About That Night

Chapter 1

Hank Williams Young (the Williams is silent)

Two things are immediatelyobvious when I walk into the room at the nursing home.

The first is the reason I’m here—my grandfather, Pops. Who does look good, which is a little surprising given he’s just had hip replacement surgery. He’s alert, has color, and is sitting up in bed.

Reassured that he’s on the mend, I come to a full stop two feet into the room as I realize the second thing—Pops’ young, very female nurse has a body like a back road. Nothing but curves.

The nurse is bent over, leaning across the bed, fiddling with something behind Pops’ head. Her pants are pulled taut from the movement, and she has a body that gives me the urge to just reach out and run my hands over it.

This ass is amazing. Damn. So amazing that I’ve forgotten why I’m here for a split second.

Blonde waves tumble down over her shoulders and spill forward onto her arms as she contorts herself, all in the name of helping another human.

I could yank that hair while I shift in behind that sweet ass and…

I stop myself there.

My grandfather would slap me upside the head if he knew the thoughts running through my head, but it isn’t exactly my fault. I had walked in expecting to see a grumpy old man and was visually assaulted with a nurse fantasy. Helpful, healing, and hot? I mean, come on. That’s the full package.

Besides, I haven’t been dating. I’ve been working nonstop, and I think that’s starting to make me a little stir crazy. All work and no play is not my usual MO.

“Hey, Pops, what’s up?” I ask, setting down the bag of food I brought for him on a chair.

The nurse stands up quickly. The gesture is so aggressive that she collides with the bedside tray on wheels, sending it spiraling out, the plate of food on it rattling.

“You okay?” Pops asks her, sitting up straighter.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice low. “I’m fine.”

Then she turns, and I no longer feel guilty or surprised for being instantly attracted to her. It’s clearly muscle memory because I know this woman. I’ve been inside this woman once upon a time, when I was young and prone to impulse. I know these curves intimately. I’ve gripped that ass and ground my cock inside her while she moaned in pleasure.

“Chastity DuBois,” I say, my voice equally low as hers. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s great to see you again.”

I mean that sincerely. The past week has been rough, with building permits and loan issues on my restaurant, and she is a pleasant distraction. I’ve always had a soft spot—and hard cock—for this woman.

“Hank,” she breathes, before clearing her throat. She tucks her hair behind her ear and plays with the ID badge clipped to her uniform. “Hi, how are you?”

“You two know each other?” Pops asks, sounding pleased. “That’s what I love about living in a small town. There are no strangers in Porte French.”

Definitely not strangers, me and Chastity.

“Chastity went to school with Faith,” I say to my grandfather, not taking my eyes off of the nurse. And she had sex with me. Her cheeks are pink, and she isn’t looking directly at me. “She was a cheerleader.” Who had sex with me.

“No kidding? You mentioned that you knew Faith, but I didn’t know you were a pom-pom kind of girl,” Pops says to Chastity, his bushy gray eyebrows lifting up.

“She was very enthusiastic in high school,” I say, willing her to meet my gaze and acknowledge that we shared a hell of a good time. “And bouncy.”

She momentarily slips and gives me an incredulous look before schooling her features and focusing on fluffing Pops’ pillow.

“I used to spend a lot of time at the Young”s,” she says to Pops. “It was the hangout house. I ran into Hank here and there.”

That was one way to put it. One night when I was out drinking with my buddies, she’d gone into my bedroom and gotten naked. I’d come home a little drunk and found her waiting for me in my bed.

Maybe not the smartest idea to hook up with my little sister’s best friend, but hell, how could I say no to that? I didn’t even have to work for it. She was just there, like being handed something unexpected and tasty and amazing. A free ice cream cone, and you can lick anywhere you want.

Now though?

It’s clear she wants to distance herself from it. I’ll chalk that up to the fact she’s a professional at work, and my grandfather is her patient. It was also five years ago, so I get it.

But two years ago, when we made out in New Orleans one night, that was different than the first time. I gave her multiple orgasms, and she gave me a glimpse at how easy it could be to fall for her, given half a chance. That night had been more intentional than our earlier hookup. We’d spent the night talking and laughing and dancing before going to my place. I had assumed we’d run into each other again. We hadn’t because I’d been living in New Orleans, and she was in Baton Rouge.

I’ve thought about texting her, but what the hell would I say? I didn’t want her to think I was fishing for sex or that she owed me anything after our morning was interrupted and she had to take off. The timing was bad then because we lived ninety minutes apart. It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of her, though. I have, constantly. No woman can compare to her blonde beauty, her shy enthusiasm, her sweet disposition. And her body… It”s like a signature dish. It never lets you down, and nothing else ever measures up.

