Page 66

“All good?” Javi asked, making me jump.
I looked at him.
His hair was wet and combed back but already curling around his ears. His face was clean-shaven, which was both a boon and a bummer, because he looked good with stubble and without. His jeans fit him their usual fantastic. His short-sleeved, black thermal stretched tight against his pecs and at his biceps.
And again, I was struggling with my desire to take this slow.
“My brother’s birthday is coming up,” I told him.
He stopped close to me and his brows rose in question.
“Mom wants to get together and plan,” I continued.
“Okay,” he said leadingly, since it was obvious there was more there, I had just stopped talking.
“She’s a Boy Mom,” I explained.
He appeared perplexed. “A what?”
“A boy mom,” I said.
One side of his lips tipped up. “I could guess that, since she’s your mom and you have a brother.”
“No, Javi, she’s a Boy Mom. Like, there is no love in her life that will be more special than the love she has for her son.”
He was back to perplexed. “That’s not good?”
“Well, I might be wrong, but I think there are all kinds of love. And they’re all special in their own way. The love you have for your husband. The love you have for your friends. The love you have for your children. It’s debatable, but if you have to have one that’s more special than all of them, I think it should be for your partner. You’ll share the rest of your life with him…or her. This doesn’t mean you don’t absolutely adore your children, want the world for them and would do anything for them. I’m saying, if forced to do something unnatural, say, you had to pick the most special because someone was pointing a gun at your head, I think your life partner should be your choice.”
Javi didn’t say anything.
“Boy Moms pick their sons, and everyone else…” I let that trail off as understanding dawned on Javi, and it was then I remembered, when I was with Javi, I was existing in Javier Montoya’s Overprotective Zone, where all the lights were red and there was no exit, so I should learn to be more careful. Therefore, I rushed to add, “It isn’t that big of a deal.”
“She fuck you over because her boy is more important than her girl?” he growled.
Oh dear.
He was growling.
“It really isn’t that big of a deal,” I lied.
“You’re lying,” he called me on it.
I bit my lip.
He jerked his head to my phone. “What’s her text say?”
“That we need to get together and plan.”
“And what’s that gonna mean to you?”
I tried to dodge. “Maybe we should get on the road.”
“We got time.”
We did, dang it.
“Okay, again, it’s not that big of a deal, but last year, they took me to their favorite restaurant for my birthday dinner and gave me a five-hundred-dollar check. But they took Easton to a place he’d been dying to go. A place where the meal starts at several hundred dollars a head and they did all the add-ons like foie gras and wine-pairings, and on top of that, they gave him a trip to the Caribbean.”