“Mom,” Noah says, tapping his foot. “I need you to wake up.”
“What time is it?” Blinking, I search my bed and nightstand for my phone.
“It’s 7:30.”
“Oh sh—crap! Sorry, little king. I didn’t hear my alarm go off.” I swing my legs out from under the covers and sit up.
I knew working nights would be difficult with having to get up in the morning. But I should have also factored in that my bed is made of clouds that were blessed by God himself. Usually, I get good sleep, with last night being the exception. I’m going to need to do something in order to actually wake up in the morning.
Rubbing my eyes, I let out a larger-than-life yawn. “Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll grab you a quick breakfast to eat in the car.”
“I already had a Pop Tart.”
Dear Pinterest Moms, please don’t come for my head. Sometimes, Pop Tarts are just easier.
“Shit,” I curse as I check the time again, noting I only have a few minutes to get Noah to school on time. I let myself slide with that one. Desperate times call for profanity. Sue me.
Noah bites his lip, holding back a laugh at my groggy swearing.
“Grab me a Pop Tart. I’m getting up,” I instruct Noah.
Two minutes later, I meet Noah downstairs. I forgot to rotate the laundry last night, so all I have is a Mudhouse sweatshirtfrom New York and my sleep shorts. My bridge troll chic look won’t be winning any awards, but it will have to do.
Noah hands me my Pop Tart, and as I’m opening the front door, he asks, “How are you getting me to school?”
I really need to do something about my quality of sleep.
Groaning, I step outside, hoping a solution will appear in my driveway. But what I find is a whole new reason to swear.
“Holy shi?—”
Noah covers my mouth with his hand. When he pulls away, he’ll probably have drool covering his palm because in my driveway are two men.
Twoshirtlessmen.
Specifically, my bosses.
Knox is kneeling on the ground with a lug wrench in hand, tightening bolts on the front passenger tire of my car. Griffin is in the same position but working on the back wheel.
The heat of the morning has them dripping with sweat in a way that’s completely pornographic.
Griffin’s jeans hang low on his hips, giving me a glimpse of that sexy V-thing I thought was only achievable in Photoshop. I think the phrase “abs of steel” was made for Griffin. I spy black calligraphy on the side of his rib cage, but I can’t make out what it says. The waves in his hair look like they were styled at a high-end salon, although I’m positive he wakes up looking like that. The way his arms flex with each turn of the wrench has my core weeping for attention.
Knox’s ass is nice and snug in his jeans. I’ve never stared at a man’s ass before, but Texas is proving to bring on a whole slew of new experiences. His torso is like that of a Greek statue. He has all the muscles I didn’t know existed. His hair is pulled into a bun, but small pieces of hair at the front have fallen, highlighting the strong lines of his face. Knox’s back is covered in ink. Theface of a skull with hollow eyes is surrounded by flaming trees. It’s a work of art.
My pussy clenches, making my need grow. I didn’t think bodies could look like that. Now I know what people mean by “eye candy.”
Lord, have mercy on me, please.
Griffin drops the wrench, swiping a rag hanging from his back pocket and wipes the sweat from his face. “I win!”
“It’s not a race,” Knox grumbles back.
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not,” Knox retorts, setting his own wrench down on the pavement.
Noah drops his hands and gives me a confused look. “Why are you staring, Mom?” His question gets the attention of both Knox and Griffin. My toes curl, and my face turns crimson.
