Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FRANKIE
I woke up smiling. Not because I had gotten a full night’s sleep, I didn’t. And not because the kids magically learned how to dress themselves or pack their own lunches, they didn’t.
I woke up smiling because I woke up feeling wanted.
And not in the manipulated way I was used to. There were no strings attached to the desire, there were no rules dictating the availability of it.
It was just there.
I was still wrecked from last night’s midnight phone call with Eli, still flushed from the sound of his voice and still very much aching in the best way from everything that happened Saturday night with him and Travis.
Every single inch of me hummed with satisfaction and the addictive little thrill that came from knowing two incredible men wanted me like that.
Not just for a night.
Not just for the fun of it.
But fully, wildly, and maybe even a bit dangerously.
It made me want to lean into it and embrace it. So, I fucking did.
I curled my hair with the fancy little tool that I used more in the last week than in the last three years and even put some mascara on again.
The bra that made my boobs sit a little higher than necessary worked perfectly under my black cropped sweatshirt that just happened to fall off one shoulder when I moved the right way.
Paired with my blood-red skinny jeans with rips in them and my Doc Martens, it was a whole vibe.
And I was buzzing with excitement from just feeling confident.
When I walked into the kitchen, both kids paused and stared at me like I’d grown a second head, though.
“Whoa,” Toby said, holding a toaster waffle in one hand and a dinosaur in the other, “Are you going on a date?”
“No,” I replied, pouring cereal like I hadn’t already planned out how to climb a carpenter at a job site.
Emmie narrowed her eyes, “Then why do you smell good?”
“It’s perfume, Em.” I deadpanned, “I always wear perfume.”
“No,” She argued back like a stubborn mini-me. “You usually smell like chicken fingers and beer.”
“Okay, wow. We’re done with this conversation,” I said, grabbing her hairbrush before she could hide it. “Sit. Brush. Eat.”
As soon as I was done with her hair, stupidly I turned my back and tried to pack their lunches, fooled into thinking they’d stay on track doing what I asked of them.
That was when I heard it.
The sound of a hockey stick dragging across the tile floor. I turned just in time to see Emmie wielding her mini goalie stick like a sword, spinning through the kitchen in her socks while holding Toby’s metal lunch box like a puck.
“Emmie Blake—”
“It’s stick-handling practice! I need to improve my agility in confined spaces! Saw said so!” She dropped the lunch box and started passing it back and forth.
“You’re going to improve your face planting when you crash into the dishwasher!” I snapped with my hands on my hips.
Too late.
Her socks slipped, her balance wobbled, and down she went. The lunch box flew across the kitchen like a twirling top, sending Toby’s day-old goldfish spraying across the floor like confetti at a parade.
“I regret nothing,” she yelled as she hit the ground, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, Toby sat calmly at the table, spooning cereal into his mouth like it was all just another Tuesday morning in the Blake household. Glancing over at me, he shrugged and said, “I think she’s going to make it to the pros.”
We finally made it to the car with only one meltdown, mine; one time-out, Emmie’s; and a full outfit change, Toby’s, after Emmie flung maple syrup at him with a spoon for being a dweeb.
Heaven help me, I wasn’t going to survive the teenage years.
By the time I pulled into their elementary school drop-off line, I felt like I’d run a triathlon in high heels, and the sunshiny confidence I’d felt when I woke up was fading.
Fast.
I reached back to check that Toby had his backpack as Emmie jumped from the car with barely a see ya later, but he surprised me and grabbed my hand, holding it tight.
“Hey, Mama?”
“Yeah, baby?” I turned to look at him in his booster seat, all gap-toothed grin and syrup-sticky cheeks.
“You’re really pretty today.” My heart cracked wide open, and my shoulders relaxed as his warm eyes held mine. “And you look happy too.”
I blinked hard, “I do?”
He nodded, “I think it’s because you’re letting people help you. Like for real. Not just pretend stuff. You should keep doing that.”
I blinked again, harder.
“Where did you learn to say things like that?” I whispered.
He shrugged. “You.” He opened the door and started to climb out, then paused. “I’m glad you’re smiling again.”
Then he was gone; backpack bouncing, shoes untied, hoodie crooked, and I sat there for a full minute, staring through the windshield with tears prickling the corners of my eyes and something huge blooming in my chest.
I was wanted.
Seen.
And my kids were seeing the difference in me without even knowing the cause. Which only gave me the confidence I needed to make sure I kept my guard down and my heart open. Because I’d do anything for my kids.
I had already survived the worst to make them happy; I could do this.
Halfway to the bakery in town, my phone buzzed with a text, and I glanced at it when I stopped in the parking lot.
Travis
Still thinking about the way you moaned my name. Good luck getting through your day, Shade. Think of me at some point too.
I smirked so hard I almost looked like a clown as I walked into the shop, instead of a moody, aloof black cat.
Weird.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled down the long driveway to the mansion on the lake, tucked back into the woods that he was building. He didn’t know I was coming, that was the fun of it.
As soon as I saw the monstrosity, I was mesmerized by Travis's talent in crafting such a beautiful masterpiece by hand. The oversized beams and floor to ceiling windows were breathtaking.
Forcing myself to be braver than I felt, I parked behind a flatbed truck, balancing two boxes of coffee and a tray of bakery goodies, praying my boots wouldn’t get stuck in the mud.
The second I stepped out around the truck, I found my target out of the dozens of other bulky men on site. Travis was up on scaffolding, flannel sleeves pushed up, tool belt slung low on his hips, and sawdust clinging to his hands like glitter.
Man glitter.
He didn’t see me at first, too focused on leveling the beam on his shoulder, so I silently watched the show. His forearms flexed as he hefted it into place, his strength an insane wonder to watch.
God, he looked good enough to ruin.
The job site had gotten quiet around us, and he clued in, looking down from his perch and finding me instantly. And when he did—the look on his face was primal.
He hadn’t expected to see me, but now that he did, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was leaving untouched.
“Morning, Saw,” I called up, lifting the tray and coffee. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
He stared at me for a second, down to the coffee, then right back up at me, but slower this time. “You’re the pick-me-up.”
My thighs clenched involuntarily as I glanced around at the men watching on in open fascination.
He climbed down, all slow and deliberate moves of power and strength, stalking toward me. Sweat glistened at the temples, barely touching his dark hair under his ball cap, which only added to the rugged manliness of his appearance.
The look in his eyes was obvious as he approached me.
Trouble.
Delicious, sawdust-covered, six-and-a-half-foot tall trouble.
“Are you coming over to say thank you?” I asked, biting my lip.
He didn’t answer.
Travis took the burden from my hands, set it on the open tailgate next to me and backed me up against it in one smooth motion.
“You came all this way just to tease me?” He asked, voice low and menacing.
“I came because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your text just solidified my plans.”
Travis leaned in, nose brushing mine, lips so close I could feel the heat of them. “I have ten minutes.”
My breath caught. “I doubt I’ll even need that long.”