Ask Me Why(62)

Ollie abandons his usual seat next to me, dashing to the chair on the opposite end. “Miss Braelyn?”

His voice is way too innocent. I brace myself for whatever scheme he’s whipping up. He jabs a finger at the empty spot beside me. The chair has been pushed very close to mine, as in almost touching. That’s not suspicious.

“You can sit by my daddy.” His hands are folded in that innocent way he tries to pull off. I know better. This is a battle I’ll never win.

I pat the seat. “I’ll try to give you space.”

My son squeaks, the tone one of outrage. “What? No. Sit on his lap.”

“Oliver James,” I warn.

He presses his lips together, having the decency to look guilty. “Sorry. Just thought it’d be easier for talking.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Eat your dinner.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind close quarters. Is footsie allowed?” Braelyn laughs while wedging herself in. “There’s not a lot of legroom.”

Ollie tilts his head at us. “What’s that mean?”

“Never mind,” I mutter. Braelyn gets a squeeze to her knee for that.

She yelps and shoves my fingers away. “Oh my goodness, this looks fantastic. Tater tot hotdish?”

I nod and serve her a double portion. “Yep. It’s a staple around our house. I’d tell you it’s a family recipe, but that’d be a lie. My mother never cooked a day in her life. I highly doubt my grandmother did either.”

Braelyn smacks her lips. “This was one of my favorite meals growing up. My day was made when a restaurant had it on the menu. What a great surprise.”

She takes a big bite, moaning around her fork. The sound is filthy and shoots a potent dose of arousal into my veins.

“Really?” I make a point of staring at the bulge in my pants.

Her face turns the same shade as our cherry red napkins. “I can’t help it. This is really good.”

“You better repeat that while I’m buried deep later,” I murmur into her ear.

There’s a hitch in her breath, but she recovers quickly enough. Braelyn’s toes climb up my shin. “Even louder.”

I choke on a ball of lust. “Dirty girl.”

“Just wait,” she whispers.

“Is it working?” Ollie’s question is equivalent to a bucket of cold water.

I wrench my gaze off the temptation next to me. “What’s that, buddy?”

“Are you two getting married? Then Miss Braelyn can live with us?”

Braelyn gulps audibly. I steeple two fingers in front of my mouth. Ollie watches us for any sudden movements, like a sprint to the chapel.

“Ollie,” I start.

His shoulders slump. “Okay, I know. Forget I asked.”

A seed of guilt sprouts and grows roots in my stomach. “How about cookies for dessert?”

That perks up his posture. “Yes! Chocolate chip?”

I scoff. “Of course. Is there another kind?”

“Nope.” He adds extra pop to the word.

Braelyn giggles. “You two are adorable. I could listen to this all night.”

Ollie rests his elbows on the table. “Really? Wanna stay longer?”

She taps her lips. “Maybe. What will we do?”

“We can play cards. Or a board game. I have Candy Land.” His voice raises higher with each suggestion.

“That could be fun,” Braelyn muses.

I find myself digging the hole a bit deeper. “How about a movie? Ollie can choose.”

He pumps a fist in the air. Braelyn winks at me. I’ve made the right call.

Ollie scoots off his chair, dashing toward the television. “There’s a new cartoon we can rent. It’s about puppies and horses and zoo animals. Right, Daddy? We saw a commercial yesterday.”

“Slow down, buddy. Braelyn hasn’t agreed yet.”

She nudges me. “As if I’ll say no.” She dips her chin and tilts closer. “To either of you.”

The desire to kiss her slams into me. I barely find the control to restrain myself. Would it be so bad? I stare into her eyes, the bright green swirling with tender passion. Instead of demolishing that boundary, I slide my palm along hers. I link our fingers together and give a gentle squeeze.

“Should we make popcorn?”

Her laugh is silent, just a soft bounce of her upper half. She’s captivating.

“Yes.” With one syllable, she solves a slew of problems.

“Do you like butter and salt?”

“Mm-hmm, I’m always on board for flavorful goodness.”

I press my lips to the crown of her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The three of us pile on the couch. Ollie doesn’t fight us on being plopped in the middle. He snuggles between us with a huge smile. I could get used to this. The thought is dangerous and should have me running for the mountains. My ass remains firmly planted on the couch.

I pass the popcorn bowl to Braelyn, the move natural and effortless. Nothing about this situation should be comfortable. But I can’t dredge up the effort to pretend otherwise. Regret hasn’t sunk in yet. I’ll worry about clearing up our disintegrating lines tomorrow.





Braelyn