Page 55 of Brazen

He laughs. “Point taken.”

“Speaking of boys, I’m supposed to convince you to let her go to the seventh-grade dance with Colton.”

“Not happening,” he responds.

Hmm. We’ll see. I went to the seventh-grade dance. Nothing exciting happens. We can always volunteer as chaperones. Wait, what am I saying? I don’t want to be trapped at the seventh-grade dance all night. Crap. I’ve turned myself into the unsuspecting parent of an almost teenager.

“What if I make Austen and Reed go as chaperones?” They need to get out of the house more. I’m sure I can con them into going.

“Do they normally go to the middle school dances?”

“No, but I’m sure I can convince them.”

He grins at me. “You are so wily. It’s sexy.” He pulls me into a kiss.

“Gross” breaks us apart. “No PDA around the minor.”

“If you can’t handle an occasional display of affection between us,” Owen responds, “you can stay in your room.”

He grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me into an incendiary-inducing kiss. His tongue sweeps across mine once, forcing a moan from my lips before he pulls back. I sway just a little. Damn, the man can kiss.

“Adults!” Tessa exclaims with a shake of her head, but I catch her smile. “Can’t live with them; can’t go anywhere without one of them driving.”

I laugh. I mean, how can you not? The girl is hilarious. Maybe this surrogate mom thing won’t be so bad.

“Can we go?”

“Yes, we can go. Just let me throw on a clean shirt.” And maybe dry panties. I quickly change, apply fresh deodorant, and run my hairbrush through my tangled hair. Walking back into the living room, I find Owen’s done the same.

“Where are we going?” he asks, standing from the couch.

“It’s at Rand and Brontë’s tonight.”

My youngest sister’s house is something right out of a magazine. Rand bought it when he decided to settle here permanently. It was a worn-out old Craftsman that he carefully restored to its former self. Only better. I open their front door to find my nephew crawling toward me.

“Come here, you,” Owen says, swooping the baby into his arms.

“Oh thank God,” Brontë says, stepping out of the kitchen. “He’s getting so fast that he’s hard to keep up with. One minute, he’s right there. The next, he’s heading out on his own.”

I would expect her to take the baby, but she doesn’t. She just returns to the kitchen. Makes sense. Owen touched it. It’s his problem now.

“What do you need help with?” I ask.

“Salad.” She points the knife she’s using to slice a giant ham at the vegetables on the island.

Owen walks in a few minutes later and sidles up behind me. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he leans over to steal a carrot. His lips brush my temple as he stands back up. It feels nice to finally be the sister with a man pressed against her back. Weird. But nice.

“Where’s the baby?” Brontë asks, smiling at us.

“Tessa took him upstairs to play in the nursery until dinner,” Owen answers.

“Really? She’s a keeper.”

“Yeah, she has her moments. Where’s Rand?”

“I sent him for ice,” she says, a little flustered. “You’d think I could remember something as basic as ice at the store.” The front door opens, and I can hear my mother talking loudly to Austen. “Christ, they’re already here. Where in the hell is Rand with the ice?”

“Right here, honey,” Rand says, walking into the kitchen from the mudroom. He sets two bags in the sink. “I’ll go entertain your parents while you finish.” He kisses her on the temple just like Owen kissed me. It makes me smile. I’m now the recipient of temple kisses.

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