Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3

by Hopkins, Faleena

  My arms quickly retract as Tempest sighs and rolls over, pulling the small throw blanket with her. One leg gets exposed as her dress finds a new home between her knees. Gold high heels with pretty anklets dangling.

  Mouthing a silent, “Shit,” I stand up, and scratch my bedhead into even more directions.

  I freeze as she grumbles, “Where’s my goose-down?”

  Her body goes lax. She starts snoring.

  I nearly snap my fingers as I whisper, “I knew she would!”

  Walking to the kitchen I pour a glass of water and glug it down, gasping for air and eyeing my problem as I set the glass in my sink. With a long exhale, I decide there’s no putting this off any longer, walk over, and kneel down.

  Slowly, oh-so-slowly, I slide my hands under Tempest, wrap her in my arms, and stand up, my gaze transfixed by her innocent-looking face as she curls into me and whispers, “Did I fall asleep on the couch again, Daddy?”

  Closing my eyes against the cuteness, I hold my breath until she goes lax again. Down the hall, past framed photos of my wife, I carry Ms. Tuck to the bed I’ve only ever shared with one woman.

  Laying her down on her side — since that’s how she seems to like sleeping — I adjust my pillow under her head, ease these heels off, and set them beside my bed so she’ll see them in the morning.

  I whisper, “Here’s your goose-down,” and pull it over her clothed body, quietly walking out.

  A few minutes later I’m setting a fresh glass of water on my nightstand. If I remember correctly, women like to have lip balm nearby. And tissues.

  Retrieving Tempest’s bag from my arm chair, I stop in the bathroom and snatch a handful of Kleenex, strolling in with the plan that I’ll set them next to her water and get the hell out of there, but as I walk into my bedroom my body lights up.

  She’s flat on her back, one arm splayed out, the other bent, index finger resting between parted lips like she’s started sucking it but fell asleep in the process. Her nails were lavender last time I saw her — I remember that clearly — but now they’re light pink, like the tip of her tongue just visible enough to make my cock twitch against my will.

  She is vulnerable.

  Sexy.

  Absolutely beautiful.

  I back away.

  Shut the door.

  Try to breathe.

  What was it she taught us?

  In through the nose.

  Out through the mouth.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  Chapter 7

  Water! I need water.

  Slapping my nightstand, dehydrated eyes closed, I find a glass, gulping its contents dry. Gasping for air, I look around wondering what the Tuck time it is.

  Wait.

  This isn’t my room.

  This isn’t my glass!

  That’s not my nightstand!

  That’s not my dresser.

  Those aren’t my curtains.

  Those aren’t my men’s clothes in not-my-closet!

  I whisper, “Oh no. What did I dooooooo?!” and yank back a cozy goose-down comforter to discover I am somehow fully clothed. Worried, I pull up my dress to feel my panties. Nothing unusual there. Did I meet the last chivalrous man in Manhattan?!!

  Can I tiptoe out of here, past wherever he is and without his knowledge, to sneak away?

  Do I want to?

  Maybe he’s a good guy.

  He must be, right?

  Listening hard, I hear nada.

  Zero.

  Zip.

  Nothing to gift me one single clue.

  If there’s a couch — and I’m assuming he has one since this bedroom set is nice, so he probably has a sofa, too — the guy might be sleeping on it.

  However, if I’m all but silent it could be possible to escape before an awkward conversation takes place where he gets a whiff of this dragon-breath I’ve got going on.

  Tucking margaritas are my downfall!

  Snatching my clutch bag up from his nightstand, I dig around until I find a crumpled receipt but no pen.

  My gaze drifts to his nightstand.

  Is it bad if I open his drawer?

  I’d say it’s practical.

  Hmm… looks normal to me. Matches. Scraps of paper I won’t look closer at. Chapstick. Loose change. Gum! I could use two of these. Peppermint, too, my preference. Oh yes! Much better.

  I whisper, “Ibuprofen — is this guy my savior or what?”

