“I love you, Grocery Store Guy.”

He stops his motions and looks at me with those sable eyes that won me over at our first grocery store encounter. I’ve stopped pinching myself and settled into the fact that he sees something in me that I don’t see in myself. We’ve “loved” many things about each other: his tattoos, my birthmark, his body, my hair, his fingers, my mouth. But neither one of us has used “you” without the “r” after the word love.

“You’re pregnant.”

I grin, not offended one bit by his assumption. “If I were?”

His gaze flits over my face. If I were pregnant, I might fear the thoughts rolling around in his beautiful head. But I’m not, so my thoughts revel in the anticipation of his next words.

“I’d have to design a sidecar to accommodate a car seat.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

He drops the socket and walks on his knees to me, keeping his sweaty body and greasy hands a few inches from touching me. I happen to love him in any state. Every inch of my body would welcome his touch, even if it left a few smudges.

“Did I get one past the gate?” He rubs his nose against mine then nips at my lower lip. He smells like grease, sweat, and spearmint from his favorite xylitol gum. It’s not a marketable combination, but it’s my addiction.

“No.” I giggle. “It’s a thing. When women hold babies and get a whiff of that newborn smell, our ovaries go into overdrive.”

“So, you’re not pregnant, but you want to be?” His eyes shift from my face to my neck then slowly ease down my body, doing all the things I know his hands and mouth want to do.

“No,” I say a little breathy. I know that look of his and so does my body.

“But you said…” his gaze makes a quick return to mine “…you love me.”

“I do. But I love you because you ask me about my day—every day. And you remember everything I tell you. And you’re observant. You know my favorite flower because you know the scent of my favorite lotion. You know the size of my clothes because you’ve peeled them from my body so many times. You hand me a tissue five seconds before I cry during a sad scene in a movie, but you never actually look at me. You just … know.”

He shrugs, staring at me so intently a shiver snakes along my spine. “It’s because …” His teeth dig into his lower lip.

“That’s my point.” I grin and lean toward him, teasing his lips with mine until he rewards me with a smile.

“It’s because I love you,” he whispers over my mouth.

“Thank you…” I kiss him once “…for remembering Morgan’s name.” I kiss him again—longer, deeper—as my fingers flick open the button to his jeans.

“Baby,” he mumbles, “my hands are greasy.”

I ease down his zipper. “Then put them in your back pockets. I don’t need your help with this.”

He moans into my mouth as my hand slides inside his boxers, and like the good boy he is, he stuffs his hands into his back pockets. I love his body too, and the way his deep hums of pleasure vibrate my lips each time I stroke him.

“Swayz …” He tears his mouth from mine and tips his chin down, watching me stroke him. “Fuck, baby …” His abs tighten on each labored breath.

“Mom said you’d buy raffle tickets for my show choir fundraiser.”

Griffin and I both snap our heads toward his sister, Chloe, standing at the front of the garage. His back is to her, hiding my hand wrapped around his cock. We have a terrible habit of tuning out the rest of the world when we’re together. It might have been a good idea to shut the garage door before expressing my recent declaration of love.

“What are you guys up to?” She fans herself with a big white envelope.

Griffin turns back to me. “Let go of my dick and go buy some raffle tickets,” he whispers.

I’m not sure why I’m still holding it. Frozen in shock, I guess. “K.” I give him a toothy grin as I release him and stand. “Of course we’ll buy raffle tickets.” I step past Griffin leaving him to tuck the goods back into his jeans.

Chloe’s fifteen, a sophomore, and I think she’s still a virgin, but I’m not sure. Regardless, there are some things she never needs to see, and my hand stroking her brother’s cock is at the top of that list.

“Great! How many?” She opens the envelope.

“Uh … ten?”

“They’re ten dollars apiece.”

“Maybe three?” I give her a wrinkled-nose grin.

“Thanks, Swayze. How many for you, Griff?” Chloe rubs her lips together, mischief alight in her brown eyes as she bats her dark hair away from her face but loses her battle with the evening breeze.

