Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
“Holy mother of pearl,” I mutter, wiping at the sweat beads over the back of my neck.
Lucca is nodding, staring at the jockstrap in Dad’s hands.
“You know what that means, right?” Dad’s brows bounce. “This cup could very well belong to Steve Young.”
I cup my eyes, then rub at my temple. “Okay, Dad. That is a lot of excitement for one afternoon. Wyatt, didn’t you want to show Lucca the hammock out back?”
“Oh boy, I sure did.” Wyatt hops on one foot—surprisingly well. I’m just grateful he mentioned it when Lucca first came. I changed the subject when he brought it up, but that hammock is saving me now.
Wyatt snatches onto Lucca’s hand and swings their arms between them.
Lucca points to the jockstrap in Dad’s hand. “That’s… something, Mr. McCrae.”
Dad smiles, happy to have a piece from one of his collections appreciated. Gosh, I love that man. Even if he’s shown Lucca things today that he can never unsee.
I slip my hand into Lucca’s free one—Wyatt and I have claimed him. “This way.”
It’s a short walk to the back door, but Wyatt has a lot to say. “Does Nanners miss me?”
“Of course,” Lucca says.
“Has she been crying? Because if she’s been crying, you just need to rub her belly.”
Lucca clears his throat. “Not crying. But she has destroyed every plant in my house.”
“That’s just kitty stuff. Who needs plants anyway?” Wyatt yanks the back kitchen door open and leads us into the spring sunshine. “The hammock!” he bellows, letting go of Lucca and racing through my parents’ large yard to the double-sized hammock set between the two tall oaks.
“Very nice,” Lucca calls, then leans his head near mine. “By the way, who is Steve Young? Does your dad actually have his jockstrap?”
His breath warms my cheek, and the mint that wafts into my nostrils makes me the tiniest bit dizzy. I smirk—just a little woozy. “He’s a retired American football player. Do you know the 49ers?”
He nods. “I don’t follow American football. But I’ve heard of them.”
“Steve Young hasn’t played in years. And I’m guessing that was not his jockstrap.”
Lucca chuckles. “I like your father. I’ll have to bring him a jersey.”
My mouth goes dry, but I find my manners. “He would love that.”
“What about Maggie? Does she need a Lucca jersey to sleep in?”
“No. She does not.” I snap… only, I might love that—one that smells just like him. Except I’m not saying that. Ugh. “I can’t believe your jerseys still fit your head.”
“My head?” His full lips are grinning at me, but his nose wrinkles with uncertainty.
“Yes, your ego is so big.” I tilt my head, peering at him. “I can’t believe it still fits into that jersey.”
Lucca snickers. He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to my wrist, sending a shiver down my spine and into every crook and corner of my body. This man has every reason to be confident. But I’m not telling him that.
“Hey!” Wyatt yells from the rainbow hammock. “Come try it out.”
Lucca slides his fingers through mine and pulls me over to the hammock Mom and Dad bought earlier this spring. The May weather is finally warm enough to use it.
“Wyatt reads a book out here every day.” I grin at my little guy—he’s swinging from the hammock. At least he got in without the thing turning over on him today.
“Sure do. Hammocks are the bestest place to read.” He pats the cloth next to him, motioning for Lucca to sit.
“You want me to try it while you’re in it?” Lucca asks.
“This is a family hammock,” Wyatt says. “It can fit all three of us.”
“Really?” Lucca grins, feigning disbelief.
“It can.” Wyatt scoots to the side, leaving more room to the right of him. “Come try it.”
Lucca squeezes his hand around mine. “Only if Aunt Maggie tries it with me.”
“Wait. What?” I dig my heels into the grass. “Uh—no. No.”
“Come on, Aunt Maggie,” Wyatt says. “You know it can fit us all. Grandpa ordered the family size.”
I blow a shaky breath from my lips. “Yes, he did.”
Lucca looks thoughtfully at the hammock. “Let’s give it a whirl.”
And while this hammock is family-sized, it’s still very much taco-shaped. If I get into that hammock with Lucca, there will be a whole lot of touching happening.
We’ve already discovered that when I touch Lucca or Lucca touches me, all thought and reason go out the window.
Wyatt hops out. “Grandma says biggest person in first.” He points at Lucca. “You’re up.”
“Oh goodness,” I mutter.
