The twisted vines comple.., p.60
The Twisted Vines Complete Boxset, page 60
“Mom?” Ethan calls from the landing at the top of the steps.
“Hi. Honey, I forgot to mention. We have a guest for dinner. Mr. Thompson from my office.”
“Hi.” He gives a quick nod but lifts his phone, indicating he’s got someone on the line. “Can I go out to a beach party tomorrow night?”
“Yeah. Sure.” My hand curls around the doorknob, and the muscles cramp.
“Can you talk to Aunt Jenn about letting Sierra go?” Oh, no. My spidey sense comes to life.
“Does Aunt Jenn not want Sierra to go? Where is this party?” It’s a question I should have asked first.
“Mom, it’s just a group of us getting together on the beach. A bonfire kind of thing.”
“With no adults?” Trevor leans his shoulder against the door. Shit. “Here, come on in,” I tell him.
“Tommy Lawlor’s parents are going to be there. It’s sort of in front of their house.” I look him up and down. I trust Ethan. And the fact is, if I said no, he could go to his dad’s and do it.
“Okay.”
He smiles. It’s a little shocking to see that full smile.
“And you’ll talk to Aunt Jenn?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to her. But no promises.” His bedroom door closes as I add, “Uncle Terrell might want to attend.”
Trevor grins.
“I don’t envy you with teenagers.”
“Right? But the beach party is fine.” Doubt nags at me as I say the words out loud. I’m a little embarrassed my son and I were shouting at each other, but it’s normally only the two of us in the house. We have a routine that works for us.
“We used to do them all the time.”
“Beach parties? Down in San Diego?”
“Yep.”
“And they were okay?”
“Well, define okay.” He grins, and I do not. “How’re his grades?”
“They’re good. Really good.”
“And does he seem to have good friends?”
“Yeah. Pretty much the same crew he’s hung out with since elementary school.”
“You’re probably good.” He lifts a cake box out of the brown paper bag. “Dinner smells delicious.”
“Tuna?”
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a home-cooked meal?”
The man has zero soft cushion. He’s all sinewy, hard muscle. I doubt that’s possible on take out, and I express my skepticism with one raised eyebrow and a hand on my hip.
“Seriously. I don’t count grilled meat, steamed broccoli, boiled eggs, or protein shakes as home cooked.”
“I’ll grant you that. But if you saw the steps I take to compile this casserole—”
“It’s going to be delicious.” My insides roil as his hungry gaze takes me in. Heat radiates all around me, and it is most definitely not excess heat from my contractor-grade oven.
He presses me against the counter, and his lips cover mine. It’s soft and tender. His rough palms cup my cheeks, and his forehead brushes against mine.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day.” Me too, if I’m honest. Sort of. I can’t get the bathroom scene out of my head. My palm flattens on his chest. He’s inches away, and he wants to know what’s wrong.
“Do you and Wolf swap partners?” His lips scrunch all together as if he thinks I’ve lost my marbles. “Are you swingers?”
“Why are you asking?” He backs up, arms crossed. His brow furrows, and I think I screwed up.
“Fiona asked. It just threw me. But I guess… based on your reaction. Maybe it’s just Wolf? Or just her?”
He rubs his hair vigorously back and forth, but he’s smiling. He’s amused. It’s good I can amuse people.
“That’s what she asked you in the bathroom, isn’t it?” Both my hands find the counter behind me, and I grip it for stability. “I knew something went on in there. When you came back, you were quiet for the rest of dinner.”
He steps closer, removing the space between us. His fingers caress my throat, and he gently eases my chin up.
“Let me reassure you. I. Do. Not. Share.”
His lips fall to mine for a soft, gentle, reassuring kiss. He is warm and comforting and strong. My fingers explore his chest, his biceps, and along his shoulders. Our kiss deepens. My ankles rise off the ground, and my fingers comb through his fine hair. Our tongues slow dance. He cups my ass and pulls me against him. A thud on the stairs breaks us apart in an instant.
