Now I can’t stop the smile on my face, stealing another glance up at Jonas’s face in the rearview mirror as I dig through my purse for my phone. I want to text Blair everything while it’s still fresh in my mind. I don’t get many wins as a mom, but the therapist was right. Today is a damn good win.
Finished with my text message, I slip the car into driveand pull out of the parking stall. “Should we get ice cream on the way home?”
His blond hair falls floppy over his forehead with his eager nod. “Let’s get it in Wells Canyon instead of here so we can get some for Colt.”
“Good idea.” My sunglasses slip onto my face, but I’m still squinting as late afternoon sun reflects off oil stains on the pavement.
Between his help in keeping Jonas busy and out of trouble, the way he stepped in when Alex fucked Jonas over, and today’s therapy session, the least I can do for that man is buy him ice cream. Honestly, I could kiss him.
I could kiss him.
That thought infiltrates my brain without warning. My heart skips a beat. I could kiss Colt Campbell, but then what? My son loses one of the few positive male role models he currently has. More than that, he loses the only truefriendhe has. God, I can’t even begin to imagine what therapy might look like after that.
“You—you’re really having fun with Colt this summer, eh?” I steal a discerning glance in his direction. “I can’t remember the last time you hung out with your friends from school.”
He stares out the window. “We game together sometimes.”
“You don’t want to invite them over to play your new PlayStation?” My lips allow the question to spill out before I can stop them.
I’m not actually hoping he says yes, because a group of wild preteen boys playing video games in my living room is my personal definition of hell. Subconsciously, I think I’m trying to gauge whether he still has any friends, because if Colt is one of many,maybeI can justify kissing him.
God, I’m a terrible mother.
He doesn’t take so much as a second to think beforedeciding. “Nah. Just Colt. Dad got me a multiplayer racing game, and I’m gonna kick his butt.”
• • •
Some time after we get home, a knock on the front door echoes throughout the house, followed by Jonas shouting that he’ll answer it. Tilting my head to the side, I give my makeup one final check while tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind my ear. I kept things subtle and casual, from the beachy wave I spent half an hour perfecting to the understated T-shirt and denim shorts.
Why do you have to try so hard to look like you’re not trying hard?
Smoothing my lips together to get an even lip gloss sheen, I untuck the hair and let it frame my rosy cheek. Butterflies take flight in my stomach on the quick trip downstairs, and I attempt to shush them with a swipe of my palm down the front of my shirt.
“Hey, Mama.” Colt’s greeting slides down my spine like warm molasses.
He’s leaned back on the couch, his tanned, muscular arms spread along the backrest. The shirt he’s wearing is cut low on the sides, giving a small glimpse of his rib cage and the way it’s expanding and contracting with deep, steady breaths. His smile sits slightly crooked in the middle of his symmetrical face, and his hair looks like a woman’s been running her fingers through it.
This is the level ofhot without tryingI was going for tonight.
“Mom, look at all the candy Colt brought.” Jonas steals my attention and gestures to the heaping pile of sweets on the coffee table. Betty’s lying underneath, ready to dive after any food that might hit the floor.
“Holy crap.Okay, we arenoteating all this tonight, or even this century, probably. So don’t get any ideas.” I size upthe assortment of treats, picking through the pile so I can discreetly stash away any of my favorites for later.
“Didn’t know what kind of candy you liked,” Colt says. I assume he’s talking to Jonas, but when I blink up at him, I find him staring directly back at me. “I bought one of everything the corner store had. Whatever you don’t like, I’ll bring back to the ranch hands.”
“Or feed it to the cows,” Jonas shouts from the kitchen. “Candy is healthy for cows.”
I cock an eyebrow over at my son to find him buried up to his midsection in the refrigerator.
“I was telling him about how sometimes they mix candy into dairy cow feed,” Colt clarifies. “I’m not giving them those strawberry marshmallow candies, though. They’re my favorite.”
I toss the bag to him. “You can have ’em. They’re probably my least favorite option here.”
“That’s great news for our friendship. I’d hate to be in a position where we need to arm wrestle for them. You’d glare at me and I’d forfeit.” His hands flex to tear open the candy bag, exposing roped veins running from his knuckles to his thick, tanned forearms. “Which ones do you like?”
“Well, Ilovethese.” Pulling my focus away from his arm, I hold up a bag of sour keys for Colt to see, twirling the bag in the air. “Take notes for next time.”
He pretends to scribble something down on his thigh. “Noted.”
