by Lisa De Jong
“No, sir.” Finn snaps to attention.
“That's ‘cause I save 'em all up and let 'em loose when I'm with the guys,” he reasons. I had been grinning ear to ear, but my mouth falls slack upon that piece of handy advice. Adrian turns to me and winks and grins like he's just figured out how to solve world hunger.
My mouth closes and tilts to a half-smile of its own accord. “You were on a roll for a minute there, Adrian.”
He just chuckles and turns back to Finn, “All right, so do we have a deal? Don't talk like that around moms and girls and stuff. Save it for the locker room.”
Finn wrinkles his face up and states seriously, “I don't have a locker room.”
“It's a figure of speech, bud. But you get me, right?”
Finn jumps off his stool, squares off and gives Adrian a salute. “Yes, sir, Adrian, sir!”
Adrian leans in and ruffles his wavy dark brown hair, “At ease, Marine.” My father would die.
“Finn, go wash up, please.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he yells with a sprint to the bathroom.
“Man, that kid has got some energy, huh?”
“Yes, he does.”
His glacial blue eyes meet mine, and I forget what we were talking about when he abruptly changes gears on me. “What's wrong with Paris?”
“You noticed that, huh?” I take a sharp breath, debating whether or not to tell him what Paris told me on the drive home.
“Yep, so what's going on?”
I look around to make sure there are no little ears lurking. Seeing the coast is clear, I confess, “He's upset because some jerks at school keep calling him 'gay,' and he hates it.”
“Kids can be fucking assholes,” he states sagely.
“No kidding,” I agree. “But I thought we didn't talk that way in front of girls,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. My hand twitches to smack him playfully because I'm a touchy-feely kind of girl, but I fight the urge. I haven't touched him since the morning of the talk.
“Sorry about that,” he says but doesn't sound sorry. “It was called for, though. I fuckin' hate a pussy bully,” he says as if to prove his point for the need for profanity.
“Well, OK then,” I quip. “Please don't use that kind of language in front of the boys, Adrian.”
“Babe,” he says flatly with a raised brow.
“Yes?”
“Babe.” Same tone. “Really.”
“Fine. I get it. You don't talk like that in front of the boys.”
“Sure as hell don't.”
I chuckle, “All righty then. Did ya get it all out of your system?”
He throws his head back and replies, “Yes, ma'am,” with a laugh. Mesmerized, I watch as he runs his hand over his scruff and looks slightly contrite. “I got your favorite,” he tells me, trying to distract me. It works. I'm starved.
“Oh, thanks!” I snatch the box from him, snap the lid open, and inhale deeply.
“I don't know how you eat that crap,” he says with disdain as he starts to pour ranch dressing all over his pizza.
“I don’t know how you eat that crap,” I retort, eyeing his ranch-saturated pizza. “That’s disgusting.”
“Ranch makes everything better,” he says.
“Hmm…” I direct my attention back to my pizza. “Mmm...it smells so good.” I moan and close my eyes as I take another deep breath. My eyes fly open as I realize what that just sounded like, and I chance another look at him. His face is frozen with a look that can only be described as heated and hungry. My mouth goes dry and I pull my lips in to moisten them with my tongue, which makes me think of his mouth, which makes my eyes dart to his mouth. I try to pull my eyes away and make a joke or something, anything, but I seriously cannot. You could literally hear a pin drop in my kitchen right about now, and there's nothing I can do about it. All I can think about is how amazing his scruff would feel against my soft skin and how wet his full lips would make mine.
Before either of us can do anything stupid, I hear a snappy little bark as Ruby bounds in the kitchen. She deftly avoids Adrian's ankles as she makes a beeline for me. I jerk out of my stupor and exclaim, “Hey, baby girl,” louder than I normally would. Saved by my Maltese. Thank you, Ruby. “There's my pretty girl,” I coo as I scoop her up and cuddle her in my arms. She tries to lick my face but settles for my throat as I throw my neck back in an effort to escape her wet tongue. I try, I really do, not to look at Adrian but can't resist a quick peek. He's staring at my throat like he wishes it were him doing the licking. Oh, how I wish it too, Adrian.
