Athica Lane: The Carpino Series (9 page)

“I will, I will,” I toss over my shoulder as we make our way to the minivan.

Then, yelling for all the children to hear, not to mention the neighbors, she loudly lays another life lesson on me, “Keep your legs together and your mind on Jesus!”

I freeze and gasp before I have the mind to turn around.  I feel my mouth drop and my eyes go big. 

“Rosa!”  I yell back.

“What did she say?” Noah asks.

“You heard what I said,” Rosa yells back.

“Seriously?” I belt back.

“Trust me, you won’t go wrong,” she keeps on loudly from the door.

I can’t believe her.  This is what I get for not having enough girlfriends my own age.  Wouldn’t a good girlfriend tell me to go out and get me some for a change?  Go for the gold but make him work for it?  Shave your legs and trim up everything else?  I need girlfriends who’ll give me a kick in the ass, push me out the door and tell me to have a good romp, insisting I call them with details in the morning.  Those are the kinds of friends I need.  Not ones guilting me into thinking about Jesus when I can’t get my mind off Cam.  Although, I really don’t know why I’m pondering all this.  I’m basically going on a non-date for burgers with four kids who’re seven and under.  Even if it is with Cam Montgomery, it doesn’t matter how many ways he makes me fidget, nothing can happen with four kids in tow.

“What did she say about Jesus?” Noah asks again.

“Nothing,” I frown and snap.  “She’s just reminding us to keep our minds on Jesus, be thankful in prayer, blah-blah-blah, stuff like that.  Now get in and buckle up.”

I shut the door on their heels and give Rosa one more nasty glare before leaving.  She smiles big waving before putting her thumb to her ear and pinky to her mouth, making a telephone gesture, bossing me in pretend sign language to call her.  I frown one more time before pulling the minivan out of her driveway. 

I’ve got shit to do and food to pretty up.  Maybe I’ll just pretend I have friends counselling me to shave and trim.  I have no idea how all this will happen before six o’clock.  Cam will just have to deal with it.

*****

“Dad, I’m hungry.  When’re we gonna go?”

I look at my son and wonder the same thing. 

“Yeah, we’re starving,” Noah agrees.

“Soon, guys,” I mutter as I move off the sofa where I’ve been waiting for the past thirty minutes to leave for dinner.  I’m starving too, and it doesn’t help the house smells like I’m on vacation in Cabo.  I’m an idiot for not saying we should eat her tacos instead of going out.    I mutter to the boys as I pass them, “Grab an apple.” 

They look put-out, grumbling as they make their way to the kitchen and I move the opposite direction where I saw Cara run to find Paige twenty minutes ago.  Making my way down the hall of Lanny’s house where I’ve never been before, I hear Paige’s voice come through a half closed door.  I stop and look in, seeing my daughter sitting on the counter with her legs pulled up with her feet to the edge.  She’s got her arms wrapped around her bent legs as she peeks over her knees watching Paige, who’s bent at the waist swiping pink on her little toes.

“It’s the trick to a last minute paint job in the summer, sweet girl.  You’ve got to put your flip-flops on first and then give your toes a quick paint.  You don’t want to mess them up by having to put your shoes on after.  Then you can flip-flop on your merry way as they dry,” Paige explains, not taking her eyes off my girl’s feet.

“They’re pretty,” Cara’s little voice utters quietly.

“A pretty girl needs pretty toes,” Paige smiles and then stands as she twists the paint closed to look at Cara.  “Done.  Be careful, you don’t want a smudge.”

I move in and push the door all the way open with my shoulder, letting it bump against the wall.  I can’t help it, I let my eyes drag over Paige.  She’s got her hair down, falling to the middle of her back in smooth waves and flips.  The long section in front is loosely tucked behind her ear, framing her face, making her eyes deeper and darker than normal.  She’s got a little bit of makeup on today, but she’s still not made up like a woman who’s trying hard to be something she’ll never be.  If I hadn’t seen her every day this week and knew how gorgeous she was naturally, I’d never know the difference.  Even the way she’s made herself up, she barely looks older than she really is. 

