Almost Too Far (Almost Bad Boys #3) (3 page)

 
“It takes a long time to grow young.”
 

Pablo Picasso

Colin’s grandma—and Helga’s daughter—Libby is throwing a big party for Helga’s birthday. I met both of them a few weeks ago for dim sum in the Seattle’s International District, but I’ve never been to their house on Alki Beach where Colin grew up.
 

Colin maneuvers his sleek, black Mercedes between the cars tightly parked along the curb and drives to the back of the house. We park next to an old Chevy Silverado truck, which he says belongs to Libby.

I’m holding a nicely wrapped birthday gift for Helga—a brand new Kindle purchased by Colin with over ten trashy romance novels I downloaded for her reading pleasure. Apparently, the eighty-five-year-old women dig the Harlequin romance stories. I’m only hoping she won’t have a hard time using an e-reader versus the good, old paperbacks.
 

The two-story, solid-looking house sits right alongside Alki Avenue, facing the water. It’s pretty big, although the tall condominium buildings around it somehow diminish its size. They are looming over it as if they are ready to squash it down.
 

Colin opens my door, and I get out of the car. Soft music and a murmur of conversations filter outside from the house. He grabs me around the waist and presses me to his hard body.
 

“Not so fast,” he says quietly, and I see a spark of humor in his eyes.
 

I kiss him on the mouth and say, “Luckily for you I’m not wearing lipstick.”

He snorts. “I’ve eaten worse stuff.”

I laugh. “Really? Like shoe polish or something?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t go for shoe polish, unless you tried to put some shine to your nipples. Although, they’re shiny enough for me.”

I punch him in the arm, and he kisses me hard. “I love your nipples, silly. I love every part of you,” he murmurs against my lips.
 

“Ditto, ace. Every part, especially the big-and-hard ones.”
 

“Dirty mouth.” Colin snorts and, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, walks me toward the front of the house.
 

“I was talking about your chest and abs,” I protest indignantly.

“I’m sure you were,” he teases and playfully squeezes my shoulder.

“Honest to God, I was!” I exclaim. I
really
meant his chest and abs. Seriously. But of course he wouldn’t believe me. It’s kind of funny, though, so I chuckle, which definitely does nothing to reinforce my statement.
 

The front door opens, and Libby stands in it, waving to us. The music coming from the inside sounds louder through the open door. Libby is tall and lean. Her long, dark-and-gray hair falls to her mid-back. Some of it is braided into tiny plaits and embellished with beads and colorful threads. At the end of one braid is a black raven’s feather with rainbow-colored yarn around its shaft. Libby’s father—Colin’s grandfather—was of Cherokee heritage. I’ve heard from Colin that Libby is very proud of that fact.
 

“Hey, you two. You made it!” She embraces Colin, and then me. It feels good to hug her, even though I hardly know her. She smells of soap and something cool and clean like the wind. There is a large peace sign tattooed on her forearm together with several letters and symbols. I have no idea what they mean, but I make a mental note to ask Colin later.

We step inside, and the delicious fragrance of home-cooked food envelopes us. My stomach immediately growls in response. I realize I’m famished.
 

There is a serious crowd inside, and they all seem like one big family. I see folks of all ages: from babies to elderly women and men.

“Is there a secret handshake?” I whisper to Colin.

He snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, Miss Davenport.”

Inconspicuously, I pinch his butt—hard—and he yelps, laughing. “What was that for?”

I open my mouth to release some snark, but Helga rushes toward us and, squealing, throws herself onto Colin.
 

“Here’s my boy!”

“Happy birthday, Grannie.” He lifts her off the floor, which doesn’t seem like any effort at all since Helga isn’t much over four-feet tall and seems to weigh close to a starved chicken. Colin places a kiss on her wrinkled cheek and releases her from his embrace.
 

She immediately turns to me and opens her arms. She has to look up since I’m about a foot-and-a-half taller than her. I hug her, stooping down. Her body feels like that of a child, and I’m tempted to lift her up like Colin did. But that would look kinda weird, so I won’t even try.
 

“Natalie! You look stunning.” Helga holds me at arms-length and inspects me with a big grin on her face. She speaks with a strong German accent that reminds me of Dr. Ruth Westheimer. She looks like her too!
 

“Thank you, and happy birthday to you, Helga. It’s good to see you again.”

“Ah, yes. It’s good to see you too.” She hooks her arm with mine, which is awkward because of our height difference, so I lean toward her and down, making it more comfortable to her. “Come, come. I want you to meet my girlfriends.” She pats my hand.

I turn to look at Colin, but he’s already the center of attention. A small crowd of elderly ladies gathers around him, chatting and laughing. He is a heartthrob—no matter the age or marital status, they are all drawn to him.
 

Three women are sitting at a round table in the kitchen, playing cards, possibly poker since there is money on the table as well. They seem to be close in age to Helga. As we approach, they all look up and smile.
 

“This is Natalie, my Colin’s special lady,” Helga announces with a grin on her face.
 

One by one, she introduces her friends. Each of them seems so fragile, I’m afraid I’m going to crush their gaunt, wrinkled hands when we shake. Well, except for Stella—despite her ripe age, she looks tough. A whisky bottle stands in the middle of the table, and in front of each woman is a glass half-filled with the amber-colored drink.
 

Agatha is tall and skeletal, with sunken cheeks and eyes that twinkle with mischief. Her hair, dyed in a shade of bright chestnut, is piled up on top of her head in a tight bun with a huge white flower on the side.
 

Melba seems not much taller than Helga but definitely rounder. Her cheeks are rosy, and her button-shaped nose is upturned, giving her an appearance of someone who’s always joyful.
 

