“I can strip if you want me to,” I said.
Emma’s eyes popped open and she lurched forward, crossing her arms over her chest. “Royce.”
SEVENTEEN
EMMA
MARCH
Harlan Royce stoodon my patio with a paper plate of cake in his hand, forking into it and taking a bite like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was eating my son’s eighteenth birthday cake. A little crumb of it stuck to his upper lip and his tongue darted out to lick it away.
Meanwhile, I sat in my skimpiest bikini, caught in the act of using the hot tub I claimed to not be using.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.”
Royce looked far, far too amused. “I texted you.”
“I don’t have my phone on me,” I rushed out.
He chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I wouldn’t imagine that getup has pockets.”
I tightened my lips and narrowed my eyes. He, however, made himself right at home. He stepped forward and rested his forearms on the edge of the tub. He paid no regard to the fact that he could lose his cake to the bubbling water below. “Brought your knives back. They’re on the counter.”
“You could have left them on the porch.”
“And miss this show?” Royce teased. “That’d be a shame. Good cake, by the way. You make it?”
“I did.”
He took another bite of said cake, and I noted his lack of beverage. “Liam, did you offer Royce a drink?”
All this time, Liam had been standing off to the side looking like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He’d met the players before through me, but they were never in our house. On our patio, and on his birthday, no less. He looked about like he did when his dad and I took him to Disney World and he got to meet Mickey Mouse. He snapped out of his daze. “Do you like drinks? Do you want to get in the tub? I can go dig out some shorts for you.”
“Liam, honey, those are from ninth grade. I don’t think they’ll fit Harlan.”
Liam looked crestfallen, but Harlan stood straight and dropped a hand to his belt. “I can go in my skivvies. After all, your mom expected me to strip when I got here.”
“I did not,” I protested.
Harlan finished his cake and Liam stuck his hand out for his plate. With a nod of thanks, he kept talking. “No, no. I don’t want to disappoint. You expected a stripper. You’re getting a stripper.”
He unbuckled his belt, an erotic musical tinkle I hadn’t heard in far too long. A wave of desire passed over me. I had to hold it together. “My son is here,” I hissed.
“Relax, we’re all adults,” Royce cooed. He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped his fly, showing the top of his underwear and an expanse of smooth, toned muscle above it. An Adonis belt. He had a fucking Adonis belt, those delicious V cuts trailing into his pants. A little dusting of hair.
Focus, Emma.
“Barely,” I huffed.
“Mom, it’s fine. I see stuff in the locker room all the time,” Liam cut in.
“Yeah, see, Chef? It’s fine,” Harlan said. He tugged his beanie off and bunched it in his hand with a wicked grin before reaching for the hem of his shirt. He turned to Liam. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Liam hopped to it, almost tripping over himself going into the house.
I tried not to stare as Harlan tore his shirt over his head, a waffle knit henley that fit him a little too well. He set his discarded shirt and hat on one of my patio chairs. “Nice place you got here.”
I would have thought he was making fun of me, but he sounded genuine. Maybe he wasn’t trying to push my buttons for once.
