Page 9

Nine

Aiden

I close the door on my mom’s surprised accusations—something I know is the direct result of me denying that I’m dating anyone…

Precisely two days ago.

The thing is…I wasn’t.

I’m not.

I just have a naked woman in my bed, her underwear and bra in my pocket…and a marriage contract on my kitchen counter.

With my mother in arm’s reach.

Fuck.

But…bigger problems first.

“Are you okay?” I ask Luns softly, hurrying across the room, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I…” I sigh. “I know that was a lot.”

She snorts, lifts a shaky hand to her forehead, pushing back her hair. “A lot is your family showing up out of the blue for dinner when the only thing I know how to cook is broccoli stew.”

“Broccoli stew?” I say, humor coiling in my belly.

“Shut up you,” she mutters. “ That ”—a jerk of her head toward the closed door—“was a lot if you call a freaking nuclear bomb a tiny little explosion. That was a lot if you think a Category Five hurricane is just a bit of rain. That ?—”

“Luns.”

“—was a lot if you think that Pedro Pascal is just another actor.”

Christ, she’s funny.

But I think if I start laughing right now she’ll pick up my lamp and brain me with it.

The Pedro thing, though, that I’m storing away in my mind to bring back up later.

It’s gotta be the biceps.

Why did extra arm exercises suddenly get scratched onto my workouts?

“ That — ”

I lean down and slant my lips over hers, kissing her until she relaxes, until she sighs softly into my mouth. “I’ll fix this,” I tell her as I pull back, cupping her jaw lightly. “You just get dressed.”

A scowl. A wrinkle of that adorable nose.

“Thank you for reminding me that I was naked in front of your entire family.”

“Technically you were under the blankets.”

“ Naked under the blankets.”

I tap her nose. “Which is another why you should get dressed.”

Her mouth falls open then clamps together, eyes flashing with irritation, the little sparks of lightning in the gray depths threatening to strike at me. “You?—”

But I just steal another kiss then push up to my feet, pull her bra and underwear out of my pocket and toss them at her. Then I snag her sweats and shirt from the floor, drop them beside her.

“Me,” I agree. “I’m a pain in the ass.”

She scowls then mutters begrudgingly. “At least you’re a pain in the ass who gives great orgasms.”

My dick twitches and I shake my head at her. “Behave.”

Finally, she smiles. “Never.”

I chuckle, start for the door.

“Get dressed, tiny tornado, and I’ll handle my family.”

“Try this, sweetheart!” my mom declares, shoving the apple turnover in Luna’s direction.

Luna, who’s spent the last hour being practically force-fed pastries at Molly’s, widens her eyes at me.

“Mom,” I begin.

But just like back in my condo, where walking out into the living room intent on handling the craziness that is my family…I’m completely ignored, any plans of getting them to disappear so Luna and I could finish celebrating our birthdays totally derailed.

“Try it,” my mom demands, waving it at her again.

“Thank you, Kathy,” Luns says politely, “but really, I’m full.”

“Pish,” my mom says, shaking her head. “Full only counts with airplanes and trash cans.”

I frown, trying to make sense of the nonsense my mom is spouting—and deciding she’s not wrong—but before I can get back to rescue Luns from carb overload, Carrie reaches in, snagging the apple turnover and beginning the extremely hard work of disposing of it in her stomach.

Speaking of trash cans.

Heh .

“Mom,” she says between bites, so really, it comes out as Shmwom . “Cool it on force-feeding Luna food. You’ve already put her through the wringer enough.”

“But this is Luna ,” my mom says. “ Our Luna.”

Right.

Something else that didn’t go as planned.

Because they remembered Luna about two seconds after I mentioned her name.

Which meant that by the time Luns made her way out of my bedroom—fully dressed, thankfully (or maybe not for me, considering exactly what my family interrupted)—they remembered everything: Luna my best friend from the rink; Luna the girl I had a crush on; Luna the girl from the troubled family.

No mom. Workaholic dad. Brother who was—and presumably still is—a total dick.

And now the one solid in her life, Grams, gone.

It took exactly thirty seconds after that summary for my mom to declare that Luna was joining us for my birthday breakfast at Molly’s—and that it had just become our birthday breakfast.

Mostly so Luns wouldn’t be alone on her birthday.

And also because she needs to put some meat on her bones.

Hence the force-feeding.

The only positive is that my mom fussing over Luna meant that I was able to secure the marriage contract.

Not that it’s a real contract.

Not that it really means anything.

So why then had I carefully tucked it into a drawer in my office, treating the paper like it’s more fragile that the Declaration Of Independence?

A good question.

But another one for later.

Because my mom has picked up another pastry.

God help us.

I swear, I didn’t mind the solo celebration becoming a joint one, especially since it meant more time with Luns and she never minded hanging with my family before.

But this isn’t helping me endear myself to my tiny tornado, isn’t helping her stay so I can get to the truth of what’s bothering her, isn’t helping me keep her close enough for us to figure out who and what us is.

“Mom,” I say, allowing a bit of sharp into my tone. “Enough with the pastries. We’ve all eaten our body weight of muffins and turnovers. Consider our birthdays celebrated. Now, I want to hear about you guys.”

My dad, who spends most of his existence zoning out and seemingly dissociating from my mom’s chattering, slants me a warning look.

Telling me to be careful.

To not take it too far with my mom. To be respectful and considerate.

I’m reading all that loud and clear.

But I’m also not going to allow my mom to run roughshod over Luna—or to continue doing so, anyway.

I love my mom.

But she’s a handful and a half.

A sliver of amusement slides through me.

Because…kind of like someone else I know.

Someone who’s been on their very best behavior as my mom forces her to devour carb after carb.

Thankfully, my dad doesn’t get on me like a teenager with an attitude problem, just takes my mom’s hand and the look they exchange has her putting down the next weapon—er, pastry.

“I want to hear about your cruise,” I say, taking advantage of my dad’s intervention. “And Carrie”—I turn to my sister—“are the girls in town?”

“No,” she says. “They have school.” A wry smile. “If I’d known about the show, though, I definitely would have brought them.” Her eyes flick to mine. “They would have loved it.”

My temple throbs.

I’d forgotten.

That Carrie can be a handful too…along with her two preteen daughters.

I shake my head.

“What is it with all the women in my life wanting to torture me?”

“Maybe it’s your pretty face,” Luna chimes in.

And I smother a groan.

Because I’m surrounded on all sides by troublesome women.

Only…why do I kind of love it?