Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(6)

“Dave can call me himself,” Layne pointed out.

“I told him I’d pop by on the way to work,” she replied.

“On the way to work?” Layne bit out.

He lived in a middle class development on the west edges of the ‘burg. She lived in a six bedroom mini-mansion by a manmade lake in a development that included a nine hole golf course with driving range and putting green, a clubhouse with restaurant, bar and party rooms as well as a full gym and indoor/outdoor swimming pool in a definitely upper class development on the north edge of town. She was a teacher at Jasper and Tripp’s school, which was in town. Layne’s house was not on her way to work.

“Yes,” she answered.

Layne opened his mouth to tell her to get the f**k out and maybe to shove that leg of lamb straight up her ass when Tripp spoke.

“Mrs. Astley?”

She tore her eyes from his face, leaned forward and looked around Layne.

Then she smiled.

Another shot to the gut.

“Hey Tripp,” she greeted.

“What are you doin’ here?” Tripp asked and Layne turned to look at his son.

If Tripp didn’t have Layne’s body – long legs and torso, wide shoulders, the power not developed in either due to his being fourteen – Layne would have asked Gabby for a DNA test. Tripp had sandy blond hair (now darkened because he filled it with gunk to style it and make it spike out all over his head, which apparently was his ‘do for the day) and blue eyes. Gabby didn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes and neither did anyone in her or Layne’s family, that he knew. Tripp had a bit of Gabby in the face but the rest of him, Layne had no f**king clue where it came from. Layne wouldn’t doubt Gabby would step out on him but, as Tripp grew older, there was no denying Layne gave Tripp his body.

Anyway, it didn’t matter because he loved the kid. This was because Tripp was lovable. He’d always been a good kid. Once or twice a week, always, Tripp called, from the time the kid could pick up the phone and dial, the whole time Layne lived away. They’d talk, or Tripp would. The kid could talk for ten. Whenever Layne came home for a visit, from when he was little, to when he got older, the minute Tripp saw Layne he’d dash to him, throw his arms around him and give him a tight hug. When he got older, he tried to make the dash cooler but there was no mistaking he was happy to see his Dad.

He felt pressure and heat at his abs and looked down to see Raquel was pressing the coffee mug there. Automatically he took it and looked to her. She was close, close enough for him to smell her perfume.

“Inviting you to dinner,” she answered Tripp’s question. “Dad has a leg of lamb.”

Layne looked to Tripp. Tripp was staring at Rocky like she was a movie star, pink in his cheeks, eyes dazzled.

Layne looked back at Raquel then at Tripp who still hadn’t torn his eyes away from her.

Fuck. She was an English Lit teacher at his school and he had the hots for her.

He would, she was f**king gorgeous. She wore those skirts, those shirts and those heels to school every day, probably every boy went home and jacked off, thinking about her.

Even his son.

Fuck.

“Tripp, breakfast,” Layne ordered.

Tripp blinked, looked at his Dad, then he moved forward and toward the pantry.

“A leg of lamb?” Tripp asked as he moved.

Rocky headed back to the island, her heels clicking on the tiles as she went and, to put distance between them, Layne headed to the sink.

“A leg of lamb,” she replied.

“I’ve never had a leg of lamb,” Tripp could be heard from the pantry, although not seen.

“You’re in for a treat. Greek night. Homemade pita. Homemade tzatziki sauce. You’ll love it.”

Tripp came out of the pantry with a box of cereal.

“Cool,” he said, smiling at Rocky. “Uncle Dave a good cook?” he asked when he made it to the cupboard to pull down a bowl.

“I’m cooking,” Rocky informed him.

He was still smiling at her when he put the bowl and cereal down at the island and headed to the fridge.

“You a good cook?” he asked.

“I’ve had no complaints,” she answered, smiling back at him.

She wouldn’t. She had been a f**king great cook. Eighteen years of practice, especially not cooking on a budget, she was probably a master chef.

Layne felt his jaw get tight again as he saw Raquel’s eyes fall to the box of sugary cereal and her smile faded into a frown.

“Tripp, you should have oatmeal or something,” she advised as Tripp hit the island with the milk. “Sustained energy. That cereal will burn out halfway through first period.”

“That’s okay, I always get a candy bar from the vending machines between first and second period,” he told her and her eyes shot to Layne, communicating, clearly, that he should do something about his son’s lack of nutrition.

That’s when he’d had enough.

That was also when he was interrupted yet again in doing something about it.

“Hey Mrs. Astley,” Jasper said and he saw Rocky start to turn then his eyes went to Jasper.

Now Jasper was undoubtedly his son. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin that looked tan even in the dead of winter. He had Layne’s body too, but at seventeen, and dedicated to football, as well as being a stud and therefore at Layne’s weight equipment more than Layne was, he was ripped. He was nearly Layne’s height at 6’2” whereas Tripp was still growing and he hadn’t broken six foot yet, but he would.