22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
As soon as I woke on Saturday morning, a sense of dread filled my brain. I’d fallen asleep with Mallori in my bed, something that never should have happened.
Fuck, a lot of things shouldn’t have happened last night. I’d kissed her. A lot. And no matter how much I tried to force myself to regret it, I couldn’t. The thought of that sweet little tongue of hers stroking and circling mine had my cock hardening even more than my usual morning wood.
Speaking of that, my erection was wedged snugly against Mallori’s stomach as she laid beside me, her body firm and warm against mine. She was tangled around me, one slim arm slung around my waist and one leg lodged between mine.
And surprisingly, I didn’t hate it, despite the fact that I didn’t sleep— actually sleep—with women, especially not in my bed. I’d let women doze a few times in the Den after a particularly vigorous session, but my actual bedroom was off limits… my refuge. That’s why I had a separate room for my activities now.
I sighed softly. I’d fucked up and let Mallori sleep in my arms all night. I didn’t want to lead her on and make her think this was more than it was—me giving her comfort when she needed it. But strangely enough, I was comfortable too. She was soft, her even breaths making gentle flurries against my chest hair.
My mind went to Cam and the thought of what he would do if he caught his cousin in my bed. He’d go fucking apeshit, and rightly so. I wasn’t the right kind of man for this sweet, young woman.
So young. Almost eleven years my junior. Though it didn’t seem like it when we hung out. But still…
I edged my hips back to remove my throbbing dick from Mallori’s belly, and her eyes fluttered open before widening. Holding my breath, I waited for the awkwardness, but it never came.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, lifting on one elbow. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.” Then she lightly punched my bicep. “For a lump of granite, this makes a pretty good pillow.”
I laughed, and just like that, things seemed back to normal. “Maybe I’ll rent them out.”
“Sign me up,” she said, swiveling on her butt and dropping her legs off the side of the bed. Her arms stretched over her head, and she yawned, leaving me with the alluring view of her arched back.
Bet I could make it arch for a completely different reason.
Before I could dwell on the logistics of that, she dropped her feet to the floor and smoothed down her short flirty dress, which was wrinkled from sleep. Her braids had started coming undone, and rogue pieces of hair were sticking out everywhere. It was unexpectedly adorable.
“I’m going to get some eye drops from my room. Your eyes are still a little red,” she informed me on the way out the door .
“I’m fine,” I muttered, though my lids felt swollen and my corneas stung a little from the aftereffects of the pepper spray.
She ignored me, of course, and I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes until she returned a few minutes later. “Open up,” she ordered me, and I did, allowing her to put a drop in each eye.
“What is that?”
“Just lubricating drops. I use it when my eyes get dry. Close, please.”
Again, I did as she asked and felt something cool and soothing against my lids. When my hand reached up to see what she’d laid there, she smacked it. “Be still. I put some cucumber slices on there. It will help with the swelling.”
“I don’t need—” I began to protest, but she playfully ruffled my hair and interrupted me.
“Think of it like your own personal spa day, Tater Tot. I’m going to do some yoga. Be a good boy and leave those on for ten minutes.”
“Stop calling me Tater Tot,” I grumped, but all I heard was her sweet laughter as she left the room.
I waited for what I estimated to be ten minutes before removing the cucumber slices, and I had to admit that my eyes felt better.
After going through my morning routine in the bathroom, I found Mallori in the workout room, her legs folded over one another and her fingers pressed against her ears. She was humming a low, buzzing sound, and I watched from the doorway, fascinated, until she finally opened her eyes.
“Hey,” she said, looking relaxed and happy in dark-purple yoga shorts and a matching sports bra .
“You trying to become a bee for real?” I asked, entering the room with an amused grin on my face.
“It’s a type of meditation called Bhramari Pranayama,” she explained. “It’s a breathing technique that simulates the buzzing of the black Indian bee. Very relaxing.”
Sitting cross-legged in front of her—though my legs weren’t nearly as flexible as hers—I asked, “Do you do that often? Meditate?”
“Only when I need to.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We talked about a lot of stuff last night. Stuff I haven’t talked about in months, except with Merrit. I wanted to clear it all out of my mind.”
I felt instantly guilty. “I’m sorry I triggered those memories for you, Bee.”
She shook her head, braids swinging around her shoulders. She’d re-braided them into neat plaits. “Totally my fault. I invaded your personal space, though maybe next time you could close the door.” Her teasing tone made me smile.
“Noted. I didn’t expect you home so soon. Did something happen?”
