Lucas

“Hey, good practice, mate.”

Chase is sitting on a park bench, gym bag at his feet, eyes on his phone screen. Barely looking at me, he replies with, “Liar.”

Cheeky bugger. Taking a seat beside him, I glance at my phone: 9:12 P.M. All the other kids have been picked up.

“You wound me, mate.”

“Uh, you’re a lawyer so I doubt you have any feelings to wound. Also, I was terrible in practice and we both know it.”

Sharp like his aunt. “Wouldn’t go that far. Though I don’t think you dig it all that much. I mean, you used to, but now? What gives?”

“I’m just trying it out for a while.”

I nod, knowing this has something to do with his dad and whatever’s going on at home. My heart keens for him. “So, where’s your ride?”

“I’m staying the weekend with my aunt but I guess she’s running late.”

I remain quiet and so does Chase. Not awkward, it just is, but then we start chatting about movies and music. After a few minutes the long shadows of the evening have descended over the park, and Chase has not-so-surreptitiously texted his aunt a couple of times with no response.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She went to visit my grandparents in Rockford with Ari. And Dad’s on a business trip to New York.”

“Where does your aunt live?”

“In Edgewater.”

A couple of miles north of where we are. “I’ll drop you off.”

He’s a kid, used to having people chauffeur him around, so he merely shrugs his agreement.

“You like her?” Chase asks, once we’re in my car.

“Who?”

“My aunt.”

I hide my smile. “What makes you think that?”

His side-eye makes clear why he thinks that. “She dates weirdos.”

“Oh yeah?” I try not to sound too interested. Fail miserably.

“One guy was a performance artist. He’d cover himself in peanut butter and read really bad poetry onstage. She sent me a video.”

This is my competition? I remain silent.

“I don’t think she dates anymore. Not for months anyway.” He looks out the window. “I stayed over once and she was crying in the kitchen one morning.”

My heart lurches. “Everyone gets the blues on occasion.”

“Not Trinity. Nothing gets her down. But she said she just wasn’t feeling well. Now she works a lot and doesn’t go out much, except to hang with us when Mom goes out for her martini nights with friends.”

Trinity babysits while her sister paints the town? Filed away.

A few minutes later, we arrive on a leafy street in Edgewater, in front of a nice brownstone walk-up. Chase is already muttering his thanks, one foot out of the car.

“Hey, wait up, mate, I’ll walk you in.”

He rolls his eyes but I don’t take offense. I’d be the same way. When I was his age, I was definitely wandering the streets alone. But I’d never want it for my own kids.

Chase presses the intercom buzzer. Nothing. After about twenty seconds, he presses it again.

“You sure she’s in?”

“Yeah. I mean, she didn’t answer my text but she should be expecting me.” Impatiently, he hits the button again. Finally, we hear a muffled “Yeah?”

“Trin, it’s Chase. I’m supposed to be staying over tonight. For the weekend?”

“Chase?” She sounds drunk or confused. “Oh, fuck.” Then louder: “Sorry. Come on up.”

“See? Fine,” Chase says, though his eyebrows are practically joined as one with the crease of his brow.

“Think I’ll say hi to Aunt Trin.”

“Your good deed is not going to get you in her pants, dude.”

Smart-arsed little shite! He goes up ahead to the third floor, which is as high as it goes. The door is slightly ajar then is pulled open to reveal Trinity in all her mad-haired glory. Her eyes are watery, her nose is red-raw, and she’s holding a tissue in her hand.

“Chase, I’m sorry. I’ve got a cold and the meds knocked me out. I meant to set an alarm to pick you up.” She spots me lurking behind him. “Oh, hi. Thanks for bringing him over.”

Chase is hovering at the doorway with his gym bag. “I need to take a shower after practice. Thanks for the ride, Coach.” He thrusts out his hand, very grown-up. I give it a firm shake.

“Anytime.”

In he goes, which leaves me with his hot aunt. And yes, even ravaged by the effects of illness, she’s still gorgeous.

“Well, uh, thanks,” Trinity says again.

“You look terrible, Aunt Trin,” I say, sliding by her and shutting the door behind me. “Have you eaten?”

“I was going to order pizza—what are you doing?”

I’m pushing her back toward the sofa. “You need to rest and let me take care of dinner.”

“But—I can make a phone call to a pizza place.” She coughs in my face. I take it like a man.

“Or you could let me cook up something quick so you could get back to bed and won’t have to wait an hour for delivery. How about scrambled eggs on toast?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

She tilts her head. “Because of your professional ethics.”