“Mom, what time’s dinner?” Ethan rounds the stairwell, his phone pressed to his chest. “I’m gonna go over to Ramon’s to work on a project after dinner.”
Ramon lives two blocks over. But still…
“On a Friday night?”
“He has extra poster board.”
“You didn’t tell me you needed any.”
He shrugs. “He has it. We’re gonna watch a movie after. Will we be done in, what? Thirty minutes?”
I check the timer on the oven. It’s true, Ethan and I can consume dinner in under ten minutes.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
He lifts the phone to his ear and charges back up the stairs.
“Welcome to my life.”
“Seems nice.”
“Yeah.” I bite back any kind of twenty slam. There’s no way to come across as funny. Sure, I’d expect more vibrant plans from the stereotypical twenty-something. But Trevor isn’t stereotypical. He’s a former SEAL. He’s served in war. He’s a partner in a security firm. I don’t know exactly what he did in the military, but my impression is he kicked ass. And he continues to do so. And what was I doing at his age? Doing the pre-school jig. Oh, and my marriage was falling apart.
The drawer with my placemats sticks, and I jiggle it. Once it opens, I lift three matching brown wicker placemats.
“Can I pour us some wine?”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
When I set out the casserole, along with a tossed salad that Trevor bought from the market, and freshly baked garlic bread, the dinner table looks adult. Especially when combined with two wine glasses.
“Ethan!” I call up the stairs. Stampede noises as he gallops down announce his impending arrival. When he rounds the corner, he pauses.
“It’s a real dinner tonight,” I supply.
“Cool.”
Out of habit, I dish casserole onto Ethan’s plate, then Trevor’s. I’m on the second spoonful when two sets of eyes slow me down. My cheeks burn.
“Sorry. I’m such a mom.”
“Looks good.” Trevor probably doesn’t mean for his statement to sound sexual, but he has me squeezing my thighs. I lock eyes with him for a quick second, then dish out the salad on my plate. I let the men handle serving the salad on their own.
“You work with Mom? Mr…”
“Thompson,” I supply.
“You can call me Trevor.” He pauses and seeks my gaze. “If that’s okay with your mom.”
“It’s fine.”
“We’re driving your Tesla, right?” Ethan asks.
“Well, it’s the company car,” Trevor answers.
“I like it. I’m hoping we still have it when I get my learner’s permit.”
“Ethan,” I admonish. Jeez. I have no plans of continuing to drive Trevor’s car for another three months. Actually, that’s one thing I should do this weekend—car shopping.
“It’s a good car. Have you been doing driver’s safety?” Trevor asks Ethan.
“Well, I should already be driving. But I was late signing up for the book part of the class. I’m ready.”
“Where do they teach you driving skills?”
“It’s part of the class I signed him up for,” I say.
“I can take you out if you like,” Trevor offers. “There’s an old development that I think lost funding. It would be great to learn on. The roads are paved, but no one’s up there, at least right now.”
Ethan inhales his food and avoids looking at Trevor. The silence that follows is awkward. For me.
“I’ll take him out.” I’ve been meaning to. There’s so much I mean to do. Story of my life. Jason doesn’t want Ethan driving his precious BMW.
“Have you ever taught anyone driving skills?” Ethan directs his question to Trevor, and I hold my breath, watching the dynamic between the two. It feels like Ethan is administering a test.
“In the military. Yes. We had some advanced training components. Courses we had to master. Once we did, I helped some of my teammates.”
“What branch?”
“Navy.”
“That’s cool.” Ethan serves himself a second helping of casserole. “But you’re not in now?”
“No.” Trevor stuffs a large forkful of casserole into his mouth.
“Did you ever serve?” Trevor’s chewing slows, and Ethan expands. “I mean, like abroad? Afghanistan or whatever?”
“I did.” The corner of Trevor’s lips turn up slightly. “Afghanistan.”
“Trevor is training for an Iron Man.”
“No way. That’s cool. My track coach did that. One out in Hawaii.”
