"You could stop staring and come help me," Trey says, stirring a delicious smelling sauce he's whipped together on my rarely used stovetop. Then he wipes his forehead with a duly appetizing forearm.

I bump my hip against the entryway of my kitchenette, noticing how the bright yellow isn't quite as bad as I thought it was. Not with him standing in the center of it.

"And miss out on this phenomenal view?" I pop my shoulder beneath the chunky green cardigan I'd thrown on.

Trey shakes his head, dimples getting lost in his silky scruff. I love getting lost in his silky scruff. When it brushes my inner thighs, causing a influx of shivers that turn into goosebumps, coating every surface of my body, sending a charge of liquid heat down to—

"Bri?"

I snap out of it and remove my hand from its drifting destination, sandwiched between the legs of my black briefs.

A flirty grin adorns his face. "You want me to help you with something?"

"No, no. Sorry, just, you know..." I twirl a finger at my ear. "Daydreaming."

My smile, that's been constant since last night, is half to do with eliminating the crippling weight that a secret can carry, and half because I've never blasted off that many times in a row. My vagina is more worn out than the "Fast and Furious" franchise.

"You keep it so hot in here." He plucks the front of his tee and fans himself with it. "When we live together, this is not happening."

When we live together. A timeless anthem to my ears.

Last night, after he'd fucked my mouth well and good—no lies wanna roll off this tongue anytime soon—we stayed up for hours, as we always do. I told him about my life growing up, sharing stories and funny memories I'd long since forgotten.

Everything. Anything. Nothing is out of bounds anymore.

And can I get a freaking O-to-the-mother-fucking-K for the bossy and divinely deviant Trey that showed up last night? Makes me wanna piss him off more often. Obviously not in the same way.

"What were you daydreaming about?" He strides towards me, after adjusting all the temperatures to what I assume is their appropriate levels—I can't cook for shit. Then, an intentional exhale from his nose rushes into my ear, twists around my spine like a vortex, and touches down in a cyclone of steamy awareness.

Isn't it crazy how the feel of a single breath can get you raring to go?

I don't even have it bad. I am afflicted with the Trey Moreau disease and there is no chance for a cure. Not that I'd want one. This is the same apprehensive man who, not that long ago, was a stuttering wreck around me. He was shy, in the dumps, and overly anxious. I was a complete rolling boil of a mess, who did a great job of shielding my insecurities and truths from the world, pretending to be someone I'm not.

Who'd have ever thought it would take two people who were lost, to find, and bring out the absolute best in the other?

"You should lose the shirt," I suggest, walking my nails beneath the bothersome piece of fabric.

"Is that why you bumped the heat so high?" Trey asks. "And how are you wearing this?" He flings open the cardigan I'd held securely across my body, revealing a skimpy bra paired with his briefs underneath.

I smirk. "What can I say? I'm an opportunist."

"You trying to get me barefoot and naked in your kitchen?" he asks.

"Well, it shouldn't just be one of us."

"Yeah." His thumbs ghost my stomach as he continues gripping my open top. "I'd love nothing more than to be naked and barefoot in our kitchen."

"Such a smooth talker." I inch my way up his arms to the dense curves of his biceps.

Trey kisses the tip of my nose "And you are my dream, any time of day."

The cheese is thick and gooey and wonderful.

"So, what"—he hauls me into him—"were you daydreaming about that had you needing to touch yourself?"

"You," I say. Call it what you will. My inner Buddy the Elf is screaming I'm in love and I don't care who knows it.

See, yes, I told him I loved him back in Georgia—and I meant it. But last night something shifted. Changed. Developed further. It was as if I got smacked upside the head with a dose of reality I've needed for... forever. And I feel different—like me. Or not me, but a better me. It's not just because of him; I don't think we can credit any personal growth to a specific individual, only the desire for it.

And trust me, Trey's made my desire for everything skyrocket.

"Hm." He taps his chin in a playful imitation. "You don't have to daydream about me. I'm right here." His hand does a slow slide between my legs. "I told you, you never have to do that when I'm around. Not unless you do it for me to watch."

Those words are a promising purr, and my kitty reacts, salivating, satiating—I don't even know if that last one makes sense. And why am I saying kitty?

"If you dream of me during the day..." Trey slips the cardigan off my arms. "Then I'd love to hear what you dream about at night?" His lips sweep over my neck then drag along my collarbone.

