Page 19 of Jace
“Yes.”
“Prove it. Sing something for me.”
“If you wanted a private performance, you could’ve just asked, you know,” I tease with a grin. I pick one of Gaga's ballads andsettle in. My voice is a touch too deep and raspy for this style, but I can probably hack it. The one thing I’m utterly confident about is my singing. IknowI’m good at it. And no, I dont consider it arrogance, but when you excel at something and you know it, you should fucking own it, embrace it.
So when I start to belt out the song, Tyler’s grin gets impossibly wide, shaking his head while he listens. He drums on the steering wheel and occasionally looks at me, his deep brown eyes big with wonder.
“Jesus Christ, that’s awesome,” he says as I finish the song. “Now do another one. We’re almost there, but I’ll gladly drive around a bit if you just keep singing.”
I chuckle as I select another track out of his playlist, trying not to smile too hard after his compliment.
I absolutely fucking love the white two-story house where Tyler’s parents live. It isn’t overly large, but it's homey. I grew up in a fancy, personality-lacking canal house, so the fact that there’s still an old weathered treehouse in the oak out front and that the house has an actual wrap-around porch with a set of well-used rocking chairs, is just awesome.
And as we pass the white picket fence, I swear I hear the ocean in the distance.
It makes me smile.
Tyler skips the front door, confidently navigating the porch and maneuvering around various pots and plants like a pro. I follow him, trying not to ogle his well-built calves and hamstrings, which are hard to miss in those snug khaki shorts he’s wearing.
Of course, I fail big time.
He enters through the back door, casually tossing the gym bag he was carrying in front of a washer and dryer. Then, he proceeds through another door, leading to the kitchen where it smells delicious.
“Hi, Mom,” he greets a brown-haired woman who’s rummaging around at the stove, kissing her cheek. “This is the friend I called you about yesterday.” He motions towards me, and I wait stupidly in the entrance, nerves fluttering inside me all of a sudden..
Shit.
Maybe I should’ve put something nicer on than my sweat shorts, v-neck and flip flops combo. Fantastic way to make a great first impression. I’m just not good with moms, I think. I don’t have a mom, she left right after I was born, so I never know how to act around them. Yet, I do want her to like me.
She wraps Tyler in a side hug while she stirs some eggs on the stove. “Hello dear, glad you came over okay. And Jace, right?” She addresses me over her shoulder. “I’m Annabelle, but you can call me Anne.” She smiles as she offers me her hand, showing me where Tyler got his dimples from.
I shake her hand, returning her smile. “Yeah, thank you for having me, Anne. Nice to meet you.”
“Take a seat, breakfast is almost ready. I expect your brothers will be here soon. Tyler, pour you boys some coffee would you? And take off those caps before we’re eating.”
“Brothers?” I silently mouth to Tyler as I settle onto the creaky bench at the massive wooden kitchen table. I promptly take off my cap and manage my unruly hair with both hands. I have a clear view of the cozy living room through a pair of double doors, but there's no one in sight.
He scrunches up his nose as he fills two mugs. “Yeah, they grab breakfast here every Saturday before they have to go to their gym.”
“They have a gym?” The idea of two more Tyler-like dudes that work out for a living is somehow really appealing, that would be one heck of a visual.
“Yes they do, it’s right on the beach actually. A perfect spot for workouts. I’ll show you around when we go surfing.”
I grunt in agreement. He can definitely show me around.
“It smells delicious, Mom,” Tyler compliments as he places the coffee down and settles in beside me. He casually drapes his muscular arms–nearly bursting out of his polo shirt, not that I noticed–over the back of the wooden bench. He conveniently ignores his mother's request to remove his cap.
“Absolutely, thank you, Anne.” I take hold of the coffee and take a sip, just as the laundry room door bursts open.
“Yo, Mrs. K!”
I almost choke on my coffee as Lamar suddenly strides in through the back door like he owns the damn place. He gives Tyler’s mom an honest to God sort of slap against her rear end, then plants a kiss on her cheek, all while swiping a piece of bacon from the frying pan. “What's cooking? Didn’t wait for me?”
Tyler, who doesn’t look the least bit surprised, casually flips him off behind his mom's back as Lamar takes a seat across from us. “And what brings you here, Price? I thought you were supposed to help your mom with that charity thing?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just thought I'd swing by here for a bit first, to honor Mrs. K's remarkable cooking skills.” Lamar chomps down on his bacon and greets me with a wave in the process.
“Charity? What do I hear about Charity?” Two colossal, almost identical, guys barge in, further crowding the compact kitchen.Presumably his brothers, since they both sport bright red shirts with ‘Fit like a King’ emblazoned on them.
