Fortuity (Transcend 3)

I grab her wrist and pull her to me. She straddles my lap, resting her hands on my shoulders.

“I feel sorry for the dumb ass who left you at the altar. I guarantee he didn’t find anyone who put out every single night.”

“No …” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t say put out.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet your parents.”

“And yours?”

I nod. “Yes. I think you’re right. Surprising Morgan is a great idea.”

“Are you going to tell your parents that …” Her lips press together, eyes wide.

“Tell them what?” I inch forward, burying my face in her neck, nipping her skin until her shoulder and head jerk together. “That I get things done with my neighbor.”

“Yeah.” A few giggles. “That.”

My hands slide up the back of her shirt and my lips brush along hers. “Are you going to leave your balcony door unlocked at night?” I nip at her bottom lip.

She pulls it from my teeth with a grin. “Sure. But my mom’s a light sleeper, so don’t be surprised if you wake her since they’ll be in my bed and I’ll be on the sofa.”

“I’m not liking this setup.”

“It could be fun. Just keep a condom in your pocket at all times so we can seize the moment.”

Fuck me … this woman.

I grin. “Get-R-Done.”

“No.” She covers my mouth with her hand. “Don’t ever say that again. You’re my real-life Scottish soldier—minus the accent and kilt. Don’t ruin it by sounding like a redneck. Understood?”

I nod once.

“Guac, let’s get the Frisbee!”

Our eyes widen as we hear Morgan’s voice on the side of the house by the balcony. Gracelyn flies off my lap and down the stairs. I follow, just not as quickly.

“Dad, where’s the Frisbee?” Morgan sails through the door as I make my way down the stairs. She eyes Gracelyn standing at the bottom of the stairs, failing miserably at not looking guilty of murder or lewd sex acts. “What are you guys doing?” My daughter eyes us suspiciously.

“Newsflash, young lady … emphasis on the young. You still need to run your plans by me even if you think you don’t need permission. That includes riding with the neighbor to the hardware store. Got it?” I cup her face and make her look at me.

“Fine.” She frowns. “Where’s the Frisbee?”

And just like that, she no longer cares what we were doing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Gracelyn

Over the next week, a whisper of self-preservation tells me to focus on work, spend time with Gabe, make sure he gets to his last therapy session until after the holiday, soccer camp, laundry, and prep for my parents’ arrival. Basically, avoid Nathaniel Hunt—giver of orgasms, stealer of sanity, man-ban obliterator.

“I hear something. I think they’re here.” Gabe runs down the stairs, and I follow him, feeling just as excited to see my mom and dad.

“They’re here.” Gabe tries to slide past Mr. Hans, who’s sliding his socked feet into his Birkenstocks at the door.

“Sorry to disappoint, buddy, but it’s not your grandparents. It’s my exam van.”

“Exam van?” Gabe asks, deflating from the news of it not being his grandparents.

“It’s a mobile screening program. PSA. DRE. And a testicular exam.”

“A what?” Gabe cringes.

“Oh … wow. They come to your house for that?” I ask.

Mr. Hans opens the door. “Just the driveway. It’s like a mobile dog groomer, only for my prostate. And I’m not having them groom anything. Although, I could probably use some tidying up down there.”

Gabe’s face continues to wrinkle in disgust as I press my lips together and snort a laugh.

“PSA? Public Service Announcement?” Gabe asks.

Mr. Hans starts to step outside. “Prostate Specific Antigen … it’s a blood test.”

“What’s the D-thing?” Gabe’s curiosity just won’t let this subject die.

“Digital Rectal Exam,” he calls just before the screen door shuts behind him.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing you need to know for about forty more years.” I smile, brushing past him to sit out on the deck swing.

“Oh … that’s not good.” Gabe pushes through the screen door, staring at his phone.

“What’s not good?” I ask, looking up my parents’ location on my phone. They’re still at the airport, probably waiting for a rental car. I told them I’d pick them up, but Dad likes to have his own car, and he hates letting anyone else drive.

“I looked up rectal exam. It’s gross.”

“Gabe …” I give him a sour look. “Don’t look up anything with the word rectal involved. Please preserve your innocence a little.”

He makes his way to the side of the house.

“Where are you going?” I pop to my feet from the swing and follow him.

“I just want to see the van.”

“Just … stay back. Mr. Hans doesn’t need you gawking at him when he comes out.”

Gabe keeps inching his way toward the driveway. “I don’t hear him.”

I stop at the stairs to my balcony and take a seat, laughing. “What do you expect to hear?”