The clicking of the socket wrench starts again. “Swayze said three.”

“She did. But how many are you buying. You two aren’t married, so you can’t make joint purchases yet.”

She’s good. I like his sisters. Hell, I like his whole family. They paint happily ever after using all the colors of the rainbow.

“I’ll take one.”

“Five it is, Griff. Thanks! You’re my most favorite brother ever.” She tears off eight raffle tickets.

Griffin tips his chin up from behind the bike and raises a single eyebrow until it brushes the edge of his orange and black bandana. I take the tickets and slip them into the back pocket of my denim shorts.

“Wallet?” I smirk at him.

He sighs and stands holding up his greasy hands. “Front right pocket.”

With my back to Chloe, I slide my hand into his pocket grazing his lingering erection. His lips twitch as he eyes me with promises of things that will happen when we are alone again. Heat spreads through my body, converging deep in my belly.

I pull out his money clip and count out eighty dollars. “Mind loaning me thirty dollars to buy raffle tickets from my boyfriend’s sister?” Batting my eyelashes, I glance up at him, trapping my lower lip between my teeth.

“I’ll let you work it off.” His gaze leaves no question as to how I will be working this off.

“I’m not five. Your innuendos are weirding me out. Just hand over the money before I mini-vomit.”

I giggle because she’s only six years younger than I am, but there’s this invisible wall between adolescence and adulthood that makes six years feel like thirty. In a few more years, that gap will be indistinguishable. However, for now, we’re the gross adults and she’s the innocent child who we’re weirding out. How innocent? I don’t know. Cheerleaders and football players get the bad rap for parties and sex. In my experience, more sex happens in the band room than any other place in school.

“Here. What’s the prize?” I hand Chloe the money.

“Caribbean cruise.”

“Really?” My head jerks back.

“No. Not really. A subscription to the Madison Symphony Orchestra.”

“Fucking great,” Griffin mumbles from behind the bike.

“Language, Griff.” I roll my eyes.

Chloe laughs. “I’m familiar with the word. He’s said it more than once around me. Anyway…” she stuffs the money into the envelope “…thanks again. I’ll see ya around.”

“Bye.” I give her a wave when she makes one last glance over her shoulder while walking down the driveway. “I love your sisters.” With a content sigh, I plop back down on the bucket.

“Kinda takes away from the specialness of you declaring your love to me. Don’t you think?”

“I assumed you and your family are a package deal. If I love one of you, I have to love all of you.”

“Well, I sure as hell love all of you. Now, tell me more. Are you going to like watching after this Morgan?”

Perfect. He’s so damn perfect.

“I think so. The hours are good. She’s tiny and precious beyond words. It’s a pretty cool house. The sister-in-law, Rachael, is really nice, but she has no experience with babies. It’s a little weird that the twenty-one-year-old nanny has the most experience of anyone, but I think it may be true.”

“And the dad?”

“Nate, er … Nathaniel is troubled. But he lost his wife, and now he’s trying to work, grieve, and raise a baby—his first baby. I think that earns him a pass for any psychological issues he might have. There’s a reason they say it takes a village to raise a child. His village is quite small. So … yeah, they need me.”

“Sophie has a dance recital this weekend.”

“It’s on my calendar.”

“And the motorcycle rally in August?”

“I’ll ask for that time off. I’m not sure how my ass will feel after that long on the back of your bike, but I’m in. Even though your biker buddies look at me kinda …” Like lunchmeat dripping with mayo.

“Like you’re beautiful?” he says it so matter-of-factly.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” I twist my lips to hide my grin.

CHAPTER SIX

A bonus to this job is its proximity to my apartment. Summer in Madison delivers temperatures in the mid-eighties with the occasional stray thunderstorm. I wear tennis shoes with my shorts and tee and toss an umbrella in my backpack to make the twenty-minute trek to Nate’s house.