Tease (Cloverleigh Farms #8)(9)

I gave Allie a lot of shit about that.

“But what if you find a penny on the street, Grandma?” asked Zosia. “Isn’t that good luck?”

“Depends if you find it tails or heads side up,” she answered seriously. “The ancient Romans believed if you saw a coin heads up, it was lucky, but if it was tails up, you should turn it over and leave it for the next person.”

My sister laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I come across any ancient Roman coins. In the meantime, I’m gonna predict that being a math genius gives Hutton the edge at the poker table tonight.”

“The only edge being a math genius might give someone at the poker table is knowing they should quit early and go home with all their money,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “The reason casinos are so huge is because most people have no idea how probability works.”

“Hutton.” My mother was studying me intently, like she was trying to read my mind. This was a habit of hers. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Look at him, Stan. Does he look fine to you?”

My dad shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“You don’t think he looks sort of pale and sad around the eyes?”

“Sad around the eyes?” My father squinted at me. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m getting a sense of loneliness and discontent within your aura.”

Allie snickered as she washed her hands at the sink.

“Stop it,” I said. “My aura is fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend with us, sweetheart.” My mom’s voice softened. “We’re your family.”

“I’m not pre—”

“Money can’t buy happiness, you know,” she went on. “True happiness comes from our connection to others and to our higher selves. It doesn’t come from things like yachts or private jets or fancy cars.”

“I don’t own any of those things, Mom.”

But she was on a roll. “It comes from allowing yourself to be loved and offering love in return. Isn’t that right, Stan?”

“That’s right, Barb.” My dad took my mother’s hand across the table.

“And you don’t need to be rich or famous or brilliant to find love.” Her eyes misted over. “You just have to accept yourself as you are, and open your heart.”

“Actually, I think being rich, famous, and brilliant makes it harder,” said Allie. “You’d get a lot of people wanting to be close to you, but maybe for the wrong reasons.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy to find,” my mom clarified. “I’m just saying that we’re all worthy. Don’t you agree, Hutton?”

“Yes,” I said, mostly just to get her to stop talking.

My mother didn’t understand. No one did.

I’d tried to have relationships. I’d attempted to let people in. But dating was a fucking nightmare. Even maintaining friendships was hard because I rarely accepted invitations. And when I did, the amount of energy it took to appear confident enough to just hang out and make conversation was exhausting. But I was good at it, so nobody ever understood why I hated clubs and parties.

I was overreacting, Wade always said. I was being too antisocial. Too introverted. Too picky. Too dramatic. Everyone gets anxious sometimes. Couldn’t I just take some drugs or something? Go to a shrink? Didn’t I like getting laid?

My response was usually something along the lines of, That’s not how it works, asshole.

I’d tried the meds, but they gave me headaches. Therapists just wanted to explain the fight or flight response to me again, as if I didn’t understand it.

And of course I liked getting laid.

I was good at sex. It was a relief to let my body take over, to let it hijack my brain and call the shots. Also, I was an excellent student of female pleasure, and as a high achiever, I was deeply gratified by a woman’s orgasm—the louder the better.

But sex wasn’t a miracle fix for everything that was wrong with me.

I might have been worthy of love, but I wasn’t wired for it.

Simple as that.





After my parents left for their walk, I took the kids to the park. There were no Prancin’ Grannies in sight, but there were a few stroller moms who gave me the usual looks that made me feel like they were all talking shit about me.

I did my best to keep my head down and enjoy the time with the kids—I pushed Keely on the swings, watched Jonas jump off the slide instead of slide down it, and scored Zosia’s cherry drop off the bar a perfect ten. We stayed for over an hour before the kids’ faces started to get pink and I realized I’d forgotten to put sunscreen on them like Allie had asked.

“Come on, guys,” I said. “Your faces are getting red, and your mom is going to get mad at me about it.”

Back at my sister’s house, I heated up a couple cans of SpaghettiO’s for lunch, which was the extent of my cooking skills. When they were done eating, I smeared sunscreen on their faces, and we went out to the backyard.

My sister pulled into the garage as I was filling a small plastic pool on the lawn with water from the hose. The kids stood with their feet in it and sucked on bright green popsicles that were melting fast in the July heat, dripping down their chins and hands onto their shirts, which already had orange spots from the SpaghettiO’s.