Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce by Rachell Nichole Read Free Book Online Page A

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    “Say it.”
    Oh, God. If he promised, she would believe him and let it drop. But he’d be forced to stay away from Amy. Forever. Because breaking a promise to his mother was the biggest sin in her eyes. She hadn’t made him promise anything like this in a long time. She knew he would mean it if he said it.
    “Okay, I promise. I’ll leave her alone.” His chest tightened, his breath held captive in his lungs.
    She walked around the counter and wrapped her arms around him the way she used to do when he was little, and he inhaled. She smelled like cinnamon and sugar. Like usual. The scent brought with it a flood of memories from a childhood spent in the kitchen with her, both of them covered in flour and frosting from baking. He pushed the images aside, focusing on the present. He had to assure her that what she wanted was paramount to him. It always had been.
    “James seems like a great guy, Mom. I wouldn’t want to screw anything up for you, honest. How are you doing?” he said. She let go and moved to sit next to him.
    “I’m good, baby. Better than I’ve been in a long time, actually.”
    He should tell her. Now would be a good time to confess he knew about the affairs. And that he’d kept the truth from her. But the words stuck in his throat. He just couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. She’d had so much of that in her life. He wouldn’t be the cause of more pain. He just wouldn’t.
    “That’s great to hear. And I swear. Amy’s beautiful, of course, and she seems real sweet, for a Yank. But that’s about as far as it goes for me.”
    Mom nodded. “Okay, then. You know better than to lie to your mama, so that’s all I’ll say about it. I’m going to head upstairs. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.” The message was clear: go upstairs to bed.
    It should have hurt him that his mother was worried he would break Amy’s heart. But she’d been privy to his “relationships” for too many years. She’d seen the way he dated girls—on a weekly or nightly basis. Never anything serious, even if the women he dated wanted to be. He was always up-front with them, but sometimes they thought they could change his mind.
    He kissed Mom good night on the cheek, and she left him alone in the kitchen. He finished his beer as he listened to the footsteps above him. As the house quieted, he took care of the bottle and then went up. The lights in the hallway were off, but the bathroom door was open, the night-light inside enough to illuminate the familiar corridor. He went into his bedroom and grabbed his pajama pants. He pulled out his toiletries bag and made his way into the bathroom. A long, hot shower would relax his limbs, but a cold one would calm this burning desire that had taken root in his body. The urge to find out which bedroom Amy was using for the night pulled at him, but he resisted.
    He took a quick shower—hot, then cold—thinking about Amy’s long legs and sharp tongue the entire time. When he got out, he was more worked up than before. Frustrated, he went into his bedroom and grabbed his iPod. He put the earbuds in and lay down. He turned the music on and shut off his bedside light. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but picture the fire in Amy’s gaze as her body had moved so perfectly with his.
    He didn’t know if he’d ever had such a well-matched dance partner. She’d molded herself to his body like she belonged. Mason floated in that place between sleep and wakefulness, images of Amy taunting him. He might’ve lain there for minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but a crash from downstairs jolted him awake. He pulled out the earbuds and listened.
    “Shit.” Amy’s voice floated up from the kitchen.
    He looked at the clock beside him. One a.m. What the hell was she doing? She was going to wake the whole household with all that racket. He sprang from bed and padded down the stairs, careful not to make them creak under his bare feet.
    “Amy,” he whispered as he neared