She’s wearing a little black top that’s only held up with thin straps rounding her neck, showing off plenty of her bare olive skin.  It hangs slack, hitting her above her ass where she’s wearing another pair of skin tight pants.  These are khaki with pockets, ties and shiny shit here and there.  Standing there grinning up at me, she’s taller than normal because of the chunky sandals on her feet and I can see from here, her toes match my daughter’s.  

“Look daddy.  Paige painted my toes pink,” Cara declares, pulling my attention away from Paige. 

I move in and smile at my girl who looks like nothing could ever make her happier than pink toes.  I scoop her up under her arms to set her down so we can get going, “I see that, punkin’ pie.  Scoot out and find the boys, we’ve gotta get goin’.  Everyone’s hungry.”

Cara nods and moves around me in the small bathroom, picking her feet up high in her little purple shoes, probably so she doesn’t ruin her toes. 

I turn to Paige, put a hand to her belly pushing her in until her ass hits the counter and kick the door shut.  Letting my hand round her waist, I dip under her top to feel her bare skin as she tips her head back.

“You’re late,” I say pressing my body into hers feeling her against me, something I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since last night. 

“I know,” she smiles big, not apologizing.

“Are you late a lot?” I ask bringing my other hand up, pushing her hair away from her face before letting my fingers sink in, feeling how heavy and soft it is.

“Does it matter?” she asks as I feel her hands come to my chest.

“I haven’t decided,” I say pressing into her, making her face go soft.

“Well, you’re always grumpy over text so we’re even.”

“Texting is for quick communication, not heart-to-hearts.  Making us wait thirty minutes to eat doesn’t make us even,” I mutter, but can’t wait another second. 

I lean down while pulling her up to taste her, something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since last night.  Delving my tongue in her mouth, I feel her fist the front of my shirt.  Having her cling to me, like she’s hanging on for the ride she’s letting me give her, is like nothing I’ve had before.  She pushes closer so I deepen the kiss and drag my hand up higher on the bare skin of her back, holding her tight. 

I finally pull away to see her eyes heavy with her lips parted.

“Are we even now?” she asks and I can feel her breath on my face.

I look down giving her a squeeze and only slightly tease, “Not even close, baby.  I’m gonna need way more of you than this if you’re gonna make me wait to eat.”  I lean in close again and kiss her quick before adding, “Much more, Paige.”

“Oh,” she rasps, her deep brown eyes widen and I can’t help but grin at her reaction.

“Let’s go,” I say and reach to open the door before putting a hand at her back, nudging her out of the bathroom.  “The kids are going to waste away to nothing.”

She throws her hair over her shoulder as she turns to grin before sauntering down the hall in her chunky sandals.  I grin because now I get to enjoy her from behind with her shoulders and upper back bare, her ass swaying in her tight pants. 

When we hit the kitchen, Paige goes to her bag and I call to the kids, “Load up.  The women are finally ready.”

The boys scatter and Cara is still walking awkwardly, trying to protect her toes.  Before Paige walks out the door ahead of me I grab her hand, pulling her to a stop.  She looks up and frowns in question.

I pull her close and lean to say in a low voice, “Thanks for spending time with Cara.”

“Of course,” she says softly for only me to hear.  “Your kids are sweet, why wouldn’t I want to spend time with them?”

I tip my head and don’t know if I’m saying it to her or myself, “I guess that’s just you.”

“What’s me?” she asks, her brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” I say shaking my head.  “That still doesn’t make us even, darlin’.  You owe me and I’m taking that all for myself.”

This time she rolls her eyes and pulls away, “I’m hungry, Cam.  I don’t want to have Grumpy Bear Syndrome too, we need to get a move on.  I’m not the only one making us late.”

