Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1) (18 page)

When she rounded the corner, the woman was standing by the counter, cupping a mug of coffee and sipping appreciatively. She opened her eyes and fixed a stare on Stacia.

“Let’s sit and talk, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, she settled herself at the table and gestured to the seat opposite her. Stacia blindly followed and sat across from her, yanking discreetly on the shirt again, making sure everything was covered.

“So, who are you?” Definitely from Jersey, based on the accent and blunt manner. Having little experience with morning afters, especially morning after conversations with her lover’s mother, she sipped her coffee and studied the woman over the rim of the mug. The high cheekbones and sharp eyes reminded her of Jason, especially the guarded look in them, suspiciously checking her out. This woman was rounded and soft, but not tender and sweet. She was a mama bear protecting her young, even if he was in his thirties.

“I’m Stacia Kendall. I’m helping your son with his media image.”

The other woman studied her for several long moments, eyes seeming to pierce her soul. Seeming satisfied with what she saw, the older woman nodded then reached across the table and grasped Stacia’s arm, a look of pleading and hope replacing wariness. “Can you help him?”

Stacia immediately relaxed and smiled. “I’m trying, Mrs. Friar.”

“Call me Celia.” Both women laughed and Stacia sagged back in her chair.

*

Jason woke slowly,
blinking rapidly against the sun shining in his eyes. He stretched his hand out and only felt cool sheets. He suppressed a stab of irritation. He had to break Stacia of that habit of rushing out after sex while he was sleeping. He ignored the fact that he was usually the one leaving in the middle of night. He did not appreciate her sneaking out on him, again, and he cursed the unusual feeling. Dammit they were more than fuck buddies. Hadn’t last night proved it?

He tossed the sheets aside, determined to have the discussion immediately, clear up any remaining misunderstandings. She belonged to him, by his side. After all her attempts to get there, she’d better be ready to stay there. At the thought, he stopped, shocked by the turn of his feelings. Not once in his life had he ever wanted a woman to stay the night, much less the next morning. The idea that Stacia was getting under his skin, becoming a part of his life, was not scaring him as it would normally.

Despite the fact he hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, she’d steamrolled her way in and should have had the decency not to run out. Although he vaguely recalled a brief conversation earlier where he may or may not have kicked her out. If she wouldn’t leave then, she damn well better not have left now.

The sound of voices drifted up the condo stairs, both clearly belonging to women. A bad feeling wafted over him, and dread dogged his footsteps. As he walked further down the steps, the second voice became more and more clear.

He stepped into the kitchen, smelling coffee and another scent, a perfume from his youth, reminding him of conversations over dinner and unconditional love. Passing it off as delusion and lack of caffeine, he muttered, “Must have coffee.” He slid the carafe out and started to pour but only a few drops trickled into his cup. “What the—?”

“Watch your language, young man.”

He froze, an icy chill grabbing his balls in a vice-like grip. Slowly, he turned and faced the small dining area. Stacia waved, a smile playing about her lips. And the other woman scowled at him while dressed in something that hurt his eyes. “Mom, what the hell are you wearing?”

“Jason.” Her tone threw him back to his childhood, the tiny kitchen, closet really, in New Jersey, and his hand flew to his ear, already feeling her tug it as a correction.

Stacia’s grin broadened. She walked into the kitchen, barely suppressing laughter. “I’ll make some more coffee.” As she passed him, she punched him in the arm and hissed, “You didn’t tell me your mother was coming for visit, honey.”

“That’s because she didn’t tell me.”

Stacia reached up in the cabinet for the coffee can and he lost his train of thought. His mother tapped him on the arm. “I taught you better than that, young man.”

“You also taught me to call before dropping in.” He glared at her. “Did you think to pick up the phone?”

“And why should an old woman like me have to call her son? You should be calling me daily, checking in, making sure I’m not lying dead in my kitchen. I live alone, you know. The only thing I ask is for my only son to call me once in a while. Instead, I have to haul these old bones down here from New Jersey to see him.”

He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “Give me a break, Mom. I just got here and have been trying to get up to speed. Besides, you have a houseful of girls living with you, all with babies on the way. You have no time for me.”

He tried to ignore the familiar spike of irritation at the thought of her girls, as she called them. Girls who always came first in her mind, taking all of her attention, money and focus. Except for the few times she decided her son needed her.

“Girls?” Stacia asked, leaning against the counter watching the coffee percolate.

“Mom takes in pregnant girls from the neighborhood who have nowhere to go. She helps them find adopted parents for the kids or start on their own.”

Stacia stared at his mother, the glimmer of admiration in her eyes. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Not really, dear.” His mother waved her hand, dismissing the compliment. “I know what it’s like to be pregnant and alone. And you.” She poked her finger hard into Jason’s chest. “How hard is it to hit a damn ball or catch it? Look at this place. You’ve barely settled in. You’re not even unpacked and there’s nothing to feed this poor girl. Where did I go wrong in raising you?”

He rolled his eyes at the same old litany. At least she wasn’t whining about grandchildren. This time. The coffee was taking too long and he was desperate. He snatched the cup out of Stacia’s hand.

“Hey!”

“It’s your second cup.”

“You don’t know that.” He arched an eyebrow. She huffed. “Fine, but you didn’t have to be so rude.”

“I didn’t raise my boy to be like that, Stacia. I don’t know where he got that from. His father probably.” The thread of old bitterness weaved into his mother’s tone.

