“Just be you. I’m sure it’d be good enough. And, if not,” I shrugged, popping my minty gum, “I’ll replace you. You have a hot cousin, right?”
I punched the doorbell as Rosie shot daggers at me with her lake blues. Any other time, I would breeze right in, but she needed those few seconds. Her palm was sweaty, and she had a coughing fit she tried to tame by gulping deep breaths. Rosie had no idea that she already impressed my parents simply by dealing with my crazy ass and accepting me for who I was. I wasn’t going to reassure her of that just yet, though. I loved watching her make an effort. She wore a formal blue dress under her huge coat—and no, the cleavage wasn’t half as generous as she thought it was—and had braided her hair. That whole good girl act was a complete fucking sham, and watching her lie for me in that goody-two-shoes dress was a turn-on.
My mother opened the door, wearing her signature lime-green pastel cardigan and syrupy smile. She threw herself at Rosie and hugged her like they’d known each other forever, and Rosie melted in her arms, her stiff body shielding its armor. My dad shook Rosie’s hand and offered her a grin, the kind he saved only for his children. He then proceeded to pat my back and whispered something entirely inappropriate into my ear about my girlfriend. Payton and Keeley stood at the door like two stage-ten stalkers and complimented her dress. They then turned their attention to me.
“You’re still working out.” Keeley’s tone was borderline accusing. She tossed her dirty blonde hair.
“What, no gyms in Maryland?” I brushed my shoulder past her and squeezed her biceps playfully. Keeley had no time to work out, and even though she was a little on the fuller side, it suited her just fine.
“Oh, look, our brother is still super funny.” Payton elbowed her. I rolled my eyes, and my sister gasped. “What, no sense of humor in New York?”
Juvenile sparring aside, things started off on the right foot.
Rosie and I were led into the dining room, where White Trash Hash, cowboy breakfast bowls, bagels, and brownie cupcakes were waiting on the rustic modern table. Orange juice, coffee, and milk were sprawled, ready to be demolished. Rosie’s mouth almost dropped to the floor, her tongue rolling like a red carpet, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was starving or because of what she was seeing. I suppressed a chuckle when I thought about how she’d probably imagined my family. A bunch of snotty assholes who only ate French-named dishes and lived in a mansion like Vicious’s.
Truth was, my parents came from a town on the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama. My dad was a senator’s son, but my mom was the Rosie type. Her parents worked on a farm. They’d met when she cleaned his room to cover for her sick mama. His parents hated her, and she hated them, but neither of them gave a rat’s ass.
My dad became one of the most powerful attorneys in California, making the rest of their past ancient history. But they were Southern people through and through, and I think the fat-laden food on our dining table was fucking proof of that.
“Park your ass, Baby LB.” I pulled a chair, giving her my own version of being a gentleman. We sat next to each other. I poured her coffee. She liked it black. No sugar. No cream. No nothing. Actually, Rosie avoided dairy altogether, and I noticed those things because every little detail about her was observed, recorded, and filed in my brain. I kept my hands off of her, knowing full well that the minute my fingers found hers, they wouldn’t stop until they dove down between her legs. My parents had no idea what a fucking horny bastard they had raised. I was trying to keep it that way.
“Rosie, I heard you volunteer at a children’s hospital.” Keeley grinned.
“At the Mott’s Children Hospital in Manhattan,” Rosie confirmed, taking a long sip of her coffee. “ICN unit.”
“You must really love kids. Does Dean know he is going to father at least three or four of them?” my sister joked, taking a bite of her greasy bacon. Rosie blinked, her easy smile unfaltering. My gut turned into a knot of hard wires. Because while Rosie still hadn’t told me about her situation—well, she did, but not consciously, and certainly not the details—it didn’t make her reality any less real. I shouldn’t be mad at Keeley. She was direct and playful. I shouldn’t, but I fucking was.
“Thank you, Keeley, for freaking my girlfriend out five minutes into our brunch.” I smirked, casually asking my mom to pass me a bowl of who-the-fuck-knows just to keep things moving. “Two can play this game. I’ll be waiting for your future boyfriend with an arsenal of questions about his sperm quality and parenting methods when the time comes.”
Rosie put a hand on my thigh.
“Dude, it’s okay.” She smiled with her whole face. “Yeah. I have a passion for children. I would love to be a mother one day,” she added after a pause. “And I think your brother would make an amazing dad. There, baby. Just making sure the anxiety is distributed evenly between us.” She patted my cheek and winked.
I laughed because she expected me to, but it never reached my eyes. Or any bone in my body, for that matter.
“I’m rolling with whatever you want.” I clasped the back of her neck, planting a kiss on her temple. “Three kids. Ten kids. One. None. Don’t give a damn as long as it’s with you.”
As I said it, I knew that my balls would never forgive me for the cheese I just poured all over my reputation, but my balls had no say in this. Besides, I didn’t hear them complain when Rosie licked them last night in-between sucking my cock. My dignity was a price I was willing to pay for her happiness, and I was hoping she’d read between the lines and understand that her infertility issues weren’t going to come between us.
Less children = More Rosie for me. No complaints there.
“Awww,” Payton cooed. “Someone grew a heart.”
“What did you put in his drink, Rosie?” Keeley snort-laughed, pretending to fan herself with her hand. “This is not something my brother would say unless he’d lost a bet.”
My mom smiled so big I thought her face was going to collapse into the back of her neck. Dad looked a tad uncomfortable, but it couldn’t have been the topic. He was the one drilling it into my head that I needed to settle down. Dad kept moving his gaze from his Bvlgari watch and back to me. Eli Cole wasn’t a man who was easily irked.
“When are you guys leaving Todos Santos?” he asked.