She drops my hand and I see her strut to the passenger door of my Expedition where the kids are loaded and ready.  I smile to myself looking forward to payback, Paige Carpino style.  And I’ll make sure she enjoys it every bit as much as me. 

“Is this…AM radio?” I ask, peering over as he casually, albeit carefully, changes lanes on the interstate.

He doesn’t answer, but he does switch hands on the wheel, fisting it with his left as he leans his other elbow to the console and quickly grins. 

“You do know FM sounds better,” I state. 

Since we left Sophia’s house, we’ve not only listened to all four kids jabber behind us, but also a farm report, the most extended weather forecast I’ve ever heard on the radio and I don’t know my old school country that well, but I’m pretty sure this is Waylon Jennings singing about Luckenbach, Texas.  Now, I love music.  All kinds of music.  I even fancy myself an eclectic music lover.  I know there’s older school than Waylon Jennings, but still.  This is old school in my book.

“You don’t like country music?” he asks frowning with his eyes, but I swear he’s grinning at the same time.

“No, I like country music.  I like all music, but I need to inform you that it sounds better on FM.  Even better on Satellite.  Or better yet, off an iPod.  Although I have to say, after meeting your scary cat named after a famous dead cowboy and now listening to your music preferences, I’m questioning your age.  I think you lied and you’re near on retirement.  You’re defying the aging process like a champ,” I say.

“Duke’s not scary,” he retorts.

“Duke?” I ask.

“The cat, John Wayne.  John Wayne was known as The Duke.  Cat answers to both,” he explains, keeping his eyes on the road.

“So you’re a cowboy wannabe?” I ask.

Cam glances quickly and grins before looking ahead, “Grew up on a ranch in Texas, Paige.  Trained horses, herded cattle.  My dad made sure I earned my way.  When I wasn’t raising hell or playing football, that is.”

Okay.  There’s too much there I need to know about.  I’m going to have to pick that apart to get all the information I want. 

I start with, “You played football?”

“Have to know the game to coach it, darlin’.”

“You really make me work hard for information, don’t you?” I keep on.

He gives me a sideways glance before explaining, “I can’t remember not playing.  My dad started me young.  My last two years of high school I was All State and heavily recruited.  Pissed-off my parents by picking Nebraska over the University of Texas.  I liked the program, good coach and felt like I’d get more playing time as a freshman, which I did.  I was a wide receiver and at the time, UT was heavy at that position.  Didn’t want to wait my turn.  So I pissed-off my parents, who bleed orange and taught me the hookem’ horns hand gesture before I could walk, and became a Husker.”

“Really?  You must have been good,” I say, surprised for some reason.  I mean, I know he’s a brick wall and a football coach, but it’s not like I know a lot of football players. 

He raises a brow, “All State two years in a row in Texas and Texas is not only a big state, but a big football state.   Nebraska’s a top program.  I didn’t suck.”

“Did you play after college?” I keep on.

He shakes his head at the windshield, “Even if I didn’t suck, I wasn’t the best of the best.  I could’ve tried the draft, though the writing was on the wall.  Going pro might be a dream for all players, but struggling for third or fourth string?  Not the life I wanted.”  Then he shakes his head muttering, “That wasn’t a popular decision with some.”

“Wow,” I say turning in my seat to face him in my seatbelt.  “So you’re a football-playing-smarty-pants-cowboy-dad?  You’re like an onion, you’ve got so many layers.”

“What you see is what you get,” he states.

“Somehow I doubt that,” I say and reach forward, helping myself to his radio controls.  “Here, let me introduce you to new country, Just Cam.  Prepare yourself, it can still be twangy at times, but it’s what all the young cowboys are listening to.  I don’t want you to fall out of your seat.  It’ll be upbeat, but they still sing about break-ups, hook-ups and hang-ups.  Trust me, once you switch to FM, not even the farm report will sway you back.”

