Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TUCKER
Hazel shrieked and twisted as the cold water sprayed down her back. “You’re still wet,” she gasped.
“Sure am,” I said, stepping closer.
She spun the hose around and aimed straight for my chest. We danced around the yard like two saps in a romantic comedy. I ducked; she missed. She lunged; I caught her wrist and turned the water back on her, only to trip over a kid’s sand pail and almost eat shit in the grass.
She laughed so hard, she nearly lost control of the hose entirely, but her competitive streak was strong. She wrestled me for it like we were fighting for a WWE championship belt.
We rolled across the grass, laughing, limbs tangled, slipping on wet turf. Then her icy fingers slid under my shirt, found my ribs, and dug in.
I yelped. “Hey!”
Me being ticklish was a secret—and a bitch.
Triumphant, she cackled and straddled me like she’d just conquered Everest. She was soaked, flushed, laughing, and hands down the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Then her eyes narrowed at my smile. “You let me win.”
I grinned and trailed my fingers just barely under the hem of her shorts, brushing the soft skin of her upper thigh. “Did I?”
She caught my wrists, heat flaring in her eyes. “You’re cheating.”
“Have to keep up with you somehow, don’t I?”
She leaned over me, and some of her hair curtained around us, making the moment seem even more intimate.
“Just so you know,” she whispered in my ear, “I had one more move up my sleeve.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I was going to stick the hose down the front of your pants.”
I laughed until my abs hurt. Nobody made me laugh like Hazel.
But she was cold. Not that the wet-shirt look wasn’t working for me, because holy hell, it was.
That soaked white tee was plastered to her skin, sheer enough to reveal a white lace bra that I wanted to remove with my teeth.
That image alone was going to live rent-free in my brain until the end of time.
But her teeth were starting to chatter, so I rose to my feet, pulled her up with me, and snagged a towel from the picnic table to dry her off.
“I’m not cold,” she insisted.
The pride on this woman. “Okay,” I said easily, still wrapping her up.
“Calling me a liar?”
“Right to your face.” When I had her as dry as I could get her, I grabbed my sweatshirt from the table.
“I’ll get it all wet,” she said, backing up and bumping into the picnic bench.
“Suck it up, Tough Girl.”
“I know you mean that nickname as an insult, but it has the opposite effect on me.”
I looked at her. “Opposite as in…” I waggled my brows.
“No!” She laughed. “It makes me feel…I don’t know. Proud? Because I am tough.”
“That was never in doubt,” I told her. “And I’ve never meant it as an insult.”
Her lips parted, then closed again. Like the words hit someplace deep that she wasn’t ready to admit existed.
She’d said it like she still had something to prove—to the world, to herself.
But she didn’t. I’d seen her hold her dad together, rebuild a life out of scraps, and still find time to tease the hell out of me.
That wasn’t just tough. That was battlefield-grade resilience dressed up in sarcasm and tool belts.
And it was sexy as hell.
We stared at each other for a long beat. She swallowed, and I did too as I dropped my sweatshirt over her head. It fell to mid-thigh. She grumbled but snuggled into it, burying her nose in the collar and inhaling like she loved the scent of me.
That alone nearly did me in. My heart kicked like it was trying to break out of my chest.
“Is this how you melt your women?” she asked. “You share your clothes?”
I felt a smile curve my mouth. “You melted?”
She rolled her eyes so violently, I expected them to pop out and roll into the grass.
I tugged gently on a wet strand of hair clinging to her throat. “Cute.”
She slapped my hand away with a scowl. “What did I say about calling me cute?”
I smiled. “I’ve shared my clothes with…zero women. Pilfering my Giants jersey doesn’t count.”
Her eyes widened, disbelieving. “You knew it was me?”
I smiled. “Who else?”
“Hey, it was surprisingly soft. And cozy. And…I might still sleep in it sometimes.”
The image of her in my jersey, falling off a shoulder because it was so big, her bare legs tangled in sheets, the hem riding up high enough to—
“You can’t have it back,” she said. “Not even if one of your dates wants it.”
“You’re fishing.” And I liked it more than I should’ve. “First, melted. Now fishing.”
“You take that back.”
I didn’t. I just said, “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”
“How can that be true? Have you seen yourself?”
I let out a rough laugh. “Hazel, the only woman I’m seeing is you.”
We were still holding eye contact when Kiera stuck her head out. “Oh good,” she said. “Everyone’s wet and emotionally compromised.”
“Can we help you?” I asked.
“You’re out of mac and cheese.”
“Thanks for the update.”
Kiera winked at Hazel. “Call me later. I want to hear everything.”
