Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley
Tate and I stood quiet and holding each other. Wood showed and got his stumbling sister to his truck. He came back for the keys to her car which Tate gave to him.
He gave us both a chin lift, obviously a bit more than a little annoyed he was collecting Neeta in the middle of the night and not feeling in the mood to socialize.
He was walking away when Tate called him.
“Wood.”
Wood turned back.
“I shoulda let it go a long time ago and I didn’t,” Tate began and I pulled in a breath because I knew where he was leading with that introduction and I was happy he was doing it but I couldn’t believe he was doing it now. “Had to blame someone ‘cause I couldn’t blame myself for Dad leavin’ me the way he left me. Placed that shit on you. It was a dick thing to do.”
Wood stared at Tate and said not a word.
I held Tate tighter and Tate kept talking.
“Dad thought you were the shit. He wouldn’t have blamed you and he would be pissed as hell knowin’ I did.”
Without a word, Wood looked away and started to turn away.
“Wood,” Tate called and Wood stopped moving, hesitated and turned back. “Thanks for your help today, bud.”
Wood stared at him, his eyes flashed to me and then back to Tate.
“She a miracle worker?” he asked and I blinked, not understanding the question.
“Yeah,” Tate answered immediately, clearly understanding it.
Wood stayed silent a moment then suggested, “Maybe you’ll give it a coupla weeks before you two invite me over to a barbeque.”
“We can do that,” Tate replied and my eyes were on Wood but I could tell by Tate’s voice he was smiling.
“Right,” Wood muttered and turned again but was stopped again when Tate spoke.
“Jonas’ll be here. We have a barbeque –”
Wood started walking but he looked over his shoulder. “Then I’ll be here.” He faced forward again and I heard him say quietly, “Not just for Jonas.”
“Laurie?” Tate called to his back, it was a question for Wood not Tate addressing me.
“She’s got great fuckin’ legs, man,” Wood called back. “Not havin’ ‘em wrapped around my back don’t mean I can’t appreciate ‘em as close as I can get.”
Tate chuckled. Wood jogged down the steps and swung into his truck. I was still confused.
We watched Wood turn around in the drive and pull out. When his brake lights faded to normal and he took the turn out of the drive, I looked up at Tate.
“What was that all about?”
Tate turned me to the door. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are things okay with Wood?” I asked as he pulled open the door.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“So that was it? Years of bad blood and you two talk about my legs –?”
He’d guided me through the door, closed it, locked it and switched off the outside lights.
“It’s a guy thing,” he stated.
“It’s a crazy thing,” I mumbled.
He headed us toward the hall. “Speakin’ of your legs wrapped around my back…”
“We weren’t.”
I saw his head tilt down to look at me through the dark as we hit the mouth to the hall.
“We are now.”
“Tate, it’s the middle of the night. We just survived another drama.”
“I’ll go fast,” he assured me.
“Right,” I muttered.
“Baby, trust me, I can go fast.”
“I can go fast. You take your time until I go fast.”
We were at the foot of the bed and he stopped me, turned me to him and his hands settled on my hips.
“Okay, babe, let me introduce you to fast,” he invited.
I rolled my eyes.
His mouth came to mine where he didn’t kiss me, he murmured, “And dirty.”
My heart skipped a beat, his hands gripped my hips and he threw me on the bed much like he threw Jonas through the air in the pool but except without the distance or elevation.
I bounced, he landed on top of me and then he showed me he could, indeed, do fast.
And he did it dirty.
And it was so fantastic, I wished he’d gone slow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My Job Was Done
I woke up confused. It had to be morning but the room was way dark and I wasn’t snuggled into Tate nor was he curled into me.
I got up on an elbow and noticed I was alone in the bed and the dark denim curtains were closed. I’d never been in the room when the curtains were closed but I was right in my estimation of what it would be like when they were pulled, the room was nearly pitch.
I threw back the covers, wandered to the windows facing the front of the house and pulled back a side, looking to the right to see if Tate was having coffee on the deck.
The chairs were empty.
I pulled open the other side of the curtains and let the sun shine in and then turned to the bed, seeing the note on Tate’s nightstand. I walked to it, picked it up and read it.
Ace,
Getting Bub.
That was all it said but, then again, that said it all.
I dropped the note and went into the bathroom, looked into the mirror and that was when I saw my hair out to there. I stared at myself in frozen horror for several long seconds, thinking about all who saw me with wild, rat’s nest hair three times the volume of my normal hair. Then I allowed myself an inner and outer cringe that the three people who saw me thus were the three people I would never want to see me thus until the day I died. Then, considering I couldn’t travel back in time to find some way to change this, I stopped staring at myself in horror and did my morning routine, adding wetting down my hair and digging through my bottles and jars to find the leave in conditioner Dominic sold me after I told him about my swimming.
I found it, worked some through my hair, walked out of the bathroom, made the bed and wandered into the closet. There I stood staring at my suitcases laid open on the floor, my clothes part folded and tidy, part exploded and a mess.
“Her car’s in my garage, her clothes in my closet and they’re gonna stay there.”
