I nod. “Six years ago, when Hudson was about your age, I won three out of every four times I got in line. Natural talent. I haven’t been allowed to participate ever since.”
“They still have it? We can still win cakes?” Eddie asks.
“Yep. And they save the best cakes for last. Mrs. Snyder makes this carrot cake that will turn your world upside down.And don’t get me started on Mrs. Johnston’s red velvet cake. I don’t even like red velvet cake, but I’d do things I can’t actually say out loud in front of minors to get her red velvet cake.”
“You should play for us,” Charlie says.
Eddie’s head bobs up and down. “We’ll tell them you don’t cheat.”
“They’ll believe us. We get away with everything now that Dad’s famous.”
“It’s true. Last year, we got caught trying to smoke grass under the bleachers at school, but as soon as Mom told them she was sending Dad to get us, they said it wasn’t a problem after all. They didn’t want to bother him. But our principal did want his autograph.”
Deep breath, Bea. Deep breath.
They are not my kids.
I don’t have to—nope, I can’t hold it in. “You were smoking grass?”
Simon chuckles. “Plucking it right out of the ground thinking it was the real weed,” he says cheerfully.
“Next time, we’re not using notebook paper and dandelions,” Eddie says.
“Next timebeing when you’ve reached the age of maturity,” Simon says.
“And when your prefrontal cortexes have fully developed,” I add.
“Exactly what Ms. Best said.” Simon smiles at his boys. “Otherwise, I will have to tell your grandparents that you two are hooligans.”
Both of them freeze.
I decide to actively not wonder about their relationship with Simon’s parents, because I don’t want to know.
He dusts his hands on his jeans. “Shall we go and enjoy?”
“Simon.”
He looks at me. “Yes, Bea?”
“My ex-boyfriend came to my apartment this morning to ask me to take him back.”
What is it about a thick five-o’clock shadow over a tic in a man’s square jaw that has my lady bits fanning themselves?
Possibly it’s that he’s somehow smiling while his jaw ticks.
Or possibly it’s that I’m letting my imagination run wild with the idea that the mention of Jake is spurring primitive instincts inside of him, and he’s picturing himself punching Jake, and while I’m not really afight for metype of woman, I can’t deny there’d be some satisfaction involved in seeing someone punch Jake.
Especially someone rich and famous who’d actually get away with it.
“Is that so?” he says.
Tread lightly, Bea. Tread lightly. “He thought our date last night was my play to get him back.”
“And did you disabuse him of that notion?”
Simon’s British accent? Hot.
Simon’s British accent with a hint of possessiveness? Lava.