“Nothing in the rules about being a friend. I can do that and not cross any lines, especially when…” I wave a hand over her.

“Are you saying you don’t want to jump me when my nose is running and I might cough all over your dick?” She looks mortified, color flushing her gilded skin. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Such a sweet talker.”

“Forget I said it. In fact, forget everything you’ve seen here.”

I shove her—not too gently—onto the sofa and lean in close enough to acquire a good share of germs.

“Not likely to forget that there’ll be blow jobs on the menu the first time. Way to sell it, Jones.”

She closes her eyes, likely trying to will away her embarrassment at being caught even thinking about my cock. Perhaps even will me away entirely. “I was just trying to be funny in the face of bizarre circumstances. You’re the enemy, remember?”

I wonder if she really thinks that or if she’s trying to convince herself because she’s afraid of how amazing it could be between us.

“Enemies make the best lovers, Trinity.”

At which she sneezes, without warning, right in my face.

I suppose I asked for that.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, but there’s a twinkle in those golden-brown eyes that wasn’t there before. She’s not sorry at all.

Smiling, I head into the bathroom to wash my face before making dinner.

Trinity

My head feels like it’s enclosed in bubble wrap.

Luckily I had a few staples in—eggs, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes—so that tricksy bastard was able to throw together a light meal for the three of us in less than ten minutes. Curled up in misery on the sofa, I could hear him in the kitchen with Chase, who was on toast duty, discussing the best way to scramble eggs. (The key is a touch of milk and an electric mixer to get air in for maximum fluffiness, apparently.)

I’m a terrible aunt for forgetting to pick up Chase. I suppose that’s why I let Lucas gently manhandle me and take over. Guilt. Whatever Lucas is making is probably healthier than pizza and I’m in no state to provide for my nephew.

About 10 percent of my taste buds are in working order, however, enough to know that what I just shoved down my throat was very tasty. What’s sitting across from me in my breakfast nook is very tasty as well. Lucas wears a Nike tee and shorts that reveal those Thighs of Thunder. They should be spindly, the stems of a pelican, the legs of a man who spends all his time at a desk, but they’re not, and this seems rather cruel.

“Take care of the plates, mate,” Lucas tells Chase, “while I take care of your aunt.”

Chase grins at me. I scowl back.

“What’s that for?” my favorite nephew asks.

“Just do the dishes.”

Another smile, this time shared with Hottie Brit.

No, I’m no longer calling him that. He’s an interloper, a bossy know-it-all who’s out to destroy my sister in the name of giving Brian the best possible defense. But every time I see him, another knee-melting exchange inevitably pushes my objections further to the back of mind.

He stands and starts stretching. Hands in the air, which pulls his shirt up to showcase the V. You know the one I mean, the lickable one crafted by the gods.

Next, he puts a sneakered foot up on the bench in my breakfast nook and does a couple of lunges. Then he switches to the other leg.

“What are you doing?”

“Limbering up.”

“For what?”

He frowns. “Carrying you to bed, love.”

“I do not need to be carried.” Yet my traitorous stomach wriggles at the thought. Other parts of me like it, too.

However, my head’s in charge, even if it’s saturated in cold meds. I search for indignation. “Also, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that you need to limber up and might throw your back out from lifting me. I can walk just fine.” Up I get. Too fast, alas, and I sway a touch, making a grab for the table.

“Just let him help, Trin,” says Chase in a tone that tells me I’m being difficult.

I’m too tired to argue. “You’ll get sick,” I mutter into Lucas’s neck, which is warm and has a concave spot where it joins his shoulder that’s perfectly designed to fit my nose.

“Don’t worry about me, love.”

But I do worry. I’ve always worried. About Ems and Chase and Ari and even my mom, who never worried about me.

It’s no fun always being the grown-up.

He sits me on my bed, and I try to imagine it through his eyes. Framed whiskey posters and images of the motherland, Scotland, fill the walls along with my sommelier diploma, which feels positively lame when compared to Lucas’s big brain qualifications. I kick a thong under the bed.

“What do you sleep in?” he asks. “Something lacy and sexy?”

I point to an oversized, washed-out University of Illinois tee slouched over a chair. He hands it off, then turns before I have to ask him and walks out of the room. Quickly I undress and put on the tee, then slip under the safety of the covers. I need this space between us because apparently my germs aren’t enough to create a barrier.

On his return, he brings a couple of Tylenol, a glass of water, and a box of tissues. He sits on the side of the bed.

“Want these now?”

