I probably shouldn't have suggested a dinner date with my captain's hot, single mom. And I most definitely should not have suggested a pitcher of beer to go along with the nachos, burgers, fries, and warm apple tarts we ordered. But I did both, and now I'm slightly buzzed, and she's most definitely buzzed, and we're loading our purchases into the trunk of an Uber and leaving my car in the parking lot.
And she’s giggling this incredibly light, sexy giggle over a story I told her about how Nolan once bribed someone so he could get his now-girlfriend Felicity in the Comets Secret Santa exchange and how it ended up with them dating. She tumbles into the back of the Uber in a fit of those sexy giggles, and I climb in beside her, trying not to take up too much of the backseat. It’s hard because it’s a Kia Soul, which is cramped for my big body. My knee knocks hers as her laughter fades, and she puts her hand on my knee by accident instead of the seat as she readjusts.
“Sorry!” She whispers quickly and pulls her hand back. “I’m a sloppy drunk.”
I grin at her. There is nothing sloppy about Hannah. She is unlike any girl I’ve dated. She seems so bright, as in both intelligent and happy. And she’s effortlessly confident. It’s intimidating in the most oddly enticing way. I can’t take my eyes off her.
I really shouldn’t have had that third beer.
As the Uber moves toward the house, I try to keep the conversation light. “What’s your favorite animal?”
"Animal in the entire world?" She asks, big brown eyes boring into me as light from the street lamps we're passing illuminates her apple cheeks in a strobe-like way.
“Yes. The entire world.”
And then she furrows her brow and bites her bottom lip. And she might as well have put her hand directly on my dick and given it a good squeeze to wake it up. Because holy hell, she looks so damn hot. But before she can answer the question, the Uber driver swears, and I can feel the back end of the car slip a little. Hannah squeaks.
“Sorry guys. It’s getting icy out.” He apologizes.
"No worries," I say casually, and then I realize neither of us is wearing our seat belts.
I lean over to grab hers and pull it across her. I realize as soon as I grab it that it was a bad idea. All of my torso is flush with all of hers. My face is in the side of her neck and I stupidly inhale. She smells faintly of flowers and even more faintly of firewood and it’s fucking glorious. And then she turns her head as I turn mine and open my mouth to tell her what I’m doing and… our… lips… brush.
That's it. My cock is wide awake and stone-cold sober, but the rest of me is drunk on lust. For my teammate's mother. Oh fuck.
I leap back, managing to hold onto the seat belt and pull it with me. I blindly start trying to click it into the buckle. I manage to get it done without looking in her direction, thank God, because I’ll literally die of embarrassment if I see the horror on her face. My eyes stay firmly on the passing trees outside as I grab my own seat belt. “Safety first!” I announce like an over-enthusiastic school crossing guard.
The rest of the trip, which is short, is also silent. When the driver finally pulls up to the house, I thank him, undo my seat belt, and rush to make it around the car to open Hannah’s door. I do it before she can get out, but in her rush to get out and probably away from me, she crashes into me. I wince because she hit my bad shoulder pretty hard.
“Oh no! Shoot! Crap! I’m sorry. Shit!” And then she gasps and covers her pretty mouth with both hands as I adjust my sling and right myself.
In the fading Uber taillights, I notice the blush on her cheeks. “Look, I’ve done a hell of a lot more than shove you and I’m trying not to be humiliated, so please, don’t feel bad.”
“I drank too much,” she confesses as she starts to gather the shopping bags. I narrowly avoid bumping heads with her, like a bad sitcom joke, because I start to reach for the bags too. Luckily, she doesn’t notice and keeps talking. “I have a strict two-glass-of-wine policy. I never break it. One glass rule for hard liquor, but I never thought of a policy for beer. I should have, but I never drink it.”
“Okay,” I say slowly and scoop a couple bags up, pulling them off her arm because she’s overloaded herself and there are none left on the drive. “Two questions. Why did you drink beer tonight if you don’t drink beer?”
"You ordered it," she shrugs her tiny shoulders sheepishly. "I didn't want to be a killjoy. Or contrary. Or… the old lady that orders Prosecco."
A burst of laughter escapes my throat and makes a puff of white vapor in the inky night. The closer we walk to the front door, the more illuminated we become because there are motion sensor lights everywhere, it would seem. Good on Jayden. A-plus for safety.
“I like Prosecco. We’ll get that next time.”
We reach the front door, and she puts down some bags to punch the code on the keypad.
"Did you know the grape named a 'Glera' grape must make up 85% of a wine for it to be labeled Prosecco? And only nine other grapes are allowed to make up this smaller percentage."
The front door swings open, and she steps through it. When I step into the foyer beside her and flip on the chandelier overhead, she’s staring at me with her mouth open.
“What?”
“How do you know so much?”
“About wine?”
She tips her head. “Sure. Yeah. Okay, that.”
I tilt my head, watching her. She looks very confused and it’s not just because she’s tipsy. “What are you really thinking?”
Her eyes dart away and she starts to pick up the shopping bags. I grab mine because I've got new token gifts in there. The original gift I brought to give Jayden's mom was not fit for a MILF. And that's what Hannah is, a Mother I'd Like to Fuck. Not that I would. I mean… I would but I can't. Won't.
“You said you had two questions for me, but you only asked one,” Hannah reminds me as I follow her through the house to the kitchen, which is attached to the great room, with vaulted ceilings and a massive fireplace with embers still burning in it from earlier.
“Oh right,” I clear my throat. “My second question is why did you have rules about drinking?”
And just like that Hannah seems stone-cold sober, and the light has completely vanished from her dark eyes. Her jaw tightens too. I am excellent at reading body language. Always have been. Something BIG made her instate a rule. She turns away from me. "I was drunk when I conceived Jayden. My first time drinking, ever, and of course, I had no idea about limits. With alcohol or boys."
Oh. Shit. Things just got heavy. I don't mind, actually. I like when people are authentic, and that's what Hannah is. But she seems… vulnerable.
And then she yawns. Fake yawns. So fake the woman should get an Oscar for it.
“I’m going to head to bed and read,” she says and fakes another yawn. “Are you going to manage on your own?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the fun night.”
“Thank you,” she smiles and it’s brief but genuine. “There’s more firewood in the bin in the great room if you want a fire. We have all the streaming services on the big screen and a hot tub on the back deck ready to go.”
“Cool.”
She stares at me. With every silent minute, the awkwardness we'd banished at dinner comes marching back in. She clears her throat. And punches me lightly on my good arm. "Okay then. Nightie-Night!"
And she turns and beelines, winter coat, and boots and all, for the stairs to head up to her room. Dear God this would be hysterical if it wasn’t so… annoying. I want to spend more time together tonight hanging out. I like Hannah.