  I glance to his closet, wondering what he looks like. Let’s get real, if Christina and Zia let me go home with some guy, he’s gotta be hot. This is extremely exciting. Did I meet an amazing man last night? I haven’t thought about dating in such a long time. Been in a rut like none other. And there hasn’t been anyone I’ve been drawn to except… My smile flickers as Josh flashes into my head.

  A pen, oh good!

  Scribbling my name and number down, I pause, then write, “Thank you,” one shoulder shrugging because truth be told, no matter how cool he may be, I’m grateful he didn’t take advantage of me in that state.

  Setting my repurposed receipt on his nightstand I shake the glass upside down over my open mouth hoping to squeeze every last drop I can. Standing up, feeling a little queasy, I spot my high heels beside his bed as if on display at a store. He was careful about it. That’s interesting. Who is this guy?

  Buckling their delicate straps, I scan for more clues about my mystery man. The matching bedroom set — dark wood, clean lines, soft linens — is very nice. Not dusty either. This isn’t the bachelor pad of a child. He’s even got chic decorative pieces on his dresser and far nightstand.

  The art doesn’t tell me much, just abstract prints on canvas. Evan wouldn’t be overly impressed but Evan has his nose so far up the art world’s ass I’m not sure he could grasp how comforting it is to have art simply because it warms a room.

  I’ll tip toe out of here then let fate do the rest.

  If Mr. Chivalrous phones me up, great. If not, well, there’s nothing I can do about that. This could have been so much worse, and I’ll just call it a wash.

  Sure would be nice, though, to have someone to distract me from thinking about Josh.

  Carefully twisting the doorknob, I peek into his unfamiliar hallway and spot across from me another door halfway open to an office, sunlight streaming onto a neatly organized desk and a comfortable-looking leather desk chair. More pens! Those could have come in handy. Not that I’d known they were there. I can’t make out what that framed certificate on his wall says, but now is not the time to investigate.

  Pausing to listen I hear no sounds. I also can’t see anything from here, so if this guy is awake scrolling through his phone somewhere around the corner I’m going to look foolish tiptoeing.

  I’ll just walk quietly, but normally, with my head held high like everything is fine, just in case he spots me.

  Start walking!

  Just go.

  You can do this.

  One step then another. I glance right to a framed collage of photographs hanging in his hallway not seven inches from my face. The people in the images come into focus as though from a dream causing a paradigm shift so strange that I can’t quite grasp what I’m seeing.

  My heart stops, eyes widening as I realize that really is Josh and Will. So this woman must be…

  “Dad?” comes a tired boy’s voice from around the corner. “Why are you on the couch?”

  Oh no.

  My arms fly out, legs frozen in indecision, torso twisting left and right. Make a run for it? Hide in his room?

  How did this happen?

  Why am I here??

  Like a punch in the neck it dawns on me that my mystery man wasn’t chivalrous! I slept dressed and untouched because Josh wouldn’t touch me even if I’d thrown myself at him.

  I hope I didn’t throw myself at that jerk!

  Unmistakably comes Josh’s voice, even sleepier than Will’s, “I uh…we had an unexpected vi
sitor stay over.”

  I hold onto the wall for support.

  “Who?” Will asks.

  “Tempest.”

  “Why?”

  I stay very still.

  How the Tuck is he going to answer that question?

  “She uh…wasn’t feeling good. Zia didn’t have a spare bed with Nax staying over her place. You remember the subway ride to Tempest’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember how long it took?”

  “You mean when you were mad at me and wouldn’t stop talking about my burn? That took forever!”

  An amused smile tugs despite myself.

  “Yeah, so she’s here.”

  “She’s here now? Where?”

  “I don’t think she’s up yet.”

  “Are you going to make her coffee like you and Nax do?”

  Time slows way down.

  I cannot breathe.

  After a thousand lifetimes, Josh finally grunts, “Guess I should, huh.”

  His hallway wall gets a good mime-punching.

  You asshole!