"Easy," I say as his kisses reach the tops of my breasts. "Bradley Cooper."

He laughs at me, because that's what Trey does, and we simmer with the heavy petting for a while—just kidding. Like I've said before, when you don't get to be around each other all the time, you take advantage of the hands-on when you can. But as we Magellan each other's bodies, we discuss how it'll be living together.

Make out Mondays. Taco Tuesdays—anything else would be disrespectful. Wet and wild Wednesdays—slippery details to be determined. Thursday to Sunday, each week, will be up in the air. Trey informs me those are going to be his busiest workdays, which I figured. But we both agree it'll be amaze.

And we're excited.

"We should probably get ready," he says, checking the various aromatic ingredients, ensuring everything's together for my parents' impending visit.

Not anxious about that.

We'd gone to three different stores after waking up this morning, or afternoon. Trey wanted to support local markets over the high-trafficked chains.

My heart.

I had continued with the apologies—I couldn't stop. He spent at least an hour on the phone with his sister and mom, discussing legal jargon, and then shot a call to Chaz, batting away my sorrys.

It shouldn't be on him, or any of them, to swoop in with the disaster relief. But... I'm trying to do what he said, and allow them to help me out of this dilemma. To trust that these people are in my corner of the ring.

Side note: could we push a button and have Jonathan exterminated from the face of the earth? After public castration, ideally.

"Trey." I bite the inside of my bottom lip. "I'm nervous." My hands wring after my open admission until he stops them with his.

"It's just your parents. They love you. Everything will be fine."

"What if they don't believe me? What if—"

He kisses me. Have I mentioned lately that I appreciate the method he uses to shut me up? His mouth. His dick. A finger. I'm not picky.

"But it's—"

His lips slant over mine in an uneven smile, then his tongue dives into my mouth, seeking to silence it.

"Just be yourself," he says.

I don't know if I'm more nervous to have my parents—specifically my mom—here in my place, where the table isn't big enough for the four of us so we'll have to eat on the couch. Or, because I'm acutely aware I need to tell them about Jonathan. Or, because I think for the first time, at least genuinely, an actual conversation has to happen.

Trey seems to sense my trepidation. "You know what? I'm hungry."

Well, that was out of nowhere. But I'm always down for a snack.

"Me too." It's true. My parents should be here soon-ish, but this girl hasn't had a bite since noon. It's almost six. T-Minus thirty minutes and counting.

He peels off his shirt.

"What happened to 'we should probably get ready?'" I ask, though I'm definitely not stopping him.

"You're the one sweating me out of my clothes."

"Trey." My pout is trip worthy. While yes, he's got the gears going and the hormones flowing, my box is beat.

"Don't worry." He lifts me, and I sling my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. "I know that was too much last night."

"It wasn't. You taking charge trumps Bradley Cooper all day," I tell him as he walks us to the bedroom.

We'd decided that in the future any concerns, insecurities, fights, disagreements, arguments, and squabbles will go on trial in the bedroom.

Court is in session.

"Let me rephrase." He falls onto the bed with me beneath him. "I know you're sore, and the last thing I ever want is to hurt you."

"Mm-hmm," I hum as his teeth scrape my shoulder.

"I want to kiss you and make it better."

"I feel like I'm gonna allow it," I say as he slides off my bottoms.

"When we live together..." His lips press against the inside of my knee before treating the other to the same. "I'm going to cook for you."

Oh, hell, that'll do it.

Warms breaths climb higher. "I'm going to clean for you."

"I love when you talk dirty," I joke. Actually, I just barely get the joke out when he sucks on that sweet, hypersensitive dip that's directly next to—

"Your pussy will be taken the utmost care of."

Case dismissed.

I launch my hips into that scruff I love so much and moan like a fucking pornstar as a hot, wet, soft, nerve-depleting drag of his tongue parts me from bottom to top.

"That was—"

"Delicious." My mother dabs her mouth with a napkin after finishing my dad's sentence. She didn't bat a judgmental lash when I'd told them the eating quarters weren't ideal.

I had a last-minute freak-out, moving the coffee table multiple times, asking Trey over and over where he thought we should eat. What should I do? How should I act? And you guessed it, he smothered me with a lip-lock that momentarily powered-off the overabundant words from my edgy brain.

He was right. They don't seem to care.

