“Do you . . . did she tell you who she’s going out with?”
Sofia’s hazel gaze regards me with no sympathy whatsoever. “She did actually—Tom Caldwell.”
“Tom Caldwell? Get the hell out of here! How did that happen?”
“Apparently, Chelsea ran into Tom at the grocery store. They started talking, he asked if she was available . . . then he asked her out.”
Motherfucker.
“And how do you know this?” I ask harshly.
Sofia shrugs. “Chelsea and I talk. We’re friends—she doesn’t have a lot of friends here, Jake.”
I know. With six kids to look after she doesn’t have a lot of time for friends. But—bitterness stings sour on my tongue—I guess she’s making time for good old fucking Tom.
“I’ll watch the kids.” I don’t leave any room for discussion in my tone.
That doesn’t mean Sofia won’t try to discuss it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She points to my fists, which are clenched tightly on the desk. And she doesn’t really have to say anything else.
I force them to loosen, shaking them out. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I just want to make sure he knows not to mess with her.”
“Stanton and I are fully capable of putting the fear of God into him. Not that he really needs it—Tom is a nice guy.”
I scowl at her. “I want to watch the kids.”
“I don’t—”
Luckily, Stanton has my back. “I think Jake should watch the kids, Soph. If he and Chelsea are going to be strictly friends, he’s gonna have to deal with her dating. If he thinks he’s up for it, I think we should let him have at it.”
And he smirks at her. The smirk gets her every time.
“O-kay.” She looks at me hard. “But don’t be an asshole, Jake.”
I look right back at her. “Who, me?”
• • •
That night, I knock on Chelsea’s front door. It’s locked—and she finally removed the key from under the mat. The door opens, and it feels like déjà vu—like the first time I saw her in this doorway. And just like that time, the breath is knocked out of me.
Her dress is dark green, simple and understated. Utterly stunning. Her long, delicate arms peek out from tiny cap sleeves, a shiny belt shows off her trim waist, and her legs—Jesus—they look fucking endless beneath the short, slightly flaring skirt.
Chelsea’s eyes go round with surprise and I’m guessing Sofia didn’t give her the heads-up about the babysitting switch.
“Hi.”
“Jake—hi. What are you—”
“Something came up with Stanton and Sofia . . .” Which would be me. “So . . . I’m going to watch the kids—if that’s okay with you.”
She recovers from her shock and opens the door wider. “Of course it’s okay. Come on in.”
The kids are in the den. “Hey, guys.”
“Cool—you’re watching us?” Rory exclaims. “You owe me a Halo rematch.”
Chelsea says she has to fill Ronan’s bottles and heads to the kitchen. After greeting the rest of the rug rats, I follow her. She’s at the counter, staring harder than necessary as she fills the bottle in her hands. Silently, I move to stand beside her. Just inches away.
Close enough to touch her.
“You look beautiful.”
She glances at me quickly, smiling self-consciously. “Oh . . . thank you.” She tightens the cap on the bottle, places it on the counter, and turns to face me. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s totally weird, Jake. You know what I look like naked—”
Do I ever. The image is seared into my brain. My favorite memory.
“—and now you’re here watching the kids while I go out on a date with another man. That’s, like, the definition of weirdness.”
I chuckle. “It doesn’t have to be. We’re adults. We’re friends. This is what . . . friends do.”
She looks up into my eyes, her cheeks flushed, her expression so much more than friendly.
The dog goes nuts barking at a knock from the front door. With another quick smile, Chelsea goes to answer it. I make my way back out to the den just as Chelsea leads Tom Caldwell in, introducing him to the kids, his white teeth gleaming like shiny pearls as he smiles at each one of them.
Then, under his breath, I hear him whisper to Chelsea, “You look ravishing.”
Who says that? Who the hell uses the word ravishing?
Douchebags—that’s who.
“I just have to grab my bag and then we’ll go.” She blows a kiss at the kids. “Be good, guys. I’ll be home in a little while.” Then she leaves the room.
And I make my move. “Caldwell.”
“Becker.” He grins, holding out his hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I grip his hand hard when I shake it. “You shouldn’t be. I’m here a lot. I’m watching the kids for Chelsea.”
“That’s nice of you.”
Yep—that’s me. Fucking nice.
I guide him toward the front door, needing a moment alone. In the foyer, my voice drops low and menacing. “I just want to make a few things clear. If you treat Chelsea with anything less than perfect respect . . . if you ever think about doing something that will in any way hurt these kids . . . when I’m finished with you, there won’t be enough left to bury.”
My stare is unwavering.
He leans back. “Are you threatening me, Jake?”
“I thought that was pretty fucking obvious.”
Then he chuckles, smacking my back like we’re old friends. “Message received. You have nothing to worry about with me.”
Chelsea comes down the stairs and Caldwell opens the front door for her. He salutes me as he walks out. “Have fun babysitting, Becker.”
I stand there for a few moments after they leave, glaring at the closed door. Rory comes up next to me, looking in the same direction.
“He seems like a douchebag.”
“You’re an excellent judge of character, you know that, kid?”
Rory nods. And I tap his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go play Halo. I feel like annihilating something.”
• • •
It’s about eleven when Chelsea comes home. Blessedly alone. She walks through the front door and into the den—where we’re waiting for her.
All of us.
She kicks off her shoes. “Wow, hey—you guys are still up.”
I sit in the middle of the couch, Regan on my lap, Rory and Raymo
nd on either side, Riley leaning against the back.
“The kids wanted to talk to you about something,” I explain.
Her gaze flickers to each of them. “What’s up?
“We don’t like him,” Rory says.
It takes a moment for Chelsea to understand. “Him?” Her thumb points over her shoulder. “Tom?”
“He’s a douche,” Rory confirms.
“He doesn’t seem very smart,” Raymond adds.
“He’s booooring,” Rosaleen chimes in.
“He’s cute,” Riley says. “But you could do better.”
And Regan ties it all together. “No!”
God, she’s eloquent.
Chelsea laughs. “All right. Well, thank you for sharing your thoughts. Your feelings are duly noted. Now”—she sweeps her hand to the stairs—“go to bed.”
When the predictable groans and complaints begin, I back her up. “Go on, guys, just make it easy on yourselves. Rory, help Regan brush her teeth.”
“I’ll be up to tuck you in in a minute,” she tells them as they file past her like baby ducks in a row. Then her eyes fall on me, locked and loaded. “Can I speak with you outside? Now.”
And her tone means business. Guess her panties are twisted, but that’s fine with me—’cause my panties are pretty goddamn twisted at the moment too.
Okay, that didn’t come out right . . . but you know what I fucking mean. If she wants a fight, I’m more than happy to give her one. Or more than one.
Multiple.
Long, sweaty, bed-breaking . . . shit! What the hell is wrong with me?
Once the kids are upstairs, I follow her out the back door, my stiff strides matching her stomping ones, onto the dark patio. The French door slams with a