Hazel turned red. “There’s nothing to—”
“Oh, please.” Kiera looked between us. “You two are one accidental grope away from a Hallmark movie. I need help getting the twins in the car.”
I didn’t break eye contact with Hazel. “Be right there!”
Hazel stepped back. “I should go.”
“This’ll take only a minute. Wait for me. I’ve got cookies. Not made by Sybil.”
“No way,” she said. “You think processed sugar is the devil. You’re that person who, when someone’s having a sugar craving, you suggest an apple.”
“Apples are delicious.”
“Sure, but they’re not cookies.” She paused. “Do you really have cookies?”
I grinned and jogged toward the house.
Kiera met me at the door with a look of exhaustion that could curdle milk.
“You look tired,” I said.
“Have you looked in a mirror? Because so do you.” She handed me three backpacks and Alex. “Rough week?” she asked, scanning my face.
I shrugged. “Call after call last night. I think we got maybe an hour of sleep.”
“Yeah, well, I got woken by ‘Mommy, my fart’s on the floor.’”
I blinked and shuddered. “You win.”
I walked her and the kids out front.
“So…” she said casually. “When are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and Hazel?”
“Never.”
“Wrong answer.”
My sister could get intel out of a locked vault. The CIA had nothing on her skills.
At my silence, she just smiled smugly. “You’ll break eventually. They all do.”
I didn’t say a word. She might be the nosy police, but I could hold a secret like Caleb could hold a grudge—forever and with receipts. “I’m not going to break.”
“Don’t worry. I can be patient.”
I laughed. “Since when?”
“Hey, I’ve already waited over a decade. You just take your time.” She yawned so wide, her jaw cracked.
I hated to see her so tired. “What can I do to help?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t turn down a genie wanting to grant me three wishes.”
I slid her a look. “Give me a real way to help.”
“Okay, okay…” She thought about it. “I’d sell my soul for five minutes to myself to drink my coffee while it’s still hot. Or to pee in peace. Or to take a bath all by myself.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Okay, so…what color genie would you like?”
She cracked up, then hugged me—only to quickly recoil. “You’re still wet!”
“Sure am.” And I hugged her anyway, laughing while she slapped at me, trying to free herself.
She pointed to her eyes, then mine. “I will get you back.”
When Kiera made a threat, she carried through. I’d have to sleep with one eye open, because like an elephant’s, Kiera’s memory was long.
When she drove off, I found Hazel lounging in a chair, face tipped up to the sun like she was solar powered. I stopped at her feet, blocking her light.
She cracked open one eye. “Where are the cookies?”
“Inside.”
That got both eyes open, and she cocked her head at me, gaze warm and curious now. “You think you can coax me inside with cookies?”
“Can’t I?” I taunted. “And don’t forget, I know you. Your toxic trait is watching the Great British Baking Show religiously while not being able to bake.”
“No, my toxic trait is assuming people have common sense and getting mad when they don’t.”
I snorted. “Okay, I stand corrected. You have two toxic traits.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Why did you ask me to stay?”
I sprawled out on the lounger next to her and shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to talk.”
“Great,” she said far too easily. “You first. Why don’t you do relationships?”
I hesitated. How had this turned on me? “I have. They just don’t…age well. Apparently, I don’t commit.”
She gave me a long, thoughtful look. “You’re one of the most committed guys I’ve ever met. That’s not it.”
I exhaled, looking out over the yard. “Then what?”
“Well, for starters, you grew up watching your parents fight like hell, and your mom never left,” she said gently. “Anyone who’d lived through that would be naturally wary of love.”
I closed my eyes, tipped my face to the sun. “I used to beg her to leave him, but she never did,” I heard myself say. I’d never talked about this. Not ever. “And I think somewhere along the line, I decided I wouldn’t risk putting anyone through that. So I keep it casual. Safe.”
She reached out and took my hand, her expression softer than I could take. “Tucker…”
“I’m good. I like casual. It’s…safe.” Why the fuck was I still talking?
But there was something in her gaze that compelled me to finish, to make sure she understood, because hurting her would kill me.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I go out plenty.
I just prefer an expiration date.” I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.
“I don’t have to worry about making someone miserable for the rest of their lives or failing them in some way. ”
I waited for the obligatory You’d never hurt anyone or You shouldn’t shut yourself off that way, but all she did was squeeze my hand.
“I don’t do serious either,” she admitted. “Too many bad endings.”
I had no idea why my heart was pounding or why I wanted her back in my life so goddamn bad that I actually ached with it, but I did. I wanted to figure out a way to have her, have this, and not fail.