"Fantastic," my father says. "Briar, you did such a great job."

I suck in a breath and lean into the side of Trey. I mostly pushed food around on my plate. Not because this pasta dish isn't incredible, but because, even after the eat out before eating in—nasty, my parents are right here—I resumed my high-stringing about the 'rents coming over for a Saturday night double. And I'm not completely sure why.

One thing that keeps sticking in my head is what Trey said while we were out this afternoon. He'd halted my apologies, and told me to shut my sexy mouth, or he would have to punish me again. Yeah, I'm going to think on that. Because the threat of punishment, by way of multiple orgasms, is having a reverse effect. But that's not what stuck in my head. What did was when he had said forgiveness and acceptance, from the people who truly love you, isn't circumstantial.

I hope he's right.

The conversation has been steady, with Trey chiming in as needed, though the key points of topic are the weather and work. I can feel, and have felt, his expecting stare throughout the last thirty minutes, waiting for me to reveal the headline.

"It was all this guy." I watch an impressed grin brighten my dad's face. "He made everything."

"Then compliments to you, Trey."

"Thanks, Mr. Hayes." His arm loops around me, keeping his hand high above my hip.

"Ted," Dad says, relaxing into the couch. I'm thankful they're both wearing jeans and sweaters. Which is about as casual as they get.

After my skillfully administered oxytocin infusion, I'd gotten dressed. Trey grimaced at my turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and flats. He wiggled my top then undid my pants and shucked them to my ankles. "Dress like you" he said before putting the finishing touches on our dinner.

Dad snakes his arm behind my mom's back, drawing her closer, and I smile. I haven't seen them touchy feely. Maybe when I was a kid? Though, in all fairness, when I'm around them now it's in a working environment. So, that would be frowned upon.

"Yes, thank you, Trey," Cecilia says. "And Briar." She pulls on the collar of her red sweater, which compliments the fair tone of her skin. "For having us to your—"

"Technically, this is your place." I internally wince. Please, it's external—my face never fails. Why do I feel the need to undermine her? Is it because I've always felt that she undermines me? Because the chip has been on my shoulder so long it's difficult to slough off?

"You paid back everything," Dad says. "And we're proud of how hard you worked to do so."

That word strikes a chord and my wide eyes go superglued to the other side of the sectional. My throat is assaulted by thousand saltines I didn't eat.

"Briar I—"

"Mom." The title, or name, whispers in a voice that doesn't sound like mine.

My dad hops to his feet. "Trey, how about we run down the street and grab these beautiful ladies some coffee?"

"Yup." Trey's embrace slips from behind me and he stands.

Panic sets in and I bolt off the couch. "Coffee? I have coffee. Tons of it. Gobs of it. So much I could caffeinate a city. High-test. Low-test. Decaf. No, that's just redundant. But there's French vanilla, mocha, caramel." I go on and on, counting the various flavors on each of my fingers. Trey takes my hand in his, giving a solacing squeeze.

"We,ll grab a drink then. Get to know each other better," Dad says, with a pat on Trey's back that's a hurry-the-fuck-up-before-she-tangents-again signal.

"Just be yourself." That's the only advice I'm left with before Trey pulls away and the two walk out the door.

We sit here. We sit here for years. Centuries. Eons. The dark strands of my hair have long since faded to gray. Okay, dramatic per my norm. But, fuck.

"Briar, I'm—"

"Can I go first?" I hit the ground running. I think I got this. Both of us sit on the furthest ends of the sectional from each other. My mother nods, propping her elbow on the armrest. The. Armrest. "Could you switch spots first?"

A slight frown dips her lips as she stands, giving in to my bizarre-ish request. No shot I'm gonna be able to focus, with the limited attention span I have, while she's leaning against the blunt edge of—

We all know what happened.

"I'm sorry." She grips my forearms before the seat swap happens. "You needed... you deserved so much more." Her nostrils quiver, but she doesn't pull her eyes from mine.

Before I think, or prepare, the words come toppling out. "I blamed you. I always blamed you. For everything. I feel like I'm just a mistake to you. An embarrassment. And I don't do anything right, or anything noteworthy."

"Oh, Briar." Years of pent-up heartache dig a trench between her brows. "I am so sorry I made you feel that way." Her glassy gaze lifts as she blinks fast. "You are the furthest thing from a mistake in the world," she says, gently wiping beneath my eyes.

