“We should get home.”
My mom blinks, standing taller. “I’m having a Christmas party.” There’s a rushed, frantic edge to her words, like she doesn’t want it to end like this, either. “Tomorrow afternoon. Just a casual gathering, a few friends. You don’t have to bring anything, just yourselves.” Her demeanor dims, like she’s bracing herself for me to say no, before she takes a deep breath. “I’d love for you to be there,” she tells me before her gaze swings to Hazel, brightening. “You too, Hazel, I’d love for you both to be there.” Our eyes meet. “If you want.”
Hazel watches me with concern and fire in her eyes, like she’s ready to strike if I need her.
Want to? she asks with her eyes.
I shouldn’t, because I’ve done enough damage with the relationship between me and my mom, but there’s that ache again in my chest.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe I can show her I’m not my dad.
When I give Hazel a barely perceptible nod, she lights up.
“We’d love to come,” she tells my mom.
Her face relaxes with visible relief, and she lists off the time and address.
I nod. “I remember.”
“Of course.” She shakes her head to herself. “Of course you do.” She takes another deep breath, looking me over again. She looks like she wants to say more. “Well—”
Without thinking, I rush forward and give her a hug. She’s stiff for a moment before she relaxes, clutching me hard, and her painfully familiar scent makes my chest hurt. I pull back before I do something stupid, like tell her I miss her.
“See you then.”
“See you then,” she whispers as I lean down for Hazel to climb onto my back.
I carry Hazel away, heart pounding, and just before we turn the corner, I look over my shoulder to see her standing there, watching us.
CHAPTER 61
HAZEL
On Christmas morning, I wake to Rory carrying a tray into the bedroom.
“Good morning,” he says, crooking a grin at me.
He’s shirtless, wearing black dress slacks and a black bowtie. I burst out laughing.
“What are you wearing?” I ask as he sets the tray on the bedside table.
He hands me a mug. “What, you don’t like it?” He flexes his pecs and I smile harder. His hair is rumpled and his eyes are sleepy but affectionate.
How did I never see this in him, this kind, hilarious, gentle man? My life with Rory is so full, bursting with bright color.
“You look like a stripper.”
“I need a backup in case hockey doesn’t work out.”
He flexes his biceps, shooting me a flirty smile, and I sip my coffee, humming with happiness. Almond milk latte, my favorite. Is this what being in a relationship is like? It seems too good to be true.
“Thank you for the coffee. Wait.” I frown. “You don’t have an espresso maker.” My gaze slides to the chocolate croissant on the tray.
Rory shrugs, settling on the bed on his side. “I found a place nearby that was open today.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” My heart pulses again, warm and delighted. “How long have you been awake?”
“A couple hours.” He looks out the window and worry flickers through his eyes.
My mind goes back to yesterday, when he and his mom looked at each other like they each had so much to say. How he looked so lost.
My protective instincts were on overdrive, seeing the woman who was supposed to love him with everything she had, but who left him. Her expression was full of yearning and regret, though.
They miss each other, and they want a better relationship, but they have no idea how. I’m sure he’s freaking out about going to her place later today.
I set the coffee aside. The need to comfort and distract him has me moving closer on the bed, trailing my fingers through his bedhead. “Your hair is wild.”
“So is yours.”
“I like it.”
His eyes move over me, warm and soft. “I like it, too.”
Heat pulses through me, and I’m flooded with the urge to take care of Rory like he takes care of me. To distract him from his worries and to fill this holiday with good memories.
My hand grazes his neck, flicking the bowtie and making him smile. I drag a slow line down his chest, his abs, until I reach his waistband. I trail lower, brushing over the hardening length between his legs.
His abs tighten, and he sucks in a reluctant breath, eyes going to my wrist.
“My wrist is fine.” I flick the top button of his pants open and slide my hand inside his boxers, palming his erection.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, bucking into my hand.
I love the way his lips part and how his half-lidded gaze stays on me, watching me with fascination.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask lightly as I stroke him.
“Fucking you,” he says on a groan.
“We both know you wouldn’t last one minute inside me.”
“Fuck,” he laughs, and his cock pulses in my hand. “Of course I wouldn’t. Can I touch you?”
“No.”
He makes a frustrated noise, and I smile. Heat flows through me, landing between my legs, making me wet, but toying with Rory is too fun.
“Take your pants off.”
He hurries his pants and boxers off, and his cock springs free, already beading with moisture at the tip. His eyes spark with hot amusement as he pulls the bowtie off and tosses it aside.
When I climb on top of him, his smile drops. “Your ankle—”
“Rory.” My hand sinks into his hair and I grip the strands, straddling his lap and forcing him to look at me instead of my foot. “Shut up,” I say gently.
He nods, eyes going glassy. “Okay.”
I smile again. This is fun.
“I love when you do what I say,” I tell him, reaching down to pull my t-shirt off.
And I love the way his eyes darken when he stares at my chest. My nipples prick under his gaze. When I take his hands and set them on my breasts, his jaw flexes.
“You have the best tits,” he murmurs, running his warm palms over them, playing with the tips.
“I know.”
His breath catches when my hand returns to his cock, stroking him slow and firm. Under my lips on his neck, his skin is hot, his pulse quick, and his breathing shallow. His lips find mine, kissing me with hunger. Between his hands all over me, in my hair and on my breasts, the way he kisses me like he’ll drown without me, and the low, desperate noises coming from him, I’m aching with arousal.
But I like playing with him too much. My hand speeds up.
“Slow down.”
“No.”
“Please,” he gasps, and his thighs tense, fingers pinching my nipples and sending a hot streak of electricity to my pussy.
I arch an eyebrow. “No.”
“Hazel.” His voice is rough, pleading. “I don’t want to come yet.”
My blood sings with power, and I wear a wicked smile. “So don’t come yet.”
His head falls back on a groan. I grin wider, working my hand around him faster.