Chapter 17 Emma
SEVENTEEN
EMMA
MARCH
Harlan Royce stood on my patio with a paper plate of cake in his hand, forking into it and taking a bite like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was eating my son’s eighteenth birthday cake. A little crumb of it stuck to his upper lip and his tongue darted out to lick it away.
Meanwhile, I sat in my skimpiest bikini, caught in the act of using the hot tub I claimed to not be using.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.”
Royce looked far, far too amused. “I texted you.”
“I don’t have my phone on me,” I rushed out.
He chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I wouldn’t imagine that getup has pockets.”
I tightened my lips and narrowed my eyes. He, however, made himself right at home. He stepped forward and rested his forearms on the edge of the tub. He paid no regard to the fact that he could lose his cake to the bubbling water below. “Brought your knives back. They’re on the counter.”
“You could have left them on the porch.”
“And miss this show?” Royce teased. “That’d be a shame. Good cake, by the way. You make it?”
“I did.”
He took another bite of said cake, and I noted his lack of beverage. “Liam, did you offer Royce a drink?”
All this time, Liam had been standing off to the side looking like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
He’d met the players before through me, but they were never in our house.
On our patio, and on his birthday, no less.
He looked about like he did when his dad and I took him to Disney World and he got to meet Mickey Mouse.
He snapped out of his daze. “Do you like drinks? Do you want to get in the tub? I can go dig out some shorts for you.”
“Liam, honey, those are from ninth grade. I don’t think they’ll fit Harlan.”
Liam looked crestfallen, but Harlan stood straight and dropped a hand to his belt. “I can go in my skivvies. After all, your mom expected me to strip when I got here.”
“I did not,” I protested.
Harlan finished his cake and Liam stuck his hand out for his plate. With a nod of thanks, he kept talking. “No, no. I don’t want to disappoint. You expected a stripper. You’re getting a stripper.”
He unbuckled his belt, an erotic musical tinkle I hadn’t heard in far too long. A wave of desire passed over me. I had to hold it together. “My son is here,” I hissed.
“Relax, we’re all adults,” Royce cooed. He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped his fly, showing the top of his underwear and an expanse of smooth, toned muscle above it. An Adonis belt. He had a fucking Adonis belt, those delicious V cuts trailing into his pants. A little dusting of hair.
Focus, Emma.
“Barely,” I huffed.
“Mom, it’s fine. I see stuff in the locker room all the time,” Liam cut in.
“Yeah, see, Chef? It’s fine,” Harlan said. He tugged his beanie off and bunched it in his hand with a wicked grin before reaching for the hem of his shirt. He turned to Liam. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Liam hopped to it, almost tripping over himself going into the house.
I tried not to stare as Harlan tore his shirt over his head, a waffle knit henley that fit him a little too well. He set his discarded shirt and hat on one of my patio chairs. “Nice place you got here.”
I would have thought he was making fun of me, but he sounded genuine. Maybe he wasn’t trying to push my buttons for once.
But he was, because he was standing half naked on my patio.
With that damn gold chain. A hockey player half naked in a locker room?
Fine, whatever. This hockey player on my patio half naked?
Why was the world so cruel? He shoved his pants down, bending to step out of them and his socks.
They joined the pile on the patio chair.
Harlan Royce, in all his wild-haired, toned-muscled glory stood on my patio in just his gold chain and a pair of Calvins. He rested his perfectly round ass on the lip of the tub, swinging his legs over and sitting directly across from me in the water.
Liam returned and pressed a cold seltzer can into Harlan’s hand at the edge of the tub. Harlan saluted Liam, cracked the lid, and ripped a sip off the top.
It was all so . . . manly. To be a man and comfortable in your skin.
I remembered that he’d been making conversation and I hadn’t responded.
“Thank you. Li and I have been here a long time. But he won’t be here much longer,” I said, reaching over to pat Liam’s cheek as he settled back in the water.
“I still might do another year of juniors,” Liam said.
“Liam’s torn,” I said to Harlan. “He could do another year of juniors and try to get drafted or scouted by a university, or he might just play club hockey somewhere and go to school.”
Harlan nodded. “Tough call. What position are you?”
“Right wing.”
“You any good?” he asked.
“I mean, I think so. I’ve heard a scout from State College is coming to one of our games. I think it’s for me, but my friend Jayden thinks it’s for him.”
