Snare (Falling Stars #3) (16 page)

"Just wait a minute. You have your daughters and the seriously delicate situation with your ex-wife on your shoulders right now, and then today, of all days, you have the anniversary of Ethan's death lingering over you. Baby boy, I love you, but you have no idea what you really want right now, and Sid sure as hell isn't in a place for an unsure man."

My chest aches and eyes widen. She's right about the girls, Maria, and Ethan, but she's so fucking wrong about me being unsure.

"She talk to you?" I clip out the question. Mom shakes her head.

"Not really, but I can put shit together. She slipped up enough for me to figure some things out. There's a lot going on there, Xavier, and, as your sister stated, a broody teenager isn't going to be any good for her right now."

"Neither of you know what the fuck you're talking about," I shout, pushing to my feet. "Yeah, I've got shit going on, but that doesn't change the fact that I care about that woman." I plant my hands into the counter and lean forward. "There's nothing unsure about how I feel when it comes to Sid."

"Hello, Xavier, nice to have you back." Em places a mug of coffee in front of me, a wide grin on her face.

"There's the man I raised," my mother concurs, taking another coffee from Em and bringing it to her lips.

"You both…" I growl, shaking my head.

"We both love you enough to kick you in the ass when you need it," Em says, pressing a hip into the counter.

"Now, drink your coffee and then go wash away the alcohol smell." My mother waves her hand over me. "We have four kids to plan a day with before we start closing up the cabin so we can return home."

"I already made a call to the cleaning crew. They should be here tomorrow to go over everything and collect any perishable items from the kitchen," Em adds.

I pick up my mug and leave them without a word. "You're welcome, you ungrateful brat!" Em yells after me.

The shower smells like Sid; her scent infused in the walls and curtain.

Palms to the wall, I close my eyes and let the hot water beat on my back. I inhale through my nose, savoring the memory of her fragrance.

Stepping out of the shower, I notice a light yellow tube in the trash. It's wrapped in a white sticker labeled with W.O.E. and Honey, I'm Home Organic Body Lotion printed below it. I turn the bottle over and read the description of the organic lotion created by Wendy's Organic Emporium in Pittsburgh, PA.

"Honeysuckle," I rumble victoriously.

Flipping the top, I bring it to my nose and squeeze. I close my eyes and Sid assaults my senses—her face, her smile, her furrowed brow and pursed lips. The mischievous gleam she gets in her eye when she's up to something. Or the way she curls her lips into her mouth when she's trying to filter herself.

My dick hardens, protruding from between my legs. For a brief moment, I'm tempted to unscrew the lotion lid to see if there's enough to jerk off with. Just the thought causes my dick to pulse and jump. My tip bumps the side of the sink counter, snapping me out of the fantasy.

Fuck, I want her.

I open my eyes, set the empty tube on the vanity near the sink, grab a towel, and wrap it around my hips. With a second towel, I dry myself off.

Dropping the towel to the floor, I lean against the sink and stare at myself in the mirror, grinning.

She may have run away today, but I'm not known for giving up so easily.

I straighten and run my fingers through my wet hair.

Ah, Sid, you can run and you can try to hide, but I can assure you, I'm a persistent bastard—especially when there's something I want within my grasp. Baby, you have no idea what's coming.

Chapter Thirteen

Sidra

After getting in so late the night before, I only sent a quick text to my mother letting her know I'm home, so the fact that my phone is going crazy on the bedside table shouldn't be a surprise.

Pulling the covers off my head, I'm assaulted by sunlight and my mother's ringtone.

Christ, why did I think this ringtone was a good idea?

I stretch an arm out of my cotton cocoon of warmth and grab the phone just as it silences.

"One, two, thr—" The ringtone begins again. "Hello," I yawn into the phone.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, a yawn is my new way to answer the phone."

"Don't get smart," she scorns.

"You would rather I get stupid?" I counter, and glance at the alarm clock on my side table. "Geesh, Mom, did you ignore the time I sent the text message?"

Huffing, I arrange my pillows behind me.

"You need to get back on your own time zone or your sleep will be messed up for days," she says.

"How long did it take you to come up with that excuse to call me at eight-thirty in the morning?"

I run my free hand through my hair and my fingers get caught in the knots.

"Never mind that," she quips. "Your father and I are taking you out to breakfast, so get up and meet us in an hour."

"Mom, I really need to—"

"No excuses," she interrupts. "Your father has his heart set on breakfast with you. Meet us in an hour."

