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  Colton's mother gestures for the phone and I reluctantly hand it over. "This is Colton's mother," she says. "Cassandra says you're at a restaurant by yourself, but I'm trying to convince her to invite you for dinner. Oh, well, that’s perfect! We'll set out another plate."

  She hands the phone back to me and smiles sweetly.

  Definitely a despot.

  I put the phone back to my ear. "I'm so happy you agreed to come over here," I say, my voice falsely cheerful.

  "I wouldn't miss this for the world," says Sable. "Colton's mother, huh? You guys are moving pretty quickly. When will your wedding be?"

  "Shut up," I hiss. "I'll text you the address."

  "Can't wait," Sable says, her voice overly cheerful.

  "Well, that's that," Colton's mother chirps after I hang up. "Now, I need to get in the kitchen. Cassandra, can you handle a knife?"

  I look at Colton with narrowed eyes. "Definitely," I say.

  "Well come on into the kitchen with me and chop veggies for a salad," she says.

  Alone time with Colton's mother? I think I might be having a heart attack. Heart palpitations, at the very least.

  "I'll go too," Colton offers, following us into the kitchen. "I mean, it's kind of sexist if you two are in the kitchen cooking."

  "Since when did you get concerned about being sexist?" Doreen asks, her voice teasing.

  I give Colton another look. Obviously, he just doesn’t want his mother in the same room alone with me. I’m not sure whether I should be offended or relieved.

  Right now, I pick relieved.

  Doreen digs around in grocery bags, pulling out vegetables and setting them on the counter. Or, what is left of the counter space. Groceries cover nearly every available surface of the kitchen, their contents spilling out onto the countertops.

  She catches my look. "It's enough to feed a small army, isn't it? These boys can put away enough food to feed an army." She hands me a bag of onions. "Colt and his brother practically ate me out of house and home when they were teenagers. Two gallons of milk a day between the both of them. It was a good thing we had cows on the farm, that’s for sure. Loaf after loaf of bread. I swear those children would eat five sandwiches for lunch and two hours later they'd be ready to eat again."

  "Yeah, and look at me now," Colton says, flexing his biceps. "Now I'm a god among men."

  I snort and roll my eyes. His mother sees it.

  "Colt never had a problem with self-esteem," Mrs. K points out, chuckling as she shakes her head.

  "It’s hard to have a problem with self-esteem when you're this awesome," Colton says. "You want me to unpack all of this, ma?"

  "Thank you, darlin'. Pull that basil out of the bag for me and give it to Cassandra to chop. I'm going to get a sauce going here. Cassandra, now how is it tutoring my son? Don't lie to me now. I know he can be a handful."

  A handful.

  My thoughts go straight to what Colton's hand was full of earlier when he sat on the chair stroking his cock for me. Colton catches my gaze and I know he knows exactly what I'm thinking by the way the corners of his mouth turn up.

  I clear my throat. "It's been a pleasure working with Colton."

  Oh God. Did I just say that?

  "He's a really hard worker," I add quickly. Crap. I can't stop blurting out words that sound sexual. Colton was definitely hard. Don't talk about pleasure. Or hands being full. Or anything that might remotely remind you of Colton King naked.

  Colton coughs. I think he's laughing but I don't turn around to confirm. I focus instead on intently chopping the pile of green peppers in front of me.

  Yes. Focus on the peppers, not on the penises.

  "I'm going to cook up some sausage too," his mother says, and I nearly choke. I look up and Colton's eyes meet mine. He covers his mouth with his hand and tries to hide his laughter, but it's unmistakable. "Italian. For the meat sauce. Why are you both staring at me? Are you allergic to sausage, Cassandra?"

  The image of Colton stroking his cock flashes into my head and I clear my throat. "Nope," I say, my voice cracking. "Not allergic."

  Colton snorts loudly and turns around. I can't hear him laughing, but I can see his shoulders shaking.

  "Cassandra, what are you studying?" Doreen asks.

  "Sociology," I answer.

  "Oh!" Doreen cries out. "You're like the woman who went and lived with the gorillas!"

  I laugh. "She was an anthropologist, but lots of sociologists do embedded research, yes."

