“What are you doin’ here?” Tripp asked and Layne turned to look at his son.
If Tripp didn’t have Layne’s body – long legs and torso, wide shoulders, the power not developed in either due to his being fourteen – Layne would have asked Gabby for a DNA test. Tripp had sandy blond hair (now darkened because he filled it with gunk to style it and make it spike out all over his head, which apparently was his ‘do for the day) and blue eyes. Gabby didn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes and neither did anyone in her or Layne’s family, that he knew. Tripp had a bit of Gabby in the face but the rest of him, Layne had no fucking clue where it came from. Layne wouldn’t doubt Gabby would step out on him but, as Tripp grew older, there was no denying Layne gave Tripp his body.
Anyway, it didn’t matter because he loved the kid. This was because Tripp was lovable. He’d always been a good kid. Once or twice a week, always, Tripp called, from the time the kid could pick up the phone and dial, the whole time Layne lived away. They’d talk, or Tripp would. The kid could talk for ten. Whenever Layne came home for a visit, from when he was little, to when he got older, the minute Tripp saw Layne he’d dash to him, throw his arms around him and give him a tight hug. When he got older, he tried to make the dash cooler but there was no mistaking he was happy to see his Dad.
He felt pressure and heat at his abs and looked down to see Raquel was pressing the coffee mug there. Automatically he took it and looked to her. She was close, close enough for him to smell her perfume.
“Inviting you to dinner,” she answered Tripp’s question. “Dad has a leg of lamb.”
Layne looked to Tripp. Tripp was staring at Rocky like she was a movie star, pink in his cheeks, eyes dazzled.
Layne looked back at Raquel then at Tripp who still hadn’t torn his eyes away from her.
Fuck. She was an English Lit teacher at his school and he had the hots for her.
He would, she was fucking gorgeous. She wore those skirts, those shirts and those heels to school every day, probably every boy went home and jacked off, thinking about her.
Even his son.
Fuck.
“Tripp, breakfast,” Layne ordered.
Tripp blinked, looked at his Dad, then he moved forward and toward the pantry.
“A leg of lamb?” Tripp asked as he moved.
Rocky headed back to the island, her heels clicking on the tiles as she went and, to put distance between them, Layne headed to the sink.
“A leg of lamb,” she replied.
“I’ve never had a leg of lamb,” Tripp could be heard from the pantry, although not seen.
“You’re in for a treat. Greek night. Homemade pita. Homemade tzatziki sauce. You’ll love it.”
Tripp came out of the pantry with a box of cereal.
“Cool,” he said, smiling at Rocky. “Uncle Dave a good cook?” he asked when he made it to the cupboard to pull down a bowl.
“I’m cooking,” Rocky informed him.
He was still smiling at her when he put the bowl and cereal down at the island and headed to the fridge.
“You a good cook?” he asked.
“I’ve had no complaints,” she answered, smiling back at him.
She wouldn’t. She had been a fucking great cook. Eighteen years of practice, especially not cooking on a budget, she was probably a master chef.
Layne felt his jaw get tight again as he saw Raquel’s eyes fall to the box of sugary cereal and her smile faded into a frown.
“Tripp, you should have oatmeal or something,” she advised as Tripp hit the island with the milk. “Sustained energy. That cereal will burn out halfway through first period.”
“That’s okay, I always get a candy bar from the vending machines between first and second period,” he told her and her eyes shot to Layne, communicating, clearly, that he should do something about his son’s lack of nutrition.
That’s when he’d had enough.
That was also when he was interrupted yet again in doing something about it.
“Hey Mrs. Astley,” Jasper said and he saw Rocky start to turn then his eyes went to Jasper.
Now Jasper was undoubtedly his son. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin that looked tan even in the dead of winter. He had Layne’s body too, but at seventeen, and dedicated to football, as well as being a stud and therefore at Layne’s weight equipment more than Layne was, he was ripped. He was nearly Layne’s height at 6’2” whereas Tripp was still growing and he hadn’t broken six foot yet, but he would.
Jasper was slowly pulling down a t-shirt as he stood at the edge of the kitchen counter. This was so Rocky could get a good look at his chest and six pack.
Layne’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.
His first born son was also cocky. Further, he was already sexually active. Layne knew it and supplied condoms because his efforts at discussing sex with Jasper had been unsuccessful and eventually volatile. So he bought condoms and put them in Jasper’s nightstand as well as slid packets in his wallet. He knew Jasper was active because the boxes were opened with condoms missing and his wallet was almost always empty of stash. Jasper had no girlfriend, a serial dater, working his way through his school and the rest of the schools in the county.
Jasper knew he was a good-looking kid with a sculpted, teenage boy body and he wanted his thirty-eight year old English Lit teacher to know it too.
The minute his son pulled his shirt down, Layne put his teeth to his lip, his tongue to his teeth and gave a sharp, low whistle. Jasper’s head swung to him and Layne tossed his car keys to him. With quick reflexes, Jasper caught them.
“Breakfast, Jas,” Layne ordered.
“We’re going to Uncle Dave’s tonight,” Tripp announced, shoveling cereal into his mouth. “Mrs. Astley is cooking.”
Jasper tossed his keys by the coffeepot and went to the cupboard to get a bowl.
“Awesome,” Jasper replied, turning to the island with his bowl. “Merry going to be there?”
“Yes, Jasper, a family affair,” Rocky answered and Jasper gave her a grin so she grinned back.
A family affair.
A fucking family affair.