“Holland’s okay with babysitting,” Summer trills, lying through her pretty teeth. My eyes narrow, my lips parting in surprise. Jensen cocks a brow, but before either one of us can protest, Summer jabs a finger in the air at her brother. “You promised me. Please don’t take this away. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
He sighs, the sound full of resignation and I realize he’s going to give in.
“One hour,” he says firmly.
“Three hours,” she counters quickly. “I haven’t been around people my own age in months. Please.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, palms pressed together under her chin, a hopeful expression on her face.
“Months? I watched her last week for you.”
“That was for a doctor’s appointment. Not for fun. Trust me. So, three hours?”
“Two.”
“Okay,” she agrees immediately.
“Two hours,” he repeats in a hiss. “But I swear, Summer, if you’re even one minute late, I will never do this again.”
She squeals, arms flailing before she gives Jensen a squeeze, blows a kiss at Nelly, and takes off before anybody can change their minds.
I’m left alone with Jensen Payne and a five-month-old baby.
25
Jensen
This wasn’t how I envisioned my night. I was supposed to be balls deep inside Holland, not elbows deep in bottles and diapers. I most definitely wasn’t supposed to be introducing her to my sister and niece.
And the way her eyes keep flicking to Nelly, watching her with a glazed look of longing on her face, scares the living shit out of me. She hasn’t moved to hold her. She hasn’t even spoken one word to her. But the expression on her face is unmistakable.
Pining.
We’ve had unprotected sex more times than I can count because she said she was on the pill. But I also recall the way she hesitated when I asked her. Babies are cute. Beautiful even. And there may have once been a time when the idea of another little Payne in the world was tempting. But I’m over that moment of insanity. I have absolutely no desire to procreate and pass on my curse to another human being.
I haven’t been able to walk away from Holland—the woman is like a drug—but if she’s developing baby fever it will douse my libido quicker than an ice-cold shower.
I take a seat beside her, lowering myself heavily. I’ve been irresponsible in ways I haven’t been in years. Not since I was a dumbass teenager, looking to bust a nut anyway I could. It was reckless.
“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” I say, following Holland’s gaze to Nelly.
She looks sideways at me. “Yes, she is. Adorable.”
“As adorable as she is, I like that I get to give her back after a couple of hours,” I say, trying to feel her out.
She laughs lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Summer seems very young.” She gives me nothing, but there’s an unspoken question there, though she doesn’t voice it.
“That’s because she is. She’s only eighteen. Way too damn young to have a kid.” I pause, turning to read her expression clearly. “What about you? Any plans on starting a family someday?” I’m fishing hard, determined to cast my reel as many times as it takes. Most people want that. They want to get married, buy a house in the suburbs, and have a few kids. It’s a normal natural instinct. If that’s the case with Holland, I need to know. The sooner the better.
Her jaw tightens, her expression hardening. Her eyes brim with moisture. “A family,” she scoffs. “No. I have no plans on starting a family someday.”
Her answer surprises me. So much, I almost ask her why. From her reaction, I wonder if she’s unable to have children, which—as fucked up as it may be—makes her even more ideal for me.
She composes herself quickly, slamming a mask of neutrality over her face. I should be relieved. Even if there is baby fever running through her veins, it’s not going to happen. She and I are on the same page there. But it’s evident this pains her, and I don’t like the way that makes me feel. Knowing she’s hurting, but unable to fix it.
Nelly lets out a wail, letting us know she’s unhappy about something. Holland cringes at the sound, closing her eyes, and fisting her hands in her lap. I push myself up and scoop my niece off the floor.
“I think she needs to eat,” I say. “You want to hold her while I make a bottle?”
“No.” Her reply comes swift and firm. “I’ll make the bottle. Where is it?”
I tip my chin, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “I think Summer put some in the fridge.”
She nods tightly, not making eye contact, and moves like her ass is on fire. She can’t get away from Nelly fast enough.
*
Once she’s been changed, fed, and burped, I lay the baby down and get out my camera. I pop in a new memory card and cop a squat in front of her. She stares up at me with large round eyes as blue as her mom’s. The eyes passed down from mother to daughter for generations. I smile and snap a photo. And then another, talking to her in soft, low tones until she falls asleep. That’s when the best pictures come. When Nelly goes from cute to angelic.
Holland lies across the sofa on her stomach, hands tucked under her chin, legs bent and feet swaying as she watches us. It’s clear how uncomfortable my niece makes her, but she’s barely looked anywhere else all night.
“You’d make a good dad,” Holland whispers suddenly, her voice teasing, but her expression somber.
I cock a brow, shooting her a cynical look. “No. I make a good uncle. I’m much too selfish to be a good dad.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but the door flies open, cutting her off. Summer breezes in looking tired and refreshed at the same time. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head messily. Dark circles shadow her eyes. But her cheeks are pink and her gaze is bright.
“Did you have fun?”
She grins, showing off her mouth full of brilliant white teeth. “Yes. I had a blast. I went to a bonfire with people my age. I had conversations with people my age. And I danced with people my age to music people my age like.”
“As long as you didn’t make another one of these with someone your age,” I say, gently lifting Nelly from the floor.
