There’s a lot he’s not saying, but it doesn’t matter. I’m happy to play whatever part he wants me to. “Yes, I’ll go.”
Chapter Twelve
Elliot
Madison baked banana bread. The girl not only looks hot as fuck every day, has a voice like a sexy angel, and a brain like a Wall Street banker, but she also bakes. I promised myself after I saw the hurt in her eyes, when I acted like an asshole in Seattle, that I wouldn’t touch her like that again. But how the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off her now?
I love banana bread.
You love your job more. I need to stamp that on her ass or something.
The bread smells amazing—almost as good as her. We’re in the car, a few blocks from my parents’ house. She’s holding a covered plate in her lap like it’s a life preserver, and I can’t say I blame her. I’m not at all sure this is a good idea. I just know having her with me today makes seeing my family infinitely easier.
I park in front of my childhood home. The two-story Bel Air mansion blends into the mountain and trees, giving it more privacy than some of the other houses. “Thanks again for coming with me.”
“Would you please stop thanking me? I’m happy to be here.”
“You sure? You’ve been white-knuckling that plate since you got in the car.”
“I guess I’m a little nervous about meeting your family. I know it’s not a big deal, but it kind of is at the same time.”
Madison likes to make a good impression. She doesn’t realize she couldn’t make a bad one if she tried.
“I get it.” I hurry around to her side of the car and open the door to help her out. “But you’ve nothing to worry about, okay? I think you’re amazing and that’s all that matters.”
She casts her eyes downward, avoiding my compliment. That’s for the best. Sometimes I can’t keep my thoughts about her bottled up, and if she ignores them it makes me feel better about my lack of self-control. I reach into the back seat and grab the small bouquet of peonies.
“Wow,” she says when the house comes into full view as we trek up the driveway. There’s always been something special about the classic, old mission-style architecture.
“Back in the sixties some famous music producer lived here,” I say. “And see that tree there?” I point to the magnolia on our right. “I had my first kiss under that tree.”
Madison’s face lights up like I’m telling her something top secret, which I guess I am, since I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else. “What was her name?”
“Kellie Simpson. She tasted like Girl Scout Thin Mints cookies. She’d just sold several boxes to my mom.” I grin at the memory. “I’d seen Kellie walk up the drive, and I bet her my mom would buy at least four boxes. Mom bought six, so Kellie had to kiss me.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. What about you? How old were you when you let some boy kiss you?”
“Older than twelve,” she says with a tone that begs I drop the subject. So I do. Even though we’re firmly in the friend zone today, there’s still a line we need to keep drawn.
The front door is unlocked and we walk into the house right on time. My mother is a stickler for punctuality, something I often disregarded when younger. Of course my brother and sister are already here. “Hi, Mom,” I say as we enter the expansive kitchen.
Mom puts down the soufflé she just pulled out of the oven. “Elliot, hello.” Her eyes dart to Madison, then back to me before she takes me in a hug. “I’m glad you could make it today.”
“Me, too. These are for you.” I hand her the bouquet. Now that I’m here, it’s not so bad. My parents do like to see me, and the familiar comfort and smells of home remind me it’s usually the anticipation of seeing my family that bothers me more than being here.
“Thank you.” She sniffs her favorite flower around a faint but appreciative smile.
“This is Madison, the friend I left you a message about. Madison, this is my mom, Lynn.”
“Hello, Madison. It’s nice to meet you.” Mom assesses Madison’s shin-length skirt, V-back sweater, and heels with a quick, but obvious once-over.
“Nice to meet you, too. I also brought you something.” She hands the plate to my mom. “It’s banana bread. I baked it this morning.”
“Elliot’s favorite. Thank you.”
Madison’s eyes flit to mine. “Since I was a kid,” I say like it’s no big deal.
“We’ll be eating in a few minutes. Please make yourself at home,” my mom says to both of us. Like I’m a guest, too.