“State’s got a hell of a hockey program,” Harlan said.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Liam said. The two of them launched into a spirited discussion about college hockey, which allowed me a beat to take in the absurdity of it all.
This was strange. So very, very strange.
Harlan irritated me at work. He criticized me, made my days more difficult. He was a know-it-all. A borderline mansplainer.
Then he had to go put himself in harm’s way and I couldn’t let him get hurt.
Now, he was at my house, in a hot tub he bought for me, cracking jokes with my son and me like he’d been here all along.
My son, who, until twenty minutes ago, he hadn’t known existed. Here, he just took it in stride.
How many men, no, how many people had walked into my life and walked right back out when they learned I had a son?
Judged me for being a young mom? Judged me for being divorced at a young age, like I was spoiled goods or something?
I’d think someone was my friend, and once they found out I was a mom, it was like this unforgivable dividing line. Cool or not cool. In or out.
Some stuck around. Cindy and the culinary school folks. I considered Miguel a friend. I was still friends with Liam’s dad, another thing that made me weird. And some of the Rusties’ partners were cool.
Then there were the other parents at his school. Because I was on the younger end, they talked down to me. I was rarely invited to mom hangouts, and when I was, I often had to work because I had weird hours.
That’s not to mention my own parents, who told me I wasn’t allowed to come home if I had “that boy’s baby.”
And men? Forget about it. I’d basically have a bet going as to how long they’d keep the ruse up after they found out about Liam. I wasn’t ashamed of my son or of having him young, and it was an immediate red flag if they put up any resistance.
So to see Harlan so comfortable hanging out with my son, who he just found out about, was remarkable. And here, they’d been carrying on a conversation without me. Harlan was asking Liam about his high school team and actually listening to his answers. How was this possible?
“But hey, what’s it like playing in the show?” Liam asked. The show. The NHL.
Harlan twisted his lip to chew on the corner. “It’s pretty cool. Been in a few years. I was in the AHL, and the guy above me got injured. I got called up, and he stayed hurt so . . . here I am.”
I wrinkled my brow. “You act like you got here by accident.”
He shrugged. “Kind of. The right set of circumstances.”
“But you worked hard to get here.”
“Yeah. But I’m not some drafted hot shot.”
“Sure, but they wouldn’t keep you if you were bad.”
Harlan snorted. “Have you met the Rusties? They’re just cheap. I’m cheap.”
“You’re still in the show,” Liam said. “Anyway. I have early practice.”
He lifted himself up and out of the water, and I did the same, perching on the edge of the tub. “I’m getting hot.”
Liam sauntered over to get a towel and I turned to ask if Harlan wanted to stay in longer.
My words caught in my throat.
I was being watched. Surveyed. Studied. Water tugged at my soggy bikini.
An hour before, I would have been mortified for him to see my body like this.
Given our history, I’d be afraid he would pick at me somehow.
But something about him being here, in my space, being real with my son, made me less afraid of his usual bullshit.
And this didn’t feel like his usual bullshit. Harlan’s gaze didn’t look critical. It was hungry.
Harlan consumed me, his voracious stare taking in every inch of my exposed skin. His lids were heavy as his eyes passed over my every feature. My breath hitched.
This wasn’t how he looked at me after the bus accident. That was romantic, starry-eyed. This was more than that. After the bus, Harlan looked at me like we’d fallen out of some Hallmark movie.
This look was for late nights, after-dark material. Everything under my bikini felt heavy, suddenly engorged with desire and need: my breasts, my pussy, even the strings holding up my bathing suit dug into my hips. I wanted to squirm, to relieve some of that pressure.
“Night, Mom.” Liam appeared at my side. I snapped to his attention, my brief fantasy crashing to an end. I was in my house. My son was right here and I was getting all juiced up over a man looking at me in a bikini.
I leaned back and cupped his cheek, giving the opposite one a kiss. “Night, baby. Hope you had a good birthday.”
“I did. Thanks, Mom.” He wrapped an arm around my side for a loose hug.
“I’m going to sleep in, but have a good morning, okay? You ready for your test?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do fine.” Liam shook a finger at Royce. “Don’t keep her out too late.”
“Oh, stop,” I said.
Harlan chuckled. “I’ll take care of her.”