There’s a searing heat, a few awkward smiles across the sofa, and so much unspoken tension I damn near Gorilla Glue my eyes to the screen. Bad idea.
Because it’s not just two detached strangers I see going at it like drunk gibbons. It’s me and Val, those long, caramel tanned legs of hers wrapped around me, digging into my sides, challenging me to fuck her faster and deeper and harder. Asking me to bed her like we’re truly man and wife.
Kill me.
I barely sleep a wink, tossing and turning, my cock hounding me to climb across the bed and do terrible things to keep us up. Lust might just be the most potent drug known to man.
Thankfully, Val sleeps soundly, without any nightmares. At some point, I’m able to force my brain to shut down and put me out.
She’s still sleeping when I climb out of bed as the sun starts coming up. I close the French doors and pull the hidden shade down to keep the room dark and quiet as I leave.
After a quick, ice-cold shower in the guest bathroom, I send my ma a text, asking her to bring over a box of malasadas. Custard filled—what else?
Val’s gonna need the sugar rush after hearing she has a stepson. There’s no way around it now.
Then I watch for my ma’s car from the front porch, so I can catch them outside. I spend a couple minutes alone, trying not to dwell on my own misery, before her orange Forester whips through the gate.
With his brown hair still mussed from sleep, but his blue eyes gleaming with excitement, Bryce throws open the door and jumps out, ready to talk my ear off about his time with grandma.
He’s a good kid. Still at the age where he doesn’t balk at his old man giving him a quick hug. But it only lasts for a second before he’s ready to bolt inside.
“Hold up, Bryce Crispie,” I say, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Need a few words with your grandma and then I need a few with you.”
“No problem, Dad.”
I turn to face my ma as she gets out of the car. “How was he?”
“Oh, the perfect angel he always is!” Mother says, carrying a pastry box as she walks around her car. “We had a wonderful time. We even stopped at Dole to stock up.”
She flashes me a devilish wink and points at the overstuffed bag in Bryce’s hand. I chuckle and shake my head.
Some things never change. Ma probably visits the touristy plantation five times a year, and she still comes back loaded with pineapple everything. Candy pineapple, chocolate pineapple, pineapple tea, probably pineapple mouthwash. The woman’s lived in Hawaii as long as we have, yet she hoards her pineapple goodies like she’s still a visitor.
“Shit, Ma. Bryce is gonna have pineapple breath for the next month,” I say, taking the malasada box.
Bryce, getting impatient, shoots toward the house.
“Bryce,” I snap. “Hold up.”
He frowns. So does my mother. It’s not my normal tone.
“But…but, Dad,” he says, batting his eyes. “I think I saw something in the window!”
My gut churns. I turn slowly.
Sure enough, Savanny’s smug little face is pushed against the glass. He’s sitting on the back of a chair, looking out, so close he leaves a smudge with his nose.
“It’s a cat,” Bryce says. “When did we get a cat?”
“Don’t open the door,” I tell him.
“A cat?” Mother asks. “And malasadas? Since when do you have a sweet tooth, Flint Calum?”
“It’s…” a long damn story, I want to say, but my mother’s a quick study.
Her eyes light up. “You have a friend, don’t you? A lady friend.”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s about time! I was afraid you’d sworn off all women after—” She clears her throat. “She, who won’t be named.”
Every time she uses that phrase, I want to snort. But there’s a good reason behind it.
Ma hated Bryce’s mother from the get-go, and the shit show she put us through did no favors. That relationship was a train wreck that went off the rails and over the ravine. Fucking literally.
My ma isn’t far off when she hints at me living like a monk. I had.
Have, I remind myself. I’m still a bachelor.
Valerie Gerard changes nothing.
It’s a good deed, a protection gig, a particularly crappy chance to bring down the Cornaro Outfit. Nothing more.
I raise an eyebrow, nodding at my mother. “You sure you wanna go on?”
“No. You’re right, son.” She clams up and shakes her head.
For real, Bryce’s mother was a mess, but after she died, Ma and I formed a pact. We agreed to never say anything derogatory in front of Bryce about his mother. I won’t have my son thinking he came from trash.
So far, we’ve stuck to our guns. Too bad it hasn’t stopped her from trying to set me up with her friends’ daughters, plus some total strangers she meets around Oahu.