Page 7 of Blurry Little Lines
“Why would you need bait to ask about brunch?” I raise my eyebrows and add the noodles into a large pot. “That was a good word choice, Mallory.”
“I just learned the word and wanted to test it out. And, it’s handy for this question.” I’m glad she takes school as seriously as I had, though I do hope she doesn’t put as much pressure on herself and not enjoy her high school years. It’s heartwarming to see her attend the same private school as I did. So many memories flood my mind when I walk through the building.
“Is her mother taking you girls? Or a security team?” At their ages and status, private security usually lurks at a distance.
“No, last week Rebecca, Katie, and Jennifer went all alone.” Mallory smiles. “Security is lame, like a babysitter.”
“Mallory, you’re seven.” Clearly, this is made up.
“Jennifer is eight, actually. You can just give me your credit card,orrr”—she drags out the word with high hopes—“you can get me my own card like Rebecca has.”
The problem with high society and the elite groups that Mallory is growing up around is that it’s so easy to buy time away from your children. Children grow up too quickly and end up raising themselves. My daughter is one of the only children without a cellphone or easy access to her trust fund. I am content with being labeled as the uncool mom for how I’m raising my daughter. I’ll own that title with pride.
My only insecurity comes from the terms of my marital status. Even though I can name countless elites currently having affairs, I am the one receiving stares and judgemental comments at societal events because I’m one of the few who followed through with a divorce.
“Why don’t you invite the girls here for brunch at our hotel bistro? We have live music on Sunday mornings,” I suggest. “That way, I can keep an eye on you from a distance to make sure you’re safe.”
“Ugh.” She sighs with an eye roll.
“Let your friends know they won’t even need their cards. You’ll treat them to brunch.” I try to sweeten the deal.
“Live music and our own bistro are not that cool.” She hops off the counter. “They know it’s being charged to my family’s hotel.”Since when did using the perks of being a hotel heir become uncool?“Mom, James is licking the knife, and I’mstarving.”
I take the knife away and look down at the pile of mushrooms scattered all over the floor. “I’m making your favorite dinner, Mal.”
“Potato soup?” Has she even eaten potato soup before?
“Spaghetti.” I laugh. Did she notjustwatch me put the noodles in the pot and stir the red sauce?
“Oh, I don’t like spaghetti anymore.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I’ll only eat Uncle Adam’s lasagna when it comes to Italian food.”
“Then I guess you can skip dinner tonight.” My lips tighten in a straight smile.
I can never win these days.
Chapter 4
Max
Wedon’talwaysmeetat the gym for Kelsie’s workouts, but I prefer we do. The guest room at her place is well equipped with weights, but the large four-poster bed with those satin sheets tempts me to pin her to it and cross our boundaries. I would never want to blur our lines of friendship, though. Kelsie is too sweet, and eager to stay proper, for me to corrupt. But I’d be lying to say the idea has never crossed my mind.
“Guess who?” A body pushes flush against mine as small hands reach up to cover my eyes.
“Hey, half pint.” I lean forward, holding her wrists to bring her into a piggy back as we walk to the weight equipment.
“We probably look ridiculous since we are no longer kids.” Kelsie laughs as I deposit her near the squat rack.
“I will gladly keep it up if it makes you laugh.” It’s been a while since I’ve heard her joyous, wholehearted laugh, and the sound of it warms my chest.
“You better not have me laughing by the time you’ve worked through my body.” Her tone drops with slight breathiness.
It’s times like this, when she says things casually, but her lingering stare trips me up as to whether or not it’s a subliminal challenge I should act on. I have never had a relationship in my life. Kelsie had been informed as to why from the day my mind chiseled it in stone.
“If I send you home too breathless and spent, you won’t be able to get up in the morning,” I answer and leave the hint open-ended to see if she has actual interest.
“Let’s work on my legs and ass today. Since I’ve started back at the office, I feel like my ass is getting too jiggly.”
“First, there is nothing wrong with a jiggly ass. Ask any guy. Trust me, half pint.” I use the nickname in hopes of distracting my lower region.