Page 5

I returned to the kitchen in the hopes that cleaning would convey I was unbothered by Ozzie’s presence. When he descended the steps, I grabbed a hand towel and pretended to fold it.

“It smells good in here.” Ozzie settled into the doorway of the kitchen, his burly frame blocking the light from the hall. His style hadn’t changed since we’d dated. He was still sporting a neutral-colored T-shirt, dark-wash denim, and a Carhartt jacket. To be fair, the look worked on him, so there wasn’t much need for an update.

“They’re having a classroom party at Maple’s school tomorrow, so I made some cupcakes,” I said.

“What kind did you make?”

“Carrot, I just need to frost them.”

“I didn’t know kids liked carrot cupcakes.”

“Maple likes them.”

“So, you’re basing your cupcake selection on a child who just a year ago was eating dirt.”

“It was a one-time thing and she was curious.” I would not accept any Maple slander.

Ozzie entered the kitchen, his head on a swivel.

“Can I help you?” I inched farther into the kitchen and away from him.

“I’m just admiring the place. I like the backsplash.” He pointed to the blue tiles that had been up for over a year. I could always tell when he wanted something because he’d make small talk. Strange weather we’re having. Did you hear about the Abbotts’ mare?

“What do you want?”

“Why do I have to want anything? Can’t a guy just catch up?”

“If it doesn’t pertain to Maple, you and I have nothing to catch up about.”

Ozzie took in a breath of air. “Maple’s dead to the world.”

“I know it, I watched you carry her to bed.”

“Every week you play this same game, like we both don’t know where it’s going to lead.”

“Hopefully with the door closing behind you.”

“Why are you so difficult?” He reached for one of my locs, and I smacked his hand away.

“Why are you so easy and predictable?” I said. Ozzie rounded the corner of the kitchen table and thoroughly invaded my personal space. “I told you it was never happening again.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks. But every Sunday night you end up getting stretched out by me.”

My face flushed. I hated this man. Ozzie Palmer was like an upset stomach on a long flight. A bee sting that, when scratched, only got worse. Like walking up a steep hill only to realize you forgot your basket when you reached the top.

He was also the father of my child. If you saw him from across a crowded bar after a few drinks, it would make sense. He was tall, and with me clocking in at five feet, nine inches and all muscle, he made me feel dainty. And he could carry my weight—I’m talking upstairs, into trucks, and over his dick. But if you spent any time talking to him, you’d question my judgment. In my defense, I was lonely and each time he fucked me it felt like physical therapy. He’d crack my back and have me walking funny for days after. His dick and how he wielded it was my weakness. No one made me feel as good as Ozzie did… or as bad.

My hand landed on his silver belt buckle, and I aggressively unlatched it. I didn’t have to look at his face to know he was staring down at me with indignation. I’d been lying for weeks, each time promising it was the last time, only for him to bend me over the kitchen table, the couch, the stair rails. When I unzipped his pants and pushed my hand into his boxer briefs, I was greeted by the thickest fucking dick I’d ever had the pleasure of sucking.

“Look how hard you’ve got me.”

“Don’t talk, you cocky son of a bitch.”

“If I go mute, how am I going to tell you how good you feel while I’m inside you?”

A shiver trilled up my spine. I wanted that so bad. To hear how good it was and for him to call me his talented girl. Ozzie leaned forward like he was going in for a kiss on the mouth. I immediately halted his advance with a stiff arm to the chest.

“Don’t worry, Suga. I remember the drill. No kissing on the lips.”