Mancave (Wild Men 3)

Still don’t know what he’s drinking.

I take a swig from my beer. “I just want my family safe.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“And they all go and do their thing anyway, because that’s how people are, Zane.”

“Stupid dicks,” he agrees, and grins at me like a fox.

Jesus. Chuckling, I slap his arm and down my beer, then lift the bottle. “Another.” I lean in and say into Zane’s pierced, metal-covered ear, “I’m glad you passed through, buddy.”

Really glad.

Chapter Twenty

Octavia

Summer is settling in for good. Gone are the cool spells. It’s too warm to think, and Matt gave me today off from work at the Mancave with orders to rest. He said the garage can go on for a day without me, and that it’s too hot inside the small office anyway with the air conditioner sputtering, on its last legs.

There’s no arguing with him when he gets superprotective.

Mary and Cole are staying with their other grandmother today, and Hailey is coming over, with the little ones. Mom offered to come over and help me make cold lemonade and cookies to have on the back veranda where it’s cooler.

“You should sit outside and wait for me,” Mom says, taking out the trays of fragrant cookies. “Rest your feet.”

“Mom, stop fussing. My feet are fine.” It’s only been two weeks since our trip to Destiny and back. My bump hasn’t even gotten much bigger. “Put the tray down here, and I’ll bring plates.”

She sighs and grumbles, and I honestly don’t ever remember her putting her feet up in her life, ever—though truth be told I don’t remember her pregnant with Gigi or Merc. I was too little.

“These came out good.” Mom places the tray on the counter and flits around the kitchen, gathering plates and glasses before I even take a step toward the cupboards. “I made you some butter cake, too. Did you see it? It’s here, all wrapped up.”

“Mom! Slow down. And stop baking for me. I shouldn’t eat so many sweets.”

“Oh, honey, I love baking for you. Baby needs to eat. And I mean, God knows when your sister will give me a grandchild. She’s a flighty one.”

“Flighty? And what’s this discrimination? What about Merc?”

“Merc would want to settle down.”

“Merc? Are we talking about the same guy here?”

“Deep inside of him, he wants to find a good girl and start a home. I know it.”

Okay, Mom… I huff, blow a strand of hair off my face, and fan myself. So warm.

“Go on, go sit outside. I’ll bring everything,” Mom insists, shooing me out, and I blink because… she’s wearing dangling earrings shaped like peacock feathers?

Really?

Something’s been different about her, lately, and I wasn’t able to put my finger on it until now, but there it is, plain as day.

She’s a sexier version of my mom.

Dressed in a flowing dress that ends above the knees, a wide belt cinched at her waist, considerable cleavage, with her hair pulled back in an artful chignon, and make-up.

Yep, that’s make-up. Discreet, for sure, just a touch of mascara and eyeshadow, but it makes Mom’s pretty eyes shine.

I stop and turn around. “Mom?”