Page 74 of Best Served Cold

“Yourrealmom, I mean.”

I smile. “My real mom is also named Patricia. Let it never be said my father doesn’t have predictable taste.”

Her eyes widen, and she stops walking. “Are you teasing me?”

“Always. But that’s really my mother’s name. You can imagine her confusion when she heard about the other woman.”

She shakes her head, her lips tilting up at the corners like she’s not sure she should laugh. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful for her.”

“It was,” I tell her honestly. “A lot of things were. But she’s doing fine now. She remarried a really solid guy, and they’re living on a ranch with a bunch of sheep and a potbellied pig. Look, I don’t want to talk about my family right now, and I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about yours.”

“No, not really. I already told you. They don’t like me very much.”

“Otis does.” I gesture back toward the house. “He practically offered to fight me if I upset you.”

“He did?” she asks, her eyes full of warmth. “Oh, bless him.”

I grin at her. “You did good. Your little boy is growing up. Before too long, he’ll be smoking cigarettes and stealing your car.”

She shoves my arm playfully. “You’re a jerk. But I did almost walk in on him masturbating earlier. It was the cherry on my crappy sundae.”

I laugh, but I’m not willing to let this go yet. “Now, embarrassing encounters aside, why the hell would anyone in your family not like you? You’re the most likeable person I’ve ever met.”

“You didn’t used to think so,” she challenges, looking away, as if the bushes lining the sidewalk are incredibly interesting.

“I always thought you were likeable. I just don’t enjoy being told what to do.”

“I can see that,” she says, smiling softly.

There’s a pause, and for a moment I think she might spill her secrets to me on this public sidewalk, where we’ve been standing for so long the people in the house across from us probably think we’re casing the joint. We’ve only made it a few houses down from hers.

I want her to tell me. Something inside of me requires it, even though I’ve only known her, really known her, for less than a month.

But then she shakes her head softly. “They have their reasons. But Otis and Aunt Penny are exceptions to the rule, thank goodness.”

The evasion shouldn’t burn the way it does, but I want to know her. I want her to trust me enough to tell me everything.

That’s probably a big ask given I broke my word tonight.

“You know…” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think it was going to feel like that when you kissed me.”

If she wanted to distract me, she’s doing a good job of it. I take a slight step toward her. “Like what?”

“Sogood.”

I laugh despite myself. “There you go being honest again.”

A stricken look fills her eyes, and I run a finger over her soft lips. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Soph. Don’t be sorry. I want you to be honest with me, even if we have to lie to other people.”

“Did it feel good for you too?” she asks.

My blood rushes south, because this woman I’ve been thinking about for weeks is peering up at me in the dim glow of the streetlights asking if I enjoyed having my mouth on her.

“Yes,” I admit. “It felt good. It felt like bliss. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and woke up looking blue. And you want to know what? I still felt pretty good, right up until I saw my father.”

She smiles, but it falls a second later, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Do you think it only felt so good because we were doing it in front of Jonah? Because we were getting back at him?”

“No,” I say bluntly, wrapping my hand around her hip. “But it certainly didn’t hurt.”

---