A single heartbeat later, I had her up against the wall, my hand gripping her ass and my tongue in her mouth. I almost groaned, but swallowed it down because I knew we had to be quiet. Her mouth was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted, and she gave of it freely, gave it over to me like she knew I’d die without it.

She rubbed against me shamelessly and my fingers tightened over the silky fabric of her tights.

“Oh, okay,” she whispered when I bit down on her earlobe and pulled. “Michael.”

My name on her lips made me feel invincible, powerful, and as unsteady as I’d ever been in my entire life. The sheer force of what it made me feel almost toppled me over because of how badly I wanted to hear it again and again and again.

I found her lips again, clasped the sides of her face in my hand and took another deep, searching kiss. Brooke shoved her hands under my shirt and dragged her fingernails along my stomach.

“What are we doing?” she moaned, trailing a teasing finger down the line of hair that disappeared into my jeans. Keep going, I prayed in my head. Please.

“Brooke? Cole is here and wants to know where to put the coolers,” Julia called from the kitchen, and we both froze. Brooke’s eyes were huge in her face and the color drained from her cheeks instantly.

“Shit,” she whispered, and yanked her hands from my skin. I stepped back, not feeling the same kind of panic that I’m sure she was. Theoretically, I could understand why she didn’t want to make this known to anyone outside the space we were occupying, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

She smoothed the front of her dress down, and because I couldn’t stop myself, I lifted my hand and tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear. It was a gentle enough caress that Brooke froze, searched my eyes with hers. The brief flash of … hurt? Surprise? Was enough to make me drop my hand and let her pass.

The sound of the plastic was jarring when she pushed through, and I braced my hands on my hips, taking a moment before joining the others. And maybe give Brooke enough time that no one would suspect that I was following her out.

When I walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen, no one looked at me funny. Brooke didn’t look at me period, but I couldn’t exactly blame her. She had a house full of people that needed entertaining, and she was the hostess. I was the distraction, which was on a long list of things that she did not need, coming somewhere around a termite infestation, a house fire, or maybe a toenail fungus.

Attractive way to think of yourself, I know. And I wasn’t searching for sympathy or feeling sorry for myself, just trying to be honest with myself of how all this would likely play out. I’d give her as much space as possible, help her clean up after the party and then we’d actually be able to talk.

Hopefully.

* * *

Of course, it didn’t turn out exactly like that. The party wasn’t all that long, and it still freaked me out a little bit that I’d gladly given up a Sunday afternoon to go to a birthday party for tiny humans that couldn’t even really talk yet.

Piper was close though, little genius. When she (with Brooke’s help) opened up the small pink toolbox with plush hammer, nails, screwdriver and measuring tape, she immediately started yelling, “Bang, bang, bang!”, much to everyone’s delight. Jacob got a matching set in green, and the look in Brooke’s eyes when she saw them made it worth the time it took me to find exactly what I wanted.

She’d looked at me fully for the first time since leaving the salon, and mouthed, thank you so much.

When I winked at her, she blushed, and I wanted to pump my fist like a giant chump.

Dylan and Kat did give the twins a pretty epic present, some fancy playset full of different vehicles and toy people that fit inside, all these buttons and lights and things that Brooke would probably want to blow up after a couple weeks, but the twins were entranced.

Brooke’s parents were … fine. Her mom said hi to me, and I managed a smile for her, a handshake for her dad, who was exactly as I imagine him. Looked like a mob boss, spoke in a thick Italian accent and had a grip that made me want to cower a little bit. He asked me if I was ‘the builder’ and for a second, I wondered if that was like a code name for an enforcer or something, and I hesitated in my answer.

The neighbor from across the street was there with her husband, and she seemed sweet. I knew that she watched the twins during the week when Julia couldn’t, and they copped out with some books. Boring.

Food was eaten, cake was smashed all over the twins’ faces, and it was actually pretty fun. Brooke had good music on in the background, and nothing she had planned took too long. But it was after the party when I ran into trouble. Because everyone had the idea to stay and help Brooke clean up.

Julia and Cole were gathering trash, Kat was washing dishes while Dylan dried, and Brooke’s parents took the kids outside so they weren’t in the way. The neighbor had to leave, but apologized profusely for not being able to help, which Brooke waved off, of course.

“Apparently the whole party is staying to help,” she told them with a smile. “I’m just so glad you could come. Thank you.”

She walked them out, and while everyone else was busy in the kitchen, I started gathering the presents. “Hey, want me to help bring these in their bedroom?”

Brooke sighed and stared at the pile, with a hand on top of her head. “Yeah, I suppose. You don’t have to do that, though. I can clean this up.”

I gave her a meaningful look. “Let me help. Come on, let’s put these away.”

The warning in her eyes was clear when she picked up what I couldn’t fit in my arms. Hands to yourself, that warning read loud and clear. In neon letters, with arrows pointing at each individual letter.

I set the books and cars down on top of the dresser, and she started putting things away. When she didn’t look at me, I cleared my throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving me a sheepish look. “It’s like I still have post-orgasm brain and don’t know how to act around you if I’m not ripping your clothes off.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard, that she finally cracked a smile. “Well, I have to admit that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

Her smile dropped a bit, and I wanted to kick my own ass. Great idea, dipshit. Remind her that you’ve never had a girlfriend or any semblance of a committed relationship.