“Are you making fun of me, darlin’?” he smiles.

“I would never make fun of you, Cam,” I exclaim.  I let my eyes go big and tip my head, totally making fun of him, “Or should I say,
Campbell
.”

I see him blink slowly, minutely shake his head and mutter, “Shit,” under his breath, low enough for the kids not to hear. 

I can’t help but laugh. 

Cam looks frustrated, even as he tips his lips and exits the interstate to take us somewhere for burgers. 

*****

I arm the security system at The Shed and move out to my Expedition.  It’s late, I usually spend my extra time here when the kids are with Bekki to catch up on my books and scheduling. 

Jordy had a baseball game this morning, and this afternoon as much as I hated to do it, I dropped the kids at fucking Bekki’s.  Jordy was quiet as usual and Cara was wound tight as usual.  I had another word with Jordy about his sister and he promised he’d stick close to her.  But he’s only seven and shouldn’t have to worry about his sister when they’re with their own fucking mother. 

It didn’t help that Cara was quieter than normal last night when we got home after burgers.  She said goodbye to Paige because Sophia and Lanny will be home tomorrow.  It’s only been a week, but I can tell she opened up to Paige and she hardly opens up to anyone.  Even Paige could tell Cara was sad and I know she didn’t know what to say.  She looked at me with a questioning look before she said to my girl, “Maybe I’ll swing by after camp next week and see you.  But you can call me anytime. Jordy has my number, remember?” 

This was all after we had dinner at Dinkers.  Eating out with Paige Carpino was an experience all by itself.  She studied the menu almost as long as it took her to leave the house, changing her mind three times when ordering.  She finally decided on the Sirloin Steak Salad, because she said and I quote, “I’m just too curious, I can’t help myself.” 

She interrogated me on my football years, how I trained horses, what I did with cows and my name—which I informed her is a family name and if she ever called me Campbell again, there’d be hell to pay. 

Then, we were half way through dinner when it happened.  She reached over, picked up my plate with my half eaten burger on it and slid her salad in front of me saying, “Do you mind if we trade?  I’ve never been here, I can’t leave without trying a burger.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, looking down at her half eaten salad in front of me.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed with a mouth full of my favorite Bluejay Burger.  “It’s a good salad, you’ll like it.”

I looked down at the salad in front of me, then back to her and frowned.

“This is really good,” she said wiping her mouth.  “I’ve got to come up with something for the blog with blue cheese.  Maybe I can switch it up with meatballs to make it more original.”

I sat there watching her eat my dinner, realizing she was serious and I wasn’t going to get my burger back.  I frowned while picking up her fork, thinking at least she ordered something with steak.  The salad was okay, but I’ve never seen anyone do the likes of that and I would have preferred eating the rest of my burger.

The woman is something else.

Needless to say, none of us knew how to say goodbye when we dropped she and the boys off.  I sent the kids home ahead of me to find a moment alone and hooked a finger in the waist of her pants, pulling her close, “I’ll call you.”

She pulled in a big breath and caught my arms in her small hands to breathe, “Thanks for dinner.”

“You ate half of mine.  You do that all the time?” I narrowed my eyes on her and pulled her closer with my other hand on her bare upper back.

“Depends.  If it looks good, yes,” she grinned.

I shook my head once and leaned down to kiss her fast because I could hear Noah and Cayden in the next room. 

Leaning up I said, “You sure make things interesting.”

She said nothing but kept on grinning.

I let her go and went home. 

But now as I pull up my drive, I see the kitchen light on at my neighbor’s house.  She must still be up.  I’ve seen her every day for almost a week and I’m trying to talk myself out of going over there. 

I shouldn’t go.  I’ve got kids.  She’s six years younger than me and only responsible for herself with nothing tying her down.  I should drop it—chalk it up to an interesting week. 

I should leave her be.

Going into the house, I let Cara’s dog out.  As I stand on my deck looking through the expanse and dark of night, I see her standing at the kitchen window doing something at the sink.

