Nineteen
Maddox
Turns out my mom was right. I’ve been craving a home-cooked meal. I’m not a half bad cook and I enjoy it but with it being just Maggie and me, and me working such long hours, cooking a full meal feels like an insurmountable task most day. I’m lucky if I’m able to carve out enough time to make her a grilled cheese. I make a vow to change that.
“You think I can get you to share your lasagna recipe with me, Nan?”
When I ask it, the old woman arches an eyebrow at me, and stands up from her chair. “Not mine to give.” She jerks a thumb at Kris who’s sitting across from me, in the same chair she used to sit in when we were kids. “You’re sweet talking the wrong woman.” Looking at Maggie, she cocks her head toward the kitchen. “It’s cake time kid,” she says, her declaration sending Maggie scrambling out of her chair. “You two move it into the living room.”
Kris gives me a wry smile. “The lasagna recipe is on the back of the noodle box and she knows it,” she says as she stands and pushes in her chair and I follow suit. “She’s just a trouble-maker.”
“I heard that,” Nan shouts from the kitchen, the sound of it followed by Maggie’s giggle.
“You were supposed to, you old bat,” Kris shouts with a grin, her insult setting off another round of laughter in the kitchen.
Following her, we pass through the foyer. On impulse, I reach out and snag her by the wrist, stopping her in the living room doorway. “You took Maggie to see our treehouse,” I say, gaze aimed at her mouth because I can’t talk about it without thinking about what happened the last time we were in it together.
She laughs but the sound of it is breathless, like she’s remembering the same things I am. “You would’ve thought I took her on a tour of Graceland.”
I give her a lop-sided grin, edging closer. “You kinda did,” I say, slipping an arm around her waist. “She’s been half-convinced I made you up for as long as I can remember.” I pull her close, relieved beyond reason that we’re still a perfect fit, that her body instinctively molds itself to me like we were made for each other. As soon as we touch, I feel the snap of it in my bones. The undeniable rightness I’ve only ever felt with her.
It scares the shit out of me.
“What are you doing, Mad?” She whispers it, chin tipped up to look at me, brow furrowed. She can feel it, there’s no way she can’t. She knows the same thing I do. That we belong together. To each other.
When I point a finger she looks up and laughs at the bunch of radishes hanging from the doorway above our heads. “That’s not mistletoe. Nan just ran around, staple gunning the entire contents of the vegetable crisper to every visible doorway as soon as we got home.”
“You know what they say about necessity,” I tell her, giving her a shrug.
“I thought you were mad at me.” She sucks her lip between her teeth.
“Oh, I am.” I tilt my head and nod. “But I’m going to kiss you just the same,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, pressing my thumb into the underside of her chin. Angling her mouth just right, I brush my lips against hers. “And if you call me your step-brother, so help me God, I’m going to skip the kissing and head straight to the paddling.”
“Well, tech—”
That’s as far as I let her get before I’m skimming her lower lip with my tongue. She lets me in with a sigh and I lick my way into her mouth, my fingers tightening against the back of her neck when she slants her mouth under mine to deepen the kiss. Moaning softly, she reached up to push her hands through my hair, their fingers tightening almost painfully when I suck her tongue into my mouth, find and keep a rhythm that pounds its way down my spine. Tightens the small of my back, sends blood rushing south so fast I’m mildly concerned about brain damage. Unable to stop myself, I find the hem of her sweater with my fingertips and push my way past it, sliding my hand inside so I can cup her breast in my hand, the perfect weight of it in my palm going straight to my dick.
Right now, I don’t care about the letters.
I don’t care about how much she hurt me.
Why she did what she did.
I don’t give a fuck about birthday cake or my family’s party. I’m seconds away from dragging her to the floor so I can—
“We’re going to count ten and then we’re coming out,” Nan calls out from the kitchen, giving us fair warning. “Kris better be sitting on the couch with her eyes closed.”
Fuck.
Tearing my mouth away from hers, I force myself to step away from her while Nan and Maggie’s countdown floats in from the kitchen.
“… six… seven… eight…”
Kris darts through the doorway, practically throwing herself at the couch while I lower myself into a chair, as far away from her as I can get.