But now we’re both back in our hometown, and here she is, looking even more beautiful than ever and just as tempting. A little something here and there with her is exactly what I need, but she doesn’t seem to be having similar thoughts. Hell, I’m not even being honest with myself. I don’t want something here and there with her. No, we’ve done that.

That doesn’t feel right for me and Chastity.

She’s different. She’s always been different. Something here and there should be something more.

Maybe she has a boyfriend. Hell, a husband, and she doesn’t want to be reminded of her past. That thought is actually irritating because it feels like we have unfinished business, and I don’t mean just sex.

I should have texted her.

She plays with the V neckline of her uniform.

But then again, that was then. This is now. Probably too late to worry about what-ifs or could-have-beens.

“No kidding?” Pops says. He’s studying both of us with a shrewd and knowing stare.

“No kidding,” I say mildly. “How are you feeling, old man?”

“I feel like I might just stay here forever. Chastity is taking excellent care of me. She’s a sweet girl and very hardworking.”

Not quite the same endorsement I would give her, but it says positive things about her character.

“You’re just saying that because you want another popsicle, Mr. Young.” Chastity gives him an indulgent smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you one. I promise.”

“Purple.”

“Of course.” Chastity slips past me. “Good to see you, Hank,” she murmurs, but barely glances at me.

It’s bothering me that she’s being relatively cool toward me. It shouldn’t. But it is.

I watch her walk out of the room, then I ask my grandfather, “Hey, is Chastity married? Got a boyfriend?”

“No, definitely not married. I’ve never heard her mention a boyfriend. She only talks about her son.”

That gets my attention. Whatever I thought he was going to say, it isn’t that. “Her son? She has a kid?”

Though it isn’t hard to picture Chastity as a mom. She is naturally nurturing and caring. It complicates things, though. She isn’t going to want to just hook up with me if she’s a single mom. Or maybe she will, because I can be a break from all that responsibility.

No wonder she hasn’t texted me either. She’s been busy raising a baby as a single mom. I have mad respect for that.

It probably means I should rein in the flirting if I run into her again.

“Yes. He drew me this picture.” Pops points to a piece of paper taped to the wall next to his bed.

Moving in closer to his bed, I glance at the drawing. Hold on. That is not the scribbling of a toddler. That is like kindergarten-level shit, with a house and a tree and a fucking sun winking at me…

“Pops, how old is her son?” I ask, a pit forming in my gut.

In New Orleans two years prior, we hadn’t had sex because I didn’t have a condom, and we were both smart enough to be safe about it. But five years ago? There wasn’t a condom in sight.

“Four. She said he’s turning five in December. He’s a cute kid. She’s showed me pictures of him on her phone.”

The latter part of what he says barely registers. “May, June, July…” I start counting, mind in a total panic. I lose track of where I am and have to start over.

“Why the hell are you counting on your fingers?”

I get to nine, which is January, and I almost shit myself. That is close. Too close. Really close. “Oh, Jesus.”

The room actually blurs a little as the enormity of the situation hits me. I move toward the door, tripping over the same movable tray Chastity did in my frantic scramble to get to her and confirm that I do not have a child that I had no idea existed. Water spills everywhere, and I ignore it.

“Oh, shit,” Pops says. “You plugged her, didn’t you?”

Yes. Yes, I did.

“Don’t make it sound so disgusting,” I say, palms sweating and heart racing. Though it hadn’t exactly been flowers and romance. More like impulsive grinding in the dark.

It’s one thing to do that, another thing to be called out for it. I don’t particularly like this feeling. I try to shove it down. Which is something I’m really good at. I can avoid feelings like nobody’s business. It’s a fucking art form because feelings can be messy, and I don’t do messy.

There’s no avoiding this shit, though.

Do I have a son?

No. Surely Chastity would have told me in New Orleans. She absolutely would have told me. Why wouldn’t she tell me?

“Probably was disgusting, given how sweet she is and how much of a dog you are.” Pops sounds disdainful. Of me. “Shame on you for taking advantage of such a naive girl.”

That naive girl had been waiting for me, naked in my bed, but I’m not going to argue with Pops. Or throw Chastity under the bus. What had happened was between her and me.

Unless her son is mine. In which case, that’s between me, her, and my lawyer. Not that I have a lawyer, but I’ll get one.

It’s that thought that has me bolting out into the hallway. I search and see her at the nurse’s station, sitting down.

“Chastity!”

She looks up, startled. She presses her lips together and looks left and right, nervously. My loud tone has clearly unnerved her. “Yes?”

“Is your son my kid?” I ask. “Tell me. I need to know.” I sound rude and frantic and I’m using a much louder voice than I intended. My words are booming in the quiet hallway, and I need to lower my voice, but I’m freaking the fuck out.

She shoves her chair back and stands up quickly, jaw dropping. “Hank! Be quiet!”