Jason shot a glare at his mother, then grabbed Stacia around the waist and planted a kiss on her lips. “Happy now?” He sauntered across the kitchen and flopped into a chair next to his mom, grabbed a Danish from a plate, and smiled smugly while Stacia stood bemused by the coffee maker. A sharp rap across the head jarred him out of his amusement. “Ow.” He rubbed his head and glared at his mother.

“Be nice to that young lady. She’s too good for you.”

“You know, most mothers support their kids not someone else.”

“I’m not most mothers.” She frowned at him. “Look at her. She’s a decent young lady, no tattoos, weird-colored hair or odd things pierced. You’ve done worse.”

“Don’t I know it.” He faced his mother fully. She never left New Jersey on a whim. She had a motive for coming down here. Time to get to the bottom of the issue. “So, Mom, why are you here?”

“A mother can’t visit her son?”

He arched a look at her while Stacia smothered a laugh in the kitchen.

“Fine.” She huffed. “I wanted to check out this woman, make sure she isn’t taking advantage of you like the last slut.” She turned and glanced at Stacia, her tone turning into the honey badger protecting her baby boy. “I assume you’re not trying to trap my boy with a baby, right? I’ll never let him throw away his life on someone like that.”

Heat flooded his face. “Okay, Mom. That’s enough. I can take care of myself. Besides, she’s helping with my image. And how did you know about her?”

“In your bed? From what I hear, your image in the bedroom is perfectly fine, if a bit exaggerated.” She perched in a chair and sipped her coffee. “Besides, it was in the paper. Jason Friar caught at last was the headline I think.”

“Exaggerated?” He shot straight up in his chair, then glanced slyly at Stacia. “Stacia can attest that it’s not.”

Stacia flushed and turned away, muttering something under her breath.

“What was that, Stacia?”

She whirled, red color blooming on her face, heat in her eyes. “Maybe a bit of exaggeration.”

He scowled. Typical. All women stuck together. “That’s not what you said last night. Or rather yelled.”

His mother whacked him on the side of the head. “That is not the way I raised my son. She’s a lady.”

“But Mom. You just called her a slut.”

“No buts. Apologize. Now.” She deliberately ignored the truth in his statement, much as she always ignored what wasn’t convenient for her argument. A mother’s prerogative, she always said.

Stacia grinned. “Celia, I hope you’re staying for a long visit.”

He scowled. “Speaking of that, how long are you staying? I assume you’re staying here, considering you weren’t invited,” he finished under his breath.

“Jason! Family never requires an invitation.” Stacia walked across the room and smacked him on the arm.

She was mimicking his mother’s bad habits and the whole conversation was sliding downward very rapidly. “I didn’t mean that. I just would have liked some warning. Would you want your father showing up on your doorstep?”

She paled immediately and looked stricken. He desperately wanted to take the words back, and did the only thing he could. He pulled her close and rubbed a hand up and down her arm, comforting her.

“Relax, Jason.” Celia waved a hand in the air. “This is a whirlwind visit. I have two new girls moving in Monday, but if I’m an inconvenience, I could stay at a hotel. I don’t need anything special. I hope it doesn’t throw out my bad hip, though.”

“Oh jeez. Put away the damn violin. You can stay here.” Jason rolled his eyes. “My mother, Stacia. The drama queen of Trenton, New Jersey. Mom works with pregnant teens. I send her money all the time, despite how she’s dressed right now. What the hell
are
you wearing?”

She grinned. “I wanted to get on the level with your new girl. Dreadful, isn’t it? I can see that wasn’t necessary. Thank God. I hate this outfit.”

“Mom trots out this outfit every time she comes to visit.” Jason shook his head. “She thinks it scares people away.”

“Women, Jason. Scares women away.”

“How often do you have to do this, Celia?” Stacia refilled the coffee, placed some pastry on the counter and slid into the other chair.

“Not as often as you think. I did one thing right, making sure Jason always uses protection and watches out for gold diggers. At least I assume he always uses protection.” Celia took a Danish and pointed it at Stacia. “I like this one. She’s domesticated. Perfect for my grandchildren.” She glanced sideways at Jason, who choked on his coffee.

Stacia blushed and sipped hers, remaining silent and let Jason twist.

He glowered at her. “When did you buy pastry?”

“Your mother brought it. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Celia shook her head. “I knew you’d have nothing in your fridge. Honestly, you’d think I raised him in a barn. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Jason jumped up, irritation at his lack of manners finally getting the better of him. “Okay, that’s enough bashing me. I didn’t ask her to do anything for me. She just barged in and took over, like someone else I know. Now, I’m going to take a shower and head to the stadium. You two, stop talking about me!”

Both women smiled at him. Celia waved to the hallway. “Go ahead. We have more coffee to finish and lots more to talk about.”

Jason stood, torn between wanting to drag Stacia away for a bout of hot shower sex or just away from his mother, and wanting to stay and stop his mother from sharing too much about his past. She didn’t need to know he was a poor kid, way out of her social league, anecdotes about his legions of women, most of which were exaggerated, and tales from his misspent youth. Thank God Mom hadn’t brought photo albums.

Celia leaned across the table. “How did his penis turn out? He has—”

“Oh my God, Mom!” Jason turned and fled, the sound of their laughter drifting after him.

*