Why was she so…dressed up? And she had on makeup, eyes lined with a subtle wing. Her lips were glossed, and she wasn’t in her normal work-from-home attire of shorts and an oversized tee. She wore dark, fitted jeans and a black halter top that showed off her golden tan, and her glossy hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders.
My gaze narrowed. “Where are you going?” I asked, my spoon pausing halfway to my mouth.
She beamed, shooting me a wink. “I have a date.”
“Again?” The word came out before I could stop it.
“Yes, again.”
“Same guy?” I pressed, setting the spoon down on the counter with a soft clink.
Her eyes rolled, but she was still smiling and glowing. “Of course.”
“Is this becoming a thing?”
“Maybe. I think I might like him.”
If that was the case… “When do I get to meet him?” I asked.
Her smile faded slightly. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
I dipped my spoon in the cookie dough. “If you’re going to keep seeing him, then yes. I need to make sure he is good to you.”
How unfair was it that my mom’s love life was suddenly more exciting than mine? Wasn’t this supposed to be my prime dating era? The thought made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Not that I wasn’t happy for her. I was. It also scared the shit out of me.
“We’ll see,” she said, grabbing her purse from where it hung on the back of a chair. The leather creaked as she slung it over her shoulder, adjusting the strap. “I left the card for takeout on the counter.”
“Will you be home late?” I realized how backward that sounded—me, the teenager, asking my mother when she’d be home. The role reversal settled strangely and heavily in my chest.
She laughed and leaned in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Don’t wait up.”
I made a face, wrinkling my nose and pulling back. “Gross.”
She grinned wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and headed for the door. I stood in the kitchen alone with my tub of cookie dough. I was going to be taking it to my room and drowning my loneliness in sugar.
At least she didn’t want to kill him…yet.
He better not break her heart or I might have to do the dirty myself.
13
MADDOX
Mason was already up when I came downstairs. My first clue that something was off.
Morning light streamed through the front windows in pale streaks, cutting across the hardwood and illuminating dust motes hanging suspended in the air. I blinked against the brightness, rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my palm.
My brother leaned against the kitchen counter like he had nowhere better to be, one ankle crossed over the other, coffee in one hand and a deck of cards in the other. His eyes were bright, a familiar glint of mischief dancing across his expression. That was never a good sign.
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet above the sink and poured myself coffee from the pot Amelia had made and left warming for us. My eyes narrowed at him as I took the first sip.
He kept flipping one of the cards between his fingers, a habit he’d done for years, fidgeting with them. The card appeared and disappeared, weaving through his knuckles. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“What the fuck are you up to?”
“Nothing,” he replied smoothly, the card moving continuously. “Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?”
“Mason.” His name came out flat.