Tate’s words to Neeta last night slid through my head and I wondered if that meant he wanted me to move in. If he wanted me to paint more rooms. If this gave me the all clear to weed his garden and take him couch shopping.
I bit my lip and stared at the suitcases, uncertain.
If I unpacked and he wasn’t ready for that yet, I’d feel like an idiot.
I wanted to unpack because I loved him and he said he loved me and I liked his son and his house and I wanted my clothes to stay in his closet, my car in his garage.
But he hadn’t asked me.
I bit my lip harder. Then I heard the sounds of Tate and Jonas coming home.
I grabbed a pair of jeans shorts, the bra that matched the undies I had on and the first t-shirt my hand could find. I had the bra and shorts on and was pulling the t-shirt over my head when I heard Tate close.
I yanked the t-shirt down and turned to the door. He was standing in it and staring at my suitcases.
I bit my lip again, wondering if his thoughts were similar to mine when looking at my suitcases, or if they were (hopefully not) vastly different.
Then I said, “You went to get Jonas without me.”
His eyes came to mine. “Mornin’ to you too, babe.”
“Um…” I mumbled and tucked some hair behind my ear. “Mornin’.”
His eyes followed my hand, then roamed my head before they came back to mine. “You tamed your hair.”
He would comment on my hair.
“Uh… yeah,” I muttered realizing I felt self-conscious and even shy. Why, I had no earthly clue, I just did.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why?” I repeated.
“Yeah, Ace,” he said coming into the closet. “Why?”
As he got close, I tipped my head ba
His hand came up, his fingers sliding into the wetted hair at the side of my head then through it, down the length pulling it over my shoulder. The tips of his fingers fiddled with the ends of my hair at my breast as he watched, then his gaze came to my face.
“It was you,” he stated.
“Me?” I asked.
He got closer. “Yeah, babe, you.” His fingers left my hair so his hand could go to where my head met my neck and he tilted my head back further with the pad of his thumb against the underside of my jaw, doing this while his other hand came to rest at my waist. “Wild,” he said softly. “Hot. I liked it.”
“You liked my hair in a rat’s nest?” I asked it like I couldn’t believe it mainly because I couldn’t. I had a lot of hair normally, it was hard enough to tame with beaucoup products, wielding a roller brush and an industrial strength hair dryer. When untamed, there was so much of it, no other word for it, it was huge.
His thumb slid along my jaw and the touch, the warmth coming from his body, his proximity and the look in his eyes made my nipples tingle.
“I liked it wild,” he said.
“Oh,” I replied because there was no other response to that and I liked that he liked my hair wild. That said, I pretty much liked that he liked anything about me.
He grinned.
I stared at his mouth as it started to get closer.
“Is Jonas here?” I asked against his lips.
“Kiss me good mornin’,” he demanded against mine, ignoring my question.
“Tate.”
Both his hands tightened. “Babe.”
I gave in, put my hands to his abs and pressed my mouth to his.
Then I pulled back and reiterated, “Is Jonas here?”
Tate’s hand slid back to wrap around my neck. “He’s here, he’s still half-asleep which means we got about ten minutes to make out in the closet. So, like I said, kiss me good mornin’.”
“I just did,” I reminded him.
“You love me?” he asked suddenly and, at his question, my stomach flipped then twisted.
I stared up at him unsure of myself and back to shy.
Then, without me telling it to do so, my mouth whispered, “Yes.”
“Then fuckin’ kiss me good morning, Ace,” he demanded softly but firmly.
“Oh all right,” I grumbled because he was being bossy and also because he didn’t return the sentiment.
My hands moved to curl around the sides of his waist, I went up on my toes and pressed my lips to his, harder this time, my mouth opening under his. His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing in, the fingers of his other hand slid into my hair and his head slanted as his tongue glided into my mouth.
At the taste of him, I melted into him, my arms locking around him and we kissed good morning.
When his mouth detached from mine, he muttered, “Now that’s good morning.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
“You went to get Jonas without me,” I took us full circle.
“You don’t get enough sleep, babe,” he replied. “You were out, you need to sleep when you actually can sleep so I let you sleep. I was gone twenty minutes.”
This was nice. I liked it when Tate was nice. I liked Tate all the time, even when he was a jerk, which made me slightly insane, but it was Tate and I had to admit, I liked all things Tate, even when he was a jerk. But I liked it when he was nice the best. So, since he was being nice, I pressed deeper into him.
“Is he okay?” I asked softly.
“No tellin’. He’s a zombie,” Tate answered. “We’ll know more when he pulls out of it.”
I looked over his shoulder toward the door. “I need coffee, honey, and I need to make Jonas French toast.”
“Ace,” Tate called and my eyes went back to see his were looking over my shoulder and down, toward my suitcases.
He didn’t speak for several seconds so I asked, “Tate, what?”
He looked at me and he muttered, “Nothin’,” let me go and moved to my side. “Coffee,” he finished.
I nodded and we walked out of the room, down the hall and I saw Jonas on a stool at the island, slouched into an elbow, head in his hand, staring blankly at Buster who was sitting on the floor in front of him looking up at him.
