“Acting like your husband. Which I still am, I might add.”
I narrow my gaze as I look up at him, itching to remove his hand from my hip, but we have several eyes on us, and I don’t want to make it obvious that I loathe my husband with the intensity of a thousand suns and his touch makes my skin itch. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Curtis, but you need to cut it out. This is West’s eighteenth birthday. A night he will remember forever. I don’t want him looking back on it and believing the entire night was fabricated. We agreed to be civil to one another and to smile. We didn’t agree to grabby hands and fake PDAs.”
It’s crazy, but standing here like this, knowing Vander is watching, feels like the biggest betrayal. Memories of our heated make-out session have been replaying in a loop on my mind all week, and my little electric friend has been getting a vigorous workout after months of minimal use. My body tingles every time I remember how incredible it felt to have Vander’s touch all over me.
I panicked when his fingers brushed against my panties because I knew if I let him touch me there we wouldn’t stop, and I couldn’t let it go that far. Not while I’m still officially married to Curtis and not until I’ve had time to think about everything and whether I’m ready to take a giant step and start something with my son’s eighteen-year-old friend. Knowing what I know now, it’s hard to think of him as eighteen. If his soul is the other half of mine, then age really doesn’t matter.
When we kissed, it was both familiar and new, but it didn’t feel wrong. Nothing has ever felt more right, and it terrifies me. I’m on the cusp of something life-changing, and I don’t know if I’m brave enough to take that leap of faith.
“You need to learn to relax,” Curtis says, squeezing my hip as he gestures for West, Stella, and Ridge to come forward. “Or you need to get laid.” Before I can stop him, he swoops in and plants a hard kiss on my mouth. “I can take one for the team tonight, for old time’s sake. What do you say?”
My entire body shakes with rage and not being able to release it makes me want to scream. “I say you’re fucking crazy and hell will freeze over before I ever have sex with you again.”
“I know you’ve got to be gagging for it,” he says, smiling as our kids approach. “Consider it my last act as your husband.”
I dig my fingers into his hand, uncaring at this point if the kids see. “Unless you want me to stab you with the cake knife, take your fucking hands off me and keep your disgusting offer to yourself.”
“Mom.” West’s brow creases as he steps in front of me. “Are you okay?”
I force a wide smile on my face. “I’m fine, honey.” I loop my arm through his and hold him close as Ridge sidles up to me, and I tuck him into my other side. My youngest yawns, and I reach down, kissing his cheek. He’s exhausted, but I know I’ll most likely have a fight on my hands when the time comes to leave. Curtis wraps his arm around Stella, beaming at the crowd as they gather around us, like he isn’t the son of Satan.
Pain tightens my chest as my gaze locks on Vander’s. His cold green eyes are devoid of emotion as he stares at me while cradling Gayle against his front, her back to his chest. His arms are encircling her waist, and she’s clinging to his muscular forearms and beaming like she’s just won an Oscar.
I look away, focusing on West as he thanks everyone for coming before thanking me and Curtis for hosting the party. He calls Hazel forward, and I step to the side to let him hug his girlfriend. She beams up at him as he makes a wish and blows out the candles. After, I make myself scarce cutting up the cake and placing it onto plates so I don’t have to watch Gayle fawning all over Vander from her new seat on his lap. The more time that passes, the angrier I am getting. I thought Vander was more mature, but if this is some kind of game, he can play it alone.
I am done with men trying to manipulate me.
Viola, Shirley, and June help to distribute the cake, but I insist on serving my son’s table because I want to make a point. “Cake for the birthday boy and his girl,” I say, sliding plates in front of West and Hazel.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Hazel squeals, immediately grabbing her fork and diving in. “I’ve been looking forward to eating this all night.”
“How about you, Vander?” I ask, plastering a smile on my face as I turn to face him. “Would you like to have your cake and eat it too?”
Gayle’s brows knit together, and she giggles. “As opposed to what?” She eyes me with clear amusement.
“As opposed to having your cake and not eating it,” West mumbles, around a mouthful of sugary goodness, rolling his eyes.
“Or not having cake and therefore not eating it,” Hazel adds, swirling her tongue around the frosted icing on her fork.
“It’s an idiom,” I calmly explain although Vander gets exactly what I’m saying. “Can I get you some cake, Gayle?”
“Oh, God, no.” She stares at Hazel in horror. Hazel is too busy shoveling cake in her mouth to notice her derision. Gayle pats her flat stomach. “I’m careful about what I eat, and that thing—” she points at my son’s plate “—is a dieter’s worst nightmare.” She shudders as if my cake has personally affronted her. I’m tempted to grab West’s half-eaten slice and smash it into her whiny face.
But that would be catty and immature, and I’m a grown-ass woman who would never resort to such childish behavior.
“Sugar is the enemy, you know,” she continues, in an annoying high-pitched superior tone. Leaning back, she snuggles into Vander while running her hand up and down his arm. “It’s just another thing we have in common, babe,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Vander stares at me with a blank expression, and I work hard to shield my emotions. “Besides,” she says, turning her face back around to me. “I’m too sweet as it is.” She giggles at her own joke, and I’m done.
“That you are, Gayle.” I smooth a hand down the front of my dress and deliver my most serene smile. “Well, if no one else wants cake, my work here is done.”
“I’ll have cake,” Vander says, removing Gayle’s hand from his arm. “You know I can’t resist your desserts.” He says it deadpan, with no show of emotion on his face, but I hear the double entendre, and I’m fuming. With him for playing such stupid games and me for not being strong enough to stay away from him before it got to this point.
“Count me in too.”
I turn toward the owner of the deep voice. Bowie rakes his gaze over me slowly, and I’m instantly uncomfortable with his attention.
“I’ll always accept whatever you’re offering, Mrs. H, if you know what I mean.”
Oh, dear God. Cake is totally a euphemism, and rather than feeling flattered, I am seriously embarrassed and a little grossed out. Bowie waggles his brows, and I spot the glazed look in his eyes. He is totally trashed, and I am going to murder whoever smuggled booze into the party. My money is on Stella, but who am I kidding? I know most kids drink before they are legal—we did—but I was very firm with the kids about tonight. Their friends’ parents are trusting us to safeguard their children, and sending them home drunk does not sit well with me.