Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

I’m glad Cooper’s eyes are on his task so he doesn’t see my gaze lock with Bruce’s across the table. He smirks, popping his brows like he’s interested in the answer to that question himself.

“Well . . . you know how I told you that Bruce and I were going on a date yesterday?” Cooper nods, licking sticky grapey goodness from his fingers. “We’d like to do that again, maybe have dinners and hang out together, all three of us too. How’s that sound?”

Did I do that right?

Shit, I wish I’d had time to read this chapter in the parenting books. Not that I had time to read any of those. I’ve been winging this gig since day one, but so far, that’s worked mostly okay.

Cooper finishes his jelly spreading and his head swivels left and right, from me to Bruce. I feel like I’m awaiting a judge’s verdict on a major case, but this is way more important. He shrugs. “M’kay.”

That’s it.

It’s a bit anticlimactic. No drama, no muss, no fuss, no tears. He’s better about this than I am.

Bruce smiles and reaches across the table to take my hand, soothing my nerves with his touch and silently telling me that I did well. It feels like a major step . . . for me, for us, even for the three of us.

Holy shit. I’m dating Bruce Tannen.

The pleasant soreness between my thighs says I’m doing a hell of a lot more than that, but my decision to slap a label on it is even more important than what we did last night. This is me moving on . . . finally.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Bruce says, crunching another slice of bacon.

“It’s Sunday, so it’s ‘bless this house’ day. All cleaning and grocery shopping. Ugh.” Cooper groans as he rolls his eyes.

I laugh, even though he’s right. That is our routine so we can start the week fresh and prepared. “Maybe we could do something a little different today, just this once.”

Bruce shakes his head. “No way. If that’s what you do on Sundays, then point me to the vacuum. I can make some mean lines in the rug, just like driving a tractor through the fields.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that Bruce is willing to clean with us, but it warms me that he’s comfortable doing such mundane things with us. It makes it feel more real, more like . . . family.

I search my body for those telltale signs of panic but find none. No tension in my muscles, no clenching in my jaw, no bees buzzing in my chest. I just feel . . . good. Such a bland word, but the feeling is powerful.

“Chore day it is,” I tell them with a smile.

Chapter 23

Bruce

It’s somehow been the longest and the shortest week of my life all at the same time.

As far as planning a campout, I could use another couple of days. We’re not doing anything too fancy, but I want it to go well and have spent some time dragging logs up to a clearing so we’ll have a place to sit around the campfire pit I dug up.

On the other hand, the week’s dragged on because I haven’t had a single real moment alone with Allyson.

By the time I got home on Sunday afternoon, Bobby was running at near-Brody levels of grunts, obviously mad at me because he knew my absence could only be because of one person. I ignored him for the most part, too happy to let him bring me down with his cynicism.

Happy? I’m this close to belting out in song, and my voice is worse than shit. Bobby got one hundred percent of that talent in our family, though I might beat that gift out of him if he doesn’t quit glaring at me every chance he gets.

He kept up the pissy mood on Monday too, even as I smiled ear to ear while I worked, looking forward to every ding of my phone and praying that Allyson got every text I sent on her piece of shit phone. We’ve spent hours talking on the phone at night, about the past and present, and even carefully about the future, until we both have to hang up, knowing our morning alarms will go off early.

Tuesday, I’d called her on the way to the practice field to be sure she was coming. Not because I thought she’d gotten cold feet—she seems to be done dancing away from me now—but she’d had a busy day at work and I’d wanted to be sure something hadn’t come up that’d keep her stuck there. She’d said I was being sweet while I felt like a possessive fucker who just needed to lay hands on her.

But she’d shown. With a smile for the boys and another more meaningful and private smile for me.