The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(5)

He had no idea.

He also didn’t care.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she declared.

He cared about that.

“You’re gonna live to be a hundred and twenty and bounce my grandchildren on your knee,” he said low.

Margot had no reply.

“Don’t tell Dad. I’ll call him tomorrow and give him the news,” Toby instructed.

“Oh, so your father gets a phone call that’s not after one in the morning?” Margot replied.

He lowered his voice further but didn’t pull the smile out of it. “Just makin’ sure I check in with my girl.”

Margot again said nothing.

“Come out to Phoenix, I’ll take you up,” he offered.

“That will happen when hell freezes over, Tobias.”

Tobe fought back busting out laughing.

Though he couldn’t beat back a quiet chuckle.

“Now that you’ve bested the skies, can I expect a call to share you’ve spent your time looking for, and finding, a special someone?” she asked through his humor.

She wanted him settled and happy.

Okay, maybe not settled. She liked he was a rambling man (though she’d never admit it out loud).

She just wanted him happy.

“Not sure that’d be a good idea, sweetheart. I’m missing green. I’m thinking of hitting Tennessee next. Always wanted a spell in Nashville. Wouldn’t be a good idea to find a woman, then expect I could drag her across the country.”

“Dear Lord,” she murmured.

It drove her nuts he hadn’t met anyone yet.

Johnny had met someone.

Of course.

It took Margot ages to like Shandra, or trust her, and Toby still didn’t know if she really did.

Of course.

No one was good enough for her boys.

Not a soul.

Then again, as far as Toby was concerned, she was right.

He hadn’t found anyone good enough for him.

Because there was no one like Margot.

Not a soul.

“Gonna let you get back to sleep,” he told her.

“That’d be nice,” she replied, but he could tell she didn’t want to let him go.

“I’ll phone at a decent hour next time.”

“That’d be nice too.”

“Love you, Margot,” he said softly.

She only hesitated a second, and he knew that second was to get her shit together, before she said, “Love you too, my beautiful boy.”

Toby was grinning when he disconnected.

“Maybe not make a phone call to check in with your girl when I’ve just let you fuck me twice and I’m trying to sleep.”

That came at him groggy as well as unmistakably ugly.

Toby looked down at the naked woman beside him in his bed.

They’d been drinking (a lot) and then they’d been fucking (a lot).

He thought she’d passed out.

Then again, obviously she had, though not for long since he hadn’t even turned out the lights, but also obviously she wasn’t a huge fan of being woken up and had no issue sharing that.

She had a great ass. Nice hair.

But nope.

And again . . .

Not good enough.

From what she said, and how she said it—clearly thinking he was the kind of guy who’d talk to some other woman when he had one naked beside him in bed—she was not good enough by a long shot.

“Maybe it’s time we get you home,” he suggested.

She blinked and the ticked look on her face changed to coaxing. “Baby, a girl just needs some rest for round two, or, uh, in this case . . . three.”

“Sorry. I got an early morning.” Lie. “So I’ll take you home.”

And that, as far as he was concerned, was that.

He shifted his legs off the bed and reached for his jeans.

“Toby—”

He yanked on his jeans and looked at her face.

Pretty too.

Still, not close to the one.

“I was talking to my mom,” he shared.

“Oh,” she whispered, now up on a forearm. “You call your mom Margot?”

He was not gonna get into that, so he answered simply, “Yep.”

“That’s sweet, I guess.”

“You know something big happened today,” he reminded her.

And she did.

They’d met that night at a bar, and when he’d told her, she’d been all in to celebrate with him. If her celebrating with him meant him buying her a lot of drinks, a late dinner since she was getting loaded and he wasn’t a big fan of sloppy, drunk women, then coming home with him and getting it on.

“I went out to celebrate, met you, so I hadn’t had a chance to tell Margot yet,” he finished.

“Yeah, okay. But it’s still uncool to make a phone call when someone is sleeping,” she responded. “Even if it’s your mom.”

It was also uncool to be a bitch about it when you’d been asleep for maybe ten minutes.

And he’d been quiet. It wasn’t like he’d had a forty-minute conversation with someone he had to shout at because they were on a helicopter.

He shared all that by saying, “Babe, get dressed.”

“But I didn’t know it was your mom.”