She’s wrapped in an adorably big pink fluffy robe, cinched at the waist.

We walk down the stairs and stand in front of the door.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” I ask.

“Yes. I can take it from here.” She nods, her eyes soft with gratitude.

I’m heading out early—I have to stop at home and shower, then be in court in three hours. The kids are better. Still not out of bed or back to school, but they’re not puking their body weight into a wastebasket every two hours, either. So . . . progress.

Chelsea rests her hand on my arm, and maybe I’m just really fucking tired, but my skin seems to tingle beneath her touch. I can’t imagine how good it will feel on bare skin . . . wrapped around my cock. I’m absolutely going to have to jerk off before I see her again.

“Thank you, Jake. Again.” She shakes her head, looking frustrated. “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

I can think of a few ways.

I wink. “Actions do speak louder than words. And are so much more fun.”

“You’re right.” She squeezes my arm softly. “Which is why I’m going to make you the best dinner you’ve ever eaten—to show you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for us. Friday night. Will you come?”

Oh boy, will I come. She has no idea.

But I pretend to think it over. “No tofu, right?”

Chelsea grins. “No tofu.”

I lean in, closer to her ear, making gooseflesh rise on the exposed skin along her collarbone. “What were you thinking for dessert?”

Her voice turns sultry as she plays along—and plays well. “What do you like, Jake?”

“I’ll eat anything with whipped cream on top.”

She blushes, and a laugh bubbles from her lips. “I’ll be sure to stock up.”

I push her damp hair back behind her ear. “Good. And I’ll bring a movie to keep the kids occupied. Riley mentioned they never saw Goonies, which is just straight-up criminal.”

“That’ll be perfect.”

I gaze into Chelsea’s ice-blue eyes. “I really think it will be.”

11

I get out of my car in front of Chelsea’s house on Friday night. And not to sound like a total douche, but there’s a spring in my step. A lightness in my mood. I’m excited. Looking forward to this evening with Chelsea—and, yes, with the kids too. Sure, they’re half a dozen little cockblockers, but they’re funny. Smart. In general, pretty awesome.

The fact that there’s a really good chance I’m going to finally get laid doesn’t hurt, either.

I knock on the door, holding a bouquet of white roses and the movie in one hand.

The door opens, and in front of me stands a tall, tan, lanky guy with strategically tousled dirty-blond hair, a white T-shirt, saggy jeans, and a shark-tooth necklace.

He lifts his chin in greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Who the fuck is he, and why is he answering the door? “Where’s Chelsea?”

He steps back, opening the door wider, turning his head. “Babe! There’s a guy here.” His brown eyes turn my way. “A big fuckin’ guy. What do you bench, two fifty?”

“Something like that.”

I step past him, lowering the flowers to my side, feeling like an asshole for having them.

Chelsea comes out from the kitchen, wearing a little black dress with thin straps—sexy in its simplicity—and open-toed black heels. Her hair falls soft and shiny around her shoulders. “Jake!” Her smile is off—kind of forced.

“What’s going on?” I ask evenly.

Two more twentysomethings step out behind her: a dark-skinned girl with long dreadlocks and a stunning face, and a guy with long brown hair wearing a trendy, butt-ugly, lime-green paisley shirt.

“My friends from Berkeley came to visit.” Her face tightens—broadcasting an apology. “I didn’t know they were coming.” She steps back, gesturing to the couple behind her. “This is Nikki and Kevin.”

Nikki and Kevin both smile at me a little too happily. A little too stoned to play it straight.

“And this”—Chelsea gestures to the blond shark killer—“is Lucas.”

Lucas grins dopily. “S’up.”

I nod at him, then hand Chelsea the flowers. “These are for you.”

She gazes at them lovingly, running her palm over the soft petals. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

So much for dinner. And more important, so much for getting laid.

Fuck.

Rosaleen comes tearing around the corner, her hair parted into curly pigtails, hugging me around the waist. “Jake, you’re here! Did you bring the movie?”

I hold it up for her to see and she bounces.

Riley and Rory join us next. Lucas rubs his hand roughly on top of Rory’s head. “Little dude, how about you grab me a beer? If we’re watching a movie, I’m gonna need a brew.”

Chelsea’s head tilts. “We don’t have any, Lucas. My brother and Rachel weren’t drinkers.”

“That sucks.”

We all walk toward the den, and the muscle in my cheek twitches as I watch Lucas throw his arm around Chelsea’s shoulders casually. Cozily. With intimate familiarity.

I really don’t like this asswipe. And I’m not the only one.

Rory comes up to my side and whispers, “He touches my head again, I’m punching him in the nuts.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Can we watch the movie in Mom and Dad’s room?” Riley asks carefully. “We used to have movie night up there every week. But we haven’t since . . .” She ends with a shrug.