More times than not, I would go back to my sister’s place to sleep. Ricky had made it clear he preferred me in his bed and accused me of being an epic cocktease. But I felt after spending so much time together, we each needed the space, especially since we had yet to have that talk.
Through it all, Ricky had become more than a man pushing my sexual boundaries. He had become a friend. I was going to miss him. Having only five more weeks until I had to get back to Jersey had cast a shadow over our budding relationship. I wasn’t worried things would end, but the logistics were a gray area that we hadn’t discussed. Most important, I didn’t know the extent of his feelings for me. I knew he cared, but exactly how much remained a mystery.
Today was the day he’d decided to ambush his mother. We flew first-class to Indianapolis and planned on staying a few days—“unless I end up in jail once I meet the fucker,” according to Ricky.
Having finally arrived, he maneuvered the black convertible he’d rented onto the paver-stone driveway. On each side, a meticulously trimmed lawn with mature trees bursting in summer glory made for a picturesque landscape. But the white house sitting majestically in the clearing was nothing like I had imagined Ricky growing up in.
It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with royal-blue shutters, flower boxes under each window, and a wraparound porch. In the distance, a tire swing hung from a massive oak tree on the edge of a small pond, where a few ducks paddled leisurely.
After Ricky cut the engine, he twisted his body toward mine. “Why the surprised look?”
“I guess it’s not what I expected. It’s so charming.”
“And I’m not?” he challenged gruffly. Knowing Ricky had grown up there, I tried to envision a small blond-haired boy running around the property without a care in the world. But it was hard to connect that image to the worldly man with impeccable taste who sat beside me.
“Charming is not a word I would use to describe you. More so conspicuous.”
“Thanks,” he muttered with an eye roll. Knowing the reason this surprise visit put him on edge, I also knew his mood had little to do with my assessment.
Case in point, he made no motion to move or get out of the car. “Are we sitting here all day? Eventually, she’ll see you.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.” He nosed toward the pickup truck on the driveway. “That fucker is here. There’s only one reason a man is at a woman’s house smack in the middle of a Monday.” His face twisted with disgust. “Ugh. Maybe we should go to a hotel.”
As he stared at the house, I placed a hand on his thigh. “Don’t be a pussy. So your mom has a boyfriend. Big deal.”
“It’s not the fact she has a boyfriend. It’s that she kept it from me.”
“Like mother, like son,” I countered.
“It’s not the same thing. She’s used to my philandering ways—” He stopped, dragging out the s a bit too long. “My old philandering ways.”
“Of course.” It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Regardless, you both have news, and the quicker we get in there the quicker we can enjoy our visit.”
“Fine.” He huffed and puffed, getting out of the car with great ceremony, and stomped his way to the trunk that he had popped open. By the time I joined him, both our suitcases had been placed on the slate below us with a purposeful thump. “Let’s go meet Mom and her boy toy,” he said a bit too animatedly.
“Lead the way.” I followed him up the path, up the stairs, and across the porch. Flicking his gaze my way, he repeatedly jammed a finger on the doorbell, causing the chimes to sound consecutively, mimicking a church bell tolling.
“Hold your damn—” The door flung open, some dude’s eyes bulged, and the word horses slipped out of his mouth before we heard an audible nervous swallow.
From his layered salt-and-pepper hairstyle to a matching goatee that framed his mouth, the resemblance to a younger Kenny Rogers was uncanny. There wasn’t a doubt he knew who Ricky was. And to add insult to injury, the man was as naked as the day he was born, except for the towel his large hand gripped tightly at his waist. A towel that was way too small for his paunchy frame.
The way the man looked up at Ricky as though he were deranged made for a scene out of a bad sitcom. “Well, hey… um… you caught me off guard there, son.”
A vein bulged in Ricky’s neck as he dropped the handle of his suitcase to clench his fist.
Oh fuck.
“Yeah, I’d fucking say that’s an understatement, Pops,” Ricky spit out, and I swear I saw a drop of spit land on the tip of the dude’s nose.
At that moment, a petite woman appeared beside Kenny Rogers, saying, “Who is it, honnn—”
Her hand flew over her gaping mouth as Ricky raised a brow and said, “Hello, Mother.”
She was also in a towel, and I looked away, seeing a bit too much skin for an introductory meeting. Actually, with the way the tops of her breasts spilled out over the edge of her terrycloth apparel, not much differently than Kenny’s belly over his, too much skin was revealed for any occasion.
“What are you doing here, sweetheart?”
“I came to surprise you. I guess mission accomplished.” Ricky seemed to have forgotten that I was standing beside him, his glare bouncing from his mother to the man we had yet to formally meet. “Is this a bad time?”
“Well, actually, it is,” she had the nerve to say before waving us in to rush out an awkward introduction of her companion. As though a stick of dynamite had been shoved up both their asses, they quickly excused themselves, bolting up the stairs.
Hushed, panicked voices filtered down to where we stood, and then a distinct giggle, and finally a door slamming shut.
“What the serious fuck?” Ricky hissed. Pointing a finger toward the stairs they’d flown up, he stared at me as if this were all my fault. “That woman is not my mother.”
“Why… because she looks happy?”
“No… because she looks like she belongs at a singles resort in Jamaica.”
It took way too many minutes for who we now knew to be John to appear fully clothed in jeans, a button-down plaid shirt, work boots, and a just-fucked look. They’d most definitely finished what we’d interrupted.
“Well, I’m going to give you all some time to visit,” he said, not making eye contact. And without a backward glance, he hightailed it out of Cindy’s house with promises to see us soon.
A few seconds later, Cindy emerged, wearing a summery floral dress, but I couldn’t unsee her towel ensemble.
“Ricky Alexander, you embarrassed me,” she scolded the moment her delicate hand slammed the front door shut. “And you interrupted a very nice time… sort of.”
“Spare me, Mother!”
She fisted her hips and got right into his space. “Last I checked this was my house!” And then she turned to me and sassed, “And who the hell are you?”
“This is Cooper.” Ricky waved a hand between us. “Cooper, this is my mother, Mrs. Hospitable.”
They glared at each other, and if I could slip out the front door without having to cross their path, I would’ve. When angry, Ricky looked a lot like his mother. Same sandy-blond hair, although hers was cut into a stylish bob. Same ice-blue eyes. Same quick wit.