After our pizza and movie, Adrian picks up a comatose Finn to tote him to his bed. Plays hard, crashes hard. That's my Finn. I smile at the sight of him cradled on Adrian's shoulder so lovingly. Feeling a fissure run through my heart and quick tears spring to my eyes, I quickly avert my face and rustle up Archer and Paris.
Following Paris to his room, I tell Archer I'll be right there to tuck him in.
“I got Paris tonight, Cel,” Adrian decrees.
“All right. Give me a kiss, Paris,” I tell him as he scuttles back to lay one on me. “Muah!” I smack loudly. “Love you, sweetness.”
“Love you too, Ma,” he tells me.
After I get Archer tucked away and check on Finn, I make my way into the kitchen to tidy up real quick. Adrian enters the kitchen not long after me with a huge grin on his face.
I can't help but smile back. “What?” I ask him around my smile.
“That kid. He's an old soul.” His eyes gleam with admiration of my Paris.
“I know, right? He's pretty amazing.”
“They're all pretty amazing,” he finishes. Another fissure. How could I not love someone who loves my kids so much? I startle at that thought.
“Well, all is done here, I'm gonna head to bed. Want me to walk you out?” He grabs his stuff and gives me a nod.
As we're walking to the door, Adrian is filling me in on his upcoming gigs and plans for the next few weeks. I'm trying to focus on what he's saying, but, suddenly, my stomach is wreaking havoc on my entire body. My hands and face are instantly clammy, yet I feel like I'm burning up. When my stomach clenches in a most vicious way, I know this is not going to be pretty.
Adrian turns toward me as he reaches the door, and his eyes register his shock at what I can only imagine he sees written all over my face. “Celeste—”
I throw my hand up at him, spin, and make a mad dash for the closest bathroom. His following closely on my heels registers slightly as I consider how horrifying this moment is about to be, but I have absolutely no control over my body right now. I fling the toilet lid up, and the contents of my stomach violently eject themselves. I feel my hair being swept off my shoulders and know that Adrian is holding it in a makeshift ponytail for me. That's incredibly sweet and incredibly embarrassing, I think. This is not a quick purge. This is violent, unrelenting heaving.
After what seems like forever has passed, my stomach shows some mercy on me and seems to settle. Adrian runs his hand up and down my back for a minute. Then I feel him reach for a washcloth. He never releases my hair as he wets it and then places it on my brow. “Cel, geez, baby. It's that shit pizza you love. I tried to tell you not to eat that crap.”
My stomach pinches upon hearing his endearment. He hasn't called me that in a while—two months to be exact. He's right. Spinach, mushrooms, artichokes, and alfredo sauce taste delicious going down. Not so much going in the other direction. “It must have been, but it's never made me sick before. You don't feel ill do you?” I say weakly.
“No, come on let's get you to bed.”
We make our way into my bedroom, and he helps me ready my toothbrush. “Thank you so much, Adrian,” I tell him. “I think I've got it from here.”
“I'll just stay for a little while and make sure you're good, all right?”
“No, really. I'm fine now,” I insist. I would prefer to put this memory to bed as quickly as possible even though he's being so gracious.
&nbs
p; “What if one of the boys wakes up sick and you're too sick to help them?” he asks. “Just let me stay and make sure y'all are good.”
He has a point. “OK, thank you,” I grimace as I feel my stomach clench painfully again. This trip to the toilet isn't nearly as long, but it's still just as humiliating.
Making a move toward getting up, I feel myself being lifted in the air. I want to protest, but I can't muster the strength. Instead, I relish his carrying me. I bury my face in his shirt and breathe deeply and feel him shudder against me. I can't believe I just did that! I have no shame where he's concerned.
I feel Adrian scoot onto the bed and prop himself against my headboard. Nuzzling into his lap, I promptly pass out.
****
AFTER MONTHS OF seeing Adrian with the Buxom Blonde Brigade, you can imagine my shock at seeing him with what could be a carbon copy of a certain wavy black-haired widow.
