Chapter 20
Twenty
CLOVER
The trick to pretending you’re not sleeping with the sexiest guy at a party?
Never stop moving.
Stillness is the enemy. Stillness gives your eyes the chance to drift, and drifting eyes are inexorably drawn to your hot secret boyfriend’s broad shoulders and his ass in those jeans. That ass that seriously does not quit…
How did I ever manage to keep my eyes above his belt before we were lovers, I ask you? How?!
I don’t know.
But I do know that staring at your alleged friend and former boss’s ass is a good way to attract the wrong kind of attention.
So, I stay busy.
I eat an obscene number of chilled shrimp from the buffet, let Makena teach me a line dance to a country song that’s not completely awful, and do my best to dodge the supermodels in skimpy Mardi Gras costumes spritzing everyone with Let the Good Times Roll.
Capo’s new scent is a mix of vetiver and citrus, with a hint of jasmine, that’s very New Orleans, but also very strong. And masculine. Which is good, considering it’s a man’s cologne, but I’m not looking to smell like I’ve been out doing manly things while frolicking through the Spanish moss.
I want to keep smelling like my conditioner and perfume, a combo that Dean confessed after our shower, “Makes him hard just catching a whiff of it.”
We’ve already had sex twice in the past two hours, but I still want him hard again the second we get home for our first sleepover. I am a glutton for his body.
Even more than I’m a glutton for shrimp…
“If you eat one more of those, you’re going to turn pink like a flamingo,” Makena warns as she reaches past me for the tongs. “How many shrimp have you eaten, woman?”
I hum around my latest mouthful as I mull that over. Once I’ve swallowed, I confess, “At last fourteen. But they’re so good. And if I start turning pink, think of all the money I’ll save on blush.”
Parker’s bubbly blond fiancée laughs. “There are worse colors, for sure. But you should try the oysters, too. They’re phenomenal.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m scared of oysters.”
Her brows shoot up. “What? Why?”
I shrug, eyeing the glistening shellfish with my usual suspicion. “I don’t know. They’re so shiny and squishy-looking. They look like something that should still be inside something alive, but covered up by fat and skin and stuff, you know?”
“So…entrails?” she asks dryly. “That’s what you’re saying?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. I was trying to be delicate about it since you’re clearly about to eat one, but…”
She grins. “No worries. I’m not bothered. I’m a chef. Entrails don’t scare me.” She slurps up an oyster she’s squeezed full of lemon juice and moans happily as she chews. “Delicious. Like eating a summer day by the beach.”
I arch a brow, tempted by her description—I do like a summer day by the beach—but my phone starts to buzz.
I reach into my clutch to silence it, glance down at the screen, then excuse myself with a soft, “Sorry, I have to take this.”
I press the phone to my ear as I turn away, pretending to be on a call as I head for the back of The Orleans Regent’s event space.
When we arrived, Dean and I set alarms for ten-thirty to pop outside and check in to see if he felt he’d put in enough of a showing to make a graceful exit.
He agreed to come to Capo’s cologne launch party before we agreed to fuck each other as often as humanly possible, and Dean is nothing if not an honorable man, who keeps his promises.
He really does keep his promises, even silly promises, like vowing never to buy the brand of bananas Bella randomly decided are poison or letting Ava put Nutasha P. Bettersquirrel on the bottom step to “keep night watch,” even though he’s tripped over her five times.
(I gave Nutasha to the girls as a present.
She’s so happy, she can barely contain herself.
Providing plushy support to an adult is all well and good, but any toy worth her stuffing knows the kid game is where it’s at.
I love that the girls love Nutasha, and include her in all their stuffy games.
It makes me happy to think of the squirrel I made always being with them, even if someday, I’m not.)
But it’s hard to imagine leaving the Kate household anytime soon.
I am way too gone on their dad. He’s so hot in every possible way that I can barely go ten minutes without daydreaming about him inside me.
Or daydreaming about how much fun I have with him and the girls.
Or daydreaming about what it would be like to be cheering him on from the stands as more than his nanny.
As his girlfriend or…something more serious than a girlfriend.
It’s crazy. I’m crazy and getting way ahead of myself.
We haven’t even told anyone that we’re dating. We agreed it’s best to pretend we’re just friends whose nanny-boss relationship sadly didn’t work out, due to him needing more overnight hours than my “burgeoning music career” would allow.
My music career is definitely more “idling” than “burgeoning,” but it’s a decent excuse.
