Never Been Kissed(54)
“Right. We’re going to read that tonight.” After Harry Potter, there’s Peter Pan to finish. After that, I’m going to read him Charlotte’s Web and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Oh, and The Outsiders when he’s older! God, this kid is going to get all the good stuff!
“How could you not read him Harry Potter? What’s wrong with you?” I make the crime sound worse than homicide. “Sorry. I got carried away.” Hunter’s face closes down, and I’m that stranger again, all the hard-earned time and jokes and affection and kisses to my knuckles are gone, like our history has been erased. I shiver, but keep staring at him.
By the power of Grayskull, I’m brave and badass. I can do this!
“Harry Potter has a very special place in my heart and to not read it to a kid is like blasphemy.” I shake my head, embarrassed. “I don’t just wear the nerdy shirts and shoes. I have nerdy blood, and a nerdy heart.” I reach for his hand, which jerks like he’s thinking about pulling it away from me but changed his mind. “Maybe you shouldn’t pulverize your napkin.” I unwind his fingers from the offensive scrap of paper, and squeeze his fingers with mine.
“I’m really happy you’re letting me read to him. Thank you.” I tilt my head to the side, trying to see him from a different angle. He’s hot and cold, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
When I try to move back to my bubble of space of the table, his fingers flip over and entwine in mind, halting my progress. Damn it, I wish I could lift an eyebrow – I wouldn’t have to ask what’s wrong.
“As long as you promise to stay after he goes to bed. We need to talk.” I snort-giggle, something I do when I’m nervous. I clap a hand over my mouth, eyes wide with mortification. Yup, the blood’s rushing to my cheeks, burning and smarting.
Matty laughs, the sound light and perfect. Hunter joins in, his deep belly-laugh making his body vibrate through his hand to mine.
“That was adorable,” Hunt says, kissing my knuckles. I can’t speak yet, I may invent another language if I do, one where consonants and vowels join hands and switch partners faster than any ballroom dance.
“Why do keep kissing her hand, Daddy?” I swing my gaze to Matty, biting my lip. Is this inappropriate? Am I corrupting him?
Hunter’s smile turns sheepish, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “I’m showing her respect, buddy. I like Sera. I want her to be my girlfriend.”
“I don’t get it.” I want to laugh again, but I sense that this is important – a life lesson disguised as dinner conversation.
“When I do this,” Hunter says, ghosting his lips over my knuckles one more time. The touch of his mouth is so sweet, my heart aches, and I end up forgetting how to breathe. “I’m saying I like her.”
“Is it like when Peter kisses Wendy’s hand?”
Bloody hell. How do I explain that Peter will never see Wendy Darling the same way as Hunter is looking at me right now?
“Yeah, buddy. That’s exactly it,” Hunter says, totally ruining the story.
“I think I understand.” Matty nods, once, then twice more, like he really gets it now. “Daddy, can we go to the park now? You said after supper we could go.” Then he looks at me. “Sera, wanna play soccer?” His eyes are wide and he’s nodding his head quick and fast like he’s trying to hypnotize me into doing the same.
“Pffft. You don’t want to play me, buddy. I’ll kick your little bum,” I say, blowing air on my knuckles.
Matty points at me, and then hits the table with an open hand. “I thought you said a bad word. So? Wanna play? I bet Daddy’s better than you!”
Sweet hippogriffs, I might have a chance at showing off some of my soccer skillz. I turn to Hunt and say, “I’ll kick your bum, too. Game on?”
He rubs his mouth with the hand I’d been holding, like he’s trying to hide words he wants to say. “You’re playing dressed like that?” And he does that overall look from the top of my head, to the tips of my toes. Every part of my body starts to tingle.
“I’ll show you and your boy how a lady can kick gluteus!” I stammer, ignoring the satisfied grin on his face.“I’m trying to avoid losing quarters. ”
Hunter resumes rubbing his mouth, but more slowly now, thinking, wondering. “Game on, then. When I kick your...bum, even in those fine clothes, we’re going to talk, aren’t we?”
I smooth the nonexistent wrinkles from my skirt, nodding with my hair hiding my face. I look up while biting down on my back molars. His face is resolute, solemn and oh so perfect, I curse his genetics. And then take it back. “Yeah. We’ll talk. But not before I score a hat-trick!”