We're attending my favorite party of the year—the firm's annual Make-A-Wish Soiree. It’s a charity that has always been close to my heart; I've always thrown my all into making it a successful event. All of the who's who in the law field attend and we raise a ton of money.
Enjoying myself and greeting newcomers with Farah, my second in command, I chat and direct them to the different events being hosted around the room. But when Adrian strides in with my doppelganger, the knife that is still lodged in my heart from his rejection twists. I'd gotten used to watching him with the airheaded eye-candy, but this is too much. She's class. She’s young. She's a more beautiful version of me. And I can tell from the way her eyes move from him to the people around her that she's intelligent.
I swallow hard as they are almost upon me. Again, that unfamiliar feeling of jealousy engulfs me, and I just want to...I just want to punch her in the face. Then I want to give him a kidney shot. What the hell is wrong with me? I cannot be with him. Why can I not find peace with this and just accept it? I stiffen my resolve to see him as a friend only. But when I make eye contact with those ocean-blue eyes of his, images of kissing him, joking with him, him playing with my boys, him holding my hair back while I was sick all come rushing to the forefront. All my emotions are jumbled with these memories. Like seaweed they weave their way through my brain and tangle themselves so thoroughly with everything that I am that all I can see is love when I look at him—and it's not friendly love or familial love—it's all-encompassing, I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-loving-you love.
As this realization dawns, so does the fact that I'm holding someone's hand in a handshake. I pull myself together from my internal confession and focus on another pair of startling blue eyes that are busy taking me in. They're not Adrian-startlingly beautiful, but beautiful in their own right.
“Hi, thank you so much for coming out—” As I start to go into my spiel, I'm interrupted by Mr. Blue Eyes.
“Celeste Hebert?” he asks with a dimpled smile.
“Um...yes, and you are?”
“Bradford McKinnon,” he replies again with the dimples. I find myself smiling back. “I'm a friend of your brother. He invited me to join you in raising money for your favorite charity.” Those dimples never disappear.
I laugh lightly. He has to be a friend of Louis’s; my other brothers don’t have a clue about me. “Oh, I have three, you know? Which one has the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr. McKinnon?” Oh my gosh! I can hear the flirty tone of my voice, but I can't seem to help myself. He’s charming. I chance a glance and see that Adrian is a few feet away from me and is frowning at me.
“Please call me Bradford,” he insists. “I'm a friend of Louis's.”
“Oh, the cheeky brother,” I tell him and grin.
He throws his head back in laughter, “He doesn't quite seem to fit the mold, does he?”
“No, definitely not,” I agree.
We both feel Adrian breathing down on us at this point, which causes us to turn and take in his look of extreme displeasure. Awkwardness pervades the atmosphere.
To try to make things less uncomfortable, I introduce Bradford and Adrian to one another. Unfortunately, it doesn't help; in fact, it seems to make things worse. I can feel waves of anger radiating from Adrian.
With a raised brow at Adrian, Bradford relieves us from what has gone from awkward to downright hostile. He turns back to me with a grin. “Well, Celeste, I enjoyed meeting you. Perhaps you’ll save a dance for me later.”
“It would be my pleasure, Bradford,” I reply. I can't focus on him completely, though, because Adrian is making somewhat of a spectacle of himself. He's shoved his hands in his pockets and is rocking back and forth on his heels, staring up at the ceiling, and pushing his breath out in a perturbed manner. I quickly avert my gaze and watch as Bradford makes his way into the main room with my eyes following him.
I'm a little nervous about looking back at Adrian and the better version of me, especially since I’ve finally admitted to myself what I truly feel. Will he see my love for him written all over me? And what the hell am I supposed to do about it? Finally, I turn back to find him towering over me and staring me down.
“Adrian, are you going to introduce me to your date?” I ask sweetly when what I really want to do is strangle him for putting me through all of these conflicting emotions.
“Um...yeah.” He glances at his date as if he's just remembered she's standing there.