The rest of my family is within view, the floor plan open and spacious. “Hey, Dad.”
My father stands up from the couch and shakes my hand. “Hello, Elliot.”
“This is Madison,” I share with everyone. My brother, Evan, and his wife, Sierra, smile and say hello. My sister, Emma, and her fiancé, Lance, do the same. I introduce Madison to everyone. She’s friendly and congratulates Emma and Lance on their engagement.
As we sit thigh to thigh at the short end of the L-shaped couch, my brother and sister stare at us like we’re the sideshow at a carnival. It is the first time I’ve brought a girl to brunch. For the past couple of years I’ve been happy not to have a significant other, because it set me apart from my siblings. It was an easy way to rebel against my parents’ desire for all their children to be paired off.
I have a feeling Madison is taking in my family with the same surprise. It’s only when we’re all together that my biracial parentage becomes obvious. My brother and sister favor my mom with lightly freckled complexions and upturned noses, while I’ve inherited more of my father’s coloring. The one thing we all share is light-colored eyes.
“Madison and I work together,” I say to dispel any notions that this is more than what it is.
Em is the first to speak up and ask about my job. I have just enough time to tell her it’s great when my mom calls us to the dining table.
I pull out a chair for Madison. Since we have regular seats, it’s the spot across from me. She doesn’t seem to mind sitting between my dad and sister, but I wish she were close enough to touch. The one advantage is this position gives me a perfect view of her beautiful face.
“How’s cash flow at ZipMeds?” my father asks, passing me the maple-sage pork sausage my mom likes to cook.
“It’s good.”
“Just good?”
“Great, actually.”
“Elliot recently secured five million more dollars in funding,” Madison says. “And key investors who are impressed with his management skills are helping to grow his circle of influence.” She takes a blueberry muffin and passes the basket to her left.
Every person at the table pauses for a moment to look at her. When she realizes all eyes are on her, her lips press together in a shy, but assured smile.
I’m hit with a sudden warm sensation that fills my chest. She’s proud of me and it feels amazing. I don’t work my ass off because I want compliments, but I can’t remember the last time someone heaped praise on me like that. It makes me want to share more about work and clue my family in on what fills my days and gets me excited. I’m about to bring up the new markets ZipMeds is planning to move in to, when Emma hijacks everyone’s attention.
“Lance and I have some news,” she announces. “We’ve set a wedding date! December twenty-third, and we were thinking it would be fun to do it in Aspen, since we both love the snow.”
Immediately, my mom and sister-in-law think that’s a great idea and wedding talk flies back and forth across the table. Lance nods like the good fiancé he is while the rest of us guys shovel in food. Madison keeps her head mostly down. I suppose weddings might still be a sore subject for her.
“You heading to the Final Four?” I ask my dad. Then to Madison I add, “He’s a big college basketball fan.” He played, and my brother played. It was expected I would, too, but I chose to play baseball year round.
“Of course. Evan and I have floor seats.”
/>
“Cool.” While I have no desire to go, an invite would be nice. Just once.
“Do you have a favorite team?” Madison asks my dad.
“I do. North Carolina. I’m hoping they add to their collection of wins.”
“He was born there,” I tell Madison. “And remains a fan even though he’s been here since he was a teenager.”
The conversation around the table dies down and Evan clears his throat. “We have an announcement, too.” He looks lovingly at Sierra before putting his hand on her stomach.
“We’re having a baby,” Sierra shares.
A second round of excitement ensues. “Congratulations, man.” I slap him on the back. Speaking all at once, everyone else offers congrats, too. The smile on my mom’s face is blinding.
I’m really happy for my brother and my sister, but once again, my life is relegated to nothing more than a passing thought. I should be used to it, yet I’m not.
I look across the table at Madison. Under long lashes, she’s watching me. Her focus is on me. Her regard relaxes the tightness in my shoulders and dulls the resentment I’ve tried to let go of but find difficult to do. My family dynamics aren’t going to change, of that I’m certain, so it’s best to forgive and forget.