“That’s a good one.”
“What kind of bike do you have?”
And then I’m lost. The two of them speak a different language. But I am also mesmerized, because Ethan is alive and animated. He’s engaged in the conversation. Ethan’s phone rings. It’s one of his rings for his friends. It’s a song, and to me it sounds like screeching guitars.
He doesn’t answer. Simply declines and types out a quick OTW.
“I gotta go.” He picks up his plate from the table. His phone rings again when he’s standing in front of the dishwater. This time, he answers.
Trevor meets my gaze over the rim of his wine glass. My stomach flips and flops. Yes, we’re about to be alone.
“Hey, Mom. Ramon is gonna come over here. Is that okay?”
My stomach flutters get smashed, but I whack a smile on my face. “Sure. That’s fine.” I love it when Ethan has his friends over. They’re welcome anytime. “I thought you needed poster board.”
“Nah. We’ll get it later. And Mom? Will it be a problem if we watch a movie down here? Sierra and Lateesha are going to come, too.”
“Absolutely.” I smile at my son, to reassure him it’s fine. “I’ll make you guys popcorn.”
“I think we need more soda,” he says.
“Make a list, and I’ll run to the store.” Trevor lays his fork down. “I told you Friday night in the Johnson house is a blast.”
“Mom, I’m gonna run upstairs and get a quick shower. If Ramon gets here, you can send him up. Mr… ahm, Trevor, it was nice to meet you.”
“You’re getting a shower?” That is so not like my son.
“Real quick.”
“Hey, Ethan.” My son pauses, one hand on the stair rail. “Tomorrow I’m planning on hitting some trails. Mountain bike riding up through the hills. I’ve got an extra bike. Any interest in joining?”
Someone who doesn’t know Ethan well might miss how he brightens.
“Yeah. That’d be cool. But I’m like… I don’t have a lot of experience.”
“We’ll go at your pace. I’m doing my training in the morning. This is just for fun. To get out. I can swing by after lunch, and we can ride up?”
“Cool.” It’s the three jerky nods that in Ethan-language is essentially the equivalent of jumping and down that relays my son’s excitement.
Trevor and I haven’t yet loaded the dishwasher when my phone dings with a shopping list.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I peruse the shopping list. “I should probably run. I’d like to be back here before the girls come over.” Ethan isn’t one to invite girls over. Sierra is like family, but this will be two girls and two boys. I need to be home.
“No worries. I’m aiming to be up by around four.”
“In the morning?”
“Saturday’s my long day.”
“Wow. That’s unbelievable.”
“Thanks for dinner.”
I follow him out to the carport, and he leans down to give me a chaste kiss.
“See you tomorrow?”
“You know you don’t have to take him mountain bike riding, right?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. He loves bikes. It’ll be fun. You don’t mind, do you? He just seemed really into bikes, and it’s kind of my thing.”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks.”
Trevor climbs in his Jeep and drives away, and I complete a quick run to the U-Save market. When I return, Ethan joins me in the kitchen and helps to unload the bags. He’s freshly showered, and his damp hair shines in the light.
“You know, Mom, if you’re dating someone, it’s cool.” I simply stare. My son has been taller than me for a couple of years, but his shoulders seem broader. “Dad dates women all the time. I’ve had years to get cool with it. You don’t need to shelter me.”
“I’m not.”
“He was here for work?” There’s a knowing smile there that both teases and reprimands. Damn. I think it’s a lot like the one I give him from time to time.
There’s a knock on the door, and Ethan greets his friend. All I can bring myself to do is refresh my glass of wine. Have I been sheltering Ethan? Is that what I’ve been doing?
FIFTEEN
SWEAT
Trevor
Iron clinks on iron. I survey the room. Ten new hires are doing my version of a welcome wagon routine, proving they are indeed as fit as they claim before we send them out on assignments. Flash and Ghost are on the kettlebells. Sweat drips down Vader’s forehead as he kills it on the row machine. I check my watch. The others are doing sprints. When the buzzer goes, they’ll switch it up. I need to ensure these guys haven’t grown complacent. They’ve got to have fire in the belly—passion for the job.
