“Cute.”
I toss a clean Tarheels sweatshirt on the bed and nod towards the door. “See you down there?”
She frowns. “I better get her home.”
I nod as another groan sounds behind her and take a step forward, crowding her at the door. Hovering at least a foot above her, I force her gaze up. Her tits press together due to her stance, lips glossy and inviting, while my appreciation for bees only grows. I playfully flick one of her antennae.
“Why a bee?”
“Why not?”
We share a slow-building smile, and I turn, take the hoodie off the bed and hand it to her. “Guess I’ll see you around then, Whitney.”
“See you, Eli.” She plucks the sweatshirt from my hands. “Happy Halloween, and thanks.”
“He-wo,” the voice breaks through my memory as I scan the room for the source and manage to catch a spike of bright strawberry hair sticking just above the monstrous mattress. I step around to see a chunky baby with huge green eyes gazing back at me curiously, his hand lifted at his hip, opening and closing in greeting.
“Hey there,” I say softly, so I don’t scare him. His sweatshirt reads, I love Ta Ta’s, and I can’t help my chuckle. “Looks like we have something in common. I’m Eli. What’s your name?”
“Lie,” he repeats, his arms shooting next to his head before he starts to fist them open and closed. “Up. Up.”
“You want me to pick you up?”
“Mep,” he replies. The kid is fucking adorable, his cheeks ridiculously full. I walk over to where he stands and scoop him up. “So, I wonder who you belong to.”
“Lie!” The kid repeats, his arm going around my neck, his hand latching to my throat in a sort of buddy hug. My chest warms at the gesture. This kid has clearly never met a stranger.
“Eli,” I correct, as he leans in and studies me, our noses close to touching. A second later, a pain shoots through my head as he blasts his words. “Eye. Eye. Tom tink, gollie,” he exclaims, stabbing at my face before shoving his fingers into my neck.
I can’t help my laugh, knowing this is some nursery rhyme I’m not privy to. “I’m guessing you’re the sister’s kid?”
“You guessed right,” a shrewd voice replies a second before a blonde, who is unmistakably Whitney’s sister, appears in the doorway. Same eye color, similar features, and a look of suspicion that lets me know she knows exactly who I am. Glancing back at the baby, it becomes clear he’s been used as a decoy and an excuse to grill me. Her name escapes me as she rakes me from head to foot and then back up again.
Serena.
And Serena has just used her adorable toddler as leverage to investigate me further.
“Mo-may,” the toddler stabs me in the neck, “Lie.”
The little man introduces us as she not so subtly inspects me from where she stands at the doorway.
“Serena, right?”
I can practically hear the duel whistle of the old west as a mentally induced tumbleweed rolls between us.
Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I fail to hide my smile. Serena is the person Whitney’s closest to in the world, and it’s apparent I’m not going to meet the softer side of her anytime soon.
“Did you know that Whitney was Brenden’s sister before you got here?”
A loaded question, and one I’m not prepared to answer because if I do, it will no doubt satisfy a number of questions whirling around in her head. Answers that Whitney has a right to first if she so desires them. Right now, if I say I knew—which I did—she’ll then think I have an agenda, and to a small degree, I do. Thankfully, my new buddy distracts us both. Breath hits my ear just before the baby leans in on a whisper. “No dick, Pey Pey, penis.”
I burst out laughing as Serena sighs, her pale cheeks flushing a little as she walks over and takes her son from my arms. “As usual, perfect timing, kid.”
I can’t help but smooth my hand over his hair before she gets him out of arm’s reach. “What’s his name?”
“Peyton,” she says, running a hand over his huge cowlick to no avail. The unruly hair sticks right back up. “I’m guessing he looks like your husband?”
“Nice try, Lie, but I want an answer.”
“Can we just skip this standoff and go straight into the ‘getting along because it’s Christmas’ phase?”
Her eyes narrow. “Why? Are you afraid to answer?”
“Not afraid. But it was a long time ago, Serena. I’m sure Whitney—”