Page 2 of Flirty Thirty

I let out a little laugh at myself for being so Anastasia Steele, hoping that in my three seconds of eye sex that I didn’t bite my lip, and I shake my head and take another succulent sip of my birthday treat, debating on if I should say something else to him before he jogs out of sight. There is always tomorrow, I suppose.

He stops mid-jog at the end of my property line. I watch his back rise and fall with his labored breathing, enjoy another drop of sweat as it rolls down the line of his spine, and then suddenly he’s turning and running back toward me.

My eyes widen and my heart jumps from quiet and steady to loud and terrified, and my feet glue to the grass underneath them. In less than a second he’s gone from attractive possible fling to scary man who can outrun me. My fingers curl around my mug, knuckles turning white.

He stops in front of me, eyes locked on mine. The blues of his irises are so dark in color that I think they’ll be haunting my REM cycle tonight—if I make it to a REM cycle.

He plucks the earbud from his right ear, grinning at me again, but he’s so not putting off the father-of-the-year vibe anymore, so I’m unsure of what to think. I can’t thinkat allwith my heart pounding so loudly.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice lighter and more cheerful than I expected, and it relaxes my heart and butterflies start to come alive in my stomach. He reaches up and I flinch, and the moment I do he pulls away.

“Sorry… you just have…” He nods to my nose, and I blink, hurriedly swiping at it. A deep, baritone chuckle falls off his lips, and he says, “Almost got it. You mind?”

He raises his hand again, and it takes me a couple of beats before I nod, excitement ripping up through my chest at the fact that he’ll be touching me. The pad of his thumb runs over my nose, and he pulls it back with quite a hefty dollop of whipped cream that I have no idea how I could miss.

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not embarrassing.”

He smirks as he wipes it off on the waistband of his steel jogging shorts. “I’d call it cute.”

Okay, not married. I’m going to believe he’s not married and he’s flirting with me. I should tell him not to charge a woman before attempting a flirtatious endeavor. But before I can get a word in edgewise, both his hands find my cheeks and then he’s…kissingme.

There’s no response time. No time for a slap or a moment of weakness to actually consider kissing him back. No time at all it seems. One second I’m being kissed and the next he’s pulling back, a look of shock settling in his eyes before he shakes his head, drops my cheeks, and runs off my lawn and down the street. I watch his blond head bob out of view, my arms stuck out to my side like a complete fool, coffee in one hand, mail in the other. My mouth is stuck in a puckered position, lips tingling like they may have had action but they aren’t exactly sure yet. The very small morning breeze is blowing up my overlarge hoodie, cooling my lady nethers and making me slowly wake up from the bizarre exchange.

My feet finally start listening to my brain, and I fumble my way back inside. Tom looks up from his spot on the floor, the sun making his black fur look glossy. He blinks and I let out a confused laugh.

“Well, that’s a new one.”

2

Scream Queen

“Sorry!” my sister-in-law Katie says as she hurries through my door with a car seat over the crook of her elbow, a diaper bag slung over her other arm, and a two-year-old clutching her forefinger. I quickly take the car seat holding my newest nephew and let her drop her Mom Luggage onto my couch.

“Chase here decided to poop all over his new outfit with a million snaps the second I got him strapped in the car,” Katie rushes out, taking off her jacket with a skill only a mom can have with a toddler still clinging onto her hand. “You’d think I would’ve learned from the first kid to only dress babies in onesies before going anywhere.”

I nod like I know what she’s talking about ( I don’t). I just want to hold the baby, so I crouch down and unbuckle the little pooper, grateful he’s already gotten that out of the way.

“Okay…” Katie breathes out, clapping her now-free hands together before bending to her bag. “I brought chocolate and red velvet because you have a thing for both, and raspberry filling for whatever you decide on. What one are you cravin…don’t lick the cat, Claire!I can do one or the other or both.”

She grins as she holds the cake mixes up, and I give her a look that answers the question she should’ve already known the answer to. She laughs and takes both boxes to the kitchen while I finally get little Chase unhooked from his car seat and watch Claire spit out cat fur onto my freshly shampooed carpet.

“Naughty pants,” I tease my niece with the nickname I gave her as soon as she came out of utero and yanked seven hairs clean from my head. Katie had a homebirth—and I will not relive witnessing that experience— and as soon as little Claire was out, my brother Jim handed her to me—the woman with the towel. If you don’t think it’s possible to get beat up by a newborn, I have proof—in the form of a cheek scar— that it isinarguablypossible.

I snuggle Chase in his deep blue fleece blanket, Eskimo kissing him as I follow the clang and crash sounds coming from the kitchen. Now this baby… he’s the only one who’s come close to convincing me that kids aren’t so bad. The quiet cuddler, the fresh baby smell, and the perfect softness… sigh. It’s tempting to try to make one of these guys for myself.

“Claire!” Katie scolds without even turning around from the cupboard. “Put the marker down.”

I whip around to see my niece, Sharpie poised up against my wall. Her sweet face contorts into a red fit of rage as she chucks the open marker across the floor before falling flat backward against the tile. The high-pitched scream is enough to wake a dead man, but little Chase must be used to it because all he does is stir a bit before snuggling back into my chest. Katie continues pulling out ingredients as if nothing is going on around us.

I’m instantly reminded why kids are not for me.

“You going out tonight?” Katie asks, eyes flicking up as she sets a metal bowl on the counter and reaches for the cake mixes.

I nuzzle my nephew, shaking my head and saying in a baby voice I only pull out in front of present company. “Auntie Maya wants to spend her birthday lounging around her house, yes she does.” Katie must not have heard the grumble in my voice when she told me she was coming over and that meant I had to put clothes on.

Katie lets out a long sigh, dumping the mix into the bowl and dusting the counter top with red powder. “I would pay for a birthday like that.”

Claire’s screams change pitch, and one more decibel higher and only dogs will be able to hear her.

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