  Don’t do me any favors.

  “Can I wake her up?!”

  “No way!” Josh adjusts and lowers his volume. “I mean, no, don’t do that.”

  “Dad, is she naked?”

  “No! She’s not! Why would she be naked?”

  “Because you just got upset when I said I could go get her.”

  “She is definitely not naked. But you don’t walk in on a woman when she’s sleeping.”

  “I used to walk in on Mom.”

  My heart cracks opens, and I close my eyes.

  Josh’s voice softens. “I know you did, buddy. But she’s not your mom. And since she’s never been here before, that might be a little jarring. Let me wake her up.” He exhales loudly like that’s the last thing he’d like to do. “Just give me a second so I can get my bearings.”

  Chapter 8

  Silently hurrying to his bedroom, I shut the door so slowly snails would roll their antenna at my taking this long.

  Lucky for me, these hinges don’t squeak.

  I dash under the covers and pull them up in what, I hope, is a natural way, closing my eyes as Josh’s footsteps approach, louder by the second.

  With a knuckle he taps on the wood three times.

  Breathing naturally like I’m relaxed and sleeping, when really my heart is about to shoot out of my mouth, I stay very still as the doorknob turns. I can feel him in the room, a primal knowing that I’m being watched.

  Several seconds pass then, “Tempest?”

  My eyelashes flutter, and I stretch my legs, “Hmm?”

  He shuts the door. “Do you know where you are?”

  Opening my eyes a little I tilt my head, looking at him like he’s crazy. “Of course I know where I am. I’m at your place.”

  But wow, I did not expect Josh to be in only boxers, body sinewy and muscular, nipples dark brown, thick hair adorably askew.

  Confusion clouds his eyes, angular jaw ticking as he absorbs my answer. “Yeah…” he begins in a leading way, “…you’re at my place.”

  Not wanting him to know that I totally blacked out last night, I offer my best guess, explaining as if it’s totally obvious, “You came to O’Nieals. With Nax. You guys showed up when we were dancing on the bar. Nax and Zia wanted to go home, but obviously Zia didn’t want me on the subway alone that late since I’d had a few drinks, so she asked you if it was okay if I slept over here. You and I took a cab and…” Wait, what about Will? Josh would never have left him here alone to go out to a bar, so where was he? “And we picked up Will from Bennett’s place.”

  Josh crosses his arms. “Bennett was really upset about us waking him up.”

  “I bet!” Pushing myself up to sitting, I correct myself, “I mean…you bet he was really upset and I bet he still is! But that’s okay. He’ll have to get used to that what with the baby coming. Little sleep.” I blow a bubble and pop it, chewing the gum because I am out of things to say.

  Josh’s eyes narrow. “I was gonna ask if you wanted coffee, but you seem pretty awake.”

  Oh I get it. He’s backing out of sharing a simple coffee. It really is a long ride home, and I didn’t bring a coat. Why did he let me sleep over like a friend would do, if he’s aiming for the first opportunity to kick me out?

  What am I saying? His best friends are building lives with my sister and my cousin. I come along with the package. He had to be nice last night and take me home.

  Well, Tuck that.

  “What have I ever done to you?”

  Josh frowns, “What do you mean?”

  Throwing off his goose-down comforter, I stand up in my heels and rake back my hair with both hands, gum-chewing fast as I look at everything but him while trying to decide if he’s worth the speech. “Never mind. Thank you for letting me sleep here. I’ll be going now. Don’t worry. I don’t need a Tucking coffee from you.” I motion for him to walk out first since this is his home and I supposedly don’t know where I’m going. “I’ll say hi to Will, be friendly and polite, and then be gone. Can’t wait!”

  Josh spins around and strolls out like he owns the world and is God’s gift to all of the females in it. “Tempest is up!” He looks back over his naked shoulder to tell me, “He’s awake and knows why you’re here.”

  My eyebrows fly up.

  I know what Will was told, but Josh doesn’t know that I know he said I’m sick. He’s acting like I’m in on it.

