I was tucking the headband into place when the front door buzzer sounded. I clicked the lock, and then opened my apartment door, knowing Riley would make his way upstairs and inside. That boy didn't require special invitations. Actually, he was probably due for a key of his own.
I returned to the bathroom, not convinced I'd perfected my cat's-eye or hair. Leaning over the sink, I studied the thick, dark lines on my eyelid. I couldn't tell whether I needed more or less.
"I gotta tell you," I heard from the other room, "I've gotten a lot of strange looks tonight. As if it's not Hallo-fucking-ween and everyone isn't out in costumes." There was some mumbling and stomping. "Where are you hiding, Honeybee?"
"Bathroom," I called. "Come tell me if I look like a witch."
"A witch?" he repeated. "You're not supposed to be a witch. I didn't sign up for witch. I signed up for sexy cat. Why the fuck are you a witch?"
Riley rounded the corner into my bedroom and stopped at the attached bathroom door. And there he was, in all his Batman glory. His hands were on his hips, his fingertips tapping impatiently and his waist looking impossibly lean. It made me think about wrapping my legs around that waist, curling into it in the night, pinching it, tickling it, licking it, biting it.
"Oh, Honeybee," he said on a groan. "This might not be a good idea."
"I know, I know," I replied gesturing to the mirror. "I have no restraint. I just can't stop with the eyeliner. I was trying to even it out, but I think I made it worse. I just keep adding a little more to both sides, but soon enough, my eyelids will be entirely black. It's like I was shooting for Anne Hathaway as Selina Kyle but ended up with Amy Winehouse as herself."
He shook his head once, cutting me off with a sharp wave. "I don't know what you just said and I don't think I want to know," he replied. "But you"—he dragged his gaze up and down my body—"you are fucking lethal."
I glanced down at the bodysuit, the knee-high boots, the complete absence of modesty despite being fully covered. "You like it?" I asked.
Riley leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his lips folding into a tight line. "Yeah, Alex," he replied impatiently. "Of course I fucking like it."
I dropped the liquid liner into my makeup bag. "Why do you sound unhappy about that?"
He exhaled, and the sound shifted from sigh to growl. "I'm not unhappy," he said eventually. "But let me set some ground rules for this evening. All right?"
"Of course," I said, giving him an indulgent smile.
I knew what was coming. This was how Riley worked, and I loved it. All the growly proclamations, the filthy commandments, the graphic edicts. They only came after he was nudged right into hunger and need, desire deep enough to shake his chill.
"I'm giving you one hour at this party," he said, wagging a finger at me. "One hour. Get your Instagram pics, drink whatever you want, shake your sweet ass all over the dance floor, drive me fucking crazy. But don't even think about arguing with me when I tell you it's time to go."
"What if I'm not ready to leave?" I asked. I was fighting—fighting!—back a broad grin. It was too much fun to rattle Riley when he was busy issuing demands. "What if I want to stay longer?"
"Then we'll see if your exhibitionism extends to sex in public," he replied. His eyes clinked as he smiled, and he dragged his fingertip along his jaw. "Not that I'd mind. I'd love to drag you into a corner." He jerked his chin toward me. "Mess up that hair and makeup. Get under that leather. Fuck you, but not give you what you need. Leave you wet and wanting."
"You wouldn't," I countered.
Riley gave me a placating grin. "I would," he replied easily, and I was beginning to believe him. "I wonder how long we'd stay after that."
11
The Awkward Conversation: A Halsted Family Holiday Bonus Chapter
Will
Christmas Eve
"Just stay there," I shouted over my shoulder as I crossed the bedroom. "I'll handle it."
"It doesn't need handling, Will," Shannon snapped. "I'll get it myself."
"Just stay there," I repeated, turning and holding up my hand to still her. She was standing in the doorway to her walk-in closet, wearing nothing more than a bra, panties, and sparkly silver shoes. If you'd asked me two years ago whether I'd find myself immediately turned on by a very pregnant woman, I would've said no. I didn't have any issues with pregnancy but it didn't rate in my top fantasies. Fast forward to this moment and I was salivating over my wife and furious that we were already late for this holiday party in the city because I needed my hands on her alabaster skin.
"Don't give me that face," she ordered. "It took me five full minutes to get this bra on. I'm not taking it off."
"I didn't ask you to take it off," I replied, my gaze following the rounded lines of my body. "You don't have to take off a damn thing, Peanut."
