Page 10 of Mother Pucker

My eyes connect with Dylan’s across the room, and I know she heard most of that conversation. With her homeschooling Kai, she’s gotten to know him well and has been urging me to let him explore the things he’s made several mentions of–particularly, skating and hockey–but I’ve been fighting it.

But something cracks inside me, seeing the look on his sullen face. This is not what Ajay would have wanted for him. He would have wanted his son to live, learn . . . thrive.

I’m just about to suggest that maybe I can find him a private skating instructor when there’s a loud knock on the door that draws all our attention.

Finn, Liv’s five-year-old son, rushes toward the sound with his Nerf gun, his purple tutu bouncing, ready to open fire on anyone on the other side.

“Finn! Come back here!” Liv yells after him. “What have I told you about opening doors for strangers?”

“To open it only when I have a gun in my hand!”

He’s almost at the door when Cortney catches him around his middle, picking him up so Finn’s feet swing in the air, trying to kick at him. “Pretty sure your mom would never say that.”

He puts Finn down, opening the door to a delivery man. He’s just finished signing for whatever has been delivered when Finn blasts the poor man with a few Nerf balls, laughing hysterically.

We hear Cortney apologize to the bewildered-looking delivery guy before carrying a small box inside. He raises a brow in my direction. “It’s for you.”

I point to my chest. “For me?”

“There’s a card with it,” Cortney adds, handing me the box and the card.

“What’s it say?” Delia asks, getting up from her spot in the living room.

I tentatively turn the thick black envelope in my hand, my eyes tracing my name in a surprisingly graceful script on the front.

Walking away from the kids with my best friends in tow, I read the card stuffed inside, while Dylan, Liv, and Delia curiously peek over my shoulders. They have no concept of privacy, these three.

Liv giggles. “Oh, he’s good. I hate to admit it, but you’re screwed. Pun intended.”

Delia gasps. “The nerve of this guy! He even put his address and number on the bottom. What a presumptuous A-hole!”

And Dylan gets an all too knowing smile on her face as if she predicted this.

I don’t need to open the box to know exactly what’s in it. And the initials of the gorgeous, albeit pompous, hockey player gives away who it’s from. The note says everything to clue us all in.

Thought I’d get you a replacement for the tool you keep inside your purse since you seem to have broken the other one . . . perhaps from overuse?

Say yes.

four

shay

“He’s just another patient.”I tell myself as I drive into the roundabout in front of the high-rise building Rowan Parker lives in a week later.

Broad men dressed in suits line the entrance of the building, along with the valets. They must be part of the security team for the celebrities who live here.

“He’s like all my other patients.” Just a tad more attractive, slightly taller, and well built. So what if he makes my vagina want to break out the party kazoos and confetti? I’m a mother and a professional, dammit! I refuse to be rattled by his finely-crafted ass and his plush, cushion-y lips.

I give my name and information to the valet before handing him my keys and heading up the short, white, marble stairs. My breaths feel caught inside my lungs as the doorman opens the enormous door, allowing me entrance into the modern lobby with a black-and-white checkerboard floor and opulent chandeliers.

My stomach does a somersault.

I’ve been inside a number of highrises back in San Francisco, but it’swhyandfor whomI’m here that has my stomach feeling topsy-turvy.

Scrubbing my hands down the front of my pants unnecessarily, I give myself a moment of reprieve before I walk to the front desk to check in.

The brunette gives me a wide smile before handing me an envelope. “This is your permanent keycard to the private elevators around the corner, Ms. Kumar, and your keys to Mr. Parker’s home. Feel free to come in and out of the building as you please. You no longer have to check in with us since you’re on Mr. Parker’s approved guest list.”

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