Chapter 18
18
MAVERICK
I 'm up before the sun, a rare occurrence for me, but I'm on a mission. I need to talk to Nan, to get her blessing before I make any moves on Cadence. It's old-fashioned, I know, but something about Cadence brings out that side of me.
I stumble into the kitchen, still half-asleep, wearing nothing but my black Calvin Klein sleep shorts. I'm rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I collide with a soft, warm body.
"Oof!" Cadence gasps, her hands coming up to steady herself against my chest.
Shit! How did I let myself forget for even a second that walking around in my underwear is something I can't do anymore?
For a moment, we just stare at each other, breathless. She's wearing a simple pair of black leggings and a white t-shirt, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, and somehow she's even more beautiful than yesterday. The way the fabric clings to her curves, the way her eyes widen as they meet mine... it's enough to make my heart race. I can't even remember anymore why I liked sleek polished women. What was the appeal?
"Morning," I manage, my voice rough with sleep and something else.
"Morning," she replies, a blush staining her cheeks. "I was just..." She gestures vaguely towards the coffee maker.
"Yeah, me too," I say, even though coffee was the last thing on my mind.
We step back from each other, laughing a little awkwardly. I can't help but let my gaze linger on her, drinking in the sight of her like a man starved. The way her leggings hug her legs, the sliver of skin peeking out where her t-shirt has ridden up... it's enough to make my mouth go dry.
She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips. "See something you like, Mav?"
"Always," I reply without thinking, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think I've gone too far. But then she smiles, a real, genuine smile that lights up her whole face. "Careful," she teases, her voice low and playful. "A girl could get used to hearing things like that."
"A girl should," I say, holding her gaze. "Especially when it's the truth."
The air between us is charged, the tension so thick it feels like I could reach out and scoop it out of the air. For a moment, I forget all about my mission, all about Nan and getting her approval. All I can see is Cadence, all I can think about is how badly I want to close the distance between us and...
The sound of a door opening breaks the spell, and we both take a hasty step back. Nan enters the kitchen, wrapped in her robe, and gives us a knowing look. "Morning, you two. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"What? No, no, you didn't interrupt anything at all," I stutter out, my face flushing hot. Smooth, Mav, real smooth.
Nan looks me up and down, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Honey, if I were thirty years younger... hell, even twenty, I'd be all over that." She gestures at my barely-clad body, and my face feels like it's been scorched by the sun.
Cadence bursts out laughing, the sound bright and joyful in the early morning light. "Nan!" she scolds, but there's no real heat behind it.
I make a hasty retreat, mumbling something about getting dressed as I hurry back to my room, Cadence's laughter echoing in my ears as I close the door behind me.
I rummage through my drawers, pulling out a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants. They're a far cry from my usual tailored suits and designer labels, but right now, I just want to be comfortable.
When I emerge from my room, Cadence is sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. She looks up as I enter, and her eyes go a little fuzzy, like she's seeing me for the first time.
I'm baffled by her reaction. I've worn countless expensive outfits around her, from custom-made suits to designer jeans, and she's never batted an eye. But now, seeing me in a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants, she looks at me like I'm the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. "Is there something wrong?"
She blinks, shaking her head as if to clear it. "No, no, you're fine. More than fine, actually." She blushes, ducking her head to take a sip of her coffee.
Well, that's fucking fascinating. Who knew that all it took to get Cadence's attention was a pair of ratty old sweats? I'll have to remember that for future reference.
This woman is so fucking confusing.
With one more long look at Cadence, I sit at the kitchen table, watching Nan putter around the kitchen. She's humming to herself as she pulls out pans and ingredients, and I can't help smiling. John cooks for us, and some of the women too, but this is the first time someone’s in my kitchen, cooking for me. It’s both strange and really fucking welcome.
"Nan, you don't have to do this," I say, but she just waves me off.
"Nonsense," she says, cracking eggs into a bowl. "You two work so hard, it's the least I can do."
I lean back in my chair, trying to relax and let her do her thing. It's not easy, though. I'm so used to being the one taking care of everyone else, always jumping in to help or solve problems. Sitting back and letting someone else take care of anything feels wrong.
But at the same time, there's something warm and comforting about it. Watching Nan move around the kitchen with such ease and familiarity, it's obvious that she's putting a lot of love into every movement.
"Smells amazing, Nan," Cadence says, sliding into the chair opposite me. She's done something to her hair. It's smoother. Less…big. It looks nice, but it looked good the other way too. Pretty sure she'd be just as hot if she were bald.