I sniffle and study her face. The light freckles that are barely visible on the bridge of her nose. The specks of honey that are similar to mine, scattered throughout her blue irises. She's never looked more human.

"There has never been a day in my life that I've not been proud of you. I know I was constantly tough on you and often unfair." She shudders an exhale. "I didn't know any other way. I wasn't raised another way. And not changing that was my fault."

"I just wanted a mom." That's all I got. When you peel the layers away, that's the root of it.

She nods in understanding, maybe agreement.

"I never felt like I could be me. And I was mad at you. Why did you let me go there? Why didn't you stop me? You had to know—"

She reaches for me, and I break down. I fall apart in her arms. She surrounds me. Holds me. Strokes the back of my head as

"Anyone..." She pulls away. "Anyone that has you in their life is luckier for it." Her shaky finger wipes my tears. "My only hope is... I only hope that I'm not too late to be one of them?"

With a swallow, I nod. "Ya know what? I think we're right on time."

After we hug, and sob, and hug some more, she lets me go. We both exhale heavy breaths on the couch and I do something with her I've honestly been shit at, for probably my entire life.

I listen.

My mom explains how she became pregnant with me at twenty-three, that I already knew, and was completely in love. Problem was—as she says this, a look of repugnance bunches her cheek—he wasn't ready for a family.

She had to square up, face things on her own. After delivering the news to her parents, they also abandoned her. They were disappointed in her that much. My heart hurts. Obviously I don't know my grandparents, but I didn't realize I was the reason for their estrangement.

Immediately after revealing that, she follows up with that is not your fault.

My poor mom.

She continues, telling me how she put herself through school, nose to the grindstone, determined to become successful.

For her, and for me.

Then she met Ted when I was three, but made him wait years before allowing him to meet me. She claims it was because she vowed to protect me from any potential heartache. Ever. But despite her best efforts, she'd caused more... for us both.

"It's not all on you." A shuddering breath accompanies my statement. "I wasn't very good at talking to you. Or listening." She scoots closer to me, regret curling her lips.

"These walls you keep so high," she says with a sniffle. "I taught you how to build them. I gave you the blueprints and I hate that I'm responsible for that."

I shake my head. "When I came back, you did everything." I think of what Karen said. "I was late to work."

"I pushed you into a job you didn't want."

"Not once did I say thank you."

She clutches my hand. "You shouldn't have to thank your parents for being there for you. I'm so sorry that I never stepped in. She swipes beneath her lower lids. "Part of me thought you went there, and he... changed his mind. That you remained in Arizona because you got the love and attention you've deserved."

I crush her palm with mine, doing this oddly comforting move where I wrap my arms around her once more. The simple touch alone heals a million wounds.

Hopefully for both of us.

"I've only ever wanted you to be happy, Briar. When you came home, I didn't know how to act with you. You have this way about you that's—"

"Exhausting?" I cut her off with a quiet laugh that.

"Magical. You take up every inch in a room and make it your own. But I thought it was on me to steer you in the right direction. The sensible direction. To ensure you had a successful career so you could stand on your own two feet."

Fuck, if I don't understand her. I pause, staring at her face. It's funny because I've never realized how similar we look until now.

"I was hell bent on making you like me, though your father... Ted—"

"My father," I say with complete sincerity.

"He wanted to encourage you to follow your dreams." Her fists bunch. "That's all I wanted from my parents when I was younger."

"Dreams don't pay bills."

She laughs and fucking finally relaxes. After kicking off her shoes, she bends her legs up on to the couch. "Now don't go becoming a cynical bitch like me."

"I happen to admire cynical bitches." I raise a shoulder, prompting a smile to stretch my mom's lips.

"When you told me I wasn't proud of you." She exhales a sorrowful sigh. "I said the same thing to my parents."

"They didn't deserve you."

She shakes her head. "Can you please forgive me? Will you accept my apology for years of not devoting my life to understanding you? I want nothing more than to have whatever you'll let me."

I nod. "But just so you know, I'm sorry too, for being a shithead and a spoiled brat."

She waves a hand.

"But I will not forgive the cynical bitch."

Her eyes grow large and fretful.

"However, I will forgive the badass bitch that owned her life and is sitting right in front of me."

She sinks into my arms, or me into hers. Who cares.

"Of all the accomplishments in my life," she says. "You are the greatest one."

