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“Absolutely. Now, go inside before I decide to throw you in the bed of my truck and haul you back to my house. I don’t think your father would be pleased if I kidnapped his grown daughter.”
He slaps me playfully on the ass. I step away, and he turns his head, his attention on the car parked in front of my parents’ house.
“Why is Tyler’s car here?”
I look at the Benz seated on my street, pretending it belongs there. “Remember I told you dinner was coming to me? Tyler and Izzy picked up food on their way home from her appointment.”
“You didn’t mention Tyler.”
“Well, he’s not here for my pleasure. The kids are ecstatic. Trust me when I tell you, I don’t want the man in my house. He just decided to take over my evening like a bat out of hell, and now, I have to go inside and play Steve Harvey while pretending he didn’t leave me, divorced and—”
“Come here.” He holds out his hand, and I take it, letting his warmth draw me close. “You don’t have to explain. I’m not jealous.”
I drop my jaw and place a splayed hand over my chest, feigning insult. “Not even a little?”
“I’m pissed he gets to have dinner with you, but I’m not jealous because I think he’s going to win you over in any way.”
“How can you be so sure?” I challenge playfully.
He runs a hand over my hair and plays with the ends. “Because one of us left you brassy and the other made you blonde.”
A slow, sexy groan crawls up from deep in my belly. “Man, do you know how to sweet-talk a woman.” Leaning forward, I give him a final quick kiss and step away. “I have to get inside. My five minutes are up.”
“Night, babe.”
I rush down the sidewalk. I’m an adult woman and a sexually renewed one at that. That is, until I stand on the front path of my childhood home and see the dining room curtain pulled back, and suddenly, I feel like a sullen teenager about to get in trouble with my ex-husband for sneaking into my own house when he wasn’t even invited over.
twenty-three
AS I ROLL OVERin bed, my bones are sore, and my body feels used and abused.
I sit up in complete darkness until I realize I’m wearing one of those furry sleep masks. I put it on when I got in last night at three in the morning after working a dream wedding with an extensive breakdown. Jillian and I had crawled out of the venue, along with the two assistants we had hired for the day, and vowed to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
I lift my mask and see the bright Sunday sunshine pouring through my window, so I put the mask back on and crash back to my bed. I’m about to fall back asleep when the aroma of coffee and the crackling sounds of a sizzling pan pique my interest.
Sitting up, I lift the mask again and look at the time. It’s ten in the morning. Dad should be at the gym for his workout and swim. After which he goes to the diner for breakfast with his friends, and then he plays billiards until two, at which time he’ll come home for a nap, play the piano, and then start a Sunday sauce for the kids to enjoy when they get home from Tyler’s. Got to love a man with a routine.
Confused by what could have kept Dad from his morning, I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, groan at my haggard appearance, and then saunter downstairs. When I get to the kitchen, I’m shocked by the sight in front of me.
Will is in my kitchen. White T-shirt, whisk, and moving about in all his brawny glory.
He’s drinking from a coffee cup while flipping pancakes and listening to Harry Styles on the Bluetooth. His head shakes while he dances, and my heart is a freaking earthquake at the sight of him being here.
As well as utterly perplexed.
“I thought I was the one with the penchant for breaking and entering?”
Will looks up, and there’s the smolder. If I didn’t love this house so much, I’d worry he was going to torch it to the ground with the way he’s staring at me.
I lean back in wonder. I’m wearing my cappuccino pajama bottoms and his oversize sweatshirt, and I still have a sleep mask on my head like a headband. One would think I was wearing a sexy cocktail dress with fishnets and stilettos with the way his eyes darken, threatening to turn me into a melted puddle of tired goo.
“Morning.” He puts his cup down and removes the pancakes from the pan, plating them and sliding it onto the countertop. “Your dad let me in before he left. He told me not to wake you until after ten or you’d bite my head off and suggested the best way to do so was by putting on the coffeepot. When I told him I brought pancakes, he called me wise, told me I was a good man, and suggested I not do anything tawdry in his house while he was gone.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve been here since seven?”
“I was excited to start my Sunday.” His grin warms my belly. “I like you in my sweatshirt.”
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t worn it every day since you gave it to me in the jail cell.”
