another playful nip at my neck and jumps back before I can swat at him.
“Go!” Biting back a laugh, I point toward our bedroom down the hall. “I need to get downstairs before Jett sees himself off.”
Lane backtracks to the door, chuckling. “Fine, but the offer still stands.”
Good Lord, it’s like his horny switch flips every time Jett goes to Jesse’s. He thinks he’s funny—and sometimes he is—but more often than not, his indifference is disheartening. How he can think about getting laid when all I’m going to want to do is curl up and cry?
“Daddy’s here!” Jett shrieks from the first floor and, just like that, my stomach drops to my toes.
Lane winks. “You got this, gorgeous.”
I know I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to like any part of it.
When he turns away, I paste on my game face and chink my armor firmly into place, just like I do every other Friday. I also send up a prayer for extra grace this week, because these exchanges seem to be getting harder and harder. I’m not sure why, but I feel the unease creeping in a little more with every swap.
“Mama, come on!” Jett yells again, and I pull in a deep breath. Shoulders back, girlfriend.
I make it halfway down the stairs when my son yanks the front door open and launches himself at the brick wall of a man standing on the other side.
Big arms wrap around our little boy and lift him from the floor, while my lungs hold every ounce of air in my body hostage.
My son adores his father. Of that, I am absolutely certain. And when aquamarine eyes, the exact same color as Jett’s meet mine over the top of our little boy’s head, I realize that no matter how hard I try to prepare myself, this will never get easier.
“Daddy, stop!” Giggles fill the foyer as Jesse growls and adds a shake to the bear hug.
“How you doing, little man?” He drops a kiss to Jett’s wild hair, the blond of which he got from me and the mess from Jesse. The dimples in his cheeks, the cleft in his chin, and, of course, those gorgeous eyes are all Jesse, too. Not that I’m complaining.
Instead of answering the question, Jett shoves his toy toward Jesse’s dark stubbled jaw. “Look at my car!”
“Dang, son.” Jesse dodges the collision and takes the shiny red toy, giving it an obligatory once-over. “Pretty cool wheels. Looks just like Lane’s car, doesn’t it?”
“Uh huh. It goes fast!”
“Probably not as fast as my truck, though, right?” He winks and Jett giggles all over again.
I bite back a smile and finally step down into the foyer, duffel clutched in my hands. I try not to notice the way Jesse’s shoulders fill out every bit of his black Henley, or the way the muscles in his arms flex while he holds our son tight. I can’t see them, but I know that, beneath the snug cotton, one forearm is tattooed with dark ink while the other is bare. Both are thick and sexy and, once upon a time, they were my guilty pleasure.
Every inch of this tall, delectable man was. But I have no business thinking about that now… or ever again.
Guiltily, my gaze drops to his faded jeans, covered in smudges of brown dirt and dust that are the same color as his boots and the hair curling around the edge of his beanie. In May. Because that’s how Jesse Enders rolls.
“Hey.” He interrupts my inventory with a casual smile and a subtle lift of his chin. There’s also a sparkle in those light eyes that says he caught me looking but won’t call me on it, because it’s not like that with us anymore.
“Hi.” I return the grin with a sigh. Despite hating these exchanges, I’m grateful he’s the one I have to do them with. We might not have worked out—heck, we never even were—but Jesse is more than just a handsome face and a fond memory—he’s a great guy, too.
His lips twitch ever so slightly before he turns back to Jett. “Guess what, buddy?”
“What?”
“I put new sand in your sandbox and it’s all set for you to race that car around this weekend.”
While Jett lets out an excited hoot, I reach up to ruffle his hair. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Then to Jesse, I say, “I’ve heard a lot about this sandbox. From the way he makes it sound, it’s the size of a