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My twenty-one-year-old son, Dillon, spent most of his time either working at a job he’d had every summer since his freshman year of college, or he was with his girlfriend, Paige, out in Brooklyn where she lived. So I rarely saw him.
Jacob, on the other hand, was another story. He preferred to stay close to home, particularly when his father traveled. And any girlfriends he had, he’d rather bring them home rather than spend his time at their places. He’d said he preferred to “freak them” in his own backyard. So basically he was telling me he was screwing his fast-assed girlfriends right here under my nose. My sons were very open—sometimes a bit too open—with me about their sexual conquests. Still, some things I simply didn’t need to know, or hear.
Anyway, this particular day, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I heard the alarm chirp, alerting that the front door had been opened. A few moments later, I heard, “Hey, Mrs. Lang.” It was Kyree. He and Jacob have been friends since second grade so he was like family, and pretty much always had free rein to come in and out without ringing the doorbell. Truthfully, he was practically like one of my own sons.
He walked into the kitchen where I was standing at the sink, washing a pot. I could feel his gaze on my back, my ass, my legs.
I craned my neck and smiled. “Oh, hey, Kyree.”
He grinned as he stalked over wearing a V-neck tee and a pair of green camouflage cargo pants—one leg rolled up showing his bulging, heart-shaped calf—with a pair of wheat Timberland boots.
I tried not to stare at the way his T-shirt clung to his barreled chest or the way his biceps bulged under his sleeves as he made his way over and kissed me on the cheek.
“Dang. You smell good,” he said, mischief glinting in his eye. “You’re making me hungry,” he said low and sexy for only me to hear.
I playfully rolled my eyes, waving him on. “Boy, stop. It isn’t me that has you hungry. It’s that barbecue chicken you smell baking in the oven.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s you, for real. You smell real nice, Mrs. Lang.” He paused, looking me over. “You always do.”
The only thing I could do to keep from swooning was, smile and let the compliment float over my head. Kyree was known for always flattering me and for being flirty, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He’d been that way since he was around eleven, twelve. His mother and I would always joke how he was going to be a real ladies man, and a heartbreaker. And from what I’d witnessed over the years, he’d slowly become just that.
Still…
When he was younger, his flirting was harmless. Cute. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore. He was a young man growing into a man’s body. He was bold. And direct. And knew what he wanted. His seductive charm was borderline cannibalistic. Untamed. Dangerous.
God help me, but I was enjoying it. I was enjoying him.
I swallowed back the rising thoughts of what he’d look like without his clothes on, of what it’d feel like with him between my legs. “How’s Carla?” I asked, changing the subject to something safe.
He gave me a puzzled look. “Who?”
“Your girlfriend.” I dried my hands on a towel, turning to face him.
“Oh, Kara. I gave her the boot.”
“Oh.” I smiled, shaking my head. He and Jacob were both notorious for showcasing a girl for a few months, sometimes for only a few weeks, before replacing her with someone cuter or hotter. Most times it was hard to keep up. It was always a revolving door of different girls. “She seemed like a nice girl.”
He shrugged, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and taking a seat. He stretched his long legs out, crossing his size fourteens at the ankles. “She was aiight, I guess. Just not for me.”
I tilted my head. “Oh?”
“Yeah, she was too young-minded. Young girls bore me. I can’t relate to ’em. And most of ’em can’t handle me.”
I bit into my bottom lip, trying to control my breathing.
“I need me a woman. Someone with lots of experience.”
I swallowed, hard.
His lips curled up into a slow, sexy grin as his eyes skimmed over my body. This particular afternoon, I was wearing a short white skirt with a pink tank top that had WORLD’S SEXIEST MOM scrawled across the front in silver glitter. Toes painted pink, my pedicured feet were in a pair of sandals.
You couldn’t tell me shit. I knew I was the world’s sexiest mom alive. Hell, even my sons knew it, hence why they’d picked out the shirt I had on and bought it for me. But, then, would be ready to punch someone’s admiring eyes shut for staring too long.
“Besides,” he added, giving me a lingering look that made my skin tingle, “older women are real sexy to me.”
I smiled, swiping a strand of hair from out of my face.
“Well, dating an older woman is every young man’s fantasy. So I’m sure you’ll have no problem snaring you a few cougars.”
