Wild Dreams: A Friends to Lovers romance (Wilder Irish Book 12), Mari Carr [motivational books for men .TXT] 📗

“Damn right, they’re not. You’re going to be the butt of jokes for weeks,” Oliver said, laughing even harder.

“Asshole,” Gavin muttered with no heat, fighting to hide his own grin. “Anyway, I backed my way out of there—” He had to pause as Erin and Oliver lost it again, guffawing over his use of the word “back” in the description of his escape. Once they settled down, he quickly finished the story. “I went home, changed my jeans, made us some lunch—” He gestured to the brown paper bag he’d put on the folding table while watching Oliver and Erin kiss. “And hightailed it over here.”

Erin glanced at Oliver. “Are we going to let hightail go?”

Oliver winked at her, his smile huge. “Better pace ourselves.”

“Think Lauren can fix the jeans with her sewing machine? They were brand-new jeans. First time I’ve worn them,” Gavin asked Oliver, grateful Lauren had taken up quilting. He’d lived enough of his life poor as shit that he couldn’t stand the thought of tossing a pair of jeans he’d only worn a few hours, but God knew he was hopeless with a needle and thread.

“Depends on where the rip is. Seam’s easy. If it’s the actual material, trickier,” Erin said, glancing at her watch. “Damn. I really do need to head back.”

Gavin grasped her hand and tugged her close. “Didn’t get to steal my own kisses yet.” He placed his lips on hers, marveling at how much he enjoyed kissing her.

Her.

Before Erin, he’d never felt the desire to be with a woman. Hell, it had even sort of repulsed him to think about. Now…he was quickly becoming addicted to sleeping with her snuggled between him and Oliver in bed.

Oliver stepped closer as they kissed, the three of them forming a tight circle. “Got room for me in there?” he asked, wrapping one arm around Erin’s back, the other around Gavin’s.

Erin turned her face to Oliver and began kissing him as Gavin ran his lips over her soft cheek, then Oliver’s rougher one.

When they parted, Gavin was there, ready to steal another kiss, this time from Oliver.

“Dammit,” Erin murmured as she watched them kiss. “That is seriously hot. And I am seriously late.”

He and Oliver chuckled as they broke apart.

“We’ll pick up where we’ve left off tonight,” Oliver said.

“Sounds good.” Erin reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her key fob. “Walk me to my car?”

The three of them walked out into the bright sunshine, shifting closer to ward off the chilly December air. Oliver held Erin’s hand as Gavin wrapped his arm around her waist. They crossed the street to the parking lot and stepped next to the driver’s door of her Volkswagen Jetta.

Erin kissed each of them once more, obviously reluctant to leave, then she lifted the fob over her shoulder and hit the button to unlock the door.

“See you at home tonight,” she said, lifting her face for yet another kiss.

Oliver chuckled, then deepened the next kiss, going out of his way to keep her with them. The entire thing reminded Gavin of those first love middle school phone calls, where the couple argued over who should hang up first.

He was just about to enter the game when he heard his name.

“Gavin.”

His heart stopped for one beat, two. When it started again, it was racing a million miles an hour.

He turned slowly, deliberately stepping forward as he did so, placing himself directly between Erin and Oliver and…

“Mom.”

He was still close enough to his lovers that he felt Oliver jerk behind him, though his attention was solely focused on her.

The nine years since they’d seen each other hadn’t been kind to her. She was even thinner than before, something he hadn’t thought possible. His mother had always been a frail woman, skin over bones. He’d had plenty of time to consider that as he thought about all the beatings he’d taken from her. By the time he was eleven, he’d been bigger than her and definitely strong enough to stop her.

He hadn’t, and he knew—even in the midst of the pain she wrought—it was because he was cognizant of how fragile she was, and he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. So he’d turned his back in an attempt to mitigate the damage while seeking ways to escape.

Right now, it looked as if a strong wind could blow her over.

Her hair had always been dark brown, but it was more salt than pepper now, and she’d cut it shorter, the ends barely brushing her bony shoulders. There were more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, tight lines that proved this was a woman who never smiled, only scowled.

That fact was proven when she fought to smile at him now, the attempt shaky at best.

“Gavin,” she said again, her voice thin, reedy.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“I ran into Ms. Johnson at the grocery store. Remember her? She lived on the third floor of our old apartment building.”

Gavin silently cursed in his head. He’d done some work for Ms. Johnson, an elderly woman who had been kind to him when he was younger, always waiting for him at her door when he got off the bus with some treat—cookies or crackers or a slice of homemade bread. To a starving little boy, she’d felt a bit like his own personal fairy godmother, and he’d never forgotten her.

Part of him suspected she’d been the one to call the cops that night his mother had been committed, though she’d never admitted it and he’d never asked.

He’d gone to visit her earlier this year on a whim, driven by the desire to thank her for her kindness to him when he was a kid. While in her apartment, she’d asked if he could take a look at her oven, which had stopped working. He’d fixed it, then given her his number, telling her she could call him if she had any more trouble with it.

Since then, she’d called