We finish brunch and Madison and I offer to clean up while my parents and siblings go outside to sit on the covered patio.
“Your mom is an amazing cook,” Madison says, her hands in soapy dishwater. She didn’t hesitate to roll up her sleeves and get busy. “Everything was delicious and so bad for my diet.”
“Do not tell me you’re on a diet.” I take the pan she hands me and start drying it.
“Not exactly. Just trying to eat better since I’ve put on a few pounds.”
“They look good on you.” She’s sexier than I ever thought before. I’ve daydreamed about wrapping my hands around her curves.
“You really think so?” she asks, surprising me with her candor.
“I really do.”
“Thanks. I feel like this is more my normal weight but…”
“But what?” I nudge her hip with mine. “Scoot over, let me get that.” I reach into the sink to take over scrubbing the soufflé dish.
She rinses her hands, then reaches around me to pick up the dish towel. Her side brushes my back, and I almost groan. Which is all kinds of messed up. We’re doing dishes and a quick graze gets me riled up?
“Henry liked—”
“Stop right there. Your ex was a fucking loser who treated you like shit, and you should disregard everything he ever said to you. You’re more gorgeous now than you ever have been, and it’s because you dumped his ass.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” she teases.
“You want me to cop a feel?” I tease back, pretending I didn’t hear her correctly. I’ve mentioned her insane body, right? And while I’ve been on my best behavior since Seattle, I can’t forget the taste of her on my tongue or the glimpse of her cleavage covered in light-blue lace.
“You want a cup of tea?” she says with a terrible British accent. It’s so bad it’s good, and I crack up. Then I continue the play on words.
“Climb a tree? You mean the one out front, right? The one I dub the kissing tree?” I just can’t stop my mind from going there. I’ve wondered more than once what it would be like to kiss her.
She dips her fingers in the sudsy water and flicks bubbles at me. “No, I don’t mean that, Mr. Sax.”
I know she said my name, but all I hear is Mr. “Sex.” And no, it’s not the first time I’ve taken that leap. It started around the time I noticed girls had tits and I couldn’t stop looking at them. Alone in my room, I’d say, “Sex. Elliot Sex,” like I was James Bond. Don’t laugh. I thought I was the coolest.
I lift my hands out of the water and blow bubbles at her. Suds go everywhere. She squeals and splashes bubbles back.
“Oh, it’s on,” I tell her.
We’re laughing and having a great time with the bubbles when I grab her wrists to put a stop to it. In that moment, everything in the room seems to stand still. I’m so aware of Madison and nothing else that I’m desperate for more from her. I swear I can hear her heart pounding as hard as mine. Only a few inches separate us, and I’d bet my car we’re both thinking about the same thing: crashing our mouths together until we need to catch our breaths.
I’m a second away from saying fuck it and kissing the hell out of her, when my mom clears her throat. “Ahem.”
I slowly let go of Madison. There’s a bubble in her hair, one clings to her cheek. She’s so pretty it hurts to look at her for too long.
“Sorry,” I say to my mom. “We got a little carried away.” This isn’t the first time my mom has interrupted me with a girl, but it is the best timed. Kissing my assistant would be a monumental mistake. When am I going to get that through my thick skull?
“I can see that. Leave the rest for later and come join us on the patio for a game.” My family loves to play games to torture me. This time, however, I’m happy to take part because I’m partnered with Madison for…wait for it…Pictionary.
We annihilate the competition. I correctly guess all of Madison’s pictures almost immediately with her insane artistic skills. Somehow she identifies my childish drawings under the time limit, too, and it’s safe to say this has been the best brunch I’ve ever had at my parents’ house. I want to leave on a high note, so we say our goodbyes.
“Does your family do brunch every Sunday?” Madison asks after we walk out the front door.