"You mean he wants to make sure I'm going to the police station to follow up on the break in and restraining order," I say, deadpan.

"He loves you," is her response.

"Fine," I surrender, "but you'll be lucky if I don't show up in pajamas. Love you, bye." I hang up before she can protest my clothing threat and hold my phone to my chest, closing my eyes.

Silence.
It's so quiet, and, good lord, why is the bed so cold?

With a deep breath, I shove the covers from my body and drag my ass to the bathroom for a hot shower.

Dressed in an oversized black tunic, a pair of purple leggings with large white daisies, my black winter boots, dark purple wool hat, and black puffy coat, I climb into my car.

I wiggle my ass into my Darth Maul seat cover and run my hands up the Darth Vader steering wheel cover before wrapping my fingers at ten and two.

"Did you miss me, Vada?"

Yes, I talk to my car, and, yes, I named her after Darth Vader. Just because cars are referred to like women, doesn't mean she can't have the name of a badass. So, Darth Vada was born the day my father, a car salesman, brought us together.

A few years back, my Dad made me trade in my Chevy Cavalier for a great deal he had on a 2006 Nissan Xterra. The gas mileage isn't the best, the miles on the engine aren't superb, but she is all black with tinted windows and was in my price range. And she was a pivotal part in the first year of Toy BoXXX
TM
—fold down the back seats and I could fit so many boxes it wasn't even funny.

The moment I sat my big ass behind the wheel, it was love. Darth Vada now rocks an amazing white Rancor eating stick figures decal on the back window, Boba Fett floor mats, and Storm Trooper seat covers on the back bench seat because shotgun Yoda rides.

I start her up, tap the Death Star dangling from my review mirror, and back my car out of the small garage. I pay one hundred extra dollars for the space each month and at the moment, not having to scrape snow or ice from my car makes it all worth it. Especially when the hot shower and blow dryer weren't able to warm me all the way up.

It only takes me ten minutes to reach the small waffle house my parents and I regularly meet. Sure, I could've walked, but it's colder than the tip of the Snow Miser's dick outside.

Inside the small restaurant, I see my parents, my mom sitting on the same side of the booth with my father, before they see me.

Mom's hand fidgets with the silverware on the table as she speaks to my father. My father, an average sized man with salt and pepper hair, keeps his crystal blue eyes on his newspaper while nodding.

Now, if you didn't know my father, you would think he's ignoring her. In truth, he's heard everything she's said and could probably repeat it all back to her, in a Cliffs Notes version of course. Dad says years working, and now co-owning, a car dealership taught him to multi-task.

A brief flash of guilt assaults me, knowing he'd be the sole owner of the dealership if it weren't for me. I shake off the emotion and focus back on my parents.

He's definitely where I get my try-to-do-all-things-in-the-same-day tendencies. My mother would call it a lack of patience. My father prefers to call it being efficient. Since we share this trait, I side with Dad.

When Mom catches sight of me, she slips out of the booth and opens her arms.

I enter without hesitation and she cocoons me in the warmth only a mom can give. It starts in my chest and chases away the lingering chill in my body.

Stepping back, she moves aside and lets Dad hug me next. Where Mom's embrace is all warmth, Dad is all safety. In my darkest times, it was my dad who held me until all the insecurities melted away. The feeling of well-being slides over me as if he's magically locking all the doors and windows inside me.

"Baby, you look so tired," Mom says as Dad pulls away.

He slips back into the booth and folds his paper onto the table.

"Gee, I wonder why?" I grumble, removing my coat.

"Really?" Mom snaps, her eyes focused on the words stretched over my chest.

"What?" I look down, reading,
Hi! I'm THAT Girl from the Bathroom Wall
.

"At least she doesn't have fuck on it this time," my father mumbles, hiding a small grin.

"Marc," my mother hisses, looking around to see if any other patrons heard him. Shaking her head, she slips into the booth as I slide in across from them.

"You two," she complains, "I can't take you anywhere."

"Says the woman who went apeshit over not getting her coupon doubled last week at the grocery store," Dad teases.

Mom gasps and twists her head toward him.

"They shouldn't advertise double coupons if their system can't handle it," she counters. "Then I have to go stand in their customer service line and wait to get my refund for the overcharge?" She scoffs. "The consumer having to stand in another long line to reconcile something that's their fault to begin with is ridiculous." In a huff, she crosses her arms over her chest.

"I know, sweetheart," Dad says, rubbing Mom's arm before turning his attention to me.