"Nope," she said, waving her hairbrush at me. "We're already late and I need to find the shrug your mother said I could borrow. We don't have time for whatever you're thinking about right now."
"I can be very efficient," I promised, pointing at her. "Stay right there."
"What you call efficiency some people call unsatisfying," she yelled as I left the room.
"You're not going to be one of those people." I jogged down the back staircase, shaking my head as I went. When I reached the kitchen, I leaned against the island while my mother did something clever with pie dough. "I've come in search of a sweater-type-thing. For Shannon."
My mother glanced up at me, her hands still working the dough. "The shrug?" she asked.
I didn't have time for the semantics of women's clothing. "Yeah," I replied. "That."
"You know," she started, reaching for the rolling pin, "I should've picked up one for her to keep. I knew it would be the kind of thing Shannon would like." She gave the dough a pointed frown. "I'll just have to go back to Banff and get another."
"That's fantastic, Judy," I said. "Until then, where can I find this thing? We're late and I have some—uh—requirements, and I just need to get this damn thing."
She hit me with a flat stare as she rolled the dough. "It's on the bed our room."
"Thank you," I said as I darted out of the kitchen. Up the stairs, around the landing, down the far end of the hall toward the room my parents now considered theirs.
When I stepped inside, I groaned at the piles of freshly folded laundry on the bed. "Couldn't make it easy on me," I grumbled, picking up and discarding several purple items. It had to be purple. Ninety percent of my wife's possessions were purple. "This is it. If it's not, she doesn't need it. No one needs a shrug anyway. What the hell is a shrug?"
With the sweater-type-thing in hand, I turned for the door. I heard a clatter behind me, and saw several small items tumbled from the bedside table to the floor. Crouching down, I gathered the water bottle cap, golf pencil, and handkerchief. No doubt about it, this was my father's side of the bed. It didn't matter that it was too cold and snowy for golf. He always had one on hand.
I glanced around, bending to look under the bed for any other stray items I'd knocked over in my haste to get out of here. A small bottle had rolled out of reach, and I had to flatten myself on the floor to grab it.
"Are you hiding from the little miss or the little missus?" my father's voice boomed from the hallway.
My fingers closed around the bottle and I pushed to my feet. "Neither," I replied, impatience thick in my voice. "Mom has a sweater that she wants Shannon to wear with the dress she has for the party tonight." I held up my hands, one filled with the miscellany of my father's pockets and the other clutching the soft purple shrug.
"Yes, she was excited about that purchase," my father said.
Pivoting, I set the recovered items back on the table. I was ready to sprint down the hall and see about bending Shannon over the bed, but my gaze landed bottle. I jerked back toward my father.
"What the fuck is this?" I asked, pinching the empty bottle between two fingers.
"It's a pe
rsonal pleasure gel—"
"That's more than enough information," I cried, dropping the bottle. It fell to the floor with a hollow thunk and bounced under the bed. I should've fucking left it there in the first place.
"It's perfectly natural for women to need a little help with moisture—"
"Stop speaking right now," I roared.
"This reaction is unnecessary," he said.
"'Unnecessary?'" I repeated. "What's unnecessary is you explaining lube to me. This is absolutely fucking unnecessary. Certain things don't require discussion."
"You asked what it was," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.
He rocked back on his heels as if we were standing around and shooting the shit about sports or the weather. As if this was a regular conversation, and not the second time we'd discussed his sex life—the one he shared with my mother while in my home—in as many days.
"It's perfectly natural," he repeated.
"That is not the point," I yelled. "The point is that—that—that I don't need to know the finer details of your sex life." I scrubbed a hand down my face. "There's always the garage apartment. I'll get you a space heater."
We had a proper in-law apartment over the garage but it was drafty and felt detached from the rest of the house. It never occurred to me or Shannon to stick my parents up there but it sounded phenomenal right about now.
"Why don't you simmer down. All right?" His lips flattened into a firm line and he shot a disapproving glare in my direction. "Go ahead to your party. Stop overreacting."
"Uh huh." I nodded. Without meeting his eyes, I edged around him into the hallway. "I'm sure that's it. I'm the one overreacting."
"Let's keep this between us," he said.