“I’ll wait. See if I have problems sleeping first.”

He pulls the covers up to my chin. “What’s the protocol here?”

You sneak under the covers and show me what I’m missing. “With what?”

“Chase. Tomorrow’s a school day, so I’m guessing you don’t want him up all night watching TV.”

“He’s usually pretty good at self-policing.”

He bites down on his lip. It’s hot. Why is it hot? Probably because I’m hot, feverish with this damn cold.

Then he kisses my forehead. I almost swoon, not because of the sweetness, but because of—oh, hell, it’s really sweet. I so want to hate him for making Ems’s life miserable. I need to hold on to that.

“I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Before I can question that more thoroughly, he’s gone and I’m falling into a deep slumber.

---

I wake with a stuffed head and a desperate need to pee. It takes me longer than it should to sit up, swing my legs out of bed, and shuffle to a stand.

I’m a mess.

Mornings with a killer cold are usually worse, so I’m hoping I’ll feel better before I need to head into work tonight. When you live on tips, nights off are disastrous to the bottom line. At the same time, I know Gideon won’t want me behind the bar, infecting the clientele.

A voice filters in from the living room and a moment of panic overtakes me. I grip the door frame and hunt for a weapon. The lamp? My Kindle?

But Chase’s laugh loosens my battle-ready muscles. Right. Who else would it be?

Walking out to the living room, I already know who’s with him, yet I wasn’t expecting to be greeted with the sight of a pair of perfectly taut, clenched buns attached to a body contorted into downward-facing dog. Using one arm!

“So what we talked about last night?” Lucas asks, addressing Chase. Neither of them have seen me.

“About playing soccer?”

I hold my breath, waiting for more.

“Do it only if you like it, mate. Not for anyone else, okay?”

“I like being part of a team,” Chase says. “Even if I’m no good right this minute, being part of something makes up for it.”

My heart clenches. This sports ball business is helping my nephew deal with the trauma of his parents’ separation. I’m also in awe of Lucas for stepping up and talking to Chase like this.

And he’s still suspended above the ground with that single arm holding him perfectly still!

“Keep that pose, mate.”

Chase is also trying it but he doesn’t have Lucas’s stamina. His knees drop to the floor, unable to maintain the position.

“Yoga’s fuckin’ hard, man,” my nephew says.

“Uh, language.”

Chase twists and grins at me. “Hey, you’re up.”

“Yeah, and you’re doing yoga.”

“Just giving it a shot,” Chase says. “Lucas says it frees the mind.”

Lucas is still balancing on one hand, which really should not be possible. With a little bunny hop, he jumps up and faces me. He’s wearing the same shorts as yesterday but no shirt.

It is glorious and I am miraculously cured.

Just kidding, but hell, this is better than a cup of morning joe. I spy tattoos. A full, colorful sleeve of a serpent on his left shoulder, a band of astrological symbols on his right bicep. What looks like a witch’s hat and the name Lizzie ringing it over his left pec. I hate this woman already.

Lost in a lust fog, I barely notice that it’s—he’s—speaking.

“What’s that?”

“How’d you sleep?”

He moves in and holds my upper arms. He’s done that before, a subtle display of caring coupled with dominance. Intellectually, I don’t approve, but as his heat pulses right through me, I figure that intellect means diddly when I’m breathing Lucas Wright’s air.

“Did you stay the night?”

“On the sofa. I thought you’d probably want to sleep in and I could get this one off to school.” With a conspiratorial eye roll, he thumbs behind him to Chase, who’s busy on his phone.

“You don’t have to—”

“Help?”

I’m not used to this. I’ve always been a lone wolf where this kind of thing is concerned. I like making the calls and maintaining control. It comes from raising Em. When you’re sick you just get on with it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, not wishing to list the reasons in front of Chase.

My sensitive nephew picks up on the vibe and stands. “I’ll get ready for school.”

“Put your cereal bowl in the dishwasher, mate,” Lucas says, never taking his eyes off me.

Chase rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. Lucas leads me to the sofa, sits me down (more gentle shoving that I’m strangely starting to enjoy), and grabs an afghan. Silently, he makes a meal out of wrapping me up, arranging cushions, and generally ensuring my comfort.

Standing back, he assesses his work. With a disapproving head shake he moves a pillow so it’s supporting my side more firmly, tucks the blanket underneath my body more securely, then takes a seat beside me.

He’s still shirtless. I might be as sick as a dog, but even I can appreciate the way his arms flex as he positions me for his pleasure, the way the ropy cords of muscle strain slightly against his skin. He also happens to smell incredible. Didn’t he come from soccer practice last night?