Mal rolled her eyes. “Scotty P. thought it would be a good idea to turn our friends night into a romantic double date at a fancy restaurant. He’s such a tool.”
Sleazy little fuck. “Want me to have a chat with him?”
“Would your chat include bitch slapping him?”
I laughed heartily. “I could make that happen if it’s what you want.”
“Hmm, I’ll let you know.” Her eyes dropped to my shoulders. “You’re carrying a lot of tension. Want to try the Bhramari Pranayama technique? ”
I shook my head. “You’re the bee, not me.”
“That’s right. You’re the resident bear.” Then she tapped her lips thoughtfully and said, “Actually, let’s try that. It’s all about the vibration of the vocal cords, so just growl like a bear in the back of your throat.”
“Is this an academy approved technique?” I asked with a lift of one eyebrow.
“Nope, I’m making it up as I go along. Will you try it?” Her big eyes blinked up at me, and why the fuck is she so compelling when she looks at me like that?
When I nodded my reluctant agreement, she grinned, her lips stretching wide across her face. “Okay, so press this part of your ear down so the only thing you hear is the rumble of your own voice.” Mallori demonstrated, tapping at the little piece of cartilage and flesh in front of her ear canals. “Inhale the deepest breath you can, and then you just growl as it slowly releases through your nose. Oh, and close your eyes and keep your mouth shut.”
Feeling like an idiot, I followed her directions and performed her little exercise. When I opened my eyes, I frowned. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing,” she said indignantly as the pink on her cheeks ripened.
“Your cheeks are the color of cherries,” I contended, and she rolled her eyes.
“Fine! I read certain romance books, and they’re always talking about the guy growling. It’s supposed to be hot, but I’ve never seen the appeal.” Then she glared at me. “Until now. I guess you’re a decent growler. ”
My face almost cracked in two with my smug-as-hell grin. “Aww, does Little Bee think I’m hot?” I poked her in the belly and she squirmed away.
“Oh, hell no. You’re hideous with all that dark hair and your brooding eyes and big arms.” Her hand waved up and down my frame as her nose scrunched adorably. “And the abs… blech.”
Grabbing her by the ankle, I dragged her closer to me and lowered my voice, purposely allowing a slight growl to scrape the words from my throat. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
She tilted her chin up haughtily, but I noticed her pupils dilate at the memory. “Well, I was in the mood to kiss someone. It was either you or Scotty P., and you won. Congratulations.”
I narrowed my eyes as I shifted to my knees and leaned over her, tugging on one of her braids. “And what’s my prize, Mallori?”
Her breathing hitched at my proximity, and then she leaned forward, her warm breath gusting against my ear when she whispered, “I’ll let you make me breakfast.”
Pulling back, I tried to fight my smile. “That’s quite an offer.”
“I know,” she said, scooting from beneath my hovering body to stand gracefully before patting me on the head. “I’ll have toast and eggs.” And she walked imperiously from the room, leaving me staring at her fine, tight ass encased in those shorts as she departed.
Then I got up and made breakfast for my roommate.
“All right, so Axel and Blaire’s daughters are Carrie and Danica? And the triplets are Dex, Max, and Rox? ”
“Yep,” I answered, pulling into the gated community where the Broxtons lived on Saturday afternoon. I rolled down the window, and the security guard lifted his hand in greeting before hitting the button to open the gate. I was here enough that they recognized me on sight.
“Are they identical?”
“No, though Max and Rox look a lot alike. You can tell them apart because Max is loud as hell, and Rox is a bit quieter and shyer. Dex is like a mini version of Shark, in looks and attitude.”
“So, the scariest five-year-old imaginable,” she said wryly.
“Aren’t all five-year-olds scary?” I flipped on my blinker and turned right at the corner. “You’ve met Charli and Shark’s little ones.”
“Yes, Harper at the office and L.J. one day when we had lunch together.”
“So, I guess the only other ones you haven’t met are Bode’s family.”
“His wife is Landree, and the kids are Katie, Mia, Mason, and uhhh…”
“Sophia,” I filled in. “She’s the youngest and Bode’s biological daughter. The other three are Landree’s, but they’ve both adopted each other’s kids now.”
“Are their exes in the picture?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“Nope. Landree’s dickhead ex is in jail, and Bode’s ex passed away a short time after she dropped Sophia off at his house.”
“Awww, that’s so sad,” she said, turning to look out the window at the passing houses. “Holy hell, these houses are huge!”