She rolls her eyes like it’s completely unreasonable. “My legs are currently closed for business,” she states. “I might even get a little sign to wear around my waist that says: No penises allowed.”
“You’re overly sharing again.” I sigh deeply.
“You asked,” she reminds me.
“Can you just take your kid and get out?”
“You’re kind of cranky.”
“Well, I have been cock-blocked all night,” I say. “It may have contributed to my irritability. But once you and your mini-me vacate the premises, I can rectify the situation.”
“Erectify,” she retorts, laughing at her play on words.
Now I roll my eyes. “Get out.”
“Okay, fine.” She moves through my apartment, gathering the diaper bag and collecting Nelly’s things. She takes the baby from me, strapping her into the carrier. Halfway out the door she turns back, looking from me to Holland.
“It was very nice to meet you. And thanks for helping with Nell. You should come to Pop’s birthday party this weekend. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.” Not giving her the chance to decline, my sister rushes on. “I won’t take no for an answer. It’s been ages since we’ve seen Jensen with someone. If you haven’t noticed already, I can be very persistent.”
Holland stutters over her response, shocked by the invitation, making two of us.
“Oh, um, I…”
“Six o’clock, Sunday. Pop will be so excited.” Her gaze shifts to me, an evil grin spreading across her face. Her eyebrows jump up and down unapologetically as she swings the door shut behind her.
26
Holland
Tonight has been emotionally draining. I feel itchy and twitchy, exposed, raw. I deal with it in the same way I’ve learned to cope w
ith everything lately. I seek sanctuary in Jensen.
I slip off the couch, positioning myself in front of him as I begin unbuttoning my shirt. I need the press of his strong hands on my body. The warmth of his tongue, sliding over my skin. His scent filling my lungs, tattooing itself into my flesh. I need his long fingers and his dirty mouth and his thick cock, possessing me, owning me, erasing all the sickening and suffocating memories attacking without mercy.
He watches me, stripping myself bare in more ways than one before him. I don’t have to speak a word, he knows where I’m heading. His hand locks into my hair, pulling my head back as his teeth graze across my pulse point. He bites down, adding more and more force until I’m gasping. I pinch my eyes closed, grateful for the sweet relief only he can bring me.
His other hand travels down my side, scraping against my ribs, my hip, trailing over my mound. He slips between my folds, finding my clit. I moan shamelessly as he rubs, gentle at first, then rough. I buck against his hand, craving more.
He releases me abruptly. My eyes pop open and I nearly cry out. I need this. Him. I need him to make it go away.
Jensen smirks at the devastation evident on my face. He tugs his belt loose, opening his jeans. He pulls himself out, stroking his length up and down, his gaze glued to me the entire time.
“Is this what you want, Holland?” He drops to his knees, skimming his lips against my pussy, his breath teasing. “Or do you want this?”
I swallow forcefully, looking down at him, brutal perfection on his knees in front of me. His tongue dips and probes, making me whimper.
“Tell me what you want.” He pulls on my labia with his teeth, tugging gently and sucking. I throw my head back, my hands clamping around his head. He pulls back, placing soft, searing kisses on my inner thigh. “Tell me. What. You want.”
I’m on fire, inside and out. So wet and needy, I can’t stand it. Both of his hands grip my ass, jerking me forward, holding me tight to his face. But he gives me nothing more, making me throb and ache in anticipation.
“You,” I hiss. “I want your mouth, your cock. All of you. Please, Jensen. I need you.”
I feel his lips lift into a triumphant smile against me. “Say it again,” he growls, tongue caressing, coaxing.
I hesitate, not even sure what all I just said. “Please?” I croak, hoping that’s what he wants.
He shakes his head, mouth still on me. “Not that part.”
He nibbles my clit, making it nearly impossible to think. “Tell me,” he demands, fingers digging into my ass. He bites down harder and I yelp.
“I need you,” I cry. He moans into me, lapping and sucking with fury, giving me what I’ve been hungering for. My orgasm rips through me with a blinding intensity. “I need you,” I rasp. “I need you. I need you.”
He yanks me down to the floor, moving over me immediately. I feel his dick, hot, hard, and heavy against my thigh as he shoves his jeans down his legs. I can’t wait. I wrap my hand around him and guide him inside of me. He sucks in a breath, his face contorting almost like he’s in pain.
Jensen drops his forehead to mine, our eyes locked. “You feel so good.” He sighs. “Fuck. I never want to leave.”
I tilt my head, capturing his lips, kissing him deeply and tasting myself on his tongue. I keep kissing him, quieting him, because his words scare me. They scare me because I know exactly what he means. I never want him to leave either, and that scares me most of all.
Everyone leaves.
27
Jensen
I don’t usually see Holland on Sundays—her permanent day off. But as she climbs into my car, that’s not what makes this so odd. It’s the way she’s dressed. The clothing itself isn’t unusual, a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a yellow tank top. It’s that I’ve only ever seen her in her uniform or in nothing at all.
