Claire pulled him into a hug that smelled like vanilla, sweat, and a hint of danger. “That’s my boy.”
She didn’t go to Debra’s house, where the book club met. She drove to the edge of town, parked behind an abandoned drive-in theater, and got out. Claire—the woman who wore heels to the grocery store—pulled a sleek, black racing suit from her trunk. She peeled off her cardigan and khakis like a snake shedding skin. Underneath, she wore nothing but a sports bra and running shorts. naughty mommy juicy secrets
Every Tuesday, Claire told Leo she was going to her “book club.” She’d kiss his forehead, grab her tote bag (which always clinked with wine bottles), and drive off in her sensible minivan. But last Tuesday, Leo had followed on his bike. Claire pulled him into a hug that smelled
Leo almost choked. Pot? Quarter million? Was his mom a secret poker shark? But then she laughed—a throaty, dangerous sound he’d never heard. “You know I can’t resist a bluff, Johnny. But you’ll have to come here. The Harvest Festival. I’ll be running the cake walk.” Claire—the woman who wore heels to the grocery
“You brought it?” she asked, sliding a slice of lemon cake across the table.