Oh yeah.
This chick still wants me. With her pressed up against me like this, I feel like I'll do anything to get her. Just one more night would be fucking killer.
Brooke groans against my lips, her hands dropping to the waistband of my jeans and curling around it, nails scraping my skin as she tugs me closer.
“Cha-cha-ching, Smarty-Pants,” I whisper as I pull back an inch. “If you want, I can be naked and waiting for you when you get home.”
She doesn't answer me as rain starts to fall, pattering against the wood and the grass and the majestic trees dancing above our heads. If there weren't a million kids in the house, I would lift her up and fuck her right here, right against the green siding of this shitty house. I'd make a million miniature Brookes with her right now if she wanted.
Uh. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
Ew. No. No way. No kids. Not for me. Sorry. I don't care how cute the girl is.
I take a sudden step back, pretending it's because I can hear screaming from inside. In reality, I've just freaked myself the hell out.
Brooke looks up at me with those giant doe eyes that she says she doesn't have, breath panting, her hot pink lipstick smeared across her chin. She clutches her jacket tight in front of her and then starts frantically buttoning it up.
I know I should keep laying it on, encourage her to experiment with me. After all, one night of sex in her whole life? At age twenty-two? She has got to have some built up frustration brewing in that sexy body of hers.
But I can't. Honestly, I think I just scared the crap out of myself. Damn. A few days with these kids and my bio clock is a-tick-tick-tickin'.
Brooke doesn't say anything, just squeezes her hands into fists, fingers digging into the shimmery fabric of her trench as she closes her eyes and sucks in several deep breaths. When she opens them again, she takes a step forward and then smooths her hands over the slick texture of her hair, fixing her bouncy ponytail before she wets her lips to speak.
“I … I'll think about it.”
She shoulders past me and disappears into the sliding doors as I let out a deep breathe, my anxiety slipping away with it.
And then I grin. Nice and big.
Bingo, baby.
Making chocolate chip cookies is soooo much fucking harder than I thought it would be. We're like halfway done with the damn things and I've already put thirty dollars into the curse jar (and then secretly taken about fifteen of it back when Kinzie's not looking).
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse when I pull the first batch from the oven and find them solidified into small black discs of charcoal. “The recipe said eight to ten minutes until done, not until fossilized. My God.”
“Um,” Bella says as she disappears for a moment and comes back with a stepping stool, pushing the oven door closed and then standing on it. “My grandma said our oven cooks hot. I think you need to turn it down.” She presses the button and adjusts the temperature by about ten degrees. I'm loath to admit it, but the little monster actually kind of looks cute in her apron. If you tell anyone, I will seriously leap out of this book and kill you, buuuuuuut … I'm also wearing an apron. It's pink, sure. And it has … I think they're mice or rats or bunnies or something. Anyway, they're all smiling giddily and they are also all wearing aprons.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Do you think we should make the next batch monster chocolate chip cookies?” I ask as I rummage around in the cabinet for some food coloring. I know that shit supposedly gives kids ADD or something, but I ate heaps of it and I turned out fine, didn't I?
I grab the box and drip several splotches of blue and red into the dough as the kids stare up at me with awed expressions. They're like, seriously so fucking gullible. It's the absolute best part about them.
“This is monster blood,” I tell them and Kinzie scrunches up her face.
“Um, no it's not. I saw that Goosebumps episode and it was green.” I pause and lean down, putting my hands on my thighs as I look Kinzie right in the face.
“There are different breeds of monsters, just like there are dogs.” I stand up and point at the ugly row of rat-dogs sitting at my feet, begging for scraps of cookie. “See. Brooke's dog is gross and hairless, and your dogs are gross and hairy.” I pause. “Well, except for the old one. He's just nasty and partially hairless and all around weird. But anyway, different monsters have different colors of blood. Ask anyone.”
I stick my tongue out at her and pick up the spoon to stir the dough.
“My turn!” Grace says, fighting off the evil twins for a spot clinging to my leg. “I want to do it!” I drop the spoon and lift her up, spinning her in a quick circle while she screams with laughter.