Searching frantically for a subject change, I latched onto the first thing that came into my head. “So, what did you decide to do with what’s his name?”

Her smile was rueful, but she didn’t chastise or correct me. “He’s going to come over about an hour or so before the twins go to bed. That’s all I’m willing to do for today. And tomorrow?” She shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

Discomfort pinged through my bones, and I hated it. I hated that I could feel my body physically rejecting the idea that she be here alone with that guy. At that point, I didn’t care who offered to be here with her, I would’ve been happy. But really … I wanted it to be me.

“Do you want me to come back?” I asked, trying desperately to sound unaffected and not completely desperate. “I don’t have anything going tonight.”

She looked down and shook her head, not even giving it a moment’s thought. “No, but thank you. Julia offered to be here too, but I think she’d slap the shit out of him before attempting any civility.”

I scratched the side of my face. “Well … it’s not an idea without merit.”

Brooke threw some wadded-up wrapping paper at me and I caught it easily. She rolled her eyes, but looked a little bit happier. “It’s important that I do this myself. I don’t need protection from Kevin, and it’s important to me that I give him this chance. What comes from it, I have no clue, but everyone deserves a chance.”

“Do they?” I asked dryly.

“Yes. And obviously I appreciate that you were here the other night when he caught me off guard, but I have to be the one to deal with this. With him.”

There was no wiggle room in her answer. That much was obvious. So I swallowed down my protest and nodded. “Okay. But I can come back if you change your mind.”

* * *

She didn’t change her mind.

I was home and sitting in a recliner watching SportsCenter, drinking a beer, staring at my phone and wondering what she was wearing in preparation for him to show up at the door.

My clock showed 6:55pm and I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled up Brooke’s contact information and tapped the message icon. I was finishing up my text when Tristan walked into the family room, his own beer in hand. He glanced curiously at my phone when I turned the screen away so he couldn’t see it, hitting send in the process.

“Damn it,” I whispered. Oh well, damage was done, and if she thought I was a chump for it, I guess there wasn’t much I could do.

“Where’d you go this afternoon?” Tristan asked, eyes straight ahead at the TV.

Shock had me turning in my seat to face him. “Did you just ask me something unprompted?”

He sighed. “Never mind.”

I snickered, taking another sip of my beer. Then I cleared my throat, knowing he was about to be as shocked, too. “Oh no. You asked.” I scratched the side of my face. “I, uhh, I was at Brooke’s. The twins turned one today.”

Tristan went completely still. Like frozen in ice, statue, stuffed-mounted-dead animal still.

“On a Sunday afternoon.”

“Yup.” Another sip of beer.

“You.”

Glancing over at him, I gave him a steady look that he returned easily. “Yup. Does that surprise you so much?”

Tristan let out a short puff of air that could almost pass as a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Kat and Dylan were there too.” Defending myself wasn’t necessary, but there I was. Fully committed to my course, so he could freaking deal. “And Julia and Cole, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said, almost sounding sarcastic. This wealth of emotion from my big brother was enough to actually start pissing me off. “By the way, since you forgot about lunch at Mom’s today because you were at a birthday party for babies, she told me you owed her a phone call.”

I dropped my head back on the chair. “Shit. I totally forgot about Mom.”

“I wouldn’t explain yourself like that if I were you,” Tristan said around the mouth of his beer bottle.

While I stood from my chair and left the room, I glared at him. Of course, he didn’t care. I pulled up her number and hit connect, pinching the bridge of my nose while it rang in my ear.

“Well, you are alive,” my mom said by way of answer.

“I suck. Sorry, Ma.”

She clucked her tongue and I knew I was in for a guilt trip of epic proportions. “Oh, it’s fine. Your brother managed to remember me, and I’ll be eating these leftovers all week because I made so much food, but really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Come on,” I coaxed. “You know I’ll eat leftovers. Your roast is always better the next day. Not so dry that way.”

She laughed before she could stop herself, and then she huffed. “Oh, Michael. What were you doing today that was more important than seeing the woman who gave birth to you? Seventeen hours of labor and three hours of pushing, if you forgot.”

I sank onto my bed and thought about how to answer that. If I told her the truth, she’d drive down into Denver and demand to meet Brooke, get visions of those chubby little babies as her grandchildren. I never talked to my mom about women. Ever. EVER.

“I had a birthday party that I forgot to tell you about. Sorry. I promise I won’t miss next week.”

“On a Sunday afternoon?”

My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose even harder. “Yeah. It was for my friends’ kids. They turned one.”

The hum she gave in answer made me shake my head. “What’s your friends’ name?”

“Bye, Ma. Nice talking to you. I’ll see you next week.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Michael Whitfield. I’ll make you eat rocks for dinner next week if you do.”

“I love you. Thanks for giving birth to me and not hating me for missing lunch.”

“Michael!”

I made a smacking kiss noise into the phone and disconnected with a grin. The home screen of my phone went back to normal and I sobered. He’d be there by now. Or … he would if he knew how to read a clock. Given the slightly cross-eyed look about him the other night, I couldn’t assume that.

At least the conversation with Tristan and short phone call with my mom had been good for one thing; distraction. For a while, at least, I wasn’t staring at the phone to see if she texted me back, asking me to come over.

But when I pulled up our message thread, there was nothing after the one I’d sent accidentally, before I had a chance to edit out anything that was too transparent, too obvious. I groaned out loud when I read it again, because yeah.