Tipsea’s, with his boys. “This is the life, huh, guys?”
Mason ate a pretzel. “I don’t know. At lunch, when Garrett was showing around all his family pics... Made me wonder if we’re missing something, but then gazing out on tonight’s sea of available beauties, I’m thinking I like my current life just fine. Can I get an amen?”
Calder and Mason clinked longneck brews.
At the opposite end of the table, Cooper raised his beer.
“You three keep living the dream...” Heath fished in a pocket of his camo fatigues. “But it’s time for me to move on. Lookee what I bought for Patricia’s birthday.” He withdrew a black velvet box, flipped open the lid to display a decent-size rock.
“Whoa—you don’t mean move on as in leaving the SEALs, do you?”
Heath almost choked on his beer. “Oh, hell, no. Just that she means the world to me and I want her to be my wife. We all saw the drama Deacon, Garrett and Tristan went through in their love lives, and I don’t need it. She’s the woman for me. Done. End of story.”
“Good for you, man.” Mason patted his back. “I felt that way once.” He shook his head and laughed. “Good thing I came to my senses.”
Calder laughed his ass off.
Heath flipped them both the bird. “Yuk it up. I’m gonna be the one sleeping on clean sheets every night that I’m home with a good meal in my belly and a nice, soft woman to hold.”
“Should we check this guy for fever?” Cooper asked.
“Oh—I’ve got one.” After pushing back his chair, Heath stood. “It’s called Patricia Fever. I’m going home to her right now. You idiots are just jealous.”
After lover boy took his leave, Calder ordered a burger. Once the waitress left, he said to his friends, “We should stage an intervention. Clearly, Hopper’s traveling down a dangerous path.”
“No kidding,” Mason said.
Calder’s dad loved the ladies, but he had this old-fashioned thing about marrying them before sleeping with them. He was now on his sixth wife, which Calder saw as ridiculous. Though his mom had long since happily remarried and Calder viewed his stepdad as a great guy, he still wanted nothing to do with the institution of marriage. To his way of thinking, marriage only kept good men down. Calder enjoyed women too much to ever settle for one. And truthfully—he winked at a saucy redhead—as much as the ladies seemed to enjoy him, it’d be a damn shame to forever take himself off the market. Vowing to remain available was his gift to womankind.
At least that’s what he told himself, and anyone else who cared to ask why he was still single. In the dark of night, Calder suspected the real reason, but no way was he ever acknowledging the fact.
He, Mason and Cooper drank in silence for a while, staring out at the crowded dance floor. It was Eighties Night and Duran Duran blared over the sound system about hungry wolves.
Mason was first to break the conversational silence. “I’ve bitched about Melissa so much, you guys could probably recite my story for me. But in all these years, you two have never told yours.”
Calder said, “That’s because I don’t have one.”
Cooper tipped his cowboy hat. “Same here.”
Mason twisted to face them. “You’re telling me neither of you have ever been serious with a member of the fairer sex?”
“Nope,” Cooper said. “Damn proud of it.”
“Amen, brother.” Calder and Cooper clinked beers.
Mason whistled. “You two are a rare, fortunate breed.”
Calder grinned. “We know.”
Only after downing his burger and taking a spin on the dance floor with not one blonde but three, Calder spotted a brunette who reminded him of the new nanny. His stomach lurched upon the realization that despite all his bragging, he’d enjoyed sharing a conversation with her in his kitchen, watching his boy chow down on his cookie, more than he had spending the past three hours in this bar.
* * *
PANDORA JUMPED WHEN the front door opened and in walked Calder. Almost nine, with Quinn long since tucked in for the night, she’d been alone for so long that the house almost felt as if it were her own.
“What’s going on?” he asked, opening the entry-hall closet to set his motorcycle helmet on the top shelf.
“Not much. You?”
He sat in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. Was it her imagination or did he smell like a bar?
Though it was none of her business where he’d been, she asked, “Tired? You worked late.” Early in her recovery, the faint trace of booze on his breath would’ve had her craving a drink. Now realizing how much those drinks had ultimately cost in regard to her daughter...? She was content to stick with sweet tea.
He shrugged. “I’m good. Workwise, it was a pretty slow day, so afterward, me and a few friends stopped off for a burger and beer. I chilled there for a while to be sure I was sober enough to drive.”
She nodded.
“Quinn all right?”
“Perfect.”
The house’s silence that had only a few minutes earlier been comforting now served as a reminder of just how awkward her new position may be. She’d never stayed with a family before and she hadn’t thought about the situation from the perspective that for all practical purposes, she now lived with this man.
Drip, drip, drip went the kitchen sink.
Outside, the neighbor’s dog barked.
“Well...” Calder leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Since we’re probably both thinking it, I’m going to come right out and say it—this is weird.”
She exhaled with relief. “You’re feeling it, too?”
“No offense, but the way you’re sitting there all prim and proper like my mom, I’m afraid you’re going to ground me for missing curfew.”
She laughed. “Trust me, I’m the last person who’d judge.” Although if she were in his position, she wouldn’t waste so much as a second away from his son. She’d learned the hard way what it was like when you weren’t able to see your child. The pain was indescribable.
“Now that we’ve got that dealt with—” he stood, tugging his T-shirt over his head “—I’m gonna grab a quick shower, then study a new manual.”
“Um, sure.” Her cheeks blazed. Faced yet again with his muscled-up chest, she was grateful he retreated to his room. The part of her craving adult conversation realized Calder’s vanishing act was for the best.
He was her boss.
Not her friend—certainly not anyone whose bare chest she should be appraising.
