Page 62 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

My mouth dropped open.

“What?” He shot me that dimple again. “We didn’t really get to eat.”

I nibbled away at my bottom lip wondering if we could skip the call for a while longer because his kindness went right to my lady bits and gave me some truly wicked ideas. His returning bedroom eyes gave away everything he felt for me and my heart melted all over again. “Damn, Blake Parker, if we weren’t already married, I’d be your booty call for the rest of my life.”

“Does one negate the other?” he asked and good question. “Can’t you be my wifeandmy booty call? Because, Glory, I’m addicted to your booty. I can honestly say it’s the only booty I want to call on for the rest of my life.Butthat doesn’t mean you get out of contacting your mom.” Damn him for reading my mind again. “Tell you what,” he went on, “we get throughthiscall and then we can explorethatone upstairs.”

“I laid your comfies out for you.” Yes, that was what I said. Don’t come at me. I couldn’t exactly contact my mother while fighting back rock-hard nipples and the urge to let myself orgasm.

But God help me when he loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his cuffs. It was like Clark Kent removing his glasses to show Lois Lane the sexy superman behind them. I ask you, what rational, hetero woman didn’t cream in her panties from that? Even as he made his way to the stairs, his one last glance over his shoulder gave the promise of ‘we’re not finished.’

Cheese. Meat. Daiquiris. I forced myself to think about anything besides Blake upstairs stripping. It worked. A thick piece of cheddar called to me from the platter. I placed it on a cracker and shoved the whole thing in my mouth at once while waiting for him to change.

He caught me chewing like a chipmunk with my puffy cheeks, but kindly refrained from teasing me, opting instead to snatch my clutch from the table next to the door. I’d set it there when I kicked off my shoes. And my phone was in my clutch.

“No more stalling,” he said, tossing the clutch onto my lap.

“I wasn’t stalling.”

“Good.” He dropped onto the cushion next to me, draping his arm along the back of the sofa. “Then make the call.”

“We don’t even know if she’s home.”

“That’s the beauty of a cell phone—she doesn’t have tobehome.”

Okay, I hated when he, or anybody for that matter, made sense when I couldn’t seem to makemyselfmake sense.

To make me more comfortable, he gathered my knees, twisting my body so my back rested against the arm of the sofa, draping my legs across his lap. I opened my clutch to withdraw my phone, and before I could second-guess the decision, I brought up and then pressed my mother’s contact.

Points for Gloria.

It rang.

And it rang.

Well, it appeared shewasbusy. As I moved my finger to press theend callbutton I heard, “Gloria?” in my mother’s voice.

Big girl panties.

“How are you?” I sounded very formal.

“I’m the same as always,” she replied.

“And how is Carl?”

“Wonderful,” she gushed. The smile in her voice resonated through the line. A smile, I’ll add, that I realized I’d missed.

I swallowed back that little bite of sadness. “Good to hear.”

“How’s married life been treating you?” my mother asked, accusation thick in the air between us. “You stopped in Michigan withyour husband”—and oh, yeah, she really let me have it with that one word— “and didn’t bother to stop by.”

“I texted.”

“Gloria, you got married at the courthouse. I got that little tidbit out of Penelope.”

“I was hurt. Keeping Carl a secret after you begged me not to leave you.” How could we get pastthat? And why wasIexpected to move us past it?

“Sweety…”

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