Chapter 3
Tucker
“MORNING SLEEPY HEAD.”
I jerk awake at the unexpected feminine voice whispering in my ear. It takes me a second to remember I didn’t go to bed alone last night.
When I open my eyes, the pretty brunette perched on the edge of my bed gives me a sweet smile. “I made you breakfast.”
This is… unusual. Not only that my alarm didn’t wake me up, but also that this woman is still here. Normally they hop, skip, and jump their way out the door before I even crawl out from under the covers.
I’m not entirely sure how to deal with the situation, so I push on an easy grin as I wait for my sleepy brain to come back online. “That was awful nice of you.”
I’m starting to worry over the expression on her face. It looks a whole lot like excitement, which is… not great. I make my position clear to the women who find their way into my bed. They know it’s going to be a ‘fun time, but not a long time’ sort of situation.
I still try to do right by them. My own version of right anyway. I lay down clear expectations and solid parameters.
I doubt it would make my mother proud, but—
“Fuck.” I fling the covers back, jumping out of bed as I scan the room for my phone. “Where’s my phone? What time is it?”
The brunette—any hope I had of remembering her name is gone thanks to panic—goes wide-eyed. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, something’s wrong.” I grab the duvet I didn’t pick out and fling it around in search of the thing that should have woken me up.
Instead it signed my death warrant.
“It’s Thanksgiving.” I pause, frantic gaze leveling on the woman in my room, wondering why in the hell I’m the only one worried about this. “Isn’t your family celebrating?”
“Not until later.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, her smile coming back. “I figured we could eat breakfast now and still be hungry for that.”
We? Oh no. No, no, no.
“I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.” My mind scrambles through last night’s events as I try to piece together what in the hell could have given this woman the idea I’d be open to joining her family’s holiday. “This was just a—”
“Tucker Bradshaw.” My mother’s voice carries up from the main floor. “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed too.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
As the baby of the family I’ve always been able to get away with shit my brothers could never do, but I don’t think that position is going to save me now.
“Damn it.” I race out the door, making it halfway to the stairs before realizing my dick’s swinging in the wind.
Reaching into the hall bathroom, I yank one of the towels from the rack and sling it around my waist, tucking it into place as I rush down the stairs to find the woman about to give me the world’s most disappointed glare.
When I hit the entryway, I stop dead in my tracks, shocked by what I see. “What in the hell happened to you?”
My mother looks like she got stuck in a fucking tornado. A mud tornado.
A mud and debris tornado. There’s muck on her boots, her face, her hair.
And that’s nothing compared to the amount plastered across her ass. Every bit of it is wet and sloppy and dotted with a variety of dried up vegetation.
“What the hell happened to me?” She scoffs. “What the hell happened to you? You were supposed to be at the house over an hour ago.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’ve got no explanation for my absence.
No excuse that might save me.
Which is bad. Real fucking bad. “I overslept. My phone wasn’t in my room so I didn’t hear the alarm g—”
“Oh. Hello.”
Goddammit. As if this couldn’t get worse, the woman from last night has decided now’s a great time to make her presence known.
My mother’s brows lift, etching a crack into the mud drying on her forehead.
I don’t know what the fuck to do. I can’t introduce them. There’s no way in hell I’m making this woman think we’re something we’re not. It would almost be as bad as making my mother think we’re something we're not.
"Uhh." I usually think way faster on my feet than this, but charming a woman in a bar and charming my mother are two completely different things. My mother knows all my moves and is getting less and less amused by each one of them as the years go on.
Deirdre Bradshaw is many things. A mogul. A self-made multimillionaire. A great cook and an even better baker.
But she’s not patient, and that woman has been ready for grandchildren for a decade now. If she has one iota of an inkling she might get one from me she’ll be like a dog with a bone—or Copper with a pillow—and won’t back off until she has what she wants.
Me married off and procreating.
The thought sends a shudder straight down my spine.
