She turned to him full face with sunglasses on. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he still knew she was Joss.
She slammed the door, and on high-heeled boots, her rounded hips incased in faded denim, a feminine-cut sheepskin jacket that looked torn off the likes of Carly Simon and transported straight from the 70’s on her shoulders, huge shades covering her eyes, shades locked to him, she moved across the gravel like she was gliding gracefully along ice.
When he sensed movement, Deke’s attention shifted to the man rounding the hood of the SUV. Tall, seriously lean, his head a mass of long, tangled, spiked-out-at-the-top, dirty-blond hair. He was wearing a black leather jacket that was a lot of zippers and snaps with a dangling belt at the bottom, black jeans, motorcycle boots with rings at the sides, wraparound black shades covering his eyes.
Roddy Rembrandt.
Without notice, Jussy’s family was calling.
Fuck.
He didn’t move even as they made their way up the front walk and stopped in front of him.
“Jesus, you’re a big boy,” Jussy’s mom muttered.
And looking at her close, Deke was straight up stunned.
Not a line on her face. The shades still on, he couldn’t see her eyes but from what he could see, he knew the woman was fifty-three, and she looked, tops, like she hadn’t even hit forty.
“You’re Joss,” he stated.
“Yup,” she declared. “And you’re Deke.”
“Yup,” he replied, turned his attention beyond her to Rembrandt, who was standing close to his wife’s back, and he greeted, “Rembrandt.”
“Dude,” the man greeted back.
Deke moved out of the way, opening the door farther as he did, indication they should come in.
No hesitation, they came right in.
He shut the door behind them and turned, seeing they were already planted inside, facing his way.
Jussy’s mom had her sunglasses pushed up in her hair and he saw gray eyes, not Jussy’s brown, and still no lines.
These were aimed at his chest.
And her mouth was curled up.
“Jussy’s lazing,” he shared. “I’ll go rile her ass,” and get a fucking shirt. “Coffee’s on. Take off your coats, come in, get comfortable. Be back.”
Rembrandt had kept his shades on, as apparently rockers did, even inside, but he didn’t hesitate to shrug his coat off. When he did, Deke saw a long sleeve tee that had seen better days, was faded from its original black to a dark gray, and had big, cracked white letters on the front that said, It’s Only Rock and Roll. But I like it.
Joss kept smirking at him.
Jesus.
Deke moved and was halfway to the door to the back hall when Jussy came out of it, dressed in a new pair of ridiculous pajamas she’d unearthed from a box that came the day before from an online order.
Bottoms long, gathered at the ankle, a peachy-cream with bright embroidery across the front of the hips and down one leg, waistband so loose, it didn’t sit at her waist but hung on the tops of her hips. Top, a tight-fitting, army green thermal with a dizzying pattern of stars on it that in no way matched the pants, but came with them.
Deke had learned to look on the bright side with some of Jussy’s clothing. A lot of it rocked because it showed tits, legs, or if he got close, panties and/or bra. The rest of it, there was always something good about it, even if he had to dig to find the good.
This was no exception. The top fit snug at her tits which were clearly not bound by a bra. The bottoms had slits all the way up the sides from gathered hem to waistband.
In bed, and out of it, his hand could find itself in very good places with the slits in those pants. And starting about five minutes after she’d put them on last night, they had.
Almost as good, her nipples were showing through the thermal, she didn’t give a shit, he liked that and he liked the view.
“Uh…what the hell?” she asked, her eyes aimed beyond Deke to her mother and stepdad.
“Surprise,” Joss answered on a drawl.
Jussy’s face screwed up.
Deke stopped at her side and put a hand to her belly.
She tipped her pissed-off expression to him.
“As you can see, your family’s here. Gettin’ a shirt. Makin’ pancakes for four. And it’s all good,” he stated.
She clearly didn’t agree.
So he pressed his hand light into her stomach and repeated, “It’s all good, gypsy.”
She drew in breath, doing it pulling a Jussy, which meant pulling her shit together.
Seeing that, Deke let her go and kept moving.
But he’d find she hadn’t pulled her shit totally together because he heard her mother asking, “My baby girl gonna come and give her momma a hug?”
“Yes, she is, because she loves you. But first, she’s going to ask if your fingers have all been broken, and Roddy’s, so you couldn’t text me to tell me you were showing first thing on a frickin’ Saturday morning.”