I make myself turn away, looking to the forest as Cara’s dog noses around the yard. 

Minutes go by and I don’t allow myself to look back. 

The dog finally comes running, finished with her business and we both head in.  Going to the pantry, I toss her a treat before looking for something to eat.  Standing here staring into my mostly clean fridge, just not as straightened as she left it, I see the six pack of Sam Adams I couldn’t help but buy yesterday.  Not wanting to think about why I bought Sam Adams when I only ever buy Bud, I slam the door and lean against it.

I contemplate my life.  My responsibilities.  My headaches and all the pains in my ass I can’t seem to get rid of.

But just like the last few days, my mind goes back to the woman next door who surprises me at every turn.  To the woman who gives me sweet when all I’ve tasted is sour for a long fucking time.  A woman who can hand me attitude one moment but turns soft the instant I get my hands and mouth on her.  I know she wants it as much as me.  I not only see it, but read it in her eyes, her face, her body. 

I squeeze my eyes and think.  Finally, I sigh.

Fuck it.

Opening the fridge, I grab a Bud and Sam A. before heading through the garage, shutting the door after me.  Once I get half way across the yard, I pull out my phone to text her.

Me:  Open the patio door.

I’m surprised I don’t get a wiseass text back, but before my foot hits the top of the patio, the door swings open and there she is.  Waiting for me. 

She leans into the door, a small smile playing on her beautiful face.  Tonight she’s wearing a white dress with little blue stripes that looks a lot like a man’s dress shirt but has a loose tie at her waist.  Her hair’s pulled back again, but neatly this time, tied at the base of her neck. 

She doesn’t say a word so I ask, “Boys in bed?”

“Yeah,” she answers, pulling in a breath.

I lift my hand up to show her the beer she likes and move in around her.  Heading straight to the kitchen, I search for a bottle opener.  After banging through three drawers, I find what I’m looking for and pop the top of her bottle.  I turn to find she’s leaning against the counter across the kitchen.  Moving to her, I hand her the drink.  She takes it and her eyes come to me with one eyebrow raised, noting the fact I remembered. 

I twist the top of mine and lean my hips to the counter opposite her, the expanse of the kitchen separating us.  She puts her bottle to her lips, taking a drink.

Giving me her eyes, no words are offered.  The air in the room goes thick, hanging silently between us like a tangible object.  Taking her in through the translucent glow offered from the single light over the kitchen sink, she seems smaller.  She’s barefoot, like she always is in the house and probably stands at five-two, maybe five-three.  Her eyes are darker than normal in the dimness of the room and my eyes go to her mouth when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.  I see her exhale and shift to her other foot.  This makes me close my eyes and drop my head.

What the fuck am I doing?

I hear her pull in a breath through the silence and look up to say, “I should leave you be.”

She pulls her brows together, tipping her head, “Why?”

I inhale and look to the side for long moments. 

“I’ve got kids,” I state, looking back.

“Yeah,” she agrees.  “You’ve got great kids.”

“I have a bitch of an ex-wife who’s a shit mom and I get no help from her.”

“I hate that for you.  But I especially hate it for Jordy and Cara,” she adds and I can tell she means it down to her bones.

“I’ve got two full-time jobs.  They’re demanding and they suck my time.”

“You’re telling me things I already know, Cam,” she says.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that these are my priorities.”

“They should be,” she keeps agreeing with me.

“I should let you be someone’s priority,” I go on.

And that shut her up. 

It’s her turn to look away.  I meant what I said, the six-year age difference isn’t that big of a deal, but shouldn’t she deserve someone who can put her first?  I don’t have the luxury of time.  Giving time to someone else isn’t something I can carve out of my day, even if I wanted it. 

But fucking hell.  I want it. 

I cannot shit where I live with my neighbor’s sister. 

She looks back and asks quietly, “Then why are you here?”