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As I put on my wrinkled outfit, Meghan approaches me, still naked. She stops right in front of me and rests her hand on my chest. Her eyes are filled with lust and desire. She might look sweet and innocent, but her personality is that of a sneaky, venomous snake. I've known Meghan for years. She's hooked up with Brian, and now she tries to weasel herself in my bed, too. Seeing her coming out of the shower and hearing her say we had a pleasant time together makes me sick to my stomach.
"Get your hands off me." I slap her hand from my chest and turn around, reaching into my pocket to grab my car keys and phone. As I move to open the bedroom door, her voice interrupts me.
"You're more fun when you're drunk, Nick Brown!"
I know better and cut her off by slamming the door behind me.
I rush down the hall quicker than if the devil were on my heels. The house is silent, and my footsteps are the only sound bouncing off the walls as I hurry to the front door. Brian must still be sleeping. I'll talk to him later.As I make my way outside, the fresh air fills my lungs, and reality hits me even more. Thankfully, my Porsche is still in the driveway.
Stepping inside my house,I slam the heavy door shut and throw my jacket on the chair as I stride to the stairs. In the bathroom, I grab a towel off the stacked pile, and as I wait for the shower to heat, I get naked and gaze into the mirror.
"You fucking messed up."
With messy hair and the smell of liquor emanating from my pores, I step into the shower and close my eyes—letting the water run over my face.
Why did I get drunk?
A heart-shaped face with chestnut-brown hair and forest-green eyes pops up in my mind. Emma. A week has passed since the auction, and she still hasn't called. It's driving me crazy. The whole week, her face occupied my dreams, and each time I woke up with a goddamn erection. My body wants her, but Cole's advice keeps circling in my head.
There's a kid involved. Be sure what you want before you act. You don't want to mess up the kid. What do I want?
I grab shower gel and try to rinse last night from my body and mind. The thought of me hooking up with Meghan makes me want to bang my head against the wall. After closing the tap, I wrap a towel around my waist and stroll into the bedroom, where I grab my wristwatch, throw on fresh clothes, and fix my hair.
Today is special. Once a month, we come together as a family. It's a tradition my mom created because we're all busy with our companies. I grab a jacket out of my closet and walk downstairs, where Emma crosses my mind once again.
Why isn't she calling me? Did I mess up that badly?I contemplate as I grab the car keys I left on the side table by the front door and leave the house.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the driveway of my parents’ house. A natural smile surfaces on my lips as I tread over the lawn to the side of the building. The fragrance of fresh-cut grass combined with sweet flowers relaxes me as memories of my youth surface. I had a great childhood here—countless times of sneaking out of this house late to go to parties. A broken arm doing stunts on my bicycle out back drift by. I even had my first kiss here. This house has a history, and I love coming back to visit.
I peek through the window, and I grin, seeing my mother fluttering in the kitchen. She has baked something. My mother always tries to bake, but mostly, she ends up with an inedible creation.
"Hey, Mom," I say, as I enter the kitchen. She turns around upon hearing my voice, and her eyes go from doubtful to happy.
"Nick." She grins.
As she hurries towards me, I can't help but return the smile. She wears an apron with the text “Martha Stewart wannabe.” Her light brown hair is up in a messy bun, and there's flour dusting her locks while her dark-blue eyes are full of a mother's love. She hugs me and kisses me on the cheek.
"What did you make, Mom?" I ask, and she spins and wanders back to her creation. I follow and laugh when I glance at the cake with multiple cracks.
She places a hand on her hip and gives me a side glance. "Nick Brown, are you laughing at me?"
"I wouldn't dare, Mom. You know I have your genes for baking."
She snorts and clasps a hand to her forehead.
"I don't know what I did wrong this time. This recipe should have been a piece of cake."
I laugh at her remark as she breaks off a piece of the cake and holds it in front of me.
"Try it."
I examine the slice my mom holds in front of me and reluctantly open my mouth. I chew, and for a moment, it's not that bad, but that changes as its immense dryness and lack of flavor take over.
Impressively, it seems to expand in my mouth despite my efforts to chew. I hurry towards the corner of the kitchen, open the garbage can, and spit it out. At the same time, the door opens, and Amanda walks in.
"Ah, you saved me by turning up earlier." She points to the cake and laughs at my disgusted expression.
"Next time it's your turn, Amanda," my mom says. "One day, I will achieve my goal and bake a delicious cake."