"Blueberry pancakes," Nan says, winking at her. "Your favorite."
Cadence's eyes light up with a mix of hunger and excitement. We’ve got to be in for something good.
"Sounds delicious," I say.
As Nan cooks, Cadence and I set aside our awkwardness from this morning, and chat about our plans for the weekend. She tells me about some new dogs that just came into the rescue, her eyes lighting up with passion.
And there's nowhere else I want to be than right here, listening to her talk about something she loves.
Nan sets a plate of steaming pancakes in front of each of us, and the conversation lulls as we dig in. The pancakes are fluffy and sweet, bursting with fresh blueberries, and I definitely moan after the first bite.
"Nan, these are incredible," I say around a mouthful of pancake.
She beams at me, cheeks flushed, looking pleased. "Secret family recipe," she says with a wink.
Cadence snorts and Nan gives her a death glare. "Hush missy."
Giggling, Cadence shakes her head. "I'm sorry. It's just…the box is still on the counter."
Yep, there it is. The blue box is right there, plain as day. But I'm pretty sure if I'd tried to make them, they wouldn't have turned out like this.
"I start with the box," Nan says with a sniff. "But I jazz it up. And these are real blueberries I'll have you know!"
Grinning, I take another bite. "We've made the boxed stuff before, and it never tasted like this." They also taste a fuck of a lot better when they’re not burnt.
Nan looks pleased. "It's the love," she says, patting my hand. "And butter. Because butter makes everything better."
Cadence laughs. "Hell yeah it does. This body is built by butter."
I clamp my lips shut, holding in the 'thank fuck' that immediately springs up. All the lush curves and soft skin make my mouth dry up, so let's keep the butter flowing, thank you very much.
I want her so fucking much.
Step one, get the grandma on board.
Step two, seduce the fuck out of Cadence.
Pleased with my plan, I swallow my bite and turn to Nan. "Tess," I say, going for casual, "what are you up to today?"
"Pickleball. At the seniors center."
"Pickleball? I've never heard of it."
"It's like tennis, but you use a different ball and paddle, and the court is smaller. It's a lot of fun."
So…like old people tennis. I can do that. "It sounds like fun. I don't suppose you'd like a little company?"
One eyebrow quirks up. "You want to come to the seniors center and play pickleball? With me? You're not working today? You've been gone every weekend. What keeps you so busy? Aren't you the boss?"
"That was a lot of questions," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uh, I'm trying to take a little more time off. I'm the boss at Brash, yeah, but I also take on cases on the side."
Her eyebrows wing down. "You're a billionaire with a side hustle? What, your bank account feeling a little light?"
"No, nothing like that. There are a bunch of people that need help, but unless you know your way around the law, you're not getting it. So I do what I can."
"For example?"
"Well, I help people with their landlords. Or get custody of their kids."
She neatly cuts another bite, and brings it to her mouth. "What kind of a lawyer are you? Don't you run a big company?" She pops the bite in her mouth and chews delicately.
Manners are cool. Not cool enough to eat like that around my brothers, but still cool.
"Most of my work is contracts, yes."
There's that eyebrow again. It's a damn expressive one. So far she's managed to convey suspicion, disbelief, sarcasm and a little bit of humor with it. "And that makes you qualified to help someone on a custody case?"
Where is she going with this? "It's all law. I read up on anything I need to, and I get the damned job done."
"Huh," she says, propping her chin on her hand.
"What does that mean?"
"Seems a little ass backwards is all. I mean, you do you, son, but if it were me, I'd use some of my money to support some sort of nonprofit that helps with these things, or start my own. Not sure I'd spend every waking hour trying to save everyone." She casually takes another bite of her pancakes, as if she didn't just question my integrity, my intelligence, and my motivations.
"That's not what I'm doing." It's not. I know I can't take on every case. And I do fund a bunch of organizations that help people with their legal problems. But it's not wrong to take on whatever I have the capacity for, is it?
Her eyebrows wing up. "No? Ok, honey. Just seems to me you're awfully busy. You don't seem to have much time for a personal life."
I'm hyper aware of Cadence's eyes on me, but I can't meet her gaze. Fucking Nan is right, I don't have much time for a personal life, but I'm trying, aren't I?
"Well, I'm free this weekend. So pickleball?"
"If you want to come and play with us honey, I won't stop you. You're going to have to sign a waiver before they'll let you play. How's your heart?"
Wait…what? I open my mouth to try and get a little clarity on what the fuck I'm walking into, when the door flies open and Nick, Bree, Jonas and Janey all walk in. The women immediately sit down, chatting with Nan and Cadence, nibbling on the last of the pancakes.
