Risky Business

“So like Woodstock, but electric,” she summarizes, not correctly, but also not . . . incorrectly?

I snort unapologetically. “Yeah, sort of.”

“I noticed you mentioned this Carson fellow several times, and my Google Image Search says he’s quite the looker,” Mom hints, though she’s transparent as hell.

“You did not Google him while we’re talking!”

I can hear her grin as she balks indignantly. “Yes, I did. He’s quite the handsome young man.”

I don’t want to share too much here. Not because Mom won’t keep it secret, but because she won’t be able to help herself and will get excited about any potential prospect for me.

She’s not rushing to marry off her only daughter, but I am the only one of my siblings who’s not in a long-term, serious relationship. And given that I’m not even dating and I work so much, Mom worries the way only a mother can.

She doesn’t want me to be alone when she dies, though that’s hopefully years away.

And as if I’d ever be alone with my brothers and sisters-in-law around.

She’s probably hoping for more grandchildren too. And for me to have a partner who makes me happy, of course.

I know where this is going, so I might as well take the onramp to the point. I sigh and admit, “Yes, he is handsome.” After a beat, I add, “And smart, has a good heart, and all those other things on your checklist of a potential suitor for me.”

“I just worry, honey. I’m not selling you off to the highest—or only—bidder.”

I gasp, outraged. “Mom!”

She laughs brightly. “Just teasing. Mostly. But . . . uhm . . . do we like him?”

Her interrogation style isn’t too harsh, but I fold like a towel anyway. She just sounds so hopeful that I can’t bear to burst her dreams. Even if they’re not cotton candy fueled.

“We do. A lot. He met Taya. I actually took him to her house but didn’t tell him whose it was. He figured it out, though, and never said a word.” I don’t know why I’m trying to sell Mom on Carson. He doesn’t need it.

Neither does Mom. I don’t talk about guys, mostly because I haven’t dated in ages, so the mere mention of a potential man is exciting to her.

“That’s awesome, honey! When do we get to meet him?”

I laugh at her eagerness, but a yawn steals my oxygen. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, sorry, honey. You sound exhausted. Get some more rest, and make sure you don’t stay up too late tonight,” Mom recommends, as if I hadn’t thought of that.

“Will do.” I make a smacking kissy noise as if kissing her goodbye and hang up gratefully.

After I toss my phone to the nightstand, I scoot down in my bed until my head hits the pillow again. I don’t want to sleep all day, but a couple more minutes couldn’t hurt.

The knock on my door is easily ignorable. The first time. And the second.

Then my phone rings again.

I peel my eyes open and glare at the offending interrupter. I don’t answer, choosing to roll over and go back to sleep. But as soon as I close my eyes again, someone knocks on my door.

I throw the blankets off with a growl. “Can’t I have one lazy day? I think I’ve earned it,” I beseech the ceiling.

But because it’s nothing more than drywall, it doesn’t answer. Stomping to the door, I rip it open with a snarl. “Javier, the building had better be on fire.”

Except it’s not Javier. Even though he’s the only person who knocks on my door on the weekend, and that’s usually only if I’ve had a package delivered.

“Who’s Javier?” Carson growls playfully as his eyes trace down my body and then lift to meet my eyes. “And do you always answer the door dressed like that for him?”

I suddenly feel very naked. And awake.

The building might not be on fire, but I sure as hell am with the way Carson’s drinking me in. His blue eyes are full of hunger and promise dangerous fun.

I straighten my tank top, knowing my nipples are hard without looking down. I can feel them brushing against the soft fabric. “You know exactly who Javy is. The weekend doorman. And I could answer the door naked as the day I was born and he wouldn’t care, though his husband would probably give me shit for it.”

I grin even though it’s not my best comeback, giving myself credit for the compound sentence since minutes ago, I could barely string two words together. Something else occurs to me. “How’d you get up here?”

He smirks at me devilishly. “Myron was at the door this morning. He said I’d been added to your list of approved visitors. I figured you’d done that?”

When I shake my head, we both realize at the same time. “Taya,” we say in unison before Carson adds, “queen of the universe, apparently.”