here?” Mati questions, her voice too high, her eyes laced with red. Has she been crying? I’ve never seen Mati cry. Not that I can remember.

Then a memory returns.

“Why can’t I come with you?” Tears stream down her face. Of all the hurts we caused one another, not going on the road trip was the one that forced the crocodile tears to plop down her cheeks.

Because of Chris, I screamed in my head, but don’t give her the truthful answer.

“I’m raking leaves,” I say, stating the obvious and tensing my fingers around the rake handle. Mati stops at the sound of my voice, her feet tripping in the grass.

“I…my…you…” She closes her gaping mouth, licks her lips, then swallows. Her eyes remain magnetized to my skin. Over my abs, up my chest, down one arm at a time. I’m exposed to her in a new way. Not like she hasn’t seen my bare chest before—as a teen—but as a man, Mati’s mesmerized. Her chest rises and falls as her eyes widen and dilate. My skin quivers, rippling under the desire I observe in those eyes.

Her body definitely hasn’t gotten the memo. She wants me.

To tease her further, I rub a hand down my chest, taking my time brushing off sweat mixed with bits and pieces of leaves clinging to my skin. I lower my palm, flattening it over my belly until I get to my waistband. I tug at my belt, adjusting myself only enough, so my dick unfurls, and the bulge isn’t undisguised. My body likes Mati perusing me.

“Mati,” Cora snaps, and we both jump with the sharpness of her voice, the motherly sound like we’ve been caught doing something, like making out.

I want to make out with her.

I want to make love to her.

I’m not even startled by my thoughts. I’ve felt this way since I was fourteen. Thirty-one goddamn years later, I still feel the same way, and it frustrates the fuck out of me. I drop the rake, ready to take her. Kiss the crap out of her and lay her down in the pile of leaves. But we have an audience, so I do the next best thing. I scoop up a handful of dead foliage and toss it in Mati’s face. She sputters and coughs, her fingers swiping at her tongue as her gaping mouth got a taste of dried leaves.

“You didn’t.” She shakes her head, eyes narrowing, challenge accepted. Leaves fly at me, missing my chest and making a mess of the collection it took me an hour to rake.

I scoop up another handful and take two steps toward her. She tries to duck, but I’m quick, scrubbing leaves in her hair as she squeals. One hand protects her face while the other sticks out, trying to keep me at arm’s length, trying to fight me off. Mati humorously screeches, and I’m transported back in time. Teenage games. Fall between our yards. Laughter. Then she snorts. This adds to her fit and Cora joins the laughter.

“Think that’s funny,” I say, scooping up a pile for Cora and her too polished face, too perfect hair. She screams as she runs, but I lunge, catching her, and sticking leaves down the back of her shirt.

Another round hits me in the back, some sticking to me as I’m sweaty. I turn to face Mati, who stands with both hands over her mouth. She cocks a hip, emphasizing her short jean shorts which I missed as she stood in my grandmother’s hall.

“Oops,” she teases, all false innocence. She turns her back, and I catch her around the waist before she gets away. My hand, full of leaves, heads for the front of her sweater, sneaking in the loose opening and traveling downward. I drop the leaves and cover a breast with a thick palm. Several things happen at once. Mati curls back, her ass hitting the hard-on at my zipper and the response causes me to nip at her exposed neck.

“Don’t be a tease, Spice,” I whisper at her ear until another pile of leaves tumbles over my head. I’m in a tug of war—both women vying for my attention—or at least getting a kick out of covering me with fallen foliage. Releasing Mati, I turn for Cora. I’m bending at the waist for more leaves when Cora screams.

“What?” I ask, standing upright, staring at her pained expression. Liquid fills her eyes.

“I think I was just stung by a bee.”

“Where?” I step forward, feeling Mati at my side.

“My back.”

“Are you allergic?”

“I don’t think so,” she says, and I don’t waste time. Quickly, I drop the leaves from my dirty hands, bend again, and scoop Cora unceremoniously over my shoulder. I carry her into the house, feeling the weight of Mati’s eyes stinging my back instead.