Page 11 of Loaded Laces

She makes a good point.

It would make sense for her to drive her car where we’re going to talk. But we need to actuallytalk. Which means I can’t let her drive on her own, otherwise she’s likely to disappear again and the next time shereappears, it’ll be with something worse than a question and a kid who supposedly isn’t mine but who has my eyes.

“I’ll have someone get it back to wherever you end up tonight.”

Even if that’s me taking an Uber back here and driving the POS to her place.

Then, before she can argue any further, I hit the locks for my car, open the back door for the kid. Quinn, to his credit, glances at his mom.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

And furious.

But she tables the anger and jerks her head toward the open door.

Only then does Quinn hop into the back seat, and I see him reach for the belt, buckle up.

Good kid.

I shut the door, glance back at her and lift my eyebrows.

She sighs then stomps around the back of my SUV and climbs into the front seat, slamming the door hard enough that the entire vehicle rocks. My lips twitch.

When she used to have an attitude like this, I’d draw her close and kiss her until she stopped being mad. I wasn’t all that good at it back then, the kissing, the sex, but I learned how to take care of her, learned what she liked, learned how to hold off getting my pleasure before she got hers.

I reckon I can kiss a lot better nowadays.

And that I’d be a lot better at giving her pleasure before losing hold on mine.

Shoving that thought down, I yank open my door, climb inside.

“Your place or mine?”

There’s a sudden burst of tension, coming from both the front seat and back, but Belle’s voice is quiet when she says, “Yours.”

I wait a beat, wonder if either of them will say anything else.

When they don’t, I turn on the ignition and pull out of the garage, driving out of the downtown area and up into the rolling green hills. She’s staring out the window, and not a word is spoken by either of them as I go—though, I think for Quinn’s sake, that’s mostly because his nose is buried in his phone, the flashes of light from the back seat telling me that he’s playing a game. In Belle’s silence, I can’t read anything aside from pissed, but I don’t miss that as each mile passes, the tension in her body ratchets up until she’s a fucking statue in the passenger’s seat.

Pissed and…something else I haven’t teased out yet.

I hit the clicker to open the garage, pull inside, and shut off the ignition.

Then I’m leading them into my house.

“There’s an Xbox in the family room,” I say, pointing across the hall. “If you and your mom are both cool with it, you can play while your mom and I talk.” I walk to the pantry, push open the door, and flick on the lights. “Help yourself to any food in here or”—I nod at the fridge—“there. Drinks are in the door of the fridge in the island.”

Quinn’s eyes are wide then he turns to his mom and I know he’s seeing the same thing I am—a woman who looks freaked the fuck out. “Maybe I should stay while you two are talking,” he whispers.

Good kid. Smart kid.

“Up to your mom,” I say going to the fridge and grabbing out two chocolate milks and a Diet Coke. I offer him one before I set the Diet Coke in front of Belle on the counter.

“Youdrink chocolate milk?” he asks, mouth dropping open.

“Best post-game snack on the planet,” I say, shoving the straw in and drinking deeply. “Nice that it doesn’t taste bad either.”

He grins, starts in on his own milk.

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