  Doreen clucks her tongue. "You're basically doing that with the football team right now."

  “Pardon me?” I ask, my heart racing.

  "Are you comparing me and my friends to a pack of gorillas?" Colton interrupts.

  Out in the living room, one of the guys whoops loudly, the sound echoing through the house. Then there’s a loud thud. The sound of furniture being moved – or broken – drifts into the kitchen.

  “I would never,” Doreen says. “That’s downright insulting… to the gorillas. You’ve got enough material for a case study right in this one.” She points toward Colton with a wooden spatula.

  "Aren't you the one who was just trying to sell Cassie on being my girlfriend?" Colton asks, laughing. "Now you’re telling her she should do a case study on me."

  I get that nagging pang of guilt again. Colton doesn’t know what my thesis is about, and I should tell him. I remind myself that it’s nowhere near the same thing as a case study. It’s definitely not embedded research. I’m doing nothing wrong.

  "Now, where do your people come from, Cassandra?" Doreen's voice breaks through my thoughts.

  My people?

  "She means your family," Colton clarifies.

  "Oh. My parents live in Massachusetts," I say, passing her a cutting board filled with diced up peppers and onions and mushrooms. She gestures toward a bowl, so I slide them in. "Outside of Boston."

  "Is that where you grew up?" she asks. "You don’t have even have a lick of an accent. What's that they say? Pahk the cahh?"

  I giggle at her Texan imitation of a Boston accent and slip right back into my old one. "It's more like this: It’s not wicked good to pahk your cah in the yad."

  "That's funny," Colton mutters.

  "Says the guy with the drawl so thick you could cut it with a butter knife," I say, my voice light. "I haven't lived there since I was eighteen. I went to school in Georgia and now I've been in Texas for two years. The accent kind of faded away when I moved to Georgia."

  "And what do your parents do?" asks Doreen.

  "Ma, stop grilling her," Colton cuts in. "She's not going to give you grandchildren."

  "A mother can dream, can't she?" Doreen says, and Colton turns toward me, mouthing I’m so sorry from across the room.

  "Don't think I didn't see that, Colton Anderson King. I'm simply engaging in polite conversation."

  "Your version of polite conversation and normal people’s versions of polite conversation are not the same thing.”

  “I’m not listening to you,” she says back. "Now, how long have you been tutoring him, Cassandra?"

  "Almost a month," I answer.

  "Almost a month, Colton King." His mother turns to him. "This girl has had to put up with you for almost a month and she hasn't gone running for the hills."

  Colton laughs. "You think you're selling her on me?"

  "I think by now she's surely figured out what a stubborn ass you can be," his mother reasons. "Haven't you?"

  I laugh. What the hell do I say that sounds professional? "Colton can be…difficult."

  Colton turns around, his eyes locked on me. "I'm not difficult when I get what I want."

  I flush warm and spin right back around, pretending to be super busy chopping vegetables for a salad. "My father is a retired Captain from the Boston Police Department," I say, changing the conversation abruptly, "and my mother is an elementary school teacher. She just retired."

  "Oh, well that must be where you got the patience to d
eal with Colt," Doreen says. "You're genetically predisposed."

  A guy pokes his head into the kitchen. "Are there cups in here? We're going to play beer pong. Smells good, Mrs. K. I've been missing your cooking."

  "You boys take one of those folding tables and play in the yard, not in the house," she says. "If you destroy the dining room, you're not getting any dinner. And don't be getting wasted playing beer pong, either. No one's going to be throwing up my spaghetti."

  "Yes ma'am." He snatches a plastic bag of red cups from Colton. "Hey, did Colt show you the roof slide yet?"

  "Shut up, man," Colton hisses, punching him in the arm.

  "You're trying to kill an old woman with worry, aren't you?" Doreen scolds but she's smiling as she shakes her head. She walks over to Colton and puts her arm around him. "You boys take it easy so you don't get injured. Remember, this kid here is my retirement plan."

  "I'm not getting broken, mom," Colton insists. "The roof slide is a structural masterpiece."

  "Have you seen this masterpiece, Cassandra?" asks Doreen.

