Page 95 of Naughty Dreams
The simple statement gutted him, made him look into her kind eyes and spill out the guilt. With every day that passed, it was taking up more space, adding more weight on his heart. “I haven’t been able to call and talk to her. It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done plenty of shitty things.”
He was sure she kept touching base with Moss every day. The worst part was knowing she understood, that she didn’t expect more from him. She wouldn’t see it that way, but he sure did. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to change it.
“Maybe she and I should get together for lunch and talk about our boys,” Gilda suggested. “Send me her number, if you think she’d like that. She could probably use another mother to talk to right now.”
The brisk practicality was a gentler female version of what he was used to hearing in Roy’s voice when he was directing his team, saying stuff that made sense, and awful stuff more manageable.
Roy squeezed DJ’s shoulder and straightened, moving away to drop the cloth into the sink. He turned and propped his excellent ass against the counter. He’d worn his suit today, because he wore it while on duty on the grounds. While the property was secure and swept for bugs regularly, he'd still taken precautions, so only those who needed to know were aware when they took their leave in the van.
While he looked damn good in cargo pants or jeans, it was reassuring to see him looking official and on guard. Sending the message that he could handle anything.
“Yeah.” DJ found the thread of the conversation. “I’ll think about that. I’m sure she’d like to meet you.”
“Fair warning. We will fill in the information you two leave out when you talk to your mothers.”
“A spy network,” Roy noted dryly.
“Which is only necessary because you refuse to tell me absolutely everything about your life, like you should,” Gilda said, only half-teasing.
DJ thought about Roy shoving him to the ground when the crazed boyfriend had shot at them. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, leaving a scorch mark on his jacket. Something DJ had found out later, since his initial focus had been on the damage his fans had done to Roy’s shirt. A few inches lower…
“Everything might be too much,” DJ noted. “He doesn’t want to hear about your table dancing, and you don’t want to hear about his Tootsie Pop obsession. Candy fetishes are sticky.”
She’d known what had passed through DJ’s mind on the dangers of Roy’s job. He could tell from the shadow that flitted across her face. But she offered a spirited response. “He can tell me theimportantthings. Like if he’s eating properly, and has a nice boyfriend to bring home to me.”
“That is pretty important stuff.Doyou have a nice boyfriend to bring home to your mom, Roy?”
Roy held DJ’s gaze. Then rocked DJ back on his heels.
“Obviously.”
Gilda’s expression offered a brief flash of joy, which she prudently tamped down, covering it with a squeeze of DJ’s hand. “Roy, get DJ a glass of my watermelon fresca. The natural sugars will help.”
As Roy complied and put the glass in DJ’s hand, their fingers brushed. That word echoed in DJ’s head.Obviously. Obviously. Obviously.
Music flitted through the word, like a hint of sunlight before the clouds closed back in. He couldn’t hold onto it though he physically tried, his fingers overlapping Roy’s and gripping. Roy waited patiently until DJ released him and took the glass. Then he bent to help his mother to her feet.
“Oh, crap. Sorry.” DJ scrambled up to help, putting the glass on the table.
“I garden on my knees almost every day.” Gilda winked. “Getting down isn’t nearly as hard as getting up. Not that you know anything about this yet, but at a certain age your cartilage packs up and leaves. But when things wear out because you’re living a healthy and full life, that’s a badge of honor. Roy, go pull the key lime pie out of the basement freezer. We’ll have it after lunch. I made lasagna.”
“How can I keep DJ impressed by my security skills if I’m dozing off from pasta and sugar carb overload?”
“You’re assuming I’m impressed now.”
DJ ducked the head swat as Roy growled at him. But he did stride off to do his mother’s bidding. As soon as he clomped down the steps to what DJ assumed was the basement, Gilda gestured DJ into the kitchen chair adjacent to hers. “Quick. Ask me the questions you most want to know about him before he comes back. He’ll be a few minutes, because he always checks the best-by dates to be sure I’m not giving myself food poisoning.”
“So he’s always been like this.”
“Always.” DJ saw loving regret in the expression. “I’m sorry to say I was probably the one who activated those instincts. I got macular degeneration when he was in the third grade. There’s a spot in the middle of my eye,” she made a spyglass shape withher hand, “which means I can’t see your face when I look directly at you. I can see you in my peripheral vision, and I can read if I use my special glasses.”
She’d left them on the table and tapped them. One lens looked like a magnifying glass. “I was barely in my thirties, and those early days were hard. So he told his teacher he was dropping out of school because he needed to take care of me. Black, my husband, was doing all he should, but Roy was worried how I’d manage while his father was at work. I couldn’t continue in my job as a paralegal.”
“I assume the teacher called you,” DJ said, fascinated.
“Yes. I cried like a baby. But I sat Roy down and told him it was very important that he go to school. When he graduated, he would be better able to take care of me. His father reinforced it.”
“What happened to Roy’s dad?”
