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 tome?” She scoffs. “What the hell happened toyou? 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 steamand 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?”