But I’m not sure how to be quiet because, as previously mentioned, I’m freaking the fuck out. “You didn’t answer the question. Is your son my child?”

Her cheeks are pink, but she shakes her head vigorously. “No. Of course not.”

“The math makes sense,” I insist. “We had sex in May.”

“Will you keep it down?” she hisses. “I don’t want to get in trouble or fired. Nor do I want everyone on staff to know my sexual history.”

I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control. I don’t want her to get in trouble either. She is at work, and another nurse has already glanced in our direction several times from where she’s standing in front of a supply closet.

“Okay, but are you sure? The timing…”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“But…” I don’t know why I keep insisting. Most guys would just be glad she’s denying it, but I need to be positive. I can’t stomach the thought that I have a kid I haven’t spent any time with or supported in any way financially or emotionally.

“I would never do that to you, Hank,” she says, her voice low and tight. “Never. He’s not yours.”

Relief hits me like a two-by-four. I believe her.

I let go of the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding in. My hands go into my hair and rake it back from my forehead. “Phew. Holy shit. That was a terrifying two minutes. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

She shakes her head. “I bet. But don’t worry, you’re good. I promise.”

Now that my heart has stopped racing and I no longer feel like I’m going to blackout, I eye Chastity. She looks tired. Maybe a little sad. Her shoulders are slumped, and her expression is troubled.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. Which is a stupid question. I just accused her of having my secret child. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or accuse you, it’s just the timing…”

She shrugs. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I understand. It was a fair question. Go sit with your grandfather. Visiting hours are almost over.”

I hesitate. “What time do you get off work?”

“What? Why?” She reaches up and pulls her hair back off of her face, twisting it into a knot. A hair band appears out of nowhere, and she secures the pile.

Her face is thinner than it used to be, and she has faint bruising under her eyes, like she needs more sleep. She has the vibe of someone who is just absolutely worn out, and I don’t like seeing that. She glances at her phone several times with a distracted and worried look. This is not a woman who appears to have had a lot of fun recently, and while I may be lacking in certain qualities like knowing when to shut my fucking mouth, I do know how to have a good time.

“Let’s meet for a drink.” I give her a smile.

But Chastity is having none of it. She tilts her head. “Absolutely not. I know exactly what that means.”

So do I. That’s why I’m asking. It seems like we can both really use the distraction. “Come on, Chastity. Just one drink at The Swamp.”

“The Swamp? Oh my God. I haven’t been there in years. That was where we used to go when we were underage idiots.” She bites her lip. “I really shouldn’t.”

“What time does your shift end?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll meet you there at nine, then. We can catch up on old times.” I reach over the counter and pick up her phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, reaching back out for her phone. “Give me that!”

I suspect if she wasn’t at work, she’d wrestle me for it, but she’s trying to stay professional.

“I want to see if you still have my number.” Her screen saver is her with her son. The little boy is giving a toothy grin and squeezing her tightly. She’s hugging him back. The love is palpable. It gives me a weird feeling that I don’t understand, so I ignore it. “This is a great picture.”

“Thank you.” She holds her hand out again, more pointedly. “Give me my phone back. I still have your number. I never deleted it.”

I keep the phone, but I’m not looking at it. It’s just a negotiation tool. “I’m not sure I believe you because you haven’t texted me in two years.”

“You haven’t texted me either.”

She has me there.

“You left,” I say. She’d rolled out practically at dawn. It occurs to me now it probably had something to do with her son. “I was dejected and forlorn.”

Chastity laughs, and it makes me feel like a million bucks that I’ve put a smile on her face. “Hank Williams Young. You haven’t changed at all.”

“The Williams is silent,” I tell her.

The corner of her mouth turns up. “Unlike you. Fine. I’ll see you at nine. Now give me my phone, please.”

I hand the phone to her, wondering why she didn’t tell me in New Orleans that she had a son. I’m trusting that Chastity wouldn’t lie to me, but she definitely left out a vital piece of information about herself. In my initial relief, I didn’t think about that, but now I’m curious what her explanation will be. “Perfect. You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.” But there’s no edge to her words. She’s looking at me fondly.

Something shifts inside of me, and I don’t understand what it is or what it means, but I have a feeling this isn’t a continuation of what we’ve shared before, it’s just the beginning. I’m not even sure what I mean by that. But the air feels like it does before a storm. Unsettled.

Which makes me a little unnerved.

So I wave to her and head back to Pops’ room.

“Are congratulations in order?” he asks. “Do I have a great-grandchild?”

I shake my head. “She says no.” I still don’t understand why she didn’t tell me she had a son, though. It seems out of character for her. Not that I know her. Knowing her body and knowing her aren’t the same thing at all.

But we had talked for hours…

“Of course it’s not your kid, you idiot. Chastity would never lie like that.”