She looks sexy as hell and I know my issue has less to do with her state of dress and more to do with the fact we’re on our way to my dad’s house. I feel like I need to warn her about him. Prepare her somehow. I’m pissed off because it was never my intention for her to meet my family. For her to see my weakness. To know this part of my life. At the same time, there’s a part of me, twisted as it is, that enjoys this. I think that pisses me off the most.
It’s been like this for days now. Ever since she told me she needed me. Instead of lighting her usual match, burning me slow and sensually, she lit a fucking fuse and I’ve been a live wire ever since.
I’d much rather pull off to the side of the road, throw her tight little ass in the backseat, and fuck her to the rhythm of the passing cars. Get rid of this pent up energy. Expel some of this abnormal tension. Get back to being the me I had grown accustomed to.
“What’s your dad’s name?” she asks, breaking into my thoughts.
“Walter. Walt. But everyone just calls him Pop.”
“I’m not calling your dad Pop,” she says, running her fingers through her mane of fiery hair for at least the fifth time since she got in my car. “I’m not his daughter, that seems weird to me.”
I shrug, thrumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “Everyone calls him that and I’m his only legitimate offspring. It’s not weird to him.”
She gives me a baffled look, her brows crinkling with confusion. “Summer isn’t legitimate?”
“Summer isn’t technically his. Long story short, Pop cheated on Mom. Mom stepped out on Pop, a lot, trying to get over it or get even, I don’t know which. Neither ever happened. They separated. A couple of months later Mom dropped the baby bomb. Pop never denied Summer, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t his. After Summer was born, she took his last name, Mom and Pop made their separation permanent, and that’s it. Mom died ten years ago, taking the knowledge of Summer’s real father with her, if she even knew. Summer went to live with him because in his eyes, she was his.”
What I don’t tell Holland is that Pop loved Mom until the day she died. That’s why it didn’t matter who Summer’s real dad was. Shit. He still loves her. Always will, I suspect. And I think he needed Summer. Someone with Mom’s eyes instead of his own.
“But she could be his, right?” Holland questions. “Even if your mom was unfaithful, isn’t there still a chance he had the winning sperm.”
I shake my head firmly. “She’s not his.”
“But how do you know? You can’t be certain without a DNA test.”
I laugh bitterly, keeping my attention focused on the windshield. “I am certain. Summer couldn’t have come from him.” I can feel the muscle in my jaw tick. I’m done having this conversation.
“I hope Pop likes movies,” she says, offering me amnesty. “I didn’t know what to get him, so I picked him up a theater gift card.”
“Uh,” I utter, rubbing my chin. “He’s… He has some medical problems. I mean, he still goes to the movies occasionally, but, you know, it’s less and less these days. You didn’t need to get him anything anyway. The gift I got him is supposed to be from the both of us.”
Wow. What. The fuck.
Did I seriously just fucking say that?
I’m combining our names on fucking presents now? I’m in erratic behavior territory now. Like an insane person.
“Oh,” she says, obviously thinking the same damn thing as I am.
I pull into the driveway and turn the ignition off. I’m not ready to get out and go into that house. If it wasn’t his birthday, I wouldn’t do it. I feel like this changes everything. It puts us on this whole new level. One I never wanted.
“You’re sweating,” Holland murmurs. “If you don’t want me here, I get it. You can tell them I got sick.”
But I do. I do want her here. And that’s what is fucking with me the most. I shouldn’t want it. It’s not right. Not fair. To her or to me.
“Just hot,” I say, popping the handle, opening the door. I lean back in, grabbing Pop’s gift. Holland puts her hands on each side of my jaw, kissing me hard. It catches me off guard, but I sink into her im
mediately, my dick already hardening for her.
She releases me, leaving me burning for more as she gets out, pushing the car door shut with a swing of her hip. It’s amazing the way one brush of her mouth can set me off and quiet my mind at the same time.
My mom used to have this saying, something she mentioned from time to time. I never really understood it until just now.
“Nobody can take your misery away, that’s yours to keep all your own. Find the person who can make you forget you were miserable in the first place.”
I whisper the words now, like a prayer to my mother. Is that who Holland is? Is that who I want her to be?
I don’t know.
I just don’t fucking know.
28
Holland
The party is small, intimate. Just Summer and Nelly, Pop, his nurse, Margo, and Jensen and me. As I’m embraced in back-to-back hugs, I can’t decide if smaller is actually better. In a larger group, I might have been able to fade into the crowd. That’s not happening.
I’m introduced to Pop last. He’s nothing like I envisioned in my head. I guess from the way Jensen talked about him, I expected him to be old and sickly looking. Not this slim, wiry man with dark hair, lightly dusted with gray. An older, thinner version of his son. He looks like he’s in his upper fifties. Not the eighty-year-old I had pictured. I hide my surprise and smile, holding out my hand, hoping just one of these people will let me get away with a handshake.
“Pop,” Jensen calls. “This is Holland.”
I’m still holding my hand out, starting to feel even more awkward when he doesn’t acknowledge me.
“To your left, Pop,” Summer says. “Her hand is out.”
He reaches out, feeling the air until he finds my hand. He grips it in a solid shake. My eyes shift to his, really looking at him now. Though his head is turned in my direction, his gaze is off, looking over my shoulder. He seems unfocused. Or…blind.