I lean in and sniff, wondering why it’s familiar. “Did you take a shower and use my body wash?”

“Yeah, after you conked out last night I took the liberty of not stinking up your sofa with my sweaty body. You’re welcome.”

Taking liberties is right. I can’t believe he just stuck around without invitation. Last night, he was here, in my home, mere feet away from my room. I’m about to take him to task when he utters this gem:

“And then Chase and I went over his maths homework.” Plural like they say in the UK.

“You did?”

“Yep. Bloody algebraic equations—that brought it all back.” He chuckles like algebra is his happiest memory. I move away a couple of inches because I’m beginning to deduce that Lucas Wright might not be all there.

“So.” He rubs his hands together. “What about breakfast?”

“No appetite.”

“Okay, how about a cup of coffee? That’s probably all I can manage anyway before I take His Lordship to school.”

“You don’t have to do that. The coffee, the ride.” I make to get up, but I’m—what’s the word?—swaddled. The fucker has swaddled me on the sofa.

I feel helpless but strangely helped. I usually wouldn’t like this level of bossiness, but since he arrived last night, he’s exuded a forceful calm, which is strange because he’s usually so high energy and on all the time. For one day I can accept his comfort. I’m ill, suffering lowered immunity, and someone else is taking care of business.

“I wouldn’t say no to coffee,” I whisper.

He grins huge. “That’s my girl!”

He bounds off to the kitchen like a friendly Irish setter. There’s a cooking show on the TV, currently on mute, that Great British Baking Show that Gideon and Pete are always raving about. They claim it’s relaxing.

I don’t really know how to relax, especially not lately. I don’t think watching amateurs bake bread will do it for me.

Chase comes back in, hair brushed, backpack at the ready. He takes a seat beside me. “You okay, Aunt Trin?”

“I’ve been better. Sorry I’ve ruined your weekend. I don’t want you to catch anything, so it might be best if I called your mom and sent you to Rockford to see your dad’s parents.”

“Can’t. I have a game tomorrow.”

“You might not be playing if you get sick.”

“I’ll just stay away from you.” He moves to the other end of the sofa.

“That’s not how germs work, young man. I’ve probably infected every surface.”

“I’ll risk it.”

Lucas returns with a cup of coffee and pops it on the side table on a coaster. “You ready, mate?” he asks Chase.

Chase stands. “Today’s a half day so I’ll be back at one. Maybe I should bring the spare key?”

Lucas folds his arms. “Better buzz. I’ll be here looking after your aunt and I’ll need it to get back in.”

Now wait a second…but Chase is already heading for the door.

“You don’t have to come back,” I call out to Lucas, with a nice, juicy lung hack to sweeten the offer. “Don’t you have a job?”

“I have some work I can pick up at my place along with my laptop. I need to get a change of clothes anyway.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

He hunkers down beside me and lowers his voice. “Chase has to stay the entire weekend, but it sounds like he’ll need rides to places. He already told me he wanted to head over to play video games at Carlos’s house tonight. I’m going to hang around so you can focus on getting better. Now, I’ll admit that covering up your legs with that blanket nearly bloody killed me, Trinity, but that’s my burden and I’ll carry it like a man.”

How is that relevant? “But—”

“Listen, love, I’ll come back with…” He raises an eyebrow. I want to lick the scar bisecting it.

“What?”

“You tell me. I’ll come back with…” He flourishes a hand, encouraging me to fill in the blank.

Oh, if I must. “Ham, egg, and cheese from Dunkin’.”

“Ham, egg, and cheese from Dunkin’. Got it. Anything else?”

I think on it a moment before inspiration strikes. “Tampons.”

“Which absorbency?”

Oh, he’s good. “Regular.” I don’t even need them, but I refuse to back down. “And Cadbury Crème Eggs. Two, please.”

“It’s July.”

“When I was a kid, that’s what my mom would get us when we were sick.” Yeah, I went there. Played the dead mom card. Just how far is he willing to take this Good Samaritan act?

He smirks. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As he stands, I’m treated to the intoxicating sight of Lucas’s exceptionally well-toned, perfectly muscled body filling my eyeballs.

“See you in a few.” He heads to the door.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Your shirt.”

He gazes down fondly at his pecs as he’s just realizing now that he’s half naked. “It needs a wash. I don’t think anyone will mind me walking around shirtless, do you?” And with a cheeky wink, he’s gone.