Tackled Read online

  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