I fight the urge to reach for her hand. “It’s a semi-regular thing. Thanks for coming with me. I haven’t enjoyed being here this much in forever.”
A few feet from my car, a red double-decker tour bus drives by. Madison waves back at the people on the top deck. I think one of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills lives a couple of streets over. I can’t believe I know that, but believe it or not, my mom keeps up with the TV show.
“Have you ever done that?” Madison asks.
I open the car door for her. “A tour of stars’ homes? No. You?”
“No, but I think it would be fun to play tourist for a little while.”
Once she’s comfortable in her seat, I walk around to my side. “Do you have to be anywhere this afternoon?”
Her eyes sparkle. “No.”
“Let’s buy a map and drive around. I’ll be your tour guide. I’m sure there’s an app, but doing it old school seems more fun.” I have no idea where to buy one, but we’ll find a place. I don’t want our time together to end.
“I’d love that.” She wiggles in excitement.
We hit Sunset Boulevard and drive toward Hollywood. I know tours take off near the corner of Hollywood and Vine, but we luck out and see a place to buy a map sooner. I illegally park on the street, hop out to grab a map, and jump back in the car all in less than two minutes. I hand Madison the map, then start the car. “Okay, point me in the right direction. I want to see some big-time movie-stars’ homes.”
“Umm…”
“Did you change your mind?” My stomach drops. She had a couple of minutes to decide she’s had enough of me for one day. We’re stuck with each other during the week. There’s no reason to be stuck today, too.
“No, it’s not that. My motion sickness applies to cars, too, and reading makes it a hundred times worse.”
That’s right. I turn off the ignition. “How about you drive, and I read the map?”
“You’d let me drive your car?”
“True or False? You drive like a lunatic and it’s no wonder you’ve been pulled over by the police more than once.” My truth is I’ve never let anyone drive my BMW, but Miss Hastings makes it easy to try things I’ve never done before. One soft look or smile or happy lilt to her voice and I’m toast.
“False. And FYI, I have never been pulled over.”
I’m not surprised. “Looks like you’re our driver then.”
“Okay!” She drops the map, leaps out of th
e car, and goes around the hood. I purposely go the opposite direction and round the trunk so my mouth doesn’t accidentally bump into hers.
She takes her time to adjust the driver’s seat and rearview and side mirrors. I appreciate the care to keep us—and my baby—safe. This sleek black two-door driving machine is only a year old. When Madison is satisfied and comfortable, she puts on the blinker to move into traffic. I stifle a smile. My little rule follower probably signals when she pulls out of her driveway.
I could totally close my eyes and take a nap. My car is in good hands.
“Where to first?” she prompts.
Or I could open the map and captain this adventure. “How about Bruce Willis’s house?”
“Sounds good.”
We quickly discover that most of the houses on our tour are behind big gates. The houses without gates belong to stars from the past, like Katherine Hepburn and Charlie Chaplin.
“There’s another tour bus,” Madison says. “Want to follow it?”
“Sure.” So that’s what we do. Sometimes we can tell from our map whose house we’re slowing down for, and sometimes we can’t. When the bus stops to let passengers off for pictures, we pull over, too, and jump out.
No one from the tour pays us any attention as I take a picture of Madison posing in front of the gate to Channing Tatum’s house. She strikes a pose like she’s blowing me a kiss. It’s sexy and sweet, just like she is.
“Let’s get both of us,” she says, waving me over for a selfie of the two of us. With one arm around Madison and the other extended with the phone in my hand, Madison counts us down. “Three, two, one…”
I hear her, but holding her against my side feels so incredibly good, I forget why she’s counting.
“Elliot? Are you going to take the picture?”
Right. Stop enjoying the hot female beside you and snap the picture. I have a feeling I’ll be looking at it often.
“I think my eyes were closed,” she says immediately after I snap the shot. “Will you take another?”
“I’ll take as many as you want. One, two, three…”
Too Hard to Resist Page 11