It would be great if one of my older brothers went ahead and took one for the team and settled down. Unfortunately, I don't see that happening, which means the pressure won't be off me anytime soon.
Because out of all of us, I'm the one most likely to accidentally stumble into female companionship. No one else even tries to get laid. They're too busy working to have any sort of fun.
And now, with my mother staring at me—judgment in her eyes and mud up her nose—I'm wishing I was a little more like them.
After a few tense, silent seconds, my mother finally takes pity on me. Her gaze shifts to the brunette, expression softening the tiniest bit. "The weather's taking a turn out there, dear. You should probably head home before it starts to freeze over."
The brunette looks between me and my mother, clearly confused about why things are playing out the way they are. I feel bad. I work hard not to be an asshole. To make sure no one ever leaves my house unhappy or feeling slighted.
But I especially make sure they don’t leave with expectations.
I’m not settling down anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
Sure, I’ve seen the good that can come from a happy relationship, but I’ve also seen the bad.
Witnessed firsthand the way it can break even the strongest man and leave him a shell of himself.
I just don’t think it’s worth the risk.
The brunette gives me a questioning look, and I nod my head. “No reason to risk your safety.”
Her eyes widen, like she thought I was going to ask her to stay. Not surprising since she also clearly assumed I was full of shit when I told her I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Believed my offer of nothing more than a good time would be expanded in the morning.
I’m sure she’s nice enough. We had fun together. But that’s all I’m in this for. Fun. Mutual satisfaction. Letting off a little steam and forgetting about the pressures of my job and my family for a while.
The brunette lifts her chin, her once sweet expression hardening. “No reason at all.” Her eyes dip down my front, focusing on where my dick hides behind a towel. “Not a good one, anyway.”
Any other man probably would’ve taken a hit to his pride at those words, but I’m pretty confident in my game, so I do my best to look appropriately chastised as she stomps through my house collecting her things.
My mother doesn’t speak again until the brunette leaves, door slamming hard enough to rattle the windows.
“Seriously?” She shakes her head, hands going to her hips. “Aren’t you ever going to get tired of casual fucking?”
Hearing that word come out of my mother’s mouth sends me stepping back in surprise. My brain is startled enough that it goes into automatic, spitting out a line meant to diffuse. “I guess if I do, I’ll just start wearing a tux.”
My mother stares at me, lips pressed flatly together. She’s the only woman in this whole world who flusters me, a fact that becomes evident quickly when my mouth continues to run.
“Because then it won’t be casual. Then it will be fancy.” I start explaining. If I was in my right mind, I would know now is the perfect time to shut my stupid fucking trap, but everything’s been sideways since the second I opened my eyes, and I’m struggling to figure out which way is up.
“I got it.” My mother crosses both arms over her chest. “I just wasn’t amused by it.”
I don’t imagine she’s amused by much right now. Since charm and humor aren’t going to save my ass, there’s only one good option left, and it’s where I should have started. “Sorry about Thanksgiving. I fucked up.”
My mother’s stern expression warms the tiniest bit.
She drops her arms and comes closer, reaching out to rest one dirty hand against my cheek.
“I know you didn’t mean to oversleep.” Her hand shifts and soon my cheek is pinched between her finger in her thumb.
Tightly. “But you’re acting like a fuck boy, and I think it’s time for you to start acting like a fuck man. ”
If I thought hearing my mother say fucking was surprising, having her call me a fuck boy to my face is downright shocking. Not only because it’s a little harsh, but also because I don’t even know where she would have learned that phrase.
Probably from Tobias.
I should probably ask him for some clarification myself, because what the hell is a fuck man?
“I’m not a fuck boy, mama. I’m just not ready to settle down yet.” Or maybe ever.
My mom’s hazel eyes move over my face. After studying me for a second, she shrugs and turns away, her dirty boots leaving a path to my door as she tosses her next words over one shoulder, “you never know what you’re ready for until it smacks you right in the face, son.”