Hard To Handle (Teach Me Book 2) (3 page)

Their mother kept an old photograph of the four of them on display upon one of the bookshelves in the living room. The same photograph Laney always discreetly placed face down every time she visited her childhood home. Her mother wanted them to let go of the past and have a memory of their father even though he had left them, resulting in their mother going above and beyond to pick up any slack she could for his absence in their lives. Laney couldn’t understand how her mother and Foster could just shrug that off.

Foster had stepped up to the plate, even as a young boy, and had been a tremendous help. Laney remembered times when their mother had been exhausted from working her two—sometimes three—jobs and had fallen asleep on the couch. Foster would help her with her homework, and other times tell her funny stories to cheer her up when kids made fun of her for being “the chunky girl”.

God, just recalling how overweight she had been, basically eating her emotions back then, made her cringe. She’d been easy prey—overweight and in all gifted classes. Hence her brother’s nickname for her: Laney McBrainey. So, of course, when high school freshman Laney got attention from Rob McManus, a senior and her school’s über jock whose family was so rich they had a houseful of staff and a butler, she threw all caution to the wind. Believed him when he had said he wanted her to be his date the homecoming dance. Be his girl. Hell, she’d swallowed the lies, hook, line, and sinker. Even that list she’d created early on got shoved aside.

What a colossal mistake that had been, because it had all been on a dare from his fellow football players and Carla, the head cheerleader from an equally as rich family. And guess who Rob chose as his homecoming date? Carla, of course. Carla’s condescending remark remained a distinct memory. “Oh, honey. Don’t you get it? Our people stick together. We don’t mess around with ‘the help’ … let alone with Lardy Laney.”

Carla was a such a sweetheart. Not.

After that embarrassing fiasco, she’d delved into the world of nutrition and fitness, measuring her portions and calculating the necessary calories. She’d begun exercising and soon found that she felt better, and gained more confidence from the overall change. And the entire time she had been working on herself, her brother had stood right by her side, cheering her on. Telling her how proud he was of her, how she might even give the Navy SEALs a run for their money someday.

“Laney McBrainy, get over here and hug me.”

Foster had just come in the door of their mother’s little house down on North Fletcher Avenue in Fernandina Beach. Laney had been living with her brother in his house until recently. Shortly after Raine had gotten engaged to Mac, she had asked Laney if she would be interested in taking over the lease on her small beach house nearby Mac’s home. Having her brother for a roommate had its perks but also its downfalls. One major downfall was his revolving door of women. She was grateful to not have any more awkward morning encounters with women who overstayed their welcome or thought they would be the one who would make her former Navy SEAL brother give up his man-whore ways.

Raine’s rental was a cute little beach house on stilts, located right on Fernandina Beach, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Laney had known the owner, Ms. Tina, ever since she had worked with her mother at the telephone company before the two women retired. The price of rent per month was extremely reasonable and included all utilities except for cable. For someone on a teacher’s salary, it was a steal.

Laney walked up to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. She held on a moment longer simply because she had missed him. It was odd having a place to herself and not seeing Foster nearly every day. However, when she got a whiff of the scent his shirt reeked of, she was reminded of the main reason she had moved out.

“Ewwww. Dude, you stink!” Laney wrinkled her nose before covering it with her hand. “Could you not change your shirt out of respect for others tonight?”

Foster held up his hands. “Hey, I ran out of time.” Leaning closer to her, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Someone needed me for another round.”

She winced, drawing away from him. “Gross!” Turning away, she yelled toward the kitchen. “Hey, Ma! Fos smells like skank, again!”

Immediately, their mother’s voice carried over to them from the kitchen. “Foster Bryant Kavanaugh! You go and change your shirt right this minute, young man!”

“Yes, ma’am,” her brother called out. He shot a dirty look toward her.

“Go change, young man,” she mimicked her mother’s words, shooing him in the direction of one of the spare bedrooms that held a handful of clothing items they’d left there over time.

Hearing the front door to the house open, Laney figured it was probably Tate arriving early so they could chat a bit and she could catch up with her mother. She turned her head toward the door … and soon regretted it.

