Page 53 of Love Expert

“So you go upstairs.” He’s so fuckin’ sure, so confident in his plans, he lays his leg over hers and tangles their limbs fearlessly. “I’ll stay here.”

“Dude.” I grab his leg and pull it off hers, setting it back on the cushion carefully. “You’re laying claim, buddy. I know it. But you’re eight years old, which means you don’t get a say. You’re still ten years away from being able to marry her.”

His little cheeks fire bright red. “Shut up.”

And just like that, my smile falls away and turns to a scowl. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Jeremy. Don’t forget your respect, just cos you have a pretty girl nearby.” I tilt my head to the left. “Get up, go to the bathroom, get ready for bed.”

“But Dad?—”

“I’ll put her in my bed. You can sleep upstairs with her, and I’ll sleep down here.” I grab him by the collar of his shirt and carefully detangle the duo. I set him on his feet and bring my eyes back to Sleeping Beauty. “If she wakes up while I’m moving her and freaks the hell out, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Y-you’re gonna pick her up?” Nervous, he hurriedly fixes his pants, stumbling in place and pushing the fabric down on his left leg. His hair is wild, standing in a thousand directions, and icing sugar sits on the top swell of his smudged lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? If you wake her up, she’ll leave.”

“If she wakes up, she’sallowedto leave.” I slide my arms beneath her body and tell my brain it’s purely, completely clinical. She’s just a person. She’s not curves and dips and ribs that feel nice under my fingers. Those are her thighs, but they’re not her thighs in my hands… ish.

Oh God. Don’t fuck it up, Wilbert!

Lifting, I straighten my legs and grit my teeth as her head lolls backwards and Jeremy releases a squeak of panic. He darts around me and places his hands under her head. He becomes a fucking support pillar for her head, his palms cupping her skull and his fingers fanning throughout her hair.

“Dude.” I cough out a nervous laugh. “How the hell are you gonna be able to do that while we’re moving up the stairs?”

“I’ll do it,” he declares. Already, his shoulders bulge and a pained groan works along his throat. “You walk, I’ll hold. Don’t drop her, or else.”

I roll my eyes. “Or else what, punk?”

Turning away from the couch, I wage a war within myself between making this more difficult for my son, because watching him scramble is kinda fun, andnotmaking it difficult, because I don’t want her to wake up.

In the end, all I do is walk toward the stairs. Maggie’s perfume fills my lungs and tingles all the way to the base, and her chest juts forward because of the way I’m holding her. Her lips create a perfect swollen bow, and her hair dangles free… all except for the locks trapped beneath Jeremy’s hands.

“If I squish you against the banister, it’s not my fault. It’s yours for creating a weird third leg when I didn’t need one.”

“I didn’t want her neck to hurt.” He grunts, marching up the stairs beside me. “It looked like it did, and she already said how her body was sore tonight. Cos of all her work.”

I meet his eyes. “She said that she’s sore?”

“Uh-huh. And how she’s been doing extraextrahours lately, cos she’s got an event coming up and clients are always riding her for one-on-one attention.”

“She said that?”Emotional regulation is sexy, Billy! Non-explosive discussion is sexy.“They ride her for one-on-one attention?”

He nods. “She had to pause dinnertwice, cos people called on her cell.”

“What people?”

Shut the fuck up, Billy!

Jeremy only shrugs, then groans as we crest the top step and I turn too soon, crushing his seventy-five pounds against the thick wooden frame. “Some guy named Elson called. Said he wanted to discuss some party they’ve got coming up.” Gulping, he stares up at me. “The party’s at his house, and his house is in Barlespy.” His lips peel back unhappily. “He called her sweetheart.”

Like father, like son, my lips twist and my snapping teeth present themselves. “Who else called?”

“Someone named Scott. I don’t think he knows Elson, cos they didn’t talk about that party.”

“No, Detective Caster?” I carry her all the way to my bedroom, then through the door where I crush my son against the framing. Again. Oops. I leave the light off and come around to my side of the bed. “What did they talk about?”

“Scott’s coming to Maggie’s house next week sometime.” He holds Maggie’s head with one hand and tugs my blankets back with the other. “I tried to listen more, but Maggie made me leave the kitchen and wash my hands. “

I lower her to the mattress and carefully smooth her shirt over her exposed belly. Pulling her hair out from under her back, I narrow my eyes and find my son in the dark. “You couldn’t wash your hands right there in the kitchen with her?”

He muscles me out of the way and pulls the blankets over her body. “She said her phone call was private and that I had to go to the bathroom to wash them instead. I even tried to walk really quietly, so I could listen, but she wasn’t talking loud enough for me to hear.”