“I’ve always thought your mom was a superhero for being able to raise all five of you by herself. Marvel should consider adding her to the lineup.”
“She did manage to keep Jude and Ty alive.” I raise my eyebrows in amusement. “A near-impossible feat, if you ask me.”
“Yeah.” Maria snorts, but her eyes are back to being fixated on Izzy. “I remember the crazy things they’d attempt back in the day. Absolute daredevils. It was terrifying.”
She’s not joking. Both Jude and Ty took many a trip to the ER for the consequences of their wild actions. Between the two of them, they’ve probably broken every damn bone in the human body.
Silence stretches between us, and the only sounds filling the room are Izzy’s little breaths between pulls of formula. Maria is still standing beside us, only now, her hands appear to be working an invisible weave in front of her.
She’s uncertain. Nervous. And I have a feeling it has everything to do with the moments leading up to Izzy’s late-night cries for help.
She fidgets with the material of her robe with her fingers, and I don’t know what it is about seeing her like this, but I can’t help myself. I have to break the tension.
“So…that was one way to end a…uh…make-out session, huh?”
Maria guffaws on a startle, her hand jumping to her mouth at the completely unladylike but cute-as-hell noise. “Uh…yeah… It was an interesting end to the…uh…make-out session.”
Obviously, we had far passed the point where that could’ve been classified as just kissing, but I knew it was the exact right terminology to use if I wanted to distract her from her busy thoughts.
“Certainly, something I’ve never experienced before, you know?” My mouth curves up. “And for a single bachelor in his forties, that’s really saying something.”
Maria laughs then. “The kinkiest finish you’ve ever had?”
I wink. “Definitely.”
In the dark room, the two of us stare at each other for a long minute. Only the moonlight streaming through the curtains and a princess night-light in the corner illuminate the space enough to see each other.
I study the lines of her throat and the way her breasts push against her robe and how her bare legs peek out from the small slit down the center. And I remember the image of all of it just moments before she covered herself. Fucking stunning, every inch of her.
“God, Remy. I’m sorry. You must be exhausted,” Maria starts, clearly taking my study of her features out of context in one way or another. Because trust me, if Maria Baros knew what I was thinking about right now, she wouldn’t be apologizing for anything. “I should have—”
“Ria. Come on. I’m good.”
And I am. With Izzy curled against my bare chest and Maria looking at me like she knows the feel of my bare skin against her own, I don’t think I’ve ever been better.
Down deep, I know Maria’s angst isn’t about sleep deprivation or caring for Izzy right now. Lord knows she can handle all that. She’s been handling it like Wendy Winslow on steroids, even when it’s put her at the breaking point. Even when she’s questioning herself if she can really do it. I don’t know anyone who could’ve handled the first six weeks of their baby’s life by themselves.
This is about what we were in the middle of when we got interrupted. It’s about not knowing if she would have gone all the way if we hadn’t been. And it’s about wondering if I’m thinking all the same things.
“I was thinking,” I add, “you should know that I normally last longer than that.”
“Last longer?”
“Yeah,” I say through a secret smile. “During s-e-x.”
Her embarrassment is still under the surface, but she suppresses it enough to smile slyly. “But I thought it was a make-out session?”
“Same difference.”
“Same difference?” she questions, now completely entertained by the path of this conversation despite the slight hue of pink that’s still showcased on her cheeks. “Your definition of make-out sessions has certainly changed over the years.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve learned a thing or two about make-out sessions over the years.” I waggle my brows, and I can’t help but reach out to pull her closer by the belt of her robe.
On a giggle, she falls to sitting on the ottoman by my feet.
“So, you’ve learned a thing or two about make-out sessions, but not about s-e-x?” she volleys back, and it makes my chest vibrate with hilarity. “I should probably make a mental note of that.”