I want to tell him how I feel about Amanda.
The urge to do so sucker punches me out of nowhere, a flash of fear spiking my heart rate. I can’t imagine a scenario where he’d be okay with it, but he’s more mature than most men twice his age. He’s been through more than men twice his age.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe if I’m just honest with him, if I communicate everything, it will work out better than I think. Maybe if he understood how I feel about her, how I would do anything to see her happy…
“David,” I start, but he looks at me for only a split second before his eyes catch behind me, and they go wide as sand dollars, mouth dropping open like he just saw a shooting star.
“Holy shit, Mom.”
I whip around as David starts laughing and claps his hands, but I can’t join him. I can’t cheer or smile or do anything other than gape at the angelic creature that just descended the last few steps of the staircase.
I’ve seen Amanda in workout shorts and loose t-shirts, in sweatpants and baggy sweaters, in jeans and tank tops and a dozen casual things in between.
She always looks beautiful.
But this…
A knot forms in my chest as I take in the length of her, how her chestnut hair is shiny and curled, framing her face. Her lips are painted a ruby red, her eyes smokey and alluring, lined with black and accented by long, dark lashes.
I gulp as my gaze trails down, as I note the plunging neckline of her emerald green dress. It hugs every curve, every inch of her breasts, her waist, her hips, her thighs, before finally flowing into a soft wave around her feet. That neckline alone is enough to kill a man on sight, her ample cleavage displayed proudly. Her hips steal the eye next, voluptuous where they stretch the satin fabric, and her thighs do the same, thick and enticing.
She’s not just beautiful.
She’s a fucking knockout.
A bombshell.
A goddamn hurricane.
It takes me a while to finally drag my eyes up to meet hers again, and when I do, she’s looking at me, too. She flushes, ever so slightly, and then holds her chin high and struts past me into the kitchen.
“You can’t wear that,” David says on a laugh, pointing to her chest. “Not without a vest or a sweater or a sheet or something.”
“I’m a forty-seven-year-old woman, David. I can where whatever I want.”
“You’re going to cause a car wreck.”
“I’ll be in a restaurant.”
Even though I’m pretty sure David was quite serious with his remarks, he must realize it’s a losing battle, because he sighs and shakes his head and kisses his mother’s cheek.
“You look great,” he says. “Now, when do I get to meet and properly threaten this guy?”
“Not tonight, I can tell you that much,” she says.
“What, I don’t even get to play the role of the big bad son who will shoot his ass with a shotgun if he hurts my mom?”
“You don’t even own a shotgun.”
“Easy fix.”
She snorts a laugh, and then David’s phone rings, and he holds it up with a toothy grin.
“Julia,” he says. “Better make sure Tucker’s alright. Be right back.”
He disappears through the dining room and out the back door, and then Amanda and I are alone.
Her eyes flick to mine, but she tears them away quickly, turning to open the fridge like she’s looking for something when we both know she just doesn’t want to look at me.
I clear my throat, sliding my hands inside my pockets. “You look incredible, Amanda.”
Her hand grips the fridge door handle tighter, her shoulders tensing before they slump over. Slowly, she shuts the door, leaning against it with her eyes skirting up to mine. “Thank you.”
“Nervous?”
She picks at her nails. “A little.”
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be tortured, if being waterboarded is the equivalent to how my lungs are seizing up, my chest burning at the sight of her all dolled up to go on a date with another man.
Another man who will get to stare at her all night, talk to her, laugh with her.
Touch her.
Kiss her.
I blow out a breath through my nose, closing my eyes and shaking off the masochism before I take a strong, steady step toward her.
“I’m really sorry about last night,” I say, stopping at the island a few feet away from her. “I didn’t just overstep, I put my nose in your business when it wasn’t my place to do so. And I made the false assumption that you can’t handle yourself, which I know you can. I should—”
“Stop,” she says, exhaling long and deep. “It wasn’t you. I overreacted.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” she says, meeting my gaze. “I’m just… tender.”
Those words weigh down on my already-crushed ribs. The way she’s looking at me, the way her eyes are sad and tense and filled with worries I know plague her — it kills me.
Glancing over my shoulder to confirm David is still on the phone, I step a little closer to her, lowering my voice.
“You’re more than what he made you believe you are.”
Amanda closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the fridge as she sips a shallow breath.
“Look at me.”
She shakes her head.
“Amanda, look at me.”
This time, she lets out another slow breath, her eyes a bit glossy when they open and meet mine.
“Samuel is lucky to be taking you out tonight, and he knows it. He wouldn’t put in this effort if he didn’t want something more than what I insinuated last night.”
She rolls her lips together, ready to argue, but I continue before she can.
“I’m sorry I said it. I judged him too quickly. I don’t even know the guy. And the truth is, I’d be a prick to anyone taking you on a date, because no matter how good a person they are, I’d still be jealous of them.” I swallow. “Because they get to have you, and I don’t.”
Tears well in her eyes, thick enough to fall if she so much as blinked.
“But I’m willing to accept that, if that’s the way it has to be. As long as you’re happy.”
Swallowing, I reach out and touch her hand — just barely, just enough to let her feel me.
“I hope you have a nice time tonight. You deserve it. Truly.”
Her face crumples. “Greg, I—”
The sliding glass door whizzes open, and I quickly jump back away from Amanda, breaking our contact and reaching for my glass of water.
“Apparently, Julia is having some other moms over to our place for a baby play date tonight,” David announces, still looking at his phone as he waltzes into the kitchen.
Amanda turns toward the fridge again, subtly dabbing under her eyes.
“Which means I can’t go home for a while,” he adds with a chuckle, tucking his phone away. “You got plans tonight, Greg?”
I chance a glance at Amanda to make sure she’s okay, then force a smile at David. “Not a single thing.”
“Great. I’m forcing you to hang out with me.”
I chuckle. “No force necessary.”
The doorbell rings then.
David’s eyes light up, a shit-eating grin on his face as he rushes to the door to the tune of his mom warning him not to say anything stupid to her date.