I bop around the kitchen. Trey and my dad ventured back a cool thirty minutes after they left. With a raise of my brows, I eye my hottie suspiciously.

"Did you know your dad's a tequila drinker?"

I thought I detected a whiff of that sweet, spicy devil's nectar when they walked in.

"Where do you think I got it from?" I beam at him, and he kisses me, letting me lick his lips and sample the remnants. "Anyway, we are so having drinks tonight."

"Body shots?"

He's frisky, and I like it. "As if there's another way." I gather plates and forks after unwrapping our dessert.

He slices the cake my mom brought. She had hugged Trey the second they came back in, thanking him profusely. I did the same. Then I heard her tell my dad he was right, that the only person she needed to be was herself.

Absently, I lift the lid from a box of homemade candies. Sandy—the receptionist at work—gave me them earlier this week.

Trey portions everything out, and carries two plates into the living room, handing them to my parents. My mom's gaze flits to mine, where I'm staring at her from the cutout window of my kitchen. I grin back. One major thing down and just a teensy one to go.

I pop a candy into my mouth, letting the delectable chocolate dissolve on my tongue.

"See, Bri." Trey returns, his voice low. "They love you."

"Thank you so much for everything. For making me better. You are hands down my favorite human being."

The creamy blast of whatever this goodness is tingles my tastebuds. And the sugary sweetness, mixed with a pinch of salt, makes me groan.

"You did this. And they'll be there to help you every step of the way."

He puts his hands on my waist, and turns us so his back is to our company, obstructing their view. Feverish lips crush mine, and his tongue dives inside my mouth. I'm thankful I already swallowed the chocolate, because that would've been a mess, then I follow him out to the living room. We both sit on the long part of the sectional, facing my parents, and I place my helping of cake on the coffee table.

"There's something... kind of uncomfortable I need to tell you." I frown, catching their matching concern. Trey's elbow nudges into me. "It's okay. I can do this," I say out of the corner of my mouth, not looking at him.

With a huge intake of air, the words hurry out in a long-winded, rambling mess. "I had a sort of thing with Jonathan." My dad's eyes grow wide. "I know." I flap my palm. "I wasn't aware he was with Stacey, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, he tried to make me stay quiet about it. He told me you said these hateful things about me, and that you wouldn't believe me. I won't even go into that."

My mom gasps, and her plate drops with a clang against the glass table.

"I know. I shouldn't have let him get in my head. When Dad took me to lunch all I wanted to do was spill the beans, sing like a canary, blow my proverbial load." I could've probs cut the last line. "But he went after Trey."

My dad bolts from the sofa, and stabs a finger at the aforementioned, his face sporting a mask of terror.

"I know."

"Briar!" my mom shouts, following Dad's movement.

"I know." My stare falls to my hands, twisting together in my lap. "I should have said something, but when Trey called and told me they denied his liquor license, I didn't have a clue what to do. There was no way I could allow Jonathan to do anything to..."

My head whips to the side, and in a split second, I'm on my feet. "Trey?"

He chokes, desperate for air, clawing at his neck, while a whistling sound squeals from his gaping mouth.

"What the fuck?" I frantically glance at my parents before my eyes ping to Trey again. "What's wrong?" I cry, shaking his shoulders, as his face swells with each passing moment.

My father's already on the phone, speaking with someone about an emergency.

"Allergies? He has allergies, right?" Mom springs to my side. Dad paces the apartment, gripping the back of his neck, shouting information and responses into his cell.

"Ep... ep..." Trey's labored voice rasps.

"Nuts!" I blurt. "Were there peanuts in that?" I motion to his piece of cake, which is on the floor.

"No. None. I made sure."

I smack my mouth. "The candy. Oh fuck! Shit, Trey. Shit! What do I do?" My trembling hands roam, inspecting him, needing to fix him. His eyes are so swollen, and the look at me with distress. Fear and despair thread tightly around each of my limbs. But they will not paralyze me. Not when it comes to him.

On some sort of autopilot, I fly into the bedroom, and dump his belongings from his bag.

I sprint back out—I have no clue what to do with this. I look directly into his eyes, then I raise my hand and force my attention to where he struggles to pat his thigh. With a plunging jab, I wince, but not before making a promise to him.

"I got you, too."

A/N: Bri and her mom!? I can't 😭😭😭.

And shit, those nuts!

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