CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cody—
When I come off the elevator holding a paper bag, Heather is standing in the doorway of the apartment at the end of the hall.
She’s wearing jeans and a tank top that hugs her curves. Nothing on display but her fantastic figure. The only skin is a bit of cleavage and her toned arms.
“Hey,” I say, grinning, and press a soft kiss to her lips when I reach her.
She steps back and lets me in, then closes the door.
Her son in laying on his stomach on the floor in front of the TV.
“Tucker, this is Cody. Come say hello.”
He scrambles up and comes over, but shyly stands partially behind his mother’s legs.
Her hand automatically strokes his hair.
“Hi,” he squeaks, his voice barely there.
I drop to a squat and hold out my hand. “Hi, Tucker. I knew your dad. We were in the military together.”
That perks him up. “You did?”
“Yep. He was so excited that his son was going to be born. I sure wish you could have met him, buddy. He would have been the best dad in the whole world.”
He gives me a shaky smile, and his eyes get glassy.
“You know, we used to throw the ball around when we had free time. I used to play baseball in high school. Do you like baseball, Tucker?”
His shoulders lift and fall, and Heather answers for him, stroking his hair.
“He doesn’t know much about sports.”
“Well, maybe after I fix your mom’s sink, if it’s okay with her, you and I could throw around the ball. Would you like that?”
He nods his head.
“Awesome, because I stopped and got you this.” I reach into the paper bag and pull out a junior-size baseball mitt and ball. I glance at Heather. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s a squishy soft tee-ball for pee-wees.” Then I look at Tucker. “It’s only for outside. You can’t throw it in the house. Okay?”
“Okay.” Once he makes that promise, I pass it over. He immediately slides the mitt on. “Look, Mommy. It fits. Can I go outside with it now?”
“Afterwhile, dear.”
“Let me fix the sink first, buddy.” My knees crack as I rise.
“Okay.” He returns to the living room.
I meet Heather’s eyes. “You get enough sleep?”
“No. Did you?”
“Nope, but I was too happy today to care.”
She smiles, knowing my meaning. “Me, too.”
“Lead the way. I brought some tools in my saddlebag but thought I’d come up first and see what I’ll need.”
She leads the way down the hall and into her bedroom and to the attached master bath.
I can’t help scanning her bedroom, like I’ve been let in to the behind the scenes at some celebrity’s home. I’m quickly searching for any and every detail that might reveal more about her.
The room looks pretty generic, almost like it came furnished, except for the bedding, which is a soft pink and cream with a faux fur blanket thrown across the foot. A stack of books with a candle on top sit on the nightstand.
There’s a small photo of her and Ryan tucked in the frame of the mirror over the dresser. It makes me wonder if it’s the only one she had when she fled Alabama.
I step into the master bathroom with her. It’s not an overly large space, so the two of us are in close quarters.
“It barely drains. I’ve tried the liquid stuff, and it just doesn’t have any effect. I’ve got a work order in, but the maintenance guy is out with the flu. They said it might be a week or more before someone can come up here. I’ve started brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink and avoided using it.”
I’m no plumber, but I Googled how to fix a clogged sink before I came over. Last thing I want to do is come off like I’m unskilled in this kind of stuff.
Since she’s already tried the store-bought remedies, I look under the cabinet. “Let me try taking the p-trap off.”
“The what?”
“This u-shaped pipe.” I tap it. “Something’s probably clogging it there.” I straighten and check if the stopper is loose. It comes right up in my hand. “Something might have fallen in. Do you have a small plastic bucket I can use?”
“I’ll check.”
She returns with a small square dish tub, and I slip it underneath, then loosen the plastic pipe fittings. It drops into the bucket along with some water. I shake the u-pipe and bang everything loose, and out comes a small toy car covered in hair and soap.
“Bingo. Here’s the problem. Look familiar?”
“No, but it must be Tucker’s. Tucker! Get in here!”
The boy appears at the doorway.
“Tucker, is that your car?” she asks.
He nods, sensing the trouble he’s in.
“What is it doing in the sink?” Her hands land on her hips.
He shrugs.
“We do not put things down the drain. Is that clear, Tucker?”
He nods.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Okay, then. Go on.”
When he runs off, I wipe the car off with a rag, grab a tissue, and hand the car wrapped in the tissue over to Heather. “You might want to run that through the dishwasher.”
She makes a face when she takes it from me. “Definitely.”
I reattach the pipe and blast the water. It drains perfectly. “There you go. Good as new.”
“Thank you so much, Cody. Really.”
I squirt some soap into my hands and wash up. “It was no big deal, and hey, don’t be too hard on the kid. You wouldn’t believe what little boys can get into. I remember putting an entire bucket of army men down the garbage disposal.”
“What happened?”
“I was grounded for a week.”
She passes me the hand towel. “Raising boys is definitely an adventure.”
I grin, drying off. “Yep.”
She leads the way back to the living room. I scan her bedroom again as we pass through and notice the bottle of perfume on the dresser. It has a distinctive bottle shape of a high heel, and I tuck the knowledge away, hoping to remember it later.
“Hey, buddy. Ready to go throw that ball around?”
“Yay!” He jumps up and down. “Can I, Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
The three of us ride down in the elevator, and I drink in Heather’s perfume. It’s light and fruity, like pink grapefruit, and I’m instantly addicted.
I long to pull her body against mine, bury my face in her nape and breathe it in. Thoughts of elevator sex fill my brain, but I content myself with just looking at her.
Tucker is jumping up and down excitedly, and I can’t help grinning.
We find a grassy area at the back of the parking lot, and I squat, showing him how to hold his mitt.
“Keep your hand up like this and I’ll throw it to you, okay?”
I only step about three feet away and toss it into his mitt.
It falls to the ground. We keep at it until he learns to close the mitt around the ball, then I move back a few feet more, and soon he’s actually catching it.
“Now you try throwing to me.” I show him the proper technique and back up a few feet. His throw bounces on the ground, then on the next one goes over my head.
“We’ll have to work on dialing that in, buddy.”
We toss the ball for about an hour before Heather calls an end to it.
“Come on, guys. I’ve got to get dinner started.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
I lift a brow. “Depends. What are you having?” Like there’s an answer that would have me walking out the door. We both know there isn’t.
She gives me a smirk. “You’ll eat what I’m making, and you’ll like it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She leads the way, and I dip my head to Tucker’s ear. “Is your mom a good cook?”
“I heard that,” Heather says but doesn’t turn around.
“Sometimes,” Tucker replies, and then she whirls, hands on her hips.
“Tucker! You love my cooking!”
“Not your spaghetti,” he objects.
“It’s bad?” I ask him, making a face.
“It’s yucky. Blech.”
I turn a straight face on Heather. “Are we having spaghetti?”
She rolls her eyes and walks away, throwing her answer over her shoulder. “Maybe we’re having liver and onions.”
“Uh oh,” I say, putting an arm around Tucker. “Now we did it. We pissed her off.”
“Are you pissed off, Mommy?” Tucker calls after her, and I burst out laughing.
She turns sideways, so Tucker won’t see the hand gesture she flashes at me.
My brows lift. “Oh, it’s like that, huh? Do you know what the ‘bird’ is, Tucker?”
She whirls. “Don’t you dare.”
I chuckle, and Tucker looks up at me, craning his neck back. “What kind of bird?”