Page 26 of Changing Lanes

Vernon smirks, knowing I won’t lay into him in front of anyone else. Keeping my eyes on his though, I nod to her silently.

Cynthia takes the hint, turning to leave. As soon as I know she’s out of earshot, I say, “She needs her medicine. That’s your job.”

And I storm off, not really sure if I’m more upset about Vernon being an asshole or that he’s right.

* * *

Later that afternoon, I wake to a commotion from somewhere in the apartment. Just what I need today. Visitors.

Groggy and parched, I swing my bedroom door open to see a bikini-clad redhead—a real redhead, the kind where the carpet matches the drapes where my hardwood floors never did match my dye job—stumble out of the bathroom. And, I think the zoo called wanting its baby giraffe back. She’s all arms and legs and can barely walk without bumping into something, the biggest obstacle being a shirtless Beckett who’s just stepping out of his room to catch her effortlessly. He doesn’t waste his time checking to make sure she’s okay though. Not when he’s too busy watching me, or more accurately studying me. I can only imagine what I look like after waking from a fitful sleep in…I don’t even remember what.

Glancing down, I cringe. Yep, boxers and a raggedy white tank—both stolen from whoever I slept over with last. Nick, I think. Oh, and no bra.

I shoot into the now vacant bathroom. Before I can get the door closed though, I catch sight of Beckett and am surprised by what I see—desire. His eyes are still locked on mine but don’t hold disgust like I thought they would. Not even an ounce.

Which I find…amusing?

Something like that.

I decide to have a little fun with this. If Ginger can’t light the guy up, I can at least enjoy knowing I can, so keeping the door open and my eyes glued to Beckett’s, I grip the hem of my shirt, slowly dragging the material up. His gaze drops to follow, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. My stomach is tan from my daily pool sessions and is always toned from my job. Lifting grown adults can be a good workout even if it wrecks your back. Plus, my countless hours of riding help me stay fit. My girl doesn’t just sound like a beast, she handles like one, too.

Beckett’s hands grip the giggling mess in front of him but he doesn’t so much as glance her way.

A heat so powerful, so dangerous, builds at my exposed belly, heading south to settle at my core. My lips part from the intensity and my fingers stutter to a halt, skimming just at the underside of my boob.

Beckett’s gaze jumps to mine, a tortured expression overtaking his face.

This started out as a joke but there’s nothing funny about finding myself in the same dilemma as him. I want, no, I need to satisfy this ache and yet, I know he won’t be the one to do it. One red-haired disaster is enough without adding a burgundy-streaked one to the pile.

Luckily, Beckett sticks his Shaq-sized foot in his mouth, effectively ruining the moment when he says, “Cold water’s to the right. Use as much as you want.” He looks away, finally noticing the girl in front of him. “I won’t be needing it.”

After one look at his smug little smirk, I kick the door shut. On him. On us. On this whole fucked up situation.

With the temp cranked to hot, I take my time washing and shaving everything since I already promised I’d attend their family dinner and the accompanying splash time even though I’ll be flying solo.

Halfway through, I end up taking a little longer on certain parts with nobody the wiser. Especially not the giant entertaining his newest pet.

Exiting the apartment, I see an older woman climbing the stairs, her arms loaded with reusable bags with different food sticking out the tops. Her eyes light up in recognition when she finds me taking up the doorway. The only person I’ve heard of living up here though is some recluse named Gary. And the couple getting ready to move in across the hall, but I doubt she’s visiting either.

“You must be Paige?” Her accented voice flows out like warmed honey and puts me at ease immediately.

“Guilty.” As my eyes hit hers, I finally see the resemblance. “And you’re Marc’s mom?” Same charcoal eyes set in a thin golden face with wavy dark, almost black, hair. It’s long and thick and makes me wonder if Marc’s hair would be that luscious if he grew it out. Probably. I hate when boys are prettier than me, yet I’m constantly surrounded by ones that are.

I need to find a new crew, I think as her glowing face pulls my first genuine smile all week.

“I’m Esmerelda, but you can call me Esme. Or Mama.”

A dagger, serrated and sharp, slices across my heart but I fight not to show it, saying tightly, “Esme it is.” Glancing at the groceries again, I ask, “Can I help you with anything? This is all going inside? It looks like it could feed an army.”

Esme transfers the bags to my arms and turns to leave. I stand here confused until she calls over her shoulder, “If you can take care of these ones, I’ll get the rest.”

The rest? As in more?

Shaking my head, I quickly unload everything onto the counter then hurry downstairs. And no, she wasn’t kidding.

“Do you always buy their groceries?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen, unpacking the massive food haul together.

“Groceries? This is for tonight’s dinner.” She clucks her tongue, making me laugh.