Sustained(35)

Chelsea comes out from the kitchen, wearing a little black dress with thin straps—sexy in its simplicity—and open-toed black heels. Her hair falls soft and shiny around her shoulders. “Jake!” Her smile is off—kind of forced.

“What’s going on?” I ask evenly.

Two more twentysomethings step out behind her: a dark-skinned girl with long dreadlocks and a stunning face, and a guy with long brown hair wearing a trendy, butt-ugly, lime-green paisley shirt.

“My friends from Berkeley came to visit.” Her face tightens—broadcasting an apology. “I didn’t know they were coming.” She steps back, gesturing to the couple behind her. “This is Nikki and Kevin.”

Nikki and Kevin both smile at me a little too happily. A little too stoned to play it straight.

“And this”—Chelsea gestures to the blond shark killer—“is Lucas.”

Lucas grins dopily. “S’up.”

I nod at him, then hand Chelsea the flowers. “These are for you.”

She gazes at them lovingly, running her palm over the soft petals. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

So much for dinner. And more important, so much for getting laid.

Fuck.

Rosaleen comes tearing around the corner, her hair parted into curly pigtails, hugging me around the waist. “Jake, you’re here! Did you bring the movie?”

I hold it up for her to see and she bounces.

Riley and Rory join us next. Lucas rubs his hand roughly on top of Rory’s head. “Little dude, how about you grab me a beer? If we’re watching a movie, I’m gonna need a brew.”

Chelsea’s head tilts. “We don’t have any, Lucas. My brother and Rachel weren’t drinkers.”

“That sucks.”

We all walk toward the den, and the muscle in my cheek twitches as I watch Lucas throw his arm around Chelsea’s shoulders casually. Cozily. With intimate familiarity.

I really don’t like this asswipe. And I’m not the only one.

Rory comes up to my side and whispers, “He touches my head again, I’m punching him in the nuts.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Can we watch the movie in Mom and Dad’s room?” Riley asks carefully. “We used to have movie night up there every week. But we haven’t since . . .” She ends with a shrug.

“Sure,” I tell her.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Chelsea agrees softly.

“Dude! I just got a greater idea!” Lucas says, turning my way. “So . . . you’re like the manny, right?”

“The what?” I ask, my expression heading for hostile.

“Like the nanny, but you’re a guy? You can watch the kids, yeah?”

“Sweet!” Nikki squeaks, picking up his train of thought. “So, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hotty can stay with the babies while the four of us go out!”

I wait for Chelsea to decline.

I wait for her to say she’d rather stay in with the kids.

With me.

But she doesn’t.

She just turns to me blankly. “Would that work for you, Jake?”

A sharp snort rumbles out of me. Frustration and resentment simmer in my stomach, burning like acid. “Whatever you want to do, Chelsea.”

“Awesome.” Lucas nods. And he still hasn’t moved his fucking arm from her shoulder.

I want to break it off.

Lucas’s eyes crawl over her. “You should get changed, babe.”

I give him a hard stare. “I think she looks perfect.”

His head toggles. “Well, sure, she’s smokin’.” Then he turns to Chelsea. “But you kinda look like a MILF. Hot and all . . . but still a mom, ya know?”

And now I want to break his mouth, too.

Her face falls, but she agrees. “Okay. I’ll get changed real quick and then we’ll head out.”

Ten minutes later, she comes down the stairs in tight blue jeans and a white halter top. The shirt pushes together her tits in a fantastic way—she looks gorgeous. But different. There’s less . . . elegance in this outfit. And she seems infinitely more screwable.

Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, normally. If I had met her in a bar, wearing that—before—I would’ve pulled out all the stops to get her to come home with me. It’s just the fact that she’s going out without me—where other pricks will be looking at her and thinking the same thing—that rubs me the wrong fucking way.

She leads me into the kitchen, rattling off Ronan’s feeding schedule and bedtime. Things I already know by now. When she stops talking, her eyes rise from the floor to meet mine.

“I’m sorry about dinner.”

“Don’t be.”

“Jake, I . . .” She licks her lips, shifts her feet indecisively. “I haven’t seen them in two months. I didn’t know . . .” She pauses again, then seems to find the words she wants to say. “Are you mad at me?”