Page 44 of Keeping it Casual
I simply cannot get enough of this man.
Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime of kissing Jeremy, I draw back.
“I better get back inside,” I say reluctantly.
“Okay.” Jeremy’s pupils have swallowed his eyes. He looks so kiss-drunk that I have to summon all my willpower to step away.
“You want a boost to get back over the fence?” I ask.
He gives me a grin. “That might be a good idea.”
Depositing one last kiss on his lips, I bend down to help him up so he can scramble back over the fence.
“Night,” I whisper.
“Goodnight.”
I linger at the fence, listening as Jeremy makes his way across his backyard and onto his deck, hearing the click when he shuts his back door before I head across my darkened backyard.
I’m still savoring the taste and feel of Jeremy on my lips when I step back into my house.
“Dad?” It’s Lachie’s voice, coming from the kitchen.
“Yeah?” I shut the door behind me and head toward my son.
Lachie’s pouring himself a glass of milk, his forehead crumpled.
“What were you doing outside?”
I always vowed not to lie to my son, but somehow ‘I was giving the neighbor a hand job by the back fence, and then he sucked me off’ doesn’t run off the tongue very easily. Nor will it win me any bonus parenting points.
“I heard a noise,” I say.
I’m not completely lying. After all, Jeremy had made a lot of noise in his attempts to get over that fence.
Lachie’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and shame flashes through me.
I’m thirty-eight. Way past the age where I should be sneaking around.
What the fuck is it about Jeremy King that causes me to completely lose my head?
I’m still puzzling over the answer to that question when my sister, Stephanie, arrives on Saturday with her two kids, Max and Lola.
“Lachie,” I call as I answer the door.
Lachie comes down the stairs.
“Hey, there’s my warm-up kid,” Steph says, giving Lachie a hug.
“This is when you say, ‘There’s my incubator,’” I say to Lachie.
Lachie pulls a face. When he was little, he loved telling everyone how his Aunt Steph was his tummy-mummy. But now he’s older, he’s more conscious of the things that make him different, and his aunt giving birth to him falls into that category.
“Can we go play in your room?” Max is already taking the stairs two at a time.
Lachie follows him up the stairs, Lola trailing behind.
“How’s he doing?” Steph asks as soon as the kids disappear from earshot. She follows me into the kitchen, where I switch on the kettle to make us a cup of tea.
