Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(39)
“Mom! Dylan’s pulling my jersey!” Grady shouted from the living room.
“Cue exit,” Laura muttered and I looked at her. “See you later, Tess?”
“Yeah, Laura, nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she replied then rushed out.
Brock pushed me gently in front of him, slid out from behind me and went to his mother, bending low for her to kiss his cheek.
“Have fun, honey.” I heard her whisper.
“Right,” he murmured and she moved away from him and her eyes came to me.
“Have a nice night, Tess. Lovely to meet you.”
“You too, Fern,” I replied.
She made to move out; Brock caught my hand and followed her, pulling me behind him.
We hit the living room and got separated as the kids shouted good-byes to me, went into attack mode in order to give Brock’s legs hugs (this, he allowed from his nephews but he swung his niece up in his arms, gave her a fierce hug while he kissed then blew into her neck through which she giggled with childish abandon and while observing this I fought a tidal wave of warm gushiness), a brief period of pandemonium ensued for what appeared to be no reason at all then I stood in the middle of Brock’s shabby living room as he closed the door.
Then he locked the three locks (knob, deadbolt, chain) and turned to me.
“Your Mom wanted to spit on your Dad’s grave?” he asked, eyebrows up.
“In the bitter divorce department, although your folks clearly have a frontrunner, my folks beat anyone by a mile.”
He grinned at me.
I tipped my head to the side and asked, “So, Rex and Joel?”
His grin spread to a smile then he moved and before I knew it, in fact, even after it happened I wasn’t sure how I got flat on my back on the couch with Brock on top of me. All I knew was that I was there.
“Rex and Joel,” he stated, his eyes holding mine, his holding mirth, his hands moving on me in ways not conducive to relaxing or having a life sharing chat. “My boys. I was married to their mother for five of the most miserable years of my life. Then I was divorced from her for five of the second most miserable years of my life. Then, two years ago, she got remarried and now she’s making her new husband’s life miserable and, lucky for me, she’s not able to multitask. Rex is ten, Joel is twelve. They’re good kids, I get them every other weekend, two weeks in the summer and whenever Olivia’s at the spa, which, considering her new victim is loaded, is often and this works for me because I think the world of my boys and clearly my genes are dominant because they aren’t pains in the ass like their mother is.”
“I’m reading from that you two did not have an amicable divorce and remain friends,” I noted and the mirth in his eyes hit the room and also hit his body which shook over mine with suppressed laughter.
“Yeah, babe, sorry I didn’t make that more clear.”
“So being with her was the five most miserable years of your life?”
“Yeah, and she made being without her miserable too but being without her was not the miserable part.”
“So why did you marry her?”
His head tipped slightly to the side and his face got slightly more serious.
Then he answered, “Because there was the Olivia I met, dated, fell in love with and asked to marry me. Then there was the Olivia who I went on my honeymoon with. Night and day.
Dark and light. Kid you not, sweetness, it was like she wasn’t even the same woman. It was whacked.”
I stared at him, shocked and intrigued by this story.
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” he answered.
“That’s kind of…” I hesitated, “scary.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” he stated with feeling and I thought about Ada and Vic and how Ada showed Vic everything he wanted to see then the minute she got his ring on her finger, Ada showed him Ada and set about making him the Vic she wanted him to be.
“Why do women do that?” I asked.
“Seein’ as I have a dick, I was hopin’ you’d answer that question,” he replied.
“I’ve no idea,” I told him and his mirth came back through his smile and his body shaking on mine.
Then he asked, “Are you gettin’ it yet?”
“Getting what?” I asked back.
His roaming hands stopped and one came to frame the side of my face as he dipped his close.
Then, he whispered, “With Tessa O’Hara, what you see is what you get. No bullshit. No games. No masks. No lies. No nothin’. Just her, all her. I’m forty-five years old and, baby, I gotta tell you, I’m so sick of that shit you wouldn’t believe it. Meeting a woman who doesn’t have a clue how to even initiate a play was f**king refreshing.”
Oh my.
At that point, for some totally unhinged reason, my mouth blurted, “Ellie has ordered a pink flower girl dress.”
Brock stared at me. Then he burst out laughing and shoved his face in my neck to do it.
Then, while still doing it, he rolled to his back so I was on top and I lifted my head to watch as the laughter died to chuckles and his hands came up to gather my hair at the back of my head.
And when he controlled his hilarity, his warm, quicksilver eyes locked on mine and he said quietly, “There it is. My sweet Tess doesn’t have a clue how to initiate a play. No bullshit. No games. No masks. No lies.”