Stella wears black leather pants, cowboy boots, and a black long-sleeve t-shirt. KISS MY BONY ASS is spelled in big, red letters across the front of her top. I AIN’T OWE YOU NOTHIN’ adorns the back of it. I grin at such bold proclamation of indifference. Stella and I would get along just fine.
 

There is a solid-looking walker next to Melba with a cup holder on the handle bar.
 

“Do you play?” Agatha asks sweetly, motioning to the money on the table.
 

“Not really.” I shrug.
 

“She’s not playing with you, Agatha. You cheat,” Helga says. “But sit down, honey. I’ll get you a glass.” She picks up a drink glass from a stack on the side table in the corner, scoops some ice from the ice bucket, and pours whiskey for me.
 

“I never cheat,” Agatha huffs indignantly.
 

“Sure,” Stella taunts, “you don’t cheat when you forget to. What’s that up your sleeve, woman? Fess up. I ain’t put any more money on the table.”

“What sleeve?” Agatha tugs on the sleeve of her sweater.
 

“Yeah, that one,” Melba squeaks. Her voice is high-pitched and tiny. She wraps her pudgy fingers around Agatha’s arm and pulls out a card. “Aha!” she announces triumphantly, waving the card in the air. It’s the ace of hearts.
 

Agatha shrugs sheepishly.
 

Helga shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Agatha, you old fool. We know you cheat every single time you play. Why do you even bother? You always get caught anyway.”

“It’s part of the fun to get you all worked up.” Agatha laughs.
 

“I’m done here.” Stella stuffs her money into her pocket and turns to me, glass in hand. Her light-blue eyes are keen and impish. “So. I’ve been told you have a dating company.”
 

I smile. “It’s called Strong Connections. I co-own it with my friend Ali.” I tell her more about how we run the company and what clients we have.
 

“Maybe you could find a nice guy for me?” Stella asks.

Helga snickers. “Stella, stick to the Senior Center members. The guys in Strong Connections are half your age.”

“So? I could teach them some good tricks.” Stella wiggles her eyebrows.
 

“She thinks she’s still a babe,” Melba comments, taking a large sip of her whisky and making a face. “This thing is hellishly strong.”

“I’m younger than you, old prune.” Stella laughs.
 

Agatha snorts. “Seventy-five. That doesn’t make you a maiden.”

“But it gives me a few more years before I dry up like you have. No KY for me.”

“Baby oil is better and healthier than KY. All these chemicals in KY… who knows what they do to you,” Melba remarks.
 

My eyes grow large at that exchange, and I giggle. These old ladies must have a permanent spot on Santa’s Naughty List.
 

Colin appears at our table, and the older women’s attention immediately shifts to him. He brings me a plate loaded with steamed vegetables, roasted lamb and chicken, and slices of cheese. On the side are a few pieces of grapes, cubed watermelon, and sliced pear.
 

“Wow, that looks wonderful.” I look up at him with gratitude. “Thank you.”

 
He leans down to kiss me on the cheek and then stands behind, resting his hands on the back of my chair. “Can I get you, ladies anything?”

“Just pull up a chair, young man, and sit down with us.” Stella slides her chair to the side, indicating the space by the table.
 

Colin comes back with a chair. He asks again, “Is everyone okay? Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?”

“We’ve been here since four,” Melba says. “We cooked, ate, cooked some more, than ate again and again. I’m full. No more for me.”
 

The other ladies agree.
 

Stella leans closer to Colin and says, “You’ve got yourself a pretty lady. I like her.”

Hello, I’m right here.

Colin takes my hand and kisses it. “She’s special.” He looks at me and smiles. “You’re very special, and you know it.”

“Ditto, ace.” I laugh.
 

“Oh, young love.” Agatha sighs. She’s about to say something else but there is a commotion in the kitchen.
 

I turn and see Libby emerging with a huge cake lit by dozens of tiny candles. The guests bellow the
Happy Birthday
song. Helga stands up and marches toward Libby, and we all follow her. She grins happily, exchanging hugs with the guests around her and chatting away. There are a lot of people here, and it’s getting crowded where Libby is serving the cake.
 

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out and see a text from Ali: “How’s the party?”

I text back: “It’s fun. Helga and her friends r a riot. U would love them.”

A moment later, Ali writes, “The old ladies? I can only imagine. Call me ltr. I’m bored. Ash is out with his buddies.”

“Will do. Where’s Caroline and Jena?” I ask.

“Didn’t return my text. I’m calling Svetlana.”
 

“KK. Talk ltr.”

“Don’t get too drunk, hahaha.”

I snort and put my phone back in my pocket.
 

Someone passes me a small plate with a piece of cake covered with loads of pink and white frosting. I amiably accept. Colin drapes his arm around my waist and whispers in my ear, “Birthday cakes are best served in your bedroom.”

I almost choke and turn to look at him. He’s laughing. Yeah,
that
birthday cake—the one from Garnelli’s bakery I had Colin lick off me. That’s something to remember.
 

I grin at him. “You gotta wait for your next birthday to do that again.”

“I think Valentine’s Day is a good way to celebrate in style.” He wipes some frosting from the corner of my mouth with his thumb and slowly licks it off, watching me.
 

I cut a small piece of cake with my spoon and feed it to him. Without taking his eyes off mine, Colin opens his mouth. A wave of heat runs through me when I touch the spoon to his tongue, and he closes his lips around it. I want to kiss him right now.

“This is one mean cake,” Colin marvels. He takes the plate from my hand and feeds a piece of cake to me. When I open my mouth, he murmurs quietly so only I can hear it, “I want that tight, greedy mouth of yours around my cock.”

My heart skips a beat, which is what it normally does when Colin talks dirty to me. “You’ll get your chance,” I taunt.