Page 16 of Mother Pucker

“And keep the gift.” I wink at her. “Just call me the next time you take it out for a spin.”

Her eyes sharpen on me, but this time, her smile stays put. “There won’t be a next time because there wasn’t even a first time.”

“Uh huh, sure there wasn’t,” I deadpan, knowing she is a bold-faced liar. “Now, if you’re ready, Doc, I’d like you to show me the other exercises you’d like to watch me do so you can ogle my ass like the hungry she-wolf you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but a small giggle leaves her lips.Holy shit! A giggle just left her lips! Dare I ask . . . is this progress?!

“Your ego needs its own zip code, Mr. Parker.” She pulls the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth as if contemplating her next words. “I do have one request before we continue.”

“Name it,” I say without hesitation.

She pulls out a small Boston Bolts jersey from her purse with my name and number on the back of it, along with a Sharpie. “Will you sign Kai’s jersey? He’d be beyond the moon about it.”

I swallow, taking the material in my hand. I hadn’t quite processed the fact that I’m her son’s–and her late husband’s–favorite player, though I told her I was honored. And as true as those words were, my chest suddenly feels constricted.

I place the jersey on the bench and sign the back of it before handing it back to her. But before she can take it, I pull it back and hear myself say something I never thought I would. “Would the two of you like to come to the first season game at our arena next week? I have a couple of family and friends tickets.”

Her eyes bounce against mine again, her gears turning for a long moment. “You know what? We’d love to.”

I grin. “Now what was it you were saying about these so-called ‘raccoons’ that live inside your ‘chimney’?” I put air quotes around the significant words. “I’m happy to ‘sweep’ your ‘chimney’ whenever you need, Doc. Just say the word.”

six

shay

I stareup at the exposed wood beams and metal pipes in the ceiling over my bed, cradled in shadows. Only the dimmest light flutters in through my window from the streetlamp outside, revealing the side of my dresser and the framed picture I keep atop it of Ajay and Kai.

I try not to think about whether I managed to dust enough to get all the residue from the rafters above. God knows how long it’s been there, given how ancient this house is.

It was one of the first things I did when Kai and I moved into the brownstone–clean my room, along with the one he shares with Liam from top to bottom. I wanted to take zero chances breathing any kind of toxicity into our lungs.

Unfortunately, there was no other way to position the bed so it wasn’t directly under the gaping hole, and after trying at least five different ways, I gave up.

Truth be told, I no longer hate the gaping hole. Somewhere in the midst of living here, it’s become a familiar sight, surprisingly soothing and welcome. What isn’t welcome? The loud vibration inside the walls, complete with some strange squealing, whenever someone flushes the toilet above us.

I turn to my side, squishing my pillow under me to get more comfortable, and look at the window Delia had to get replaced recently. I can’t help but chuckle, thinking about the impetus for it from the summer.

Dylan had asked the kids to paint over the old windows, and they’d gone to town with their creation. To no one’s surprise, Kai painted hockey sticks in the dining room. But it was Finn’s vision of a tree that did Beckett in. It looked like . . . well, it looked like a penis, and it made Beckett lose his shit. He said he wouldn’t be caught living in a house with dicks on the windows.

I’d been tempted to ask, “What about living in a house with a billionaire dickbehindthe window?” But I refrained since said billionaire also got Delia a big discount on the windows since he “knew a guy”.

A voice in my head says I hadn’t just refrained because of that; I’d refrained because I’ve actually started liking the guy. Sure, he’s grumpy and high-maintenance, but below the dickish persona is a man who loves my best friend dearly, and who I’ve started to consider a friend. I’ll never tell him that, though. No need to inflate that substantial ego.

And speaking of substantial egos . . .

Another smile forms on my lips as I think about my interaction with Rowan yesterday. I should hate that he’s so relentless and pushy. That he finds ways to make me smile, even when I’m determined not to. And that everything about him–from his involvement in a dangerous sport, to his love for fast cars, to even that box of doughnuts and the can of Pepsi I saw sitting open on his kitchen counter–should keep me away. Far, far away.

I mean, does he have any idea how much sugar, trans fats, and caffeine are in those things? Why not substitute with herbal tea and Ezekiel bread instead? They taste just as good, and are so much healthier.

My eyes widen as a thought enters my head.I should make him my sea monster smoothie!The one my besties rudely refer to as swamp sludge.But if Kai likes it so much that he practically gulps it down in three sips and does a weird victory dance afterward, like he’s trembling from head to toe, then I’m sure Rowan will love it, too.

In any case, to get back to where I’d started this thought, I should hate all these things about him, but I don’t. No matter how much I try.

And I can’t wrap my head aroundwhy.

Perhaps he reminds me of the type of person I might have been had I not married Ajay.

A woman who worried less and smiled more. A woman who took the time to enjoy the moment, rather than rush through it because she felt like she had to do it all herself. A woman who didn’t feel so unseen.

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