It was easy to become immersed in nothing but Roman when it was just the two and a half of us. The energy of his expansive body and hard edges fills a room the minute he walks inside and I ravenously fed off of it, but now there is another force competing for his attention and my time. That energy force is better known as Knox Masterson.
The new love of my life.
When I stare into my son’s eyes I can see all the hopes and dreams that I want for him: independence, self-determination, romantic love, and world frackin’ peace. It’s a tall order, but I want him to have everything in life he’ll ever desire, and I know that begins with having parents who are just as happy apart as they are together.
For me, that individual happiness means putting off our wedding while I take a moment to concentrate on being the best mother I can be and making a success of my business, School Bucks. The difficulty with achieving my personal aim has been how to balance these parts of my life that I love, need, and desperately want.
Let’s take hygiene, for example. It’s been a very long time since I’ve showered, put on makeup, and gotten dressed in something other than a tank top and shorts. I spend most of my time taking care of Knox or working on the code for my app. I rarely have time for much else, but tonight I promised my friend Zoe that I’d attend her thirtieth birthday party so soap and a little lip gloss are mandatory.
Zoe is a super talented tattoo artist who illustrated my Masterson Made ink and someone who has since become a good friend. While our backgrounds are very different, she is a thirty-year-old bisexual who grew up in foster care and reads people’s palms for fun, and I am a twenty-five-year-old heterosexual computer nerd who grew up in a two-parent household in the suburbs, I find that in most of the important ways we think alike.
While I definitely want to be a part of celebrating this milestone birthday for her, this is the first time that I am leaving Knox to just go hang out. I mean it’s one thing to leave him with Roman to go grocery shopping or when I have a meeting with one of my coders, but to go out for a night with the girls to party? That’s something entirely different, and in some ways I feel guilty about it. I feel like my mother was home for every single day of my life. That’s what good mothers do, right?
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey.”
“You all right?”
I’m working hair gel quickly through some of my curls to tame the flyaways and frizz. Sometimes this whole curly girl thing is hard work.
“Yeah.”
“The Glamazon is at the door.”
“I thought you were going to stop calling her that.”
“I only say it in front of you.”
I don’t hear any movement downstairs.
“Well, did you let her in?”
“Did you want me to?”
I shake my head at him.
“You’re a piece of work, Roman.”
“Is she going to Zoe’s with you?” He snickers as I head downstairs to the door.
“Yeah, she’s driving.”
I open the front door to greet my friend and as usual she looks like a million bucks dressed in a sleek gold dress with strappy gold heels to match. Now I’m worried that I’m going to be seriously underdressed for this party.
Sloan greets me with her arm raised and a bottle of champagne in her hand. “All the girls in the club gettin’ tipsy!” She sings the lyrics to a familiar rap song as she enters the house.
Roman isn’t impressed.
“Sloan.”
“Roman.”
Their greetings for each other are curt, but at least they’re respectful.
“Elizabeth said you’ll be driving tonight?”
His question is more rhetorical than anything. I’m sure he’s commenting more about the fact that she’s the designated driver but has arrived at our front door with a bottle in her hand.
“That’s right. The bottle is for Zoe.”
She runs over in her heels and gives me a hug.
“You look amazing, Bitsy. Look at my little stay-at-home mom all cleaned up.”
“Whatever, girl.” I smile, slightly embarrassed by her compliment. It only affirms the fact that I’ve probably looked like a disaster for months.
“Where’s that big ol’ baby of yours?”
“He’s napping.”
“Damn, why don’t I ever get to see him when he’s awake?”
“Because you never come over here at a reasonable hour,” Roman interjects.
Sloan rolls her eyes and continues talking to me.
“You want a drink before we go? You know, to kind of loosen up all your rusty parts and get ready for tonight’s shenanigans?”
“What the fuck, Sloan?” Roman asks incredulously.
“I meant that the drinks will lube up her rusty parts for dancing. What do you think I’m talking about?” Sloan gives him the side-eye. “Relax.”
“This is not a conversation I’m trying to have or hear.”
“Good, it wasn’t meant for your sensitive ears anyhow.”
Roman looks at me, and I give him a stilted smile. It’s clear that he is trying his level best to be on his best behavior and Sloan is just being Sloan. He knows better than anyone that I’ve been looking forward to the prospect of going out for a little baby-free fun, and he doesn’t want to ruin it for me. I just wish the two of them wouldn’t antagonize each other so much. I’m already on edge about leaving Knox tonight.
“Let me get my heels and we can go, Sloan. I’ll be right back.”
“Wear the fuck ’em heels. You know, the nude colored ones with the crisscross straps. Those will look great with the jeans.”
I can hear Roman growling from here.
“I’m wearing the wedges,” I tell her.
“Borrrrinnngggg.”
I take a second to pop in on Knox to make sure the temperature in his room is comfortable and that he’s sleeping soundly.
He looks like an angel.
