Page 107 of All Twerk, No Play

“Mama,basta,” he called from the kitchen.

“What, I’m not allowed to talk about your cute butt? It’s not like you’re shy about showing it off,” she teased. “She’s your girlfriend, I’m sure she’s seen it.”

And nowmycheeks were flushing, but mostly in disbelief at how playful they were, and how well she knew him … wishing my mom were still around to tease me like that. What would our relationship be like now?

Richard forced Spencer on me to unite the company. Dad approved of Alexander’s intelligence and tenacity. But Mom never had a chance to see me with either of them.What would you think of Eric, Mom?

Kids had never been in my plans, not after Spencer’s family tried to use my uterus like an incubator. But as we flipped through pages of photos, watching Eric grow up from a charming kid into a goofy brother, Gloria fawning over his karate belt ceremonies and backyard birthday parties, my stomach churned with a painful longing—not for my mom, but for the feeling in Gloria’s voice. The joy at her children’s antics, her pride in their accomplishments.

As those pages turned, I felt a longing.

She pointed to teenage Eric, behind his first drum kit, dripping with sweat and beaming with joy.

“Always music with him,” his mom laughed. “Be glad there are no Victoria songs or he’d never shut up, you poor girl.”

“He already doesn’t stop singing,” I said, which made his mom’s easy smile widen. “Once we got stuck in an elevator and I dared him to be quiet, just so I could get a minute of peace.”

“Let me guess, he fidgeted the whole time,” she said with a knowing grin.

I smiled. “Yeah, he rubbed my feet.”

Her eyes softened. “Just like Jim. He used to pull my feet into his lap to massage them after a long shift.”

I jolted at the loudthwapof the front screen door slamming. Eric returned from the kitchen with a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, a huge grin and outstretched arms. A small body raced through the room and crashed into his chest, arms flung around his shoulders so all I could see was her wild black hair. He swung around as her laughter chimed through the living room.

When her toes touched down, her palms came to his cheeks. “Thank God you shaved, I was ready to take the train up to Saratoga with a straight razor.”

“No need for a security threat, Adriana,” he grinned, flashing that damn dimple. “My girlfriend shaved it.”

“Shut the fuck up, you have a girlfriend?” she exclaimed as I put aside the photo album and stood to greet her. Her perfectly lined dark eyes widened as her impeccably-lined lips dropped comically open. “Oh my god, you’re even hotter in person. Kate sent that picture, but—”

“Kate?” I asked as Eric’s cheeks flushed.

“Kate & Adriana were debating who had a better business coach.” His arm circled my waist. “Victoria’s smart as hell, too. Went to Yale and Stanford, runs her own law firm.”

“Can’t be that smart if she’s with you,” she said with a shit-eating twist of her lips.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered.

“Hey,” I said, mimicking their playful dynamic while kissing his cheek. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend that way.”

“Oh my god, gross,” his sister said. His huge palm rested over her skull and shoved slightly.

“Mama, did you see her eyes? They’re mesmerizing,” Adriana said. “Please let me do your makeup, my Instagram followers will eat this up. Please, Victoria?”

She bounced on her toes and I bristled at the hope in her eyes. If she wiped off my foundation, would she mock my freckles?

“Maybe next time, we’re only here for an hour and still need to eat,” Eric deflected. “Wasn’t sure you could get off work. When’s curtain?”

Adriana relaxed on the couch, talking nonstop. I thought Eric talked a lot but I wasn’t even sure Adriana breathed, her animated facial expressions and wild hand gestures entertaining us with stories from her job as a hair and makeup artist on Broadway. She’d finished all the makeup for the swing and ensemble, then snuck out early to catch the train, praying she wouldn’t miss her brother’s impromptu visit.

A few minutes later, the door squeaked. Eric stood calmly as a young woman stepped right into his arms. Luisa was short and thin like Gloria, with the same warm brown eyes but fairer skin. He tucked himself around her, murmuring into her ear as she quietly apologized that her study group ran long.

We headed towards the modest kitchen. It had builder’s grade oak cabinets and formica tile, with warm touches of home: a yellow kettle on the stove, succulents along the windowsill, a dish towel that declared, ‘If you don’t like tacos, I’m nacho type.’

The family moved around the kitchen in perfect sync, gathering placemats and silverware, setting a small feast with chilaquiles, salsa verde, queso fresco, black beans, and grilled corn. Before I could protest that it was too much, Eric pressed an affectionate kiss on his mother’s temple. “Gracias, te agradezco.”

Shit, he was hot when Spanish rolled off his tongue, making desire pool in my belly.

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