His teammates seem to have bought it. Even Blue and Beatrice accepted the explanation with nothing more than a “bummer, it seemed like such a good fit, too,” text, and an offer to let me move back to their place if the rent at Dean’s got to be too much to manage.
I didn’t like lying to them about paying rent. Or about Dean. But he refuses to let me pay him a dime, and we’re not ready to explain what we are just yet.
I’m not sure we even know, honestly.
All we know is that we can’t keep our damned hands to ourselves, a thing he proves as I step out onto the roof. He’s waiting right by the door, next to a stunning view of the city lit up at night, ready to pull me into his arms.
“Is this okay? Is there anyone else up here?” I ask, but I don’t wait for him to answer before looping my fingers around his neck. My self-control is non-existent with this man, and it’s chilly up here. I tell myself that’s why I can’t help snuggling my chest tight to his.
“Not a soul,” he says, kissing me with the words. “Guess it’s too cold for the smokers tonight.”
I smile against his lips. “No, the smokers are out on the balcony downstairs. Maybe no one else knows about the roof.”
He pulls back, his eyes dancing as his palms skim down to grip my bottom in both hands, sending a zing of arousal across my skin. “Good. I’ve been dying to squeeze your ass all night. This dress is…”
“Nice?” I supply, grinning up at him.
“So nice. So much better than nice. You look like a mermaid fresh out of water. Still all sparkly and wet.”
“Wet is definitely a thing when I’m around you,” I murmur. “But at least I’m wearing panties tonight. I found my thong.”
He wrinkles his nose and curses, making me laugh.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I plan on letting you take it off me later.”
“Can’t fucking wait,” he says, sounding like he means it. “How’s the party? Having a good time?”
“Yeah, it’s been fun, but I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
“I’m ready,” he says. “Want to hit that cocktail bar I was telling you about? It’s maybe a ten-or fifteen-minute walk. We wouldn’t have to call a cab.”
“Sure, sounds good,” I say, even though I’d rather head home and straight to bed. But we should probably try the “dating” part of dating, not just the getting naked part.
Deep down, however, I’m a little afraid the dating part will make this feel more real. Maybe even real enough to shock me out of my sex-induced stupor and remind me how far out of bounds I am right now.
Dean pulls back, gazing down at me with a more serious expression. “We don’t have to go to a bar, if you don’t want. We could go for dessert or something.”
I nod, assuring him, “Whatever’s fine. I’m not picky, I’m just…” Just still not stepmother material. Still not sure what I’m doing. Still afraid I’m breaking the rules in a dumb way, not a fun way. Aloud, I add, “Just a little tired. It’s been a big day.”
His eyes narrow. “Really?”
“Really,” I lie.
“Anyone ever tell you that your nostrils flare when you’re fibbing?”
My lips twitch as the irony of the observation hits full force. “Yeah, they have. My stepmother, actually. Couldn’t get a thing past old Rhonda.”
His brows lift. “Ah, I see. Your tone makes me think that wasn’t a good thing.”
“Nope.”
“And is that maybe at least a part of why you don’t want to date a guy with kids?” he asks gently as he holds up a hand, fingers and thumb held at an inch distance. “An itty-bitty part?”
“Could be,” I confess.
Whelp. Looks like—ready or not—the universe has decided we’re going to have this conversation.
I move out of his arms, wandering over to the railing, grateful for the chill in the air. Talking about Rhonda always gets me hot in a way that’s not nearly as fun as getting worked up with Dean.
“Rhonda and I did not get along,” I say.
“Like, at all. By kindergarten, I was doing okay living with my dad, but when Rhonda moved in, I started missing my mother like crazy again. It was really bad.” I exhale a soft laugh.
“Which is ironic, considering the reason my dad married her was to give me a ‘mother figure.’ He told me later that he never wanted a live-in relationship with her or anyone else. He loves his privacy too much.”
“You think he was just scared to be a single dad?” Dean asks.
“Maybe, but I also think he regretted marrying her pretty quickly. While they were together, he played gigs with his cover band almost every night. As soon as they divorced, he went right back to being a homebody.” I glance Dean’s way as he leans against the railing beside me.
“But for three whole years, Rhonda and I spent way too much time alone together for either of our tastes, and she made sure I knew how unhappy she was about it. How unhappy she was with me, the stepdaughter she never wanted, but couldn’t afford to send to boarding school. ”
“I’m sorry,” he says.