"We need to talk about Paul." His voice has gone deeper, angrier. I stiffen at his name.

"I'm going to handle it," I assure him as I pick up my menu and look it over like I don't always get the same thing.

"You always get the farmer's breakfast with bacon and white toast, so put the menu down."

Scrunching up my face, I drop the menu and meet my father's eyes.

"He picked your lock and went through your things," he growls. "We cleaned up what we could after the police came. Well, we did the best we could with your computer area, but we can't be sure what he took from there."

Rubbing my forehead, I take a deep breath.

"Thank you for taking care of things, the cleanup and the new locks. By the time I got home last night…er, this morning, I was too tired to check anything out. I will when I get home, but I'm pretty sure I know what he was looking for."

I refold the menu and shove it to the end of the table. "What?" Mom asks.

"I found a bunch of receipts showing he made personal purchases on the business credit card." I shrug, surprised by how little his betrayal stings now. "But I'd already scanned them and sent them to the credit card company to launch an investigation."

"Can you get him with embezzlement?" My father sounds a bit too excited. I shrug again.

"Not sure yet. Once the bank and credit card company does their investigation, I'll talk to my lawyer."

"What about your partnership?" my father inquires.

I school my features so I don't visibly cringe. Mom and Dad know I have a subscription business, and they even know sex toys are involved, but they don't know much about the porn or extent of the sex toys. I'm pretty sure they think I'm like one of those sex toy consultants selling lubes and vibrators to women. The thought of them ever really digging into one of the Toy BoXXX
TM
deliveries makes my stomach knot and causes a full body shudder.

"I'm working on that with the lawyer as well," I answer, and quickly take a drink of water.

My dad's eyes narrow on me.

"Sid…" he warns.

I sigh and put the water back on the table.

"More than likely, I'll have to sell the company off to a third party to get rid of him," I say, disclosing the piece of information I dreaded telling.

Redness crawls up my father's face and he pokes one thick finger into the table. While Dad is over fifty, he's still a well-built, handsome man. He works out regularly and tries to eat well, though he has a sweet tooth that rivals mine, but there's a natural thickness about him. He never had a six-pack or the capability to be 'skinny'. So, that thick finger poking down on the table makes everything sitting on the glossy surface shake and rattle.

"You worked damn hard to bring that business to fruition and now that little shit eater is going to screw it all up?" he growls low.

"Calm down, Marc," Mom soothes, placing her hand on his back. The redness in his face starts to recede at her touch.

An ache, similar to the one from yesterday, returns to my chest.

The connection my mother and father have with each other is once in a lifetime, and is as much inspiring as it is jealousy inducing.

"My marketing and PR business is going well. I have the club and Liza as clients. I'm making enough to get by with—"

"Get by with?" It's my mother's turn to get angry. "I know you enjoy the photography, marketing, and PR, but your company was your baby. You can't give that up so easily."

"Do you want him gone or not?" My words are harsher than intended, but talking about losing Toy BoXXX
TM
has my emotions on high alert. "Because selling off the company will probably be the only option I have."

"Can't you try to buy him out?" my father asks, easing back on the anger in his voice. Placing my elbows on the table, I drop my face into my hands.

"It's an option, but not one I think will work. Not with the
bastard barista
," I say, still refusing to use his name.

My parents burst into laughter and I peek over my fingers.

"The bastard barista," my father laughs, "I love it."

"Me too," Mom squeals.

When the waitress approaches our table, Mom covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. Dad just lets it go, wiping his eyes.

"A-are you ready to order?" she asks, cautious.

After stopping by Wendy's Organic Emporium to pick up another tube of lotion and a quick grocery store run, I run into my neighbor. Zane moved across the hall two years ago after dropping out of college.

"Hey, Sid," he greets with a crooked grin.

"Hey," I respond with a nod, retrieving my apartment keys faster from my pocket.

"So…" he starts, moving to lean against the wall beside my door. Internally, I cringe.

"You doin' anything tonight?" There's plenty of suggestion in his question.

I only have myself to blame, but it was one time. One goddamn time when he first moved into the building, and now, dude thought he had a free pass to call on the coochie whenever he wanted.

Sighing, I shove my key in the lock and twist. "Busy," I mumble.

I step inside and kick the door closed with my foot, but a slap on the wood turns me around. Raising my brow, I glance from his hand to his face, nonverbally asking him what the fuck he's doing with his hand on my door.

"Maybe later?" he presses.