He’s flat on his back with his arms spread high above his head and his head tilted to the side. His eyelashes are long and flutter slightly when I graze my finger down the side of his face.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”
I can’t explain the feeling in my stomach as I grab my shoes and my handbag. I’m excited to spend the evening out and have a little mindless fun, but I don’t feel entirely good about it either.
When I return to the living room, Sloan is searching for another bottle in our bar and Roman is sitting on his favorite chaise lounge, legs spread, and arms crossed in front of his chest, quietly watching. He’s annoyed, but I’m not surprised. I love her, but Sloan has that effect on many people.
“What are you looking for?” I ask her.
“Shots! Shots! Shot, shot, shot, shots!” she replies with a chant we used to say on our way bar hopping in college.
Roman rolls his eyes with disapproval. “Would you quiet down? My son is asleep and you’re agitating Mr. Tibbs.”
Sloan bends down to scratch our dog’s tummy. He’s flat on his back with his legs spread wide like he hasn’t a care in the world.
“Oh yeah, he’s really agitated,” Sloan mocks.
“You want tequila, right?” I point to the bottle of Silver Patron. “It’s right in front of you.”
“No, we should drink the expensive stuff. I know the dark knight of yours is holding out on the grand tequila. Where do you keep the good shit, Roman?”
“The good shit is for special occasions,” he answers flatly.
“But this is a special occasion. It’s Zoe’s birthday.”
“That’s not a special occasion for me.”
“You can be so selfish sometimes. Zoe is your baby mama’s friend, so that makes it a special occasion.”
“Still not special.”
“Ugh, I just want to have a shot with Bitsy before we go. This is just as much a celebration for her as it is for Zoe. It’s the first time you’ve let her out of her gilded cage si
nce my gorgeous godson was born. That’s something to celebrate.”
Roman raises his eyebrows in reaction to Sloan’s comment, although I’m not sure which part of it he takes more issue with. On one hand, for whatever reason, Sloan has convinced herself and probably our immediate circle of friends that Roman has been keeping me captive in here since delivering Knox. That’s because single women without kids do not understand how busy mothers really are. On the other hand, he could be reacting to the comment she made referring to herself as Knox’s godmother. In fact, I’d bet a hundred bucks that his issue is with the latter.
We’ve been discussing for months whether Knox needs official godparents and if we were to pick some who’d they be. He, of course, would struggle to select between the King brothers since he adores all three of them, although I’m pretty sure it would be Camden if he had to choose. My pick would obviously be Sloan (in fact, I’ve always promised her she’d be my first child’s godmother), although Roman has expressed to me on more than one occasion that she would be Knox’s godmother over his dead body. The thing is, Sloan doesn’t actually know that there’s a debate about it at all. So, needless to say, I’ve left that conversation behind for another day.
Plus, the reality of the situation is that if anything ever happened to Roman or I while Knox was still young, my parents or Joseph and Juliette would get custody and we both agree that Knox would be in expert hands with either of them.
“Let’s just go, Sloan. I’d rather start drinking when we get to Zoe’s. She’s mentioned that she’s going to have some sort of signature drink made with rum, and I don’t like to mix my liquors.”
“Smart thinking, Bitsy. That’s why you’re the brains and I’m the beauty.”
“Elizabeth is the brains and the beauty. You’re just—”
“Roman,” I cut him off with a warning.
“He knows what I meant.” Sloan scoffs. “I’m in such a good mood that nothing you say will bring me down, Roman Masterson. Your control freaky ass is just pissed that you won’t be around when Bitsy gets drunk off her ass tonight.”
Roman shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he shoots daggers into Sloan with his eyes.
“Be quiet, Sloan,” I warn her.
“What did I say now?” She feigns ignorance. “There was nothing disrespectful about what I just said. It’s all truth.”
While I’ve long since accepted the fact that Roman and my best friend have two forceful personalities and a contrary relationship which sometimes makes moments like this funny and other times awkward, tonight their verbal sparring has me virtually at the point of tears. I’m emotionally exhausted.
“I’m leaving my son for the first time to do absolutely nothing of any real importance and all this back and forth between the two of you is seriously getting on my nerves!” I explode. “Just shut up.”
Roman stands from the chaise and walks toward me in several powerful strides. He slides his hand into my hair, cradling the side of my face, and tilts my eyes toward his.
“First, Duchess, you look fucking hot tonight.”
The unexpected compliment makes me crack a small smile.
“Thank you.”
“Second, you’re wrong. You’re not going out to do absolutely nothing. You’re going out to have some fun because you deserve a night out with your friends and your happiness is as important as a motherfucker.”
“Exactly,” Sloan adds.
I ignore her two cents and concentrate on the man I love, who at this moment makes me wish I was staying home for a little private picnic in our bedroom. We haven’t done that in a really long time. Those are always so fun.
“Maybe I should stay home and just lay like broccoli with you,” I say, laying my hand on his chest. “We never took that shower, I promised.”