Jonas and Nick head into the kitchen, sniffing the air. "Smells good in here. Is there anything left?" Nick asks.
Nan looks like she'd hop up and make them fresh pancakes, but I shake my head at her. "Don't. If you offer, you'll be in there an hour. Nick will convince you to make waffles too, then bacon, and before you know it the whole damned day is gone."
She grins and eyes my brothers. "Sorry boys, kitchen's closed."
Nick sighs, and gives Nan a mournful look, and I watch her visibly steel herself against offering to cook. Nick has that effect on women, so I hurry and change the subject. "What are you guys doing here?" It's not unusual for my brother to walk right in. We don't lock our doors unless we absolutely require privacy, and the truth is I haven't had anyone over here in way too long.
It's their women that answer. "We're going to the rescue today to help Cady. Then we're going for lunch," Janey says.
Jonas clears his throat and Bree gives him a look. "No boys allowed." He scowls at her, and gives Janey a sad look. She looks completely unbothered. If he had his way, Jonas would crawl inside Janey's pocket and go everywhere with her whether she wants him to or not. Admittedly, I used to think it was a little pathetic.
Now I get it.
"So Mav, what are you up to today?" Nick asks, leaning against the counter.
"Nan's taking me to the seniors center with her, to play something called pickleball."
Jonas's eyebrows shoot up. "Pickleball?" His eyes go hazy, like he's imagining carrying a giant pickle to the endzone. "Like with actual pickles?"
Nan laughs, shaking her head. "No, honey. It's a game, like tennis but with a different ball and paddle."
"Huh," Nick says, looking intrigued. "Are there any pickles involved at all?"
"Not unless you bring your own," Nan says dryly, looking at the three of us like we just failed kindergarten. It’s a mix of exasperation and affection.
"Damn," Nick says, snapping his fingers. "I was hoping for some sort of pickle-themed sport. Like, you have to balance a pickle on your paddle while you play."
"Are the paddles shaped like pickles?" Jonas asks, frowning.
Nan's lips are twitching. "No, honey. Pickles don't have anything to do with it."
Jonas opens his mouth again, still fixating on the name, and Nick shoves him. "Hey," Jonas says, and shoves his elbow into Nick's gut. Nick grunts and laughs, moving out of the way of a second hit.
"It's just a name. Just like football doesn't actually have anything to do with your feet."
Jonas groans and covers his eyes. "Stop talking about it."
"But, do you get to eat pickles if you win?" Nick asks, needling him.
Nan's laughing, and so are the women. I'm busy shooting dagger eyes at my brothers. Today was my chance to talk to Nan about Cadence, and now these two colossal distractions want to tag along. How the fuck is this going to work?
"There are no pickles. None. Not to eat, no pickle shapes. Nothing."
"Are the paddles green?" Jonas asks seriously.
My grip tightens around my fork, and Jonas eyes me, a shit disturber look on his face. This motherfucker is having fun.
"Now I want pickles," Nick mutters, heading back to the kitchen and yanking open my fridge. "You have so much stuff in here!"
"In the door honey," Nan says, grinning widely, apparently unfazed by the chaos. That's a hard quality to find in, well, anyone. Teachers, girlfriends, co-workers, all of them have been annoyed by this shit. But none of the women at the table seem bothered. Cadence and Nan fit right into my family, and if that isn't fucking meant to be, I don't know what is.
"Aha!" Nick crows, holding the jar up. He flicks the lid off and goes to stick his finger in the jar. All four women clear their throats and stare at him. Grinning, he winks and grabs a fork from the drawer. Then holding the fork in his fist, stabs at the tops of the pickles, cheering for himself when he finally spears one. Jonas wanders a little closer, peering in the jar, then snatches the pickle off of Nick's fork and runs to the corner of the room, stuffing it in his mouth.
"Jonas you asshole. Get your own."
"This is my own," Jonas mumbles, mouth full.
Nan snickers and clears her throat, bringing us back to the matter at hand. "So, pickleball? Are you boys still interested?"
Nick and Jonas exchange a glance, then nod eagerly. "Hell yeah," Nick says. "I've always wanted to play Pickleball."
"You didn't even know what it was a few minutes ago," I point out. He shoots me the middle finger, and smiles at Nan.
"I do not want to stay home by myself," Jonas says, eyeballing the jar Nick has clutched to his chest. "I still do not understand what the game is, but I'll go with you."
"You'll have to sign a waiver," she tells them.
Seriously? What the fuck are we getting ourselves into?