  Colton grins at me. "Yeah, Cassie. You've seen my masterpiece, right?" His voice drips with innuendo.

  Yeah, I’ve definitely seen the masterpiece between his legs.

  "I have," I answer. "It was less than impressive, though."

  "Oh, I think you were plenty impressed," Colton argues. "Couldn't take your eyes off it."

  He looks at me meaningfully.

  I really, really, really need to stop thinking about his dick.

  "I'll have to check out this engineering marvel after dinner," Doreen says, returning to the oven where she stirs a pan of meat on the stove.

  19

  Colton

  We're all sitting around the table – my mom, Cassie and Sable, and my roommates. It's loud, everyone talking and passing food around like we're one big family. My mom has a way of making you feel like you're part of her family, which I guess is one reason my roommates think she's awesome. That and the cinnamon rolls. She makes a mean cinnamon roll.

  "Now, Sable," my mom starts.

  I know that tone. Next, she’s going to throw Sable at me as a potential girlfriend. I glance at Cassie sitting beside me. I engineered that seating arrangement personally. I wasn't about to let one of my roommates anywhere near her.

  "Tell me you're not attached," she says.

  "Mom," I warn.

  "I'm single and free," Sable announces in the breezy, blunt way she does. From where I sit, I can see her wink across the table at Tank, who's munching on a piece of garlic bread. "That's a hint."

  I stifle a laugh. Sable deflected that like a pro.

  Tank blinks at Sable like a deer in the headlights. Or a guy who just had a girl out of his league hit on him.

  "Subtle, Sable," Cassie says, laughing.

  "I've never been a subtle kind of girl." Her eyes are on Tank. "I like to get straight to the point. I pick you, in case I wasn't clear."

  "Damn it," grunts Emmett.

  "Okay. Uh, you wanna hang out?" Tank asks.

  "Well, look at that." My mother looks so proud. "I should run a matchmaking service. Now, if only I could get my son to –"

  "Ma," I groan. This time there's no warning tone. I give my mother a look that's clear I'm not joking.

  "Jonathan really is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet, Sable," my mom promises, changing the subject. "He has such a kind heart."

  The conversation keeps going, my mom talking to Sable and my roommates, and I tune everything out because there's nothing I'm interested in as much as Cassie.

  Or more specifically, Cassie's thigh. Under the table, I slide my hand to her leg, my fingers brushing against her skin.

  When I look over at her, she's glaring. I think her nostrils might even be flared. She holds up her fork and narrows her eyes, making a subtle stabbing gesture that no one seems to notice.

  In response, I squeeze her leg.

  She doesn't say anything. She just gives me a look that could melt ice.

  I'm honestly kind of surprised when she reaches for her cell phone instead of stabbing me in the back of the hand with a fork, which is totally what I deserve. I watch as she types out a text message. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I only take my hand away from her in order to grab it. Then Cassie turns to Sable, pretending to be preoccupied with whatever super interesting thing Sable is saying.

  I open the text message.

  Get your hand off my leg, you perv, or I'm going to stab you.

  I type a response.

  My hands are going to be on a lot more than just your leg.

  I don't hear her phone vibrate after I hit send. She must have turned the sound off. But when she glances at me, I can tell she got the message loud and clear, which is good, because I'd hate to be less than clear about what I want.

  My mother is busy interrogating my roommates, making sure everyone is making decent grades and asking about what they think of the pre-season hype surrounding our schedule this year. Meanwhile, all I can think about is how much I want Cassie naked again. I want to run my hands over her skin. I want to breathe her in. I can't wait to see her come.

  Now my dick is hard, sitting here at the table with all of these people. Including my mother.

  Cassie looks over at me again, her gaze falling to my lap. When she sees the hard-on I clearly have for her, she arches an eyebrow and turns away. I get a text message another minute later.

  Really? Your mom is at the table.

  I text her back.

  What can I say? When I think of you naked, I can't help it.

  She texts again.

  I'm not texting you anymore.

  I respond:

  What if I'm texting to tell you how much I want to be inside you?

  When she gets it, she gives me a wide-eyed glare.

  "Cassandra, how much more school do you have left?"