Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) by Kate Aster Page B

that’s lucky because our sons are friends.
But she really does need to reel it in sometimes.
    “Yes, Bridget. Male voice. But nothing
you need to be curious about.”
    “Who was it?”
    “Just one of the dads who is on the
silent auction committee with me.”
    “A dad ? On a committee? At Orchard
Acres?”
    Our school definitely falls into the sad stereotype
in which all the moms are on the committees and the dads are generally
uninvolved, unless it’s something to do with sports.
    “Yeah.”
    “Who is he?”
    “Hmm?”
    “The dad on the committee.”
    Oh, brother. Here we go. “Ryan Sheridan.”
    “Ryan Sheridan? As in your boss ,
Ryan Sheridan? As in the hot billionaire in the carpool line, Ryan Sheridan?” Her
face lights up like a Vegas billboard.
    “Yeah, that’s the one.”
    “And you were going out with him
tonight?”
    Okay, time to shut this down. “We’ve been
getting some auction items donated.” I stretch the truth, conveniently leaving
out the part about his wandering hand and my glorious field trip to the Land of
the Big O. “God, Bridget, don’t go starting some rumors about my boss and me.”
    “I don’t start rumors about anything,”
she objects. “I just participate in their lifespan.”
    “Well, however you want to put it. It’s
my job on the line, so don’t do it. We’re not dating. We’re simply on the same committee.”
And we’re not dating, I think bitterly, with his last-minute cancellation
bothering me more than it should.
    “Okay, okay.”
    Blessedly, I see her glance at her watch.
    “God, we really better get going,” she
tells me, starting to rise from the stair.
    “You sure you want to drive in the storm?
You’re welcome to stay.”
    “Oh, please. This is nothing. Besides,
Rick and I are going to the movies tonight. We got a babysitter.”
    She says it with a reverent sigh. Babysitters
are the holy grail of parenthood.
    “Heather,” she continues. “She’s
fabulous. We just found her a couple weeks ago and have put her on a regular
Saturday night schedule, so don’t think about poaching her.”
    “I won’t. Don’t worry.” Even if I could
afford a babysitter other than my mom or my friends, I can’t imagine actually
trying to have a date with a man again. I was foolish to even make the date
with Ryan tonight, drunk on hormones like I clearly was. And now, hearing his
disturbingly sexy voice cancel on me, I can only feel a wellspring of relief.
    Or at least I can tell myself
that’s what I’m feeling.
    I don’t know what the hell happened to me
last night, or why I kissed him. Several times, actually. And I certainly can’t
make any excuse for the way I grabbed his cock as best I could while he was
fully clothed and urged his hands to venture where no man has gone… in a damn
long time.
    I blame the adrenaline rush, the
desperate need to smack my past back into submission and live in the present,
the rush of estrogen making me higher than a kite.
    But all day today the memory of what
happened last night seemed to cause a wave of questions to come crashing into
me again—questions I thought I had finally accepted would have no answers—and
ugly feelings that I know too well. Guilt. Shame. Fury. And something new to
add to the mix—a feeling of anguish having now been tempted by something
I simply can’t let myself experience again.
    I feel like I’m losing my grip, piece by
piece, and the last thing I need to do is go on a date with a seriously great
guy, who also happens to be my boss, and reveal that I’m a complete and total basket
case.
    I had hoped the playdate today would snap
me out of it, but it’s not working. And as Landon gathers his things to leave
and Bridget chatters a mile a minute about how she’ll text me in the carpool
line Monday, my head throbs, migraine-style.
    We bid our farewells to Bridget and
Landon and I go to the kitchen to grab a juice box for Connor from the fridge.
    Exhausted, Connor stretches out on the
sofa