Page 60 of The Irresistible Distraction

I laugh against his shoulder, boneless and giddy with happiness, unable to formulate words to reply.

Brody continues, his voice hoarse, as if he was the one screaming. “Anything you want. Anytime.”

It takes so much effort to think of a response, but because he has given me so much joy, and because this is clearly what he loves, not just the sex, but the talking and cuddling, I whisper, finally, “You’re a master negotiator.”

Brody shakes his head. “With you, I’m really not. I’m putty in your hands, and I’m going to be in so much trouble when you finally realize it.”

As if realizing he’s said too much, he tries to distract me, biting my shoulder before soothing it with a series of kisses.

Later, after a shower that takes so long I’m worried we’ll be late picking Sebastian up, we debrief with the chess tutor before walking my son over to the mini competition the hotel has arranged. Sebastian competes against five kids of similar age and experience, winning four out of six matches, drawing one. He’s bouncing with joy that’s effervescent enough to carry him through the history tour, which was the nominal reason for the entire weekend.

When it’s time to leave, Brody whispers into my ear, “Should we let Seba pick tonight’s dinner and activity? To celebrate? Since I’m not working, I can drive us back . . . really whenever. You can sleep on the way back so you’re not too tired for work tomorrow.”

I nod, loving the infusion of fun Brody can add to anything and everything.

“After strenuous negotiations, which I partook of on your behalf earlier this afternoon . . .”

My cheeks flame and I pretend to study the photograph hanging in the hotel’s hallway, because that is not what happened, and he’s making it sound as though . . .

“You negotiated on my behalf?” Seba asks, not noticing my discomfort, already laughing, always ready to be in on whatever joke Brody wants to tell.

“Of course. Your mother is, rightfully so, quite concerned about your nutrition, but she finally consented that, given you’re quite a stellar chess player, as a beginner⁠—”

“You had to add the word beginner?” Seba groans, smiling, more casual about competition and his performance than I’ve ever seen him.

“Shush,” Brody says, his arm pulling me in as he continues to smile down at my son. “As I was saying, your stellar-for-a-first-time performance, no doubt thanks to your simply magnificent chess teacher⁠—”

“Mr. Prouix was quite good,” Seba says while Brody grins.

“You know I meant me. Mr. Brody of the Amazing Chess.”

“Did I?”

“You’re learning quickly,” Brody tells him, reaching out to ruffle my son’s hair before giving him a chin knock that Seba rolls his eyes at, even though I can see the happiness leaking out from every pore. “Do you even want to hear your prize?”

We are all laughing by the time Brody informs Seba that his real prize is that he gets to choose the activities for the night. Any dinner, followed by any activity.

“So if I want cupcakes?”

“How many?”

“Ice cream.”

“Banana splits are a favorite.”

Even I join in, suggesting Olive Garden has never-ending salad, that I’ve never been to a Korean BBQ but have always wanted to try.

The negotiations continue for almost ten minutes, with Brody looking up reviews and additional options before my son finally declares that he’d like cupcakes and . . . (after another round of negotiations) to save his “activity” for another day, when we all have enough time.

We end up enjoying red velvet and double chocolate fudge on the car ride back, though this time I remain up front, chatting with Brody because I’m more awake than I expected, while my son falls into a deep sleep, sprawling across the back seat. We plan to stop by the diner before heading home, so I can pick up my car.

“You could let us drive you in tomorrow,” Brody suggests as we officially cross into Lake Arrowhead.

“Seba won’t get as much sleep that way. I’m awake enough to drive back home from the diner. There’s the one half-broken light along the way, meaning even if I fall asleep, no one will notice.”

Brody shakes his head. “Just so you know, I’m tallying a list of requests for the next time you’re in a more . . . negotiable mood.”

I whip my head around, but Seba looks asleep. “Stop,” I whisper, my eyes widening.