Grin widening further, she tosses her thumb in her brother’s direction. “I have soooo much dirt on this guy.”
He’s sitting beside her, across the table from me, and I’ve been torn the entire time we’ve been sitting here, eating dinner. Torn because a part of me wanted him to choose to sit beside me and the other part—well, the other part knew it was smart he chose to sit beside his sister.
Except for one tiny thing. Every time I happen to look up and catch his eyes, for a split second they shine with the heat they did when we kissed. But it only lasts for a split second before it disappears, vanishing so quickly I find myself wondering if I’m imagining things.
“Seriously, though, Fos. You had a toy lawn mower, and Ma would have to threaten to take it away from you just to get you to come in and eat dinner some nights.” Turning back to me, Laney continues. “He would mow the lawn for hours, I swear. Just like the guy down the street. The best part,” she leans across the table, “is since the lawn mower was green, he also had to wear his matching pair of green shorts and green knee socks.” I can’t help but snicker as I try to imagine this much younger version of Foster.
“Oh, honey.” Momma K. shakes her head with a smile. “I remember when that lawn mower finally kicked the bucket and the wheels fell off. You were so sad.”
“You made us have a moment of silence when we put it out for the trash.” Laney is clearly enjoying this, as is evident by her wide grin.
“Are you two done yet?” He flashes them a look that might come off as stern or intimidating, but I can see beneath it. “Besides,” he grins and raises one arm into a flex, pressing a kiss to his large bicep muscle, “all the lawn mower pushing clearly paid off.”
“Eww, Fos!” His sister shoves him with a laugh, shaking her head at him. “Weirdo.”
“Foster Bryant,” his mother reprimands, eyes sparkling in amusement, clearly fighting a smile.
Glancing over at everyone’s empty dinner plates, I turn to Momma K. “I can help carry things back into the kitchen and clean up, if you like?”
The older woman’s kind, brown eyes smile at me. “Thank you, dear. I’d appreciate that. We can rinse the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher.”
We all stand, pushing in our chairs. I gather the dishes and silverware in my hands. Walking into the kitchen, placing them in the sink, I use the sprayer attachment to rinse them off before placing everything in the dishwasher. When I hear someone else moving around the kitchen, I assume it’s either Momma K. or Laney.
Until a tanned, muscular arm reaches around me to place another dish in the sink, the front of his body so close to my back I can feel the heat radiating from him. “Here’s another one.” His words, his breath dust against my ear, make me visibly shiver.
“You okay there, Davis?” I hear the amusement in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing, damn it.
“Fine. Just fine.” My response is quick, short staccato spurts.
“Dude. Can you please stop humping your woman for a minute?” Laney’s voice startles both of us. Or maybe just me. Because Foster doesn’t appear the least bit startled.
“Laney McBrainy. If you don’t know the difference between humping and standing behind someone then Zach clearly needs to up his game.”
She waves him off. “Please. He’s beyond phenomenal. Why do you think I married the guy?”
Foster’s hand flies up as if to stop her. “I don’t need—or want—to hear this.”
Laney folds her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed in challenge. “So if you weren’t humping her, then why were you standing so close to her?”
“I added another dish to her pile.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Laney’s tone is full of mirth. When I glance over to see Foster staring at his sister, it appears as though they are doing some creepy mental conversation thing. And here I thought that was reserved for the Special Ops guys only.
Rinsing the final dish, I place it in the dishwasher just as Momma K. comes in with a large casserole dish holding the remaining lasagna rolls she made. Setting it on the counter, she grabs smaller containers to spoon some of the leftovers into, likely for the three of us.
“Are you two at it, again?” She shakes her head at Foster and Laney. “You need to stop. Otherwise, you’ll scare Noelle off, and then I’ll never get to see her.”
“Ma, she’s been working for him for a while. Pretty sure if she scared off that easily, she would’ve been long gone by now.”
Turning, I busy myself with one of the nearby dish towels, drying up stray water around the sink because I really don’t want to get involved in this conversation if it’s headed where I think it is.
“This is for you and Zach,” I hear Momma K. say.
“But why’s that one larger? It better not be for Fos,” Laney warns.
“Of course not. It’s for Noelle.”
I smile as I drape the towel over one of the knobs of the kitchen cabinets. Turning, I catch Foster giving his mother a look.
“Why does Noelle get more leftovers than me? Or Laney?”