"What?" I asked. "The perfectly natural thing that I'm overreacting about?" I didn't wait for him to respond. "Just you wait. Soon enough, Wes is going to be home and you can victimize him with your empty lube bottles and headboard banging and insistence that he simmer down. That'll be great. Really fuckin' great. I'm looking forward to the day when he gets to deal with these situations. I hope you save up some of this bullshit for him."
I marched down the hall, not looking back for his reaction. When I reached our bedroom, I closed the door behind me and sagged against it as I blew out a frustrated breath.
"Did you find it?" Shannon asked.
I pressed the purple cashmere to my face and murmured in agreement. "That, and so much more."
"Do I want to know?"
I opened one eye and found her wearing a purple dress that must've been painted on because it fit like second skin. Maybe it was better this way. I needed to get the memory of that bottle and the conversation that followed out of my head before tearing that dress off.
12
Walsh Associates Takes on 2020
From the desk of Patrick Walsh
TO: Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Patrick Walsh
RE: Coronavirus
All—
Effective immediately, the Derne Street office is closed and all staff are directed to work from home. Please do not come until the office unless otherwise cleared and coordinated by Dylan and Lissa.
Work on properties in Boston proper has been halted but work outside the city is still permissible within new safety guidelines. Timelines will require substantial overhaul. Work with Tom to calibrate. Please manage budgets and client expectations accordingly.
We'll check in on Monday morning as usual. Details to come.
- Patrick
TO: Patrick Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Matthew Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Finally. An email instead of a meeting.
TO: Matthew Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
It only required a global outbreak.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Andy Asani-Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
In other words, don't expect it to happen again once this is over.
TO: Patrick Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Tom Esbeck
RE:RE: Coronavirus
I'm touching base with all our contractors now. I'll have timeline updates by property tomorrow.
TO: Tom Esbeck, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Patrick Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Finally. Someone getting actual work done.
TO: Patrick Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
TO: RE: Coronavirus
Tell me we won't resort to videoconferencing.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Patrick Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
....because that insults your delicate sensibilities how?
TO: Patrick Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Matthew Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
He doesn't want to wear real pants.
TO: Matthew Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Like you're intending to suit up every day.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Matthew Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
I'm wearing more than last season's Burberry boxers.
TO: Matthew Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
For shame! I don't wear anything from last season.
TO: Matthew Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Patrick Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
And there you have it.
TO: Matthew Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
My primary concern, if you must know, is keeping eyes on Danger Baby Dave. Tiel is running video violin lessons and I'm trying to keep my child from literally climbing walls and base jumping off the beams. We found him on top of the refrigerator with an awl last night, and that was after we'd watched him fall asleep in his toddler bed. He slipped under the baby monitor motion sensors and disabled the latch on the baby gate at the top of the stairs without making a sound. How he got into my workshop to fetch an awl out of a locked tool box and then climb on top of the refrigerator remains a mystery. What he was doing up there is another mystery.
It's easier to keep him from killing himself if I don't have to park myself in front of a screen, okay?
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Matthew Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
It's a good thing we have to keep the babies apart for a while. I really don't want my daughter learning any of your son's tricks.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Andy Asani-Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
An awl? Has he taken up leatherwork?
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Tom Esbeck
RE:RE: Coronavirus
So thrilled our child is an elderly lady dog whose wild streak is confined to lunging at squirrels.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Patrick Walsh
RE: Coronavirus
I seriously believed Shannon's kids would be the daredevils.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Riley Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
That boy has some shenanigans in his blood. I do believe your youthful misadventures have officially caught up with you, sir.
TO: Riley Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Samuel Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
MY misadventures? If that's the case, I can't wait to meet your devil spawn children.
TO: Samuel Walsh, Walsh Associates-ALL
FROM: Riley Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Well, lucky for you, I can't be in the same room
as my wife so there won't be any devil spawn children this year.
TO: Riley Walsh
FROM: Shannon Halsted
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Are you okay?
TO: Shannon Halsted
FROM: Riley Walsh
RE:RE: Coronavirus
Yeah. Fine. But would it be okay if I stayed with you for a few weeks? I'm the only non doc in the joint and Stremmel said he doesn't want Alex worrying about bringing the virus home to me even if we are staying apart. He also wants to keep the apartment building as "vector neutral" as possible, whatever that means. I seriously want to dislike the guy but he's busy running the hospital's outbreak response and being a hard ass about protecting everyone and screaming at anyone who tries to endanger his staff. It would be so much easier if he could go back to being a jerk.
Foundations: A Happy Ever After Romance (The Walsh Series Book 9) Page 8