“Well, Axel is an NFL superstar and Blaire’s an orthopedic surgeon. They can afford to live here. ”
When I pulled up to the Broxton house and turned off the vehicle, Mallori gaped at the enormous red brick structure with thick white columns. “I’m completely underdressed,” she fretted, twisting the hem of her red sundress in her fingers. “I feel like I should be wearing a cocktail dress and heels before I enter this house. Do they have a butler?”
I laughed, getting out of my truck and walking around to help Mal down. “You’re dressed fine, trust me. And no, they don’t have a butler, though they do have two nannies. Charli’s mom, Mrs. Casper, and a younger woman named Ruby.” Gathering the bowl of fruit salad she’d insisted on bringing—as well as a grocery bag of my own—I led her to the red front door emblazoned with the silver star logo of the Fort Worth Wranglers, Axel’s team.
“Charli was a nanny here before she started her school, right?”
“Yeah, this is where she and Shark met.”
“I feel like I’m going to screw up someone’s name,” she hissed, and I reached over to squeeze her arm.
“Don’t worry about it. Axel and Blaire have so many damn kids, they call them by the wrong name at least half the time.”
Thirty minutes later, Mallori had met the entire gang, and she was fitting right in with everyone. We were in the kitchen, and I was stealing strawberries from the circular design she was attempting to make on top of the fruit salad .
“Would you stop eating the damn strawberries?” she asked, exasperated as she swatted my hand and put another slice in the place of the one I was currently chewing.
“That one was lumpy, so I got rid of it for you.”
“You’re lumpy,” she muttered.
And I replied with a cheeky, “That’s what she said.”
Mal stuck her tongue out at me as the triplets dashed through the kitchen, chasing each other with lightsabers. Ruby, the harried nanny, was hot on their heels, admonishing them to slow down.
I felt eyes on my face, and lifted my head to see India Bode’s gray irises staring back at me from across the expansive kitchen. They darted to Mallori and then back to me. A lifted eyebrow held questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. Luckily, the stare down was interrupted by a shout.
“Uncle Hawk!”
“Care Bear!” I yelled back, bending to accept the twelve-year-old human cannonball that was hurtling my way. Carrie was the oldest Broxton child, and I’d been in her life since before she was born. With black, curly hair and brilliant blue eyes, she’d stolen what little heart I had from the first minute I saw her.
Her gangly legs hung halfway to the floor when I propped her on my hip, and we grinned at each other. “Mom says we can swim for a few minutes before supper. Will you throw me?”
“I dunno,” I mused. “My arms are feeling kind of weak today.”
She surveyed my huge biceps. “They are looking a little puny.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” I growled playfully, and she giggled.
“If you can’t handle it, I’ll get Uncle Tank to do it. He’s probably stronger than you anyway,” she told me smartly .
I set her down. “Oh, it’s on now, baby girl. Go put your swimsuit on, and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
She started to run out of the kitchen but circled back, stopping beside my roommate. “Mallori, will you swim too?”
“Sure, Carrie,” she replied, popping a strawberry slice into the little girl’s mouth. “I just need to finish this first.”
“Why did Carrie get a taste, but you yell at me when I eat them?”
“Because she’s cuter than you,” she retorted.
“No one’s cuter than me, Little Bee,” I told her, earning me a snort. “Go ahead and change. I’ll finish up here.”
Her aqua eyes narrowed. “Don’t eat the strawberries.”
As Mallori followed Carrie upstairs, I ignored the gray gaze that was shooting at me like a missile from the breakfast table, where India was stacking finger sandwiches on a tray. I didn’t need her crazy-ass thoughts in my head.
I attempted to replicate the spiral pattern Mal had been doing with the berries until Bode came up beside me and stared disapprovingly into the large glass bowl.
“That looks like shit, bro.”
“Thanks. I guess you think you can do better.” I knew he could. I also knew he couldn’t resist the challenge in my voice.
He took the small bowl of sliced strawberries from me, and five minutes later, the fruit salad looked like a goddamn work of art.
Looking proud of his work, he elbowed me. “I made the brownies you asked for.”
“Special brownies?” his mother piped up, wiping her hands on a dish towel .
“No, Mom. Just regular ones. Hawk asked me to make some for Mallori.”
Fuck, why did he say that out loud?
When I risked a glance at India, her smile was smug and annoying. She made a heart with her hands, and I lifted my own like I was going to make the same gesture. But at the last minute, I flipped my hands over and shot her the bird with both middle fingers.
As I stalked from the room, all I could hear was her gleeful laughter following me all the way outside.