Lucca sits down in the swinging hammock. He pulls in his legs and lies down flat, hands behind his head. “Very nice,” he tells Wyatt.
“Aunt Maggie, your turn.”
“Wyatt—” I groan.
“There’s plenty of room,” Lucca says, grinning at me like a ninny. He holds out a hand, offering to help me in.
I shake out my fingers. “I can do it myself,” I grumble.
I hold to the edge of the hammock, balancing the thing and my body at once.
I attempt to ease in, but hammocks don’t exactly allow for a personal bubble space.
There is no easing. The minute I allow the hammock to support my body weight, I am burrito-wrapped right onto Lucca.
I press a hand to his chest to move myself next to him. “If you lift your arm—” I grunt.
Lucca does as I say, and I settle myself into the crook of his arm, our legs tangled together from my not-so-easing in. The hammock swings as I attempt to untangle us. Attempt—and fail. I puff out a tired breath because getting into this thing is a workout.
Lucca’s warm breath wafts over my forehead and cheek. The side of his basically sculpted body presses next to mine. “Good?” he asks.
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” He squeezes his arm beneath me and wraps it around my shoulders, his fingers brushing the bare skin at my upper arm.
My head has nowhere else to go but on his chest. He’s all I’m breathing in.
All I’m smelling, tasting, feeling. My head feels dizzy, like inhaling Lucca is enough to intoxicate me.
“Okay!” Wyatt says, peering in at us. “My turn.”
Oh, boy.
“Buddy, are you sure there’s room?”
“There’s room.” Wyatt nods, more confident than Dad bidding on fake sports paraphernalia on Finder’s Bid.
“Right here,” Lucca says, holding out his right arm, just opposite of where I lie. There may be six inches of fabric left on this hammock.
Wyatt beams. Gosh, I love that smile. He starts feet first, one leg in the hammock and one hopping on the ground.
“Try sitting,” I tell him. “Just sit like when you get in by yourself.”
“Sit?” Wyatt hops again and manages to take his left leg from the hammock. He follows my instructions and— “Oof,” he grunts as his little chest bumps Lucca’s. “Made it!”
I gulp as Lucca wraps his other arm around Wyatt. He has us both wrapped up in one big embrace, and it’s making my heart pound harder by the second.
Wyatt looks at me and giggles. I can’t help but giggle, too. I smother my face into the side of Lucca, drowning in his cologne. Gosh, it’s a good way to go.
We’ve only been settled for five minutes when a voice outside our happy little hammock says, “Well, isn’t this adorable?”
Lindy.
I feel so caught. So guilty. “Wyatt’s idea,” I bark from my very snuggled place beside Lucca.
“It was a good one.” Lindy pulls her phone from her back pocket and points it at us.
“Are you taking a photo? Belinda!” I wiggle, but Lucca’s arm is tight around me, keeping me in place. “Do not take—”
“You can smile, or you can look like you need an enema. It’s up to you.” Lindy holds up the phone.
Her words still me. I stop the struggle and peer at Wyatt until I can see her phone disappear in my peripheral.
“Come on, Wy,” she says. “We’re taking Isaac to the park.”
“But I’m already having a playdate. With Lucca.” Wyatt doesn’t budge. I don’t blame him. We’re quite comfortable. “And I haven’t even found out when I get to visit Nanners next. She can’t come here because of Grandpa.”
“Wyatt.” Lindy’s tone is almost lecturing.
Wyatt sighs. “It’s Lucca.”
“I’ll talk to Maggie,” Lucca tells him. “We’ll set something up.”
“Isaac’s depending on you,” Lindy says.
Wyatt groans as if playdates are a bothersome task on his daily agenda. “Will you still be here when I get back?” he asks Lucca.
“I don’t know,” Lucca says. “Possibly.”
“You could spend the night.”
“Wyatt,” I hiss.
He sighs. “You could promise to stay. Just until I get back.”
I reach out for his shoulder and give him a pat. “Don’t ask Lucca to make a promise he might not be able to keep. You don’t know his schedule.”
Wyatt huffs. “But I want to say goodbye. When he’s leaving, not when I’m leaving.”
“I’ll try very hard to be here,” Lucca tells him.
“That’s very nice,” Lindy says. “Now come on, Wy. I have to pick Isaac up, and I’ve never been to his house before.”
I bite my inner cheek, so tempted to tell Lindy to cancel, to remind her that Isaac likes to throw the park’s woodchips, to explain that their house number isn’t the easiest to see.
