Page 32 of She Wolf

“Okay, I will.” I mess with the radio and Panic! at the Disco fills the car. His little head starts moving to the beat. We belt out the song, but I manage to get him to listen to something else after the second time.

When we get home Jack asks if he can call Casey. I check the time and assuming the team will have settled in, let him have my phone. I tell him I’m heading for the shower, and he nods pressing the buttons. I hear it ring a few times because it’s on speakerphone.

“Hey, Kiddo.”

“How did you know it was me?” Jack gasps.

“Super uncle powers. How’s your day been? Everything okay at school?”

I walk off leaving them to it, wanting to find a good place for my arrangement. Gathering up the things Jack dumped by the front door, I go to climb the stairs and

stop mid-step.

“You did good with the flowers.”

There’s a coughing sound followed by Gunner’s shocked, low timbre filling the den. “Thank you, Jack. She deserves them.”

“She does. Mom was smiling big. She was so happy.”

“I’m glad. That’s why I sent them. I only want to see a smile on her face. It’s one of my favorite things.”

“And hockey. Do you want her to smile as much as you want to play hockey?”

“It’s a tie dude. Definitely a tie.”

“Okay, it’s my favorite thing too then. Will you take me to get her some more, in the summer?”

“I’d be glad to take you to buy flowers for your mom. That’s a really nice thing to do.”

Jack swiftly changes the subject to the game last night, and they talk and laugh together. I wipe at my eyes that started to fill listening to them. The way he talks with Gunner warms my heart and I can hardly contain the joy I feel as I take the stuff into Jack’s room and then go to my own.

Except, this is why we cannot rush into this. There are things other than my wants and needs to consider.

Gunner is Casey’s best friend and if Gunner and I were to try this and it didn’t work out it could tear them apart, their friendship. And they aren’t just friends, they’re teammates. What then? This is their careers we’re talking about. What they’ve both worked so hard for, still work hard for. It could cause a rift.

And don’t even get me started on how all this is going to affect Jack. I think, or rather hope, that it could just strengthen their bond. But what if Jack feels like he’s being pushed out? What if it makes him feel differently about Gunner and again, what if we break up? Where does that leave Jack?

No, this needs to be handled with more care than just how I feel.

Ridding myself of my work clothes, I bunch my hair on top of my head and step into the shower. I pour a generous amount of soap onto my bath loofah and start to scrub at my arms, the bathroom filling with rose-scented steam as I do. As the creamy gel lathers up cleansing my skin, I try to tamp down my rising panic.

I’ll be careful to make sure we take our time with this. Start out steady and slow. No more letting the passion get the better of me because pulling him into the pantry the other night was something I never saw myself doing.

Plus, I rushed in with Nick. Well, kind of. I got pregnant relatively early on and it sort of accelerated my feelings. In no way am I saying that this is the same but it’s still worth taking our time over.

I can’t stop the memories though. Daydreaming about Gunner has always been my secret escape but now I get to add what it feels like to have his lips on mine, the power and strength that radiates off him when he presses his body against me, and it just fuels my need.

His hands, his lips and his tongue. The groping, nipping, licking, and teasing any inch of skin he could find. The way he pushed me against the door and devoured my mouth with his.

I squeeze my eyes tight shut. I need him like I need the air in my lungs. But Jack and Casey are more important than anything and I won’t be reckless.

Again.

***

The house is always quiet when the boys are away, and so to keep Jack occupied I decide to make him his favorite meal—spaghetti and meatballs from scratch. I call him to help me because he loves rolling the ground meat and breadcrumbs into balls. Except this is my kid we’re talking about, so he squashes them in an attempt to make them into pucks.

Once they are done and I’ve got the thick, herby tomato and garlic marinara sauce simmering away, I ask him to tell me more about his school day. He fetches his homework journal from his bag that I hung up earlier and passes me a sheet he stuffed in there.

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