This is my routine. This is what I do. I don't kiss twenty-four-year-old boys in my cidery.
"We're good," I tell her. "How's that Economics class you're taking?"
Greta rolls her eyes and sighs loudly. "Ugh. Rough. It's so lame."
"Economics can be really interesting," I start, but laugh when she looks at me, slack-jawed, her expression exaggerated.
"Seriously," she says. "Bo-ring. It's totally useless. At least my history class is more interesting. Oh, I'm going to be late. I've got to run. See you tomorrow, Autumn. Bye-bye, little Liv-liv! Have fun!"
"Bye-bye, Gigi," Olivia says, waving to her as she disappears. She can’t pronounce “Greta” yet, so “Gigi” it is.
I talk to Olivia as we grab all of the approximately one million supplies we need for a simple trip down the road to June's house and then into town for groceries. Olivia babbles to me, nonstop chatter as I get ready and load her into the car.
We're down the driveway when I see them a hundred yards away, on the edge of the property, repairing a fence post.
As if I see any of the rest of them.
I see him. Luke.
He's shirtless, his back glistening with sweat, his muscles rippling in the sunlight, clearly visible even from this far away.
"Aw, crap." I groan the words aloud, pausing for all of a second before I turn down the access road that runs along the fence, silently cursing my own foolishness. I shouldn't be doing this, turning the car along the access road right now. I should have pretended I didn't see him, and kept driving, gone to see June, kept my routine the way it's been.
I'm a mother, with her child in the car seat, headed to a play date, for goodness' sake.
I'm flirting with disaster, and I know it. And yet, I can't stop myself.
When I roll down the window, Luke stops what he's doing, setting down his roll of wire and pliers. He turns toward me and I swear he moves like something out of a movie, as if he's walking in slow motion. He might as well have a soundtrack to his movements, as he saunters over to me. I don't know where to focus as he walks – on the smug smile on his face, or on his chest muscles, covered in tattoos, glistening in the sunlight, sweat rolling down them in rivulets. It's probably fifty degrees outside and he's shirtless, like it's the summertime.
He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. And I'm gaping at him like I'm a silly lust-struck teenager.
Luke leans over, his forearms on the edge of the car window, and peers inside. "Hey Olivia," he says, his voice suddenly a sing-song he seems to have adopted just for her. She giggles and says hi back, and he grins at me. "I think she might like me."
"She likes licking the floor in the kitchen, too," I say, trying to sound flippant except I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face. Or ignore the insistent throbbing between my legs. "So there's obviously no accounting for taste."
How the hell does he smell so good? He should smell like crap, working outside for hours like this, doing manual labor. Fuck, even his sweat smells sexy.
"Aw, now, she's developing good taste," Luke says. "Like her mother."
I force my eyes away from him, looking straight ahead – business-like, professional. If I were to look at him, at his lips just inches away from me, I don't think I could help myself. I breathe in deeply, trying not to picture the way his lips felt against mine, or the way his touch sent a shiver through me, to my core.
I clear my throat. "I'm going into town after visiting a friend," I say. "Should I bring back some lunch for you and the guys? I mean, it'll be more of an early dinner by the time I got back, but I figured I'd ask." Am I babbling? I force my voice to be steady, clearing my throat again to hide my sudden nervousness.
"Sure, Red," he says. "That'd be nice."
"I told you to stop calling me that," I say. Except I'm not sure I mean it anymore. I've always hated stupid pet names, but the way Luke does it is growing on me. The nickname rolls off his tongue -- languid, familiar, intimate -- and it makes me picture him saying it while he's close to me, his lips against my ear.
Hell, it makes me think about him saying it while he's inside me.
"Whatever you say, Red," he says. When he saunters back to the group of guys, slowly like he knows I'm watching his every move, I find myself exhaling the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
"Play date with June," I say to Olivia as I put the car in reverse and back down the access road. But it's a not a reminder of where we're going. It's a reminder to myself to get my damn head screwed on straight.
***
June hands me a glass of iced tea, then collapses into the rocking chair beside me.