Beside Samantha, Emily sucked in a startled breath.
Samantha couldn’t fault the woman. For the last hour, she herself had been mesmerized by the flex of the muscles in Ozzie’s broad back. By the shift of his round butt cheeks inside the denim of his jeans. Separate, the two men were delectable. Taken together, they were almost too much to bear. Their differences seemed to highlight the unique appeal of each. Where Christian was dark, Ozzie was golden. Where Christian was perfectly put together, Ozzie was unkempt and wild and all the sexier for it.
The dynamic duo. And their superpower is flat-out, panties-on-the-floor sex appeal.
“If we charged admission,” she whispered to Emily, “we’d be millionaires by next week.”
“I like the way your mind works.” Emily nodded, taking a sip of wine. “But you’re thinking too small. If we charged admission, sold T-shirts with their faces on them, and added a Win a Date with the Hunks contest, we’d be millionaires in forty-eight hours.”
Samantha laughed. She didn’t know Emily well, but the woman seemed like someone she might call a friend. Judging by the way she talked, they were both South Siders. That alone was enough to warrant instant sisterhood. “Yeah, but we’d have to share them. Not sure how I’d feel about that.”
Emily turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
Samantha tensed. An inquiry preceded by Mind if I ask you a question was almost always of a personal nature. “If I said no, would that stop you?”
“Nope.” Emily shrugged, plowing right ahead with “What are your intentions?”
A windy breath left Samantha’s lungs. She had a strange sense of déjà vu. Wasn’t that the exact question Donny had asked Ozzie? “What do you mean?”
“Toward Ozzie. What do you want from him?”
“Wouldn’t the better question be what does he want from me? After all, he’s the hot-rod bed-hopper extraordinaire.” The hot-rod bed-hopper extraordinaire who seemed to be having second thoughts about taking their relationship to the next level. Ugh!
“That he may be, but he’s also an amazing person. Crazy smart, fiercely loyal, and handsome as the devil himself. If you’re trying to—”
Emily didn’t get a chance to finish what she was saying, because Franklin piped up with “Crickets? What are you talking about, Christian?” His little lisp turned the Brit’s name into Chrishian. “Crickets are bugs!”
Samantha wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed by the interruption or relieved. Why do all the BKI women keep acting like I’m the potential bad guy in this situation? It boggled her mind.
“Yes. Crickets are bugs.” Christian nodded, tossing the ball to Ozzie. “But cricket, singular, is a sport. The best sport on the planet besides football.”
“I like football.” Franklin grunted with the “effort” of catching the ball Ozzie once more tossed directly into his glove. “The Bears are my favorite team, but Daddy says they’re s’posed to be shitty this year.”
Every adult in the courtyard choked. Except for Michelle. “Franklin!” she sputtered, then shushed JJ, who had nodded off against her chest but stirred at her outburst. “For goodness’ sake! You know that word is naughty.” She narrowed her eyes until Franklin looked down at his feet and dug at the seam between two flagstones with the toe of his sneaker.
“Sorry, Momma,” he mumbled.
“Uh-huh.” Michelle muttered under her breath. “And add your father to the list of men I need to murder.”
Franklin’s little cheeks were bright. Being scolded in front of the others, particularly men he looked up to, had embarrassed him. Ozzie quickly came to the boy’s aid. “Well, Christian isn’t referring to American football anyway. He’s talking about soccer.”
Franklin lifted his head and wrinkled his nose at Christian. “You think soccer is the best sport? No way! It’s baseball!” To prove his point, he chucked another zinger above Christian’s head.
“Americans,” Christian lamented as he once again snagged the ball midair. “You’re all hopeless gobshites.”
“And on that note,” Michelle said, “it’s time to call it a night.”
“No!” Franklin howled. “Ten more minutes!”
“Nope.” Michelle shook her head. “You have school tomorrow, mister.”
“Aw, Momma!” Franklin did the disappointed, foot-stomping dance all kids seemed preprogrammed to know. “Please?”
Michelle pushed from the bright-red Adirondack chair, patting JJ’s bottom. “How many times has arguing ever worked with me?” she asked her older son.
Franklin slipped off his baseball mitt, shoulders slouching. With his bottom lip thrust out, he admitted, “Never.”
“That’s right.” Michelle tousled his hair. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the effort. Now, tell everyone good night.”
“G’night, everyone,” Franklin muttered sullenly.
Michelle shook her head, her gray eyes filled with love for her pouting son. “Yes, good night, everyone.”
When the trio headed toward the back door, Becky and Emily pushed up from their seats. Becky stretched her arms over her head and let loose with a noisy yawn. “I’m calling it a night too.”
“Me three,” Emily added, her dark hair catching the lights and shining like melted chocolate. “’Night all.”
Christian was quick to add his good-byes, and before Samantha knew it, she and Ozzie were alone.
“And then there were two.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. She couldn’t read the look he shot her from beneath the fan of his thick lashes. It seemed a little bashful. But that didn’t make sense. Ozzie was a lot of things. Bashful wasn’t one of them. “Do you…uh…do you feel like turning in? You’ve had a hell of a day. Again.”
“I seem to be making a habit of that, don’t I?” She downed the last of her wine and pushed up from the lounge chair, carefully folding the blanket Michelle had given her into a neat square. “But no. I’m not tired yet. Of course, if you want to—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m still keyed up. So…what should we…uh…what should we do?”
Samantha lifted an eyebrow. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the magic of the moonlight. Or, hell, maybe she was sick and tired of avoiding the subject. She blurted, “Oh, I can think of a thing or two. Both of them involve you naked.”
He choked on a laugh. “Wow. You don’t mince words, do you?”
“Not tonight.”
“Huh.” He nodded. Then, “How is your head?”
Was it just her, or was that question out of nowhere and seemingly apropos of nothing? “Fine. The wine helped.”
“Good. That’s good.” He rocked back on his heels again.
“Why do I get the impression you’re stalling?”