Worth the Wait(16)

“Brett…” she started, but then stopped.

It might have been a mistake; I might have let my anger get the best of me, but I needed her to know where I stood.

“Rest assured, beauty, if you’re lucky enough to get me back between those luscious thighs, no way in fuckin’ hell will you be running out on me again.”

I threw the jeep in gear and took off for home, leaving her looking slack jawed and shocked in the parking lot of Colt’s.





What the hell was I thinking?

That was just the problem. I hadn’t been thinking. I’d let my damn hormones take control of the whole situation, and a night that started out wonderfully crashed and burned in a fiery ball.

Brett’s words played on a constant loop in my head the whole next day.

Rest assured, beauty, if you’re lucky enough to get me back between those luscious thighs, no way in fuckin’ hell will you be running out on me again.

I had an angel on one shoulder telling me it was for the best, that I didn’t need to get tangled up in something messy while I was still trying to get my footing and build a healthy life for Cameron and Callie. But the horny little devil on my other shoulder was telling me that luck wouldn’t even begin to cover it if I were to get Brett back between my thighs, that it would be no less than a friggin’ miracle.

Damn it. At times like this, I really hated my stupid subconscious. That bitch was making a mess out of my carefully planned-out life. A life I was determined would contain no men.

By the time Brett had pulled into the parking lot the night before, I was already beating myself up for my overreaction at his house. It seemed I was prone to overreactions where he was involved.

Yes, calling me a bitch was definitely wrong, and I wouldn’t excuse that. But I couldn’t help but feel like I’d intentionally led him to that point. I was acting like a bitch, and I’d been doing it on purpose because I couldn’t handle what I was feeling. Gut instinct told me to flee and to burn that bridge as soon as I crossed it. I’d opened my mouth to apologize, but his words had struck me mute. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that they’d turned me on at the same time.

Good Lord, there was something seriously wrong with me.

“MOM! I want panacakes!” Cameron shouted as he and Callie came barreling into the kitchen.

Luckily, by the time I arrived home it was so late that I was able to feign exhaustion and brush off Lizzy’s curious stare before pushing her through the door. I knew that there was no getting away from her third degree the next day—the whisker burn on my cheeks and neck and just-fucked hair were pretty telling signs that something had happened—but thankfully, I had a full day to come up with some sort of plausible story for my unkempt appearance Friday night.

“I want cereal!” Callie shouted, pushing her brother from behind.

“Panacakes!” Cameron demanded with a shove back. “And you’re a butt toot!”

“Hey, no pushing,” I scolded, pulling my twins off of each other before blood shed ensued. “And don’t call people butt toots, Cam,” I told him sternly.

Butt toots, seriously? Where do kids pick this shit up?

“But sissy’s stinky and smells like the stuff that comes out of my booty,” he giggled hysterically.

“I do not!” Callie wailed as tears rushed down her cheeks. “Mooommmy! Bubby’s being a meanie!”

My eyelid twitched and that telltale stabbing pain shot through my skull. That asshole who wrote What to Expect When You’re Expecting never covered how gross tiny four year olds could be. That would’ve been a really friggin’ helpful chapter.

“Enough,” I told them both. “Go in the living room and play nice, or so help me, I’ll make you both eat asparagus for breakfast.”

That threat worked like a charm every time.

I still remember the first time I’d put it on their plates for dinner.

“Mommy, these gween beans taste like crap.” Callie told me as she hesitantly licked the vegetable hanging from her fork. I’d made a special dinner for mine and Lance’s anniversary, but as usual, he’d been stuck late at the office. He didn’t even bother to bring the day up when he called to curtly inform me not to wait up. That’s when I knew he’d forgotten.

“Don’t say crap. And they aren’t green beans. They’re asparagus.”

“This tastes like dog poop,” Cameron told me with a scrunched-up face.

And thus began the stage where my kids viewed everything healthy as tasting like poop.

At the threat of the dreaded asparagus, my kids ran screaming from the kitchen like the boogey man had just jumped out of the pantry. Five seconds later, the sound of the TV coming on echoed into the kitchen and that damn Yo Gabba Gabba song played.