Page 303 of Branded
I nearly dropped my plate.
Because that was not fucking fair. Because that explained the edgy.
Because Cas had to know that Ethan’s reaction would be?—
“Yes!”
It was almost a shriek, paired with the plate clattering to the counter and his little body jumping up and down on the stool. “Yes! I want to go. Can we go, Mom? Can we?—”
“That was mean,” I mouthed to Cas.
Who just lifted his brows again and steadied Ethan, so my son didn’t tumble off the stool as he expressed his excitement. “I can leave the tickets at the box office so you guys can come when it’s convenient.” He poured batter into the pan before tugging his wallet out of his pocket and slipping a card out from the inside, extending it toward me. “Here’s a parking pass for the private lot. That way, if you need to leave early for bedtime, you can avoid the traffic.”
“We won’t have to leave early, right Mom?” Ethan asked, still bouncing, though it was now in between even more pancake consumption. “You always say that good stuff happens at the end.”
That had the result of drawing Cas’s gaze back to mine.
And damn, did the man see—and hear—too fucking much.
“We can go,” I said, tearing my gaze from Cas’s, moving to my son, and ruffling his hair. “And stay till the end.”
“Promise?”
Damn.
My kid knew me, knew I wouldn’t go back on my word.
“Promise,” I repeated.
“And promises are meant for keeping,” Ethan said, finishing the statement I’d taught him over the years.
Thankfully, I wasn’t working that night.
Something that Cas probably knew, given that he was sneaky and in my house making pancakes and had made the offer in the first place.
“And get snacks?” Ethan asked me innocently.
Sweet Christ, arena prices. That was going to kill me, if the big, sexy player making pancakes in my kitchen didn’t first.
But I stifled that thought—or thoughts, rather—and embraced that I was going to get to give my kid something he wanted desperately and something I couldn’t give him by myself. Free tickets from big, dark, and sexy meant I could swing arena prices for snacks. “Yes,” I told Ethan as I snagged his syrup-covered plate. “And a souvenir, too. Now, you’ve got to get your shoes and jacket on, and we need to hustle so we’re not late for school, yeah?”
No hesitation. Just, “Okay, Mom!” Then he zoomed out of the room, his pounding feet echoing all the way through the hall.
The plate disappeared from my hand, was replaced with my own. “Eat, gorgeous.”
“You play mean,” I murmured, scowling up at Cas.
A shrug. A nudge with the porcelain disc. Another order.
“Eat.”
Since the pancakes were delicious and my stomach told me that I hadn’t had enough carbs—thank you very much—I obeyed the order, no matter how pernicious, and ate. “You’re not off the hook,” I grumbled, forking bites in at a rapid clip. “You know that, right?”
“You can take it out on my ass later,” he said lightly, picking up the pan and bowl and taking both to the sink. The water came on, sizzling in the pan, and he turned back to face me, voice going serious “I can pay for the food?—”
“No,” I said quickly.
His expression said he wanted to argue.