  I turn the corner of a homey apartment with an open floor plan — no kitchen island like at my place, and much bigger, with a dining table that separates the living room and kitchen instead.

  Will is sitting on their couch, waiting for me. “Hi Tempest!”

  Self-consciously adjusting my hair, I nod, “Good morning, Will. How did you sleep?”

  “Good. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

  “Thank you. I feel a little better today.”

  “Yeah? Dad’s making you coffee!”

  “Oh, that’s very nice, but I’m afraid I have to get back home.”

  Josh walks into the kitchen. “It’s already brewing.”

  Will and I exchange a look because it isn’t. He smiles and I blink at the light brown hair and blue eyes I now know he inherited from his mother. He’s lit up like he hopes I won’t say no.

  I can’t.

  Not to him.

  And Josh can’t either, that’s why he’s grinding beans despite what I just told him in the bedroom.

  “I’ll have a cup with you guys.” Remembering the ruse, I offer a possible out, “But I don’t want to get you sick.”

  Will jumps off the couch, “Don’t worry. I never get sick!” leaving behind a crumpled throw blanket that catches my eye.

  Josh had to sleep with just that? Doesn’t look very warm. And those pillows are too square and small for his shoulders.

  “How do you like your coffee?”

  My gaze cuts to the kitchen as Josh pushes a button on the coffee machine while lightly scratching glorious, naked abs. It’s unconscious, this itch-scratch. He’s not purposefully trying to look like the centerfold in Playgirl. But he does.

  “Hot. I mean…black.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “No milk?”

  “No milk, thank you.”

  Pulling two mugs down, Josh’s back muscles undulate with the reach, and his arms are to die for. Will bonks his hip into his dad’s as a silent order to move so he can get to granola in the cupboard below.

  I stand here, close to the front door where I thought I’d make a polite-yet-hasty exit, suddenly enthralled by how wonderful they are together as father and son negotiate the space in their morning routine, neither speaking. Will makes himself a healthy breakfast — fresh blueberries and almond milk, really? — and Josh puts stray dishes into their dishwasher while the coffee-maker gurgles and sputters magic into existence.

  “Can I use your bathroom?”

  Josh locks eyes with m
e for a second and jogs his chin. “It’s right over there.”

  My heels click along wood floors like a bomb about to go off.

  Locking the door, I’m scared at what I might find in the mirror, but then exhale, setting my bag by the sink’s rim. That’s one thing about not wearing mascara — it doesn’t run. I go minimal on the makeup, usually, and I’m grateful as Tuck for that today! I am a big fan of liquid blush and a strong red lip for pop, but they wore off well before our night ended, so the only red left is in my bloodshot eyes.

  I splash my face with cold water and leave the water running so the menfolk can’t hear me pee, nearly collapsing it feels so good to finally relieve myself of the pressure. Wetting a tissue and rinsing myself off, I look around at soft grey towels, one bottle of cologne, two toothbrushes — both adult sized but one is neon green with the Hulk stamped onto it and has toothpaste dried on the bristles from not being cleaned properly. Through the glass shower I notice only one set of shampoo and conditioner, four bottles of bath gels, and two used washcloths hung on separate silver hooks. Did they agree on whose is whose?

  Finding mouthwash on an exposed shelf, I swig a bit, turn off the faucet, give myself a silent pep talk in the mirror, and walk back out, dressed for something other than coffee, apparently, by the way Josh looks me down and up. Knowing him, he’s not thinking anything good. This dress isn’t risqué. Sure, it matches my skin and flows like silk, but it hangs to mid-calf and the neckline has a high graceful slope with straps, cleavage minimal despite the generous gifts God gave me. I think it’s a beautiful dress, nothing I’d feel self-conscious in wearing around an eleven-year-old boy.

  “Coffee ready?” I smile.

  Sitting at a dining table devoid of any centerpiece, Will nods, mouth as full as a squirrel in November, and jogs his thumb to the coffee machine.