Scorpion runs inside and hits the jump rope. His shorts and shirt are drenched with sweat.
“Where’s Mustang?”
“Ate my dust.”
I bury the urge to wipe his smug-ass smirk off his face. This isn’t a mission. It’s not even a drill. There’s no danger out there. But I don’t particularly care for the way he left his teammate behind. I make a note on my phone app that Scorpion flies solo.
Five hours later, I’m sitting inside Arrow’s offices and recapping with Wolf.
“Had to send Mustang to PT. Came back limping after a three-miler. Pulled muscle.”
“Happens,” Wolf says. “In other news, press release is out. It’s official.” Wolf sets down two highball glasses and pours Macallan. He hands me a glass.
“Dog-and-pony show worked,” I say.
“Eh, last piece needed to seal the deal.”
“Always gotta blow the egos on the powers that be.” He moves in front of the project board. It’s a whiteboard. Erik hates it. He’d prefer it all on the network, and shit’s there, too. But Wolf and I are old school in some ways. We like to see it all laid out.
“We’ll need a hiring list. And I’ll need to think about training.”
“Dude.” Wolf crosses his beefcake arms and frowns. “We’re getting complaints. The men say you’re killing them.”
“Bullshit. They can’t take it, we cut ’em.”
“Man, this isn’t BUD/S.”
“The more you sweat during peace, the less—”
“Are you fucking shitting me right now? Is that your attitude when you’re with our new hires down at the gym? The less you bleed during war? Get over yourself. We’ll never keep anyone on staff.”
His attitude really pisses me off, given I’m still doing PT on my shoulder. The only reason I’m alive today is my training. Four against one. And I’m the sole survivor. But I keep my calm. There will be no fisting, no slamming my chest into the overgrown ogre. I drain my glass in one burning swallow.
“That shit’s meant to be sipped.”
“You’re going soft.” Outside, the sun falls closer to the horizon, and the remnant voices of passing pedestrians carry through the glass. It’s the end of the workday.
“Erik wants to coordinate in ten.”
One glance at my wrist tells me the office will shut down by the time we end our call with our team in the vines.
“I’ll come back.” I’m two steps from the door when Wolf speaks.
“Stella already went home.”
“What?” I spin around. I couldn’t care less if she leaves the office early, but I wanted to say goodbye.
“That’s where you were going, right?” His shit-eating grin does nothing but irritate me.
“Yeah.” If he’s going to give me shit about it, I’m going to toss it right back at him.
“Family emergency,” he says. The word emergency grabs my attention.
“Ethan? Is he okay?”
“Yeah. You know her son?”
“Went mountain bike riding with him on Saturday. Good kid.”
“Just the two of you?” Wolf perches his ass on the edge of the desk, the picture of relaxation as he swirls the golden liquid.
“Tried to get Stella to come, but she didn’t bite.”
“She doesn’t seem the mountain-biking type.”
“No. But I think I can get her to do some road trips.” Mountain biking isn’t for everyone. I get that. Ethan shared she enjoys hiking, so that’s an option.
“Be careful with her.”
“Let me stop you at the pass. I get it. Besides, she has this idea in her head that I’m too young. She’s got a wall up.”
“Age is relative.”
“You think I don’t know that?” The thing is, I expect Stella knows that, too. Only thing I can figure is she’s still smarting from a failed marriage. But I’m not in a rush. Taking it day by day and seeing what happens works for me.
My hand twists the door handle when another thought crosses my mind.
“What about Fiona? You’re…” I let my words trail.
“Still seeing her.”
I nod and exit.
“You’re gonna be back for the meeting, right? It’s in five minutes.”
I don’t bother answering him. Besides, I’m not sure of the answer. Family emergency? Ethan? I push through the stairwell door and come up on Patel from the back entrance. Big mistake. The barrel of her gun greets me.
