The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(49)

“Totally not finding that ‘baby’ thing funny anymore,” Deanna mumbled.

“Me either,” Izzy said.

Charlie grunted.

“Time to light the tree,” Johnny announced.

We all got up, and as I moved toward Toby and Brooks, Margot moved toward me.

She arranged some of my hair on my shoulder and stated, “I like your hair like this, Adeline. It’s very becoming.”

Margot.

The woman never missed a trick.

Mom would love her.

But I adored her.

“Thanks, Margot.”

She looked in my eyes, hers were searching. She must have found what she needed because she winked.

Then she moved to stand with Dave.

Everyone gathered.

But Toby gathered me, front to his side with his arm around my shoulders and my son on his other hip.

I slid mine around his middle, which let me include my boy in my hold.

“Ready?” Johnny, squatting by the outlet, asked.

“Ready,” everyone replied.

Johnny lit the tree.

Simple white lights.

Yet always dazzling.

Brooklyn screeched with glee, trying to clap his hands and missing.

Toby chuckled, his white smile splitting the coal of his beard, his eyes on my son.

Yes.

Totally.

Except for the day I had Brooklyn.

This was the best day ever.

Maybe it was even better than the day I had Brooklyn.

Because that day, I got Brooklyn.

But this day, both my boy and I had everything.





We Had Our Shit Tight

Addie

EVERYONE WAS GONE.

And I was standing in my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror.

I’d unearthed another pre-Brooklyn part of my wardrobe, a little red satin nightie that barely covered my ass, had lace at the boobs that drifted in upside down triangles at the sides.

It was sah-weet.

And I was hoping it was sweet enough, it’d hide the fact that I took off my makeup and undid my hair.

Toby wanted me as he’d seen me earlier.

But I was Daphne’s daughter, and even if she had to use the oatmeal out of our kitchen, she took care of her skin and taught her girls to do the same.

If Toby fucked me silly, and I passed out, I couldn’t sleep in makeup.

No way.

But my hair looked better now. Modern-day Barbarella.

It rocked.

The kitchen was cleaned.

Brooks was down.

With the lights out downstairs, the inside of the house had that golden-red glow because Toby had set the outside lights to go off at eleven thirty and it wasn’t that late yet.

And Tobe had brought a bag and was right then in the bedroom either putting on pajamas (which would be a waste of time) or getting naked (which worked for me).

I needed to find another job.

Christmas was coming and my mom was dead and I always missed her during the holidays (or missed her more).

My son’s father was an asshole.

But life was awesome.

I was smiling when I made a move to leave the bathroom, and my eyes hit the bathroom accessories I had in there that we’d brought up from Tennessee.

I’d bought them on sale at Crate and Barrel.

White. Modern. Clean lines. Simple shapes.

But I didn’t care.

They worked and were no muss, no fuss. They could be cream. They could be black. They matched any towels.

They just . . . were.

I found this oddly fascinating and it was what was on my mind when I walked out to the door of the bathroom, opened it, shut out the light and saw Toby in my bed, bare-chested, comforter to his waist.

I got sidetracked by the chest (as any girl would be wont to do).

Though it was also hard to miss he looked good under my comforter, all that olive skin and dark hair. My bedclothes were something that also came up from Tennessee. The comforter was white with some gray bubbles in a design on it. And the sheets were white too.

It didn’t match Izzy’s bed, which was a miracle of curving and looping distressed iron.

But on its own, I liked it.

I stopped by the side of the bed and looked to Toby.

“I don’t care about bathroom accessories,” I announced.

His eyes, locked to my nightie, slid up to my face.

“Say what?”

“My bathroom accessories are white.”

He stared at me.

“They go with everything,” I went on.

He continued to stare at me.

“Same thing, kinda, with this comforter,” I told him, indicating the comforter with a movement of my hand. “I don’t care about home décor,” I declared. “It has to be functional, not ugly, and easy to mix and match.”

“How much do you give a shit that I don’t give a shit about any of this shit you’re saying to me right now?” Toby asked.

“If this works with us, I might be decorating our home, in this case, decorating it in a functional way,” I pointed out. “So you have to know.”

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “How much do you give a shit I don’t give a shit about any of this shit you’re saying to me right now standing by the bed in that fuckin’ amazing nightie, with your sex-bomb hair, when my dick is hard? But just to put your mind at ease so you’ll shut up and get in bed, I like to have space around me that’s nice so, when it comes down to that, I’ll be all over it and it’ll be functional, but it’ll also look cool.”