That had been a bad move. Like, a
really
bad move. Because her utterly immature brother had licked his finger and stuck it in her ear before rushing off to go change his shirt.

“Ewwwwwwwwww! Foster! You jerk!” Laney scrubbed her hand over her ear, nearly squealing at the grossness. “Ma! Fos gave me a wet willy!” She swore Foster had perfected the art of reverting back to being a teenage boy in a millisecond around her. God only knew where his tongue had been earlier, and to think that his saliva was mixed with …
Ugh. No. Just, no
.

“Am I going to have to separate you two?” her mother called from the kitchen, reprimanding them.

“Glad to see I’m not the only one who feels your wrath,” came a familiar, deep voice from behind her.

Laney turned to see Zach standing before her. He had on dark khakis and a button-down shirt in a deep gray hue, matching his eyes. His sleeves were unbuttoned and neatly cuffed just below his elbows, showing off strong, tanned forearms, sprinkled with light blond hair.

How had she not realized how strong his arms looked? And that his fingers were nice; long and tapered. She wondered how they would feel if they were to hold hands.

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?
Because Laney Kavanaugh most definitely didn’t do the whole ‘let’s hold hands and skip through a poppy field’ thing.

Gag.

“Do I pass muster?” One eyebrow was arched, making her realize she had clearly taken too long in her perusal.

“Eh. You’ll do, I guess,” she nonchalantly tossed over her shoulder, going back to work on setting the table, attempting to shake off the strange moment. Ignoring him, she took plates off the stack and began placing them at each seat.

“I’m going to go and see if your mom needs any help,” Zach told her. “Unless you want help in here?” he offered, gesturing to the table before them.

“Nope. Pretty sure I’ve got this under control.” Her reply was curt, and she still didn’t look up from setting items around the table. Without another word, she heard his footsteps trail off to the kitchen, then her mother’s happy greeting.

“Zachariah! Come here and give Momma K. a kiss!”

“Yes, ma’am,” was his reply, and Laney could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you need any help with this?”

“Oh, you sweet boy. Please, if you don’t mind.”

Laney froze as she was about to lay a fork down beside one of the plates. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

What. The. Hell?

Her mother never let anyone—aside from herself or Foster—actually help her in the kitchen. It was like some Italian code of conduct for fear someone might infiltrate her secret recipes and share them with others. The woman always kindly refused help anytime anyone offered.

So what the hell was she doing letting Zachariah Mayson help her in the kitchen?

* * *

Zach smiled as he took his place beside Momma K. in her kitchen. He had just washed his hands and put on the apron she had given him, ready to help her assemble the meal. He accepted the knife and cutting board from her, placing the cured meat, guanciale, upon it to begin slicing it.

Secretly, Zach had been coming over to Momma K.’s to get some cooking tips for a few months now. His own mother had never been one to cook—or do anything remotely labor-intensive—so when he’d been welcomed into Momma K.’s home, he instantly took to the older woman and her nurturing ways.

It also didn’t hurt that she happened to be Laney’s mother.

He had worked hard to get Momma K. to get past the fear of him trying to steal any of her recipes to give them to the “mean, old bats down the street”. While they cooked together, he enjoyed hearing her stories more than anything else. Well, not more than the end result of her delicious food, of course. Because, man, that woman could cook.

Being around Momma K., just the two of them in the kitchen, made Zach feel like he was closer to Laney somehow.

“You have that look again,” Momma K. quietly remarked so as to not be heard by the others. She mumbled something in Italian beneath her breath, then shook her head. “One day, she’ll stop fighting it.”

Zach turned toward the older woman, pensive. “From your lips to God’s ears.” His smile was tinged with sadness.

“What’s this sexy talk about putting your lips on someone’s ears?” Zach turned to see that Foster had joined them in the kitchen. Laney’s brother, with his tall, muscular build, leaned against the counter, brown eyes watching them curiously.

