Page 82 of When We Met

“I’m freezing,” I admit when I shiver. “And this isn’t very sexy.”

He starts kissing my neck, eagerly working my jeans off, and his hands move under my sweater. “Neither is your kids pounding on the door, wanting to know why you’re taking so long in the shower.”

I laugh, arching my back and scooting to the edge of the bench. “Happen often?”

“You have no idea.” He groans, working his jeans past his hips, kissing his way up my neck and only breaking away to ask, “Why are we talking about this now?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure those are green beans?”

His fingers tangle in my hair as he grips the back of my head to hold my mouth to his. Just before he enters me, he smirks, kissing me softly. “Stop thinking about green beans.”

And I do, but that’s the problem with this guy. Since that first glance, I haven’t been thinking about my situation, or his. Just that he’s hard to resist. I know what I’m doing to myself—playing with fire—and I know it’s not going to end pretty, but I want this too much.

The thing is, it’s easy to confuse emotions with reality. Especially when you’re dealing with guys like Barron Grady.

“Where’s the wine?” Lillian asks the second we come upstairs.

“Here.” Barron hands her the bottle. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Does that mean I’m not getting a Christmas bonus this year?” she asks, grinning as she eagerly works the corkscrew into the bottle.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he teases, moving through the kitchen to the stove where Morgan’s stirring the noodles.

I sit next to Lillian.

“You want some?” she offers, tipping the bottle toward me.

“No. I’m more of a whiskey fan.”

Before I have a chance to retrieve some, Barron hands me a glass and the bottle, winking. “Dinner’s done.”

Lillian leans in, sipping her wine. “Did you fuck him in the cellar?”

I don’t answer her, but I slowly slide my eyes to hers, winking.

Our glasses clank against one another. Barron and Morgan serve us dinner, and it’s hard to believe these boys didn’t have a mom around growing up because they sure know how to treat a lady.

I can’t help but smile when I look around Barron’s house, filled with laughter, firelight, and people who genuinely care about one another. I never had that growing up. I had organized dinner parties and arranged playdates with my mom’s superficial friends’ kids, who ultimately hated the weird little girl who wrote in her journals and didn’t want to play with them.

Halfway through dinner, Sev throws herself onto the floor in the living room in front of the fireplace, crying and pulling on her ears. “No!” she screams at Barron again, kicking her legs when he tries to get her to eat a slice of garlic bread. She hasn’t eaten anything all day.

I had ear infections growing up—one a month until I had tubes put in my ears. I can bet you money that’s what’s going on with Sev.

Barron sighs, setting his beer down and picking her up off the ground. She curls into his arms, and he presses his lips to her forehead. Frowning, he feels her head with his hands and then holds her close, rocking her back and forth. You can see the nervousness in his eyes, the worry.

Setting my glass down, I make my way over to him. “Is she okay?”

He nods. “Probably another ear infection. She gets them a lot.”

“I did too,” I tell him. “Do you have a warm rag? That helped me.”

Sev reaches for me, still crying as Barron goes to get a rag. “You hads these?” Sev asks, between crying and screaming.

“I did.” I hold her close, my heart breaking for her. “And my nanny used to always give me a warm rag and hold it to my ear.”

She swallows, her head shaking with her hiccupped crying, and then she screams harder. I cradle her close, my throat burning with my own tears. It’s in this moment, I know I need to tell Barron soon. I can’t keep living a lie, but I also don’t want to leave this little girl in my arms.

Barron returns with a warm rag in hand. He sits next to me on the couch where I’m holding Sev and rubs her back. “You want Daddy?” he asks, his words soft as he presses the rag to her ear.

---