“Jennifer, Celeste Hebert, my cousin.” I raise my eyebrows at him. He's never introduced me as his cousin but his friend—always his friend. Lovely how that little related-by-marriage fact works when it’s convenient for him! “Celeste, Jennifer Wilde, my girlfriend,” he mutters petulantly. Both Jennifer's eyes and mine shoot toward his as he gives Jennifer a grimacing smile. My eyes shift toward her face as envy rages with disbelief. She's even more beautiful now with a face-splitting smile. Great!
We make a little small talk before they make their way into the throng. I sneakily steal as many glances as I can as they make their way around the room. She never takes her hand from his arm and every time his hand moves to the small of her back I feel a biting pain infiltrate my heart.
Finally, my greeting duties subside and I make my way into the main ballroom of my absolute favorite hotel in New Orleans. Old World chandeliers meet with New World flair. The music is elegant. The food is decadent. The champagne is overflowing. Yet, my eyes constantly seek out Adrian.
Elegantly gliding her across the floor, Adrian looks amazing as he stares down at his date; but as soon as his eyes meet mine, he glowers at me. So I glower back. Why is he upset with me? He's the one who showed up here with a freakin' girlfriend! No heads up, no warning, nothing.
Spinning on my heel, I decide to put a little distance between Adrian and me. Plucking two glasses of champagne off a waiter's tray, I make my way to one of the anterooms that doesn't contain a crowd and move even further away by sliding through the French doors to the balcony.
Six
I Love Him, Now What?
QUICKLY DOWNING BOTH glasses of my champagne, I immediately feel a little rush. A running joke in my family is that I'm a lightweight: one glass of wine and I'm giggly. Not drunk, mind you. I don't do drunk, but one glass and I'm feeling good. So when I down these two glasses, it goes straight to my head. I grin at myself and give myself the Fonzie nod. Good call, I think.
Hearing the volume kick up on the jazz band's Harry Connick, Jr. number, I realize the doors behind me have opened, and it startles me. I whirl and there he is. I shake my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Nope! We are not doing this again,” I proclaim.
He snaps his head back and wrinkles his brow at me. “Doing what exactly?” he asks, clueless to my inner turmoil.
“Making out on a porch,” I throw my hands out, which I realize are still holding the empty champagne glasses, “or balcony or whatever. Not going there again.”
He chuckles at me. “Celeste, I didn't come out here to make out with you. I don't want to make out with you.” I must make a God-awful face
because his softens and he says, “I didn't mean it that way, Cel.”
I move toward him, “Get out of the way, Adrian.”
“What the hell, Celeste? What's with the hostility?”
“Are you kidding me?” I shriek. I push his chest with the back of one of my hands. He doesn't budge. Worse than that—my hand freaking tingles at the contact. Ugh! Control thyself! I take a deep breath and release it. Carefully, I set the glasses down on the bistro table.
“No. I'm. NOT,” he enunciates each word clearly.
Turning back to him, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. “Please, Adrian, move out of my way,” I try with sweetness, a bobbing of my head, and an even sweeter smile.
“Not until you tell me what you're pissed about.”
My eyes fly open and I stare a hole in his chest. How can he be so oblivious? “I'm upset because you brought a date, a girlfriend, and you didn't even tell me you are seeing anyone much less that you have a girlfriend!” My eyes jerk up to meet his. As always, I get lost in them. They are soft and piercing at the same time. How does he do that?
“I'm sorry, Celeste, but I don't see how that's really any of your concern,” he tells me.
My mouth drops and I snap it closed quickly, only to let it fly back open with, “What? How that's any of my what?” I'm utterly astonished.
“Who I see isn't any of your concern,” he lays it out for me.
“Oh, OK,” I puff. I feel tears spring to my eyes and not a few. That hurt. A lot. “I thought we were friends.” I’m back to sounding pathetic. Fabulous!
“We're family, Cel. We're cousins,” he says without feeling.
“We are NOT related. If we were related, I wouldn’t ache for you the way I do.” Please, God, tell me I did not say that out loud.
I hear his sharp intake of breath and know for certain that I did. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Celeste, don’t say shit like that. I'm trying to do the right thing here. I’ve moved on from that.”