“Hey Jonas,” I called when I hit the dining area.
He didn’t lift his head from his hand but his body shifted so he could see me.
He blinked then mumbled, “Hey.”
I went to the coffeepot and saw Tate had already made coffee so I grabbed a mug from the cupboard over the pot.
“You need coffee, honey?” I asked Tate and turned to him to see he had his hips to the counter, his eyes on Jonas and his phone to his ear. He looked at me and nodded.
I prepared coffee as I asked Jonas, “French toast or pancakes today?”
“French toast,” he mumbled again staring at Buster who was now rubbing against Tate’s ankles.
“Right,” I replied, grinning because Jonas was cute when he was sleepy.
I walked toward Tate to take him his mug.
“Bubba,” I heard Tate say and I looked at his face to see he was speaking into his phone. “This is the fifth time I’ve called you. Comes a sixth, we got problems.”
He pulled his phone from his ear, flipped it closed, dropped it on the counter and took the mug from me.
“No answer?” I asked.
“Nope,” he replied and our eyes locked.
He didn’t look happy. I scrunched my nose. He watched my nose, the unhappiness slid out of his face, the ends of his lips tipped up then he shook his head once and lifted his mug to take a sip. I went to the fridge to get milk and eggs.
I had milk in my coffee, had taken a sip and I had a bowl out, the bread beside it and was cracking eggs into the bowl when Jonas spoke.
“After breakfast, can we go to the hospital?”
I was working at the island and my head came up from my task to look at Jonas. He was still slouched into the island but now looking at his Dad.
“Yeah, Bub,” Tate answered. “Not long, though. Shambles needs space.”
“Okay,” Jonas replied then went on. “After the hospital can we go back to the pool?”
“Maybe,” Tate said. “We’ll see.”
I figured this meant no because when my Mom or Dad said that, it meant no. I also figured that was why Jonas straightened from his slouch, because he was preparing to fight for his trip to the pool.
I walked the eggshells to the trash bin, dumped them in, rinsed my hands, dried them and went to the cupboard where I’d started to store the spices and baking ingredients I’d been buying. Tate didn’t have much in his cupboards and therefore I had plenty of choice as to where to store my cooking supplies.
During this time, there was surprising silence not filled with Jonas talking his father into a trip to the pool.
This silence lasted until Tate asked his son, “You want juice, Bub?”
“Why’s Mom’s car outside?” Jonas asked back and I stopped, my fingers around the little, brown bottle of vanilla and I turned slowly around, closing the cupboard as I moved.
I saw Jonas’s back was straight, both of his hands were flat against the top of the island and his eyes were glued to Tate. He didn’t look sleepy at all anymore and this was a strange position for him to be in so I knew something was about to go down. Something between father and son. Something the milf girlfriend needed to absent herself from so they could talk it through.
I put the vanilla by the bowl, muttering, “I’ll just –”
Jonas talked over me. “She come over last night?”
“Bub, we’ll have breakfast and we’ll –”
Jonas talked over Tate. “She came over, why’d she leave her car?”
“After breakfast,” Tate stated.
“Was she smashed?” Jonas kept at it.
I pulled in a soft breath. Tate stared at his son.
<
Jonas didn’t tear his eyes from his father but it looked like he was pressing his hands into the counter. His body was visibly tight and his throat was working. His mind was working too, I could see it in the activity behind his eyes, and he was scared.
Then he said quietly, “All the time.”
Tate was silent. So was I, though I figured everyone in the room could hear my heart beating. Even Buster had stopped moving and stood by Tate’s feet, her pretty face staring up at Jonas.
Jonas kept his eyes on his father and his hands pressed to the counter as if he was preparing at any moment to push up and run away.
“She drive like that?” Tate asked softly.
“Yeah,” Jonas answered just as softly.
“You ever in the car with her when she’s like that?” Tate continued.
Jonas pulled in an audible breath, let it out slowly then he swallowed.
“Yeah,” Jonas whispered and instantly Tate’s dark energy invaded, so huge, it filled the house and assaulted its inhabitants.
I edged toward Tate, saying gently, “Tate, honey –”
“She jerks me around too,” Jonas announced, the words a rush, my body stilled and my eyes shot to him, seeing him still staring at his father but he wasn’t scared anymore.
No, he looked downright terrified.
“She jerks you around,” Tate repeated slow, low and dangerous.
“Yesterday wasn’t the first time,” Jonas was still speaking swiftly. “It wasn’t even the worst.”
Oh no.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening. That didn’t happen to Jonas.
No.
I stared at him staring at his father, looking frightened out of his brain, knowing his father, knowing what imparting this knowledge would mean, knowing he wouldn’t lie and I knew it did. It happened. I was right, Neeta wasn’t gentle with her son.
I stood, uncertain, not knowing which one to go to. Tate was visibly struggling with fury, Jonas the same with fear.
“I wanna live here,” Jonas whispered, his voice sounding clogged, his eyes filling with tears. “Laurie tell you?”
Tate didn’t answer and I wasn’t certain he heard his son speak. He was stuck in time hearing his son telling him his Mom drove drunk with him in the car and jerked him around.