“Go,” Roman says to my surprise with no reservation. Then he gives me a G-rated kiss on the lips. “If you two end up drinking too much, I’ll send a car over. Have fun. Just not too much.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
I feel kind of pitiful that he’s not putting up a fight and asking me to stay home. I really wish he would.
“I’m watching the game tonight, baby. I’m good.”
“Okay,” I agree disappointedly.
I listen for any sign of Knox to come through the monitors but hear nothing. He’s fast asleep, and at this point I’m running out of excuses to stay home. Maybe I just need to pull up my big girl panties and leave my two men alone for a few hours.
“Ready?” Sloan asks eagerly. She hasn’t been out much either since her new promotion. This will be a welcomed change of pace for the both of us. Just like old times.
The house will not blow up if I leave.
Knox will live through one night without me.
The business will not implode if I take the evening off.
I just have to rip off the Band-Aid and say the words.
“Yep, I’m ready. Let’s party.”
4
ELIZABETH
Two Hours Later
I slide off my sandals and try my best not to make a sound in my bare feet as I creep inside the house, but my efforts are futile. Roman is wide awake and sitting in the living room watching a movie, noshing on some takeout.
“Why am I not surprised,” he says sarcastically as I cross the threshold into our living room.
“I had such a good time,” I say unconvincingly.
“You were there for an hour,” he deadpans.
I check my watch.
“No, I was there for two hours.”
“It takes thirty minutes to get to that part of town and thirty to get back, so you were literally there long enough to get one drink, eat a piece of cheese, and maybe say happy birthday. So what’s up? Why are you home?”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Did you not like the vibe there? Were her friends psycho? Did some dude hit on you?” Roman’s voice grows progressively concerned. “Or did a woman hit on you?”
“No, no, it was fine.” I chuckle. “Zoe had the furniture in her loft cleared out and she decorated the place with balloons and soft lighting. She even had a good deejay and a candy table. It was a really nice birthday party.”
“Then why are you here, Duchess?”
I look around for Knox.
“Is he still asleep?”
“Is that why you came home?” Roman asks with disbelief.
“No, of course not, and stop trying to make me feel guilty.”
“He woke up for an hour, drank a bottle, and then went back down.”
“Oh, so he’s okay?”
“He’s perfect.”
“Oh.”
I lay my handbag on the kitchen counter and open the fridge to grab myself a bottled water. I notice that there’s a huge tray of baked ziti inside that I’ve never seen before.
“You ordered ziti too?”
“Nah, Jade brought it by.”
“Then why are you eating wings?”
“I ordered them before she dropped by.”
“What made her bring by the food?”
I might be a little sensitive about the fact that I haven’t cooked a decent meal for the two of us since… forever. And now his assistant seems to pick up the slack.
“She had extra.”
That’s a lie.
“What single woman makes extra trays of ziti unless she’s going to a baby shower?”
“I didn’t say she made it.”
“Whatever the case may be, it’s weird.”
“Jade is weird. You already know that. So what? The more important question on the table is whether you had one of those signature drinks you were waiting to taste?” Roman asks.
“A guest told me that the bartender was watering down the drinks, so I didn’t want to have to toss out my breastmilk for a crappy drink. What would be the point in that?”
“So you didn’t drink?”
I’ve never heard Roman sound so disappointed beca
use I’m home or that I didn’t have any drinks. The world must be ending. Who is this man?
“No.”
“And where’s the Glamazon?”
“She’s still at the party.”
“Is she going to be okay there?”
“I left her at a house party with friends, not a rowdy roadhouse bar,” I say sarcastically. “Plus, it turns out one of Sloan’s coworkers is friends with Zoe. She said she’ll give her a ride home if she needs it.”
“Cutter will make everyone’s life miserable if anything happens to that woman.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re asking. I should have known it wasn’t out of genuine concern.”
There’s a long pause between our exchanges. The air between us feels heavy with many things said and unsaid. We haven’t been this communicative with each other in weeks and since Knox is asleep, this might be a good time to have the conversation that I’ve been putting off.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. “Like, are we okay?”
“We’re always okay, Duchess.”
I search for the right words to get my point across.
“Then why did you basically push me out the door when I tried to stay home tonight? Why do you always seem so disappointed with me lately?”
“Come here, Elizabeth.”
“We’re talking. I think I should stay over here.”
“Come here,” he says in a firmer tone.
Roman knows that being physically close to him is my Achilles heel. That’s because being near him is always a tactile experience. His body is fit and hard, yet warm and enveloping. He smells like a mixture of clean soap, strong whiskey, and hot sauce. I can’t help but wonder in amazement how he managed to fit in calling in an order of hot wings and taking a shower while watching Knox for only two hours and I can’t seem to fit in eating a yogurt and taking a bird bath for three days.
“Not there,” he instructs. “On my lap.”
Masterson Made Page 3