“Oh, stop,” Momma K. reprimanded, clicking her tongue at her son. “Why do you have to make everything dirty?” Foster grinned and Zach could see the corners of Momma K.’s mouth quiver, restraining a smile.

“I’m just asking. You two seem so cozy in here. So, ’fess up, Mayson. You trying to make a move on my mother?”

Zach’s eyes went wide in disbelief while Momma K. swatted her son with the dish towel draped over her shoulder. “Foster Bryant!”

With a laugh, he held up his hands. “You can’t blame me for asking. The dude’s been around quite a bit lately. I’ve seen his car in the driveway a few times.” Foster fixed his gaze on Zach with a pointed expression.

“It’s none of your business what we’re doing.” Foster’s mother’s hands were on her hips, lips pressed thin in irritation. “Now, lower your voice before your sister hears you!”

Foster’s eyes flicked toward his mother before returning to Zach. “Are you boning my mother? Because I’ve never witnessed her allowing another dude to cut her guanciale before.” He gestured to the cured meat Zach had been slicing and chopping upon the large cutting board.

Zach stared, slack-jawed, at Foster. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Foster held his gaze and Zach swore they were engaged in some sort of insane stare down—one which he had to win because, as much as he adored Momma K., there was no way in hell he was trying to sleep with the older woman.
Good grief. Noooooooo
.

Foster threw his head back in a laugh, smiling widely, walking over to him. He placed a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, man. But, one quick thing?” Foster brought his right arm up in a flex and kissed the large bicep muscle; the short sleeve of his shirt pulled taut around it. “I might not be in the SEAL teams anymore but this, right here, has enough power to incapacitate you should you do anything unsavory to a certain tall brunette.”

“Foster Bryant!” came Momma K’s reprimand. And another swat with the dish towel. A swat which didn’t faze her son who not only outweighed her but also towered over her five foot two frame.

Zach met Foster’s gaze. “Message received. Loud and clear. Now, close down the gun show, dude.”

Foster scoffed. “Close it down,” he mumbled as he began walking out of the kitchen. “My guns are like Waffle House. Always open and ready, twenty-four hours …” Foster’s voice trailed off.

Zach and Momma K. looked at each other before turning back to preparing the Spaghetti alla Gricia, both chuckling quietly. No doubt about it, there was never a dull moment in the Kavanaugh family.

And he wouldn’t change it for the world.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS
it!” Laney squealed excitedly.

“Stop moving. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a joker-like smile,” Tate warned her, waving the lip liner at her before going back to work on applying her makeup.

“I can’t believe it, either,” Raine mused, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

The three girls were getting ready at Raine and Mac’s beach house for the wedding. It was going to take place a few steps away from the walkway leading from Mac’s back decks down to the beach.

Raine’s chiffon dress was sleeveless with a nearly off the shoulder, wide V-neck. It was fitted in the waist and the skirt flared ever so slightly to hit just barely below her ankles and had beaded starfish around the waist. Her long, black wavy hair was held back with a sparkly, beaded headband.

Laney turned to their best friend now that Tate had finished with her makeup. “You look so beautiful, Raine.”

“You are one seriously breathtaking lady.” Tate came to stand by the mirror beside her.

“Mac is going to die when he sees you walk toward him.” Laney’s eyes became a little misty as she reached for her best friend’s hand. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

Reaching to grasp Raine’s other hand in hers, Tate smirked. “I should probably let you know about the little wager that’s going on.” At Raine’s questioning look, she continued, “It pertains to whether a certain tough guy will crack even a little during your vows.”

Giving a little laugh, Raine shook her head. “You guys are terrible.”

Just then, a knock sounded and Raine’s father called through the bedroom door, “Raine, honey? Are you about ready?”

“Yes, Dad,” Raine replied. “I’ll be right out.”

The door opened a crack, startling them, until they saw who was squeezing in the room. It was Adam, Raine’s best friend from high school. He had been doing his medical school residency rotations the last time he had visited Raine, and they were all grateful he had been able to make it to the wedding.

Raine put her hands on her hips, giving her friend an admonishing look. “No men are supposed to be in here.”