I nod. “You’re right. It just caught me off guard.”

Out of nowhere, Pops throws the tissue box from his bedside table at me. I duck, and it lands on the floor. The old man has more strength than I give him credit for.

“What the hell was that for?” I demand.

“For thinking with the wrong head. You’re damn lucky you’re not the one who knocked that poor girl up.”

“I am lucky.” Right? Lucky Hank. If it happened now, I could rise to the occasion. My brother Cash is due to have a baby any day now, and, to be totally honest, I get a little jealous when I’m around him and his wife, Sera. She looks so confidently maternal in her pregnancy and he’s so happy, that I get it the appeal of a family. I’m in the midst of launching my first solo culinary venture, but I would welcome a baby, a wife, the whole settling-down-thing, now. Five years ago, I probably would have fucked it all up.

Which makes me wonder about the real father. Who is he, and where is he? He must have done the fucking up. Better him than me. But it makes me feel sympathy for Chastity and her son, and admire her for her tenacity.

“One of these days you’ll get caught. Mark my words.”

“I sense a double standard here. Cash knocks Sera up, and everyone is patting him on the back. They weren’t even dating. Explain that to me.” I know the answer. I just want to grumble.

“Sera is a grown woman with three kids already, and your brother’s been wanting a family just about his whole life. They’re exactly what the other one needed. And he’s rich.”

I pick up the tissue box and slap it down on the bedside table. “Fair enough. I am not rich.” Nor will I ever be, considering I’ve just sunk my life’s savings into opening a restaurant in Porte French.

I had always planned to open a restaurant in New Orleans, or maybe even Nashville, where Cash plays pro football.

But impulsively, I decided to buy an old building that I had loved as a kid. On the heels of my other brother Conway having a freak accident, and Pops flatlining during his surgery, and Cash’s baby about to be born, I don’t know, something changed. I’d gotten to where I didn’t want to be alone in New Orleans anymore.

I wanted to be home, near my family.

So here I am, with a massive project underway and problems popping up left and right.

It’s a bad time for the past to pop up too, but that’s clearly not stopping me.

“Maybe it’s time to stop chasing skirts and settle down yourself,” Pops says.

“I just settled myself down with a huge-ass mortgage. That’s enough adult commitment for now,” I say dryly.

“Then stay away from Chastity. She’s too good for you.”

I have to admit, that stings a little. It didn’t bother me to be considered the family cutup when I was younger, but I am a man now, damn it, and a fucking decent one most of the time.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Thank you for the insult. Forget about me letting you have this barbecue now.”

“Don’t be an ass. Give me the food.” He holds his hand out.

I wave him off and move the bag to the table to start unpacking it. “I should make you get out of that bed and come get it yourself after that character defamation you just tossed my way. I’m a good guy. I don’t have a criminal record, I open doors for old ladies, and I call my mother once a week.” Maybe it’s only once every two weeks. But I text her when I don’t call.

“I never said you were a bad guy. Just that Chastity’s too good for you. Which she is. Those are facts, son.”

“Based on what?” Moving the tray in front of him, the lids off the containers so he can eat, I eye the ribs. I’ve been experimenting with my new smoker, and I don’t like the char on them. But I hand Pops a plastic fork. “Just eat your dinner and quit judging me.”

Pops points to the picture taped to the wall. The house, the tree, the sun. “And you just keep that kid in mind. That’s all I’m saying.”

My dick doesn’t want to listen to anything the old man has to say, but everything above my waist agrees with him. Proceed with caution. This changes things with Chastity.

Unless it doesn’t. It hadn’t stopped her in New Orleans.

I can still hear her soft moans of pleasure in my dark bedroom. She comes easily for me. Both times I was with her. I barely touch her, and she shatters like glass, arching her back into me. And her body…

Damn.

“It’s good to be home,” I tell Pops.

“You’re going to do whatever the hell you want, aren’t you?” Pops asks.

I shrug. “I can’t help it. It’s middle son syndrome. I crave attention.”

He snorts. “That’s a convenient excuse.”

That makes me grin. “Of course it is. You know full well I’m not even the middle son.” I’m the second son out of five. Cash is actually the middle son, and all he craves is pizza and being left alone on his ranch. Or he did, before he knocked up Sera, fell in love, married her, and took on a whole-ass family of kids. “I can’t just admit out loud that I do whatever I want for no reason, now can I?”

“You get that from me.”

“I know. Which is why you love me the most.”

Pops rolls his eyes. “No. I love you the most because you feed me.”

That makes me laugh. “Seriously, Pops. I will keep the kid in mind, I promise. I have no desire to muck up a child’s life, or whatever it is Chastity has going on in her life. I swear to you. I’m just curious about who she is now.”

Because she seems kind of amazing.