But something stops me. I’m not sure what.
Maybe it’s Lucca lying here next to me. I don’t want to ever diminish Lindy’s role as Wyatt’s mom.
Or maybe I know I need to give her the chance to figure it out.
Wyatt exhales before rolling away from me and Lucca. Lucca snatches him by the T-shirt, making sure he doesn’t smack to the ground. He turns around to face us, another heave in his chest.
I give him a sad grin. “Have fun. We’ll miss you, bud.”
“Okay. Don’t do anything too fun without me.”
“Promise,” Lucca says. “We will lie here, doing nothing.”
Wyatt’s nose wrinkles with a pout. “Promise?”
“I promise. I’m going to make your aunt just lie here next to me. I won’t allow her to move. At all.”
Lindy grins, her lips pursing as she smothers a laugh. “Goodbye, Lucca Cruz.”
“Goodbye, Belinda,” he says, smiling back at her and making my heart speed up.
Wyatt gives one last wave before they are out of the gate and on their way.
Lucca draws circles on my bare arm, sending pricks and pins over my skin. Depleting any boundaries that I thought about pretending we have. “Belinda and Margaret. I don’t know anyone else with these names.”
I trace the letters on the chest of his Red Tails tee, pretending I’m not so wholly aware of every part of his body touching mine. “They’re older. We were named after our grandmothers.”
“That’s sweet,” he says, his lips brushing over my temple.
“What was your vovó’s name?”
“Clara.”
“Pretty.” I swallow. “She sounds lovely.”
“She was the best woman I’ve ever known. The only woman I ever fully trusted.”
I tilt my head to look at him.
“Until now.”
Words catch in my throat. Lucca’s dark eyes fall to my mouth, and when he moves in a single inch, I find my voice. “We can’t date.”
“You are like… What do they call it? A record that’s stuck on repeat.”
I press my lips together, lying in his strong arms, and say the exact opposite of how I feel. “It can’t happen.”
“Okay then,” he says. “We won’t date.”
“We won’t?” I blink, my eyes casting down to where my hand rests on Lucca’s chest. There’s no other place for it.
It isn’t my fault. It’s this hammock and Wyatt.
“I mean, we won’t.” Also, how are we getting out of this hammock?
I’m really not sure. So, for now, we’re having this conversation here.
Snuggled up. Not because I want to. But because it’s necessary.
“Fine,” he says. “We can hang out.”
“I guess.” I mean, we are currently hanging out. “That’s probably okay.”
“And if I happen to do this—” His free hand finds mine at his chest and entwines our fingers. “No big deal.”
“No big deal,” I repeat. Maybe I am a broken record.
“And this—” He brings our knotted hands to his lips and presses one gentle kiss to my wrist. “No big deal. That’s not a date.”
Do wrists always have so much sensation in them? I’ve never noticed so much feeling in my wrist before—but then, I’ve never been kissed so many times on my wrists until Lucca.
I tilt my head up to watch him, to see exactly what he’s doing to make my wrist decide it has a million nerve endings within it.
“None of that means we’re dating,” he says, his lips next to my skin.
“Because we can’t,” I agree.
With a tender touch at my hand, he presses another kiss to my pulse. The bristles of his short beard tickle my skin.
I gulp. “You probably kiss every woman’s wrists. That’s Lucca. Right?” My words are slow and drunk as if it makes no difference to me.
He hums out a snicker. “I do not.”
“But you’re Lucca.”
A small, gravelly laugh sounds from his mouth just before it caresses my skin once more. “I am.”
“You date a lot of women.”
“I did.”
My heart thumps in my chest, and if by some miracle Lucca can’t feel it, I don’t want to give myself away. Still, I say, “And you kiss all the girls.”
But Lucca doesn’t have an answer for this. He just kisses further up my arm.
“Right?” I say, as if his confirmation will fix our strange situation.
“Wrong,” he says.
Wrong? What’s he saying? My heart pounds harder. My pulse races. I blink—what am I doing? He’s getting me drunk with his lips on my wrist. I gasp—I can’t be drunk—and yank my arm from his hold.
We rock with the force of my movement. The uneven weight of Lucca in the middle and me on the edge has this thing moving with more fervor than I would have thought. We tip up, down, then—over.
“Oof,” I grunt as my back hits the ground and Lucca lands on top of me.