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My mother just waves me away like it’s no big deal.
But it is a big deal, and I’m constantly worrying about her. I wish there were some other way, but she’s so damn independent, and I know she’ll never accept me getting her some help around the house. I’d have her move in with me in an instant, but I’m hardly ever home. I’m always touring, or rehearsing, or recording, so that would completely defeat the purpose.
And besides, I know she’d never leave this house. This is her home. This is the home she raised me in, the same home my father passed away in from a heart attack when I was just eight years old.
“I’m fine, Reed,” she says, frowning slightly.
I think I might have just embarrassed her in front of Brinley. I’ll apologize later.
“Stop fussing.” She takes a bowl of green salad to the table and places it down beside the rolls. “Maybe you could play something for us after dinner, Brinley? I’m sure Reed still has an old guitar in his bedroom. I’d love to hear you play.”
“Oh, uh –”
“Just a few bars. It doesn’t have to be something new. I know how you musician types are. Reed here is such a perfectionist. He never lets me hear anything he’s working on until it’s so polished you can practically see your reflection in it.”
Brinley smiles. “Okay, sure.”
I can tell she’s not entirely convinced, and I know where she’s coming from, because I’m suddenly not entirely convinced this is a good idea either.
Brinley
Istill can’t believe he talked me into coming to his mother’s house for dinner.Fucker.I should have known he was playing with me.
I should have known he was trying to win me over with… what?
The sympathy card?
Yes, that’s exactly what this is. He’s trying to make me feel sorry for him.
And the kicker is, he might just have succeeded, because damn it all to hell if seeing his perfectly sweet mother shuffling around her house on one leg doesn’t tug at the heartstrings.
Reed’s mother reminds me a lot of my own mother, so nurturing it makes my eyes swell with tears, and her hugs. Good Lord. The woman hugs like she does it for a living.
After we finish eating, I help Ruth clear away the dishes, and then I stand at the small sink and wash and dry the dishes for her while Reed puts them away in the cupboard.
Ruth heads into the living room, and I glare at Reed when I know she’s no longer in sight.
The smug bastard has the audacity to smirk at me.
“Something the matter, Tink?”
He leans in a couple of times, feigning the need to put a plate away in the cupboard right behind me, but when the back of his hand brushes gently against my ass cheeks, the throbbing between my legs intensifies, and I have to look away for fear he might actually see what his touch does to me.
He’s so damn cocky.
A warm tremor rolls through my body, and he smirks again, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.
Well, guess what? Two can play that game.
An evil plan forms in my mind.
With soapy hands, I grip the base of a rolling pin, sliding my fingers up and down the sides. I wait until I notice Reed’s eyes fall to my wet hands, and then I roll my thumb over the rounded end, in a circular pattern, before flicking my thumb over the very tip.
Reed sucks in a sharp breath.
Then I slide my entire hand back and forth along the sides of the rolling pin again, a sudsy, wet, erotic simulation, and I know I’m getting to him when I hear him groan, low and dirty.
His eyes stay glued to the lazy rhythm of my hand. He leans in closer, his taut muscles hard against my arm. My strokes get longer, smoother, as I glance in his direction.
