Free Our Chance (Los Rancheros #4) by Brandace Morrow Page A

years. I’m a mom, while he’s been off doing whatever it is he’s been doing. I have a family. We have a routine that has to stay the same; children thrive on it. That decided, I turn to my mom and see her with a smirk on her lips.
    "There’s my girl," she says as she starts heading for the door, giving my shoulder a squeeze before leaving the house.
    My mind goes back to that word again. Routine. New house, new school, same expectations. I take the stairs two at a time to get ready for the day.

Chapter 6
    That night, as my house descends into chaos, the doorbell rings. I have one child fighting doing his homework, one starving and whining, and the third running around screaming with a colander on his head and towel cape over his shoulders. There’s music on from when things were calm, but now it just feeds the need to pull my hair out. Dinner is . . . not done. Trigg and Harper had too much homework that needed my assistance, so I’m attempting to put together a quick spaghetti when the damn door rings, delaying me yet again.
    Harper lets out a wail as I walk away from the stove, Trigg yells after me that he needs help again, and just as I get to the door, Jet jumps off of the forth step, landing right in front of me.
    “Jesus Christ, child. Aren’t you out of steam yet?” I ask as I open the door distractedly.
    “Nooooo . . .!” Jet screams as he runs back down the hall away from me.
    I put my hand to my forehead to keep it from exploding, finally glancing at the person waiting patiently at the door. I blink. Yep. Still Brody in a button down shirt and slacks. Shit.
    I take a step toward him and stumble over absolutely nothing, catching myself on the door jamb as Brody reaches to stall my fall at the same time. I straighten back up before he can touch me. “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.
    Brody’s eyes move over me as he blinks slowly, taking inventory of my hot mess look. “Do you know you have a noodle in your hair?”
    He reaches for the pasta, but I slap his hand away lightly. “What do you want? You look like you’re going out.”
    “I—”
    “Why are you here?” I ask, exasperated.
    “Are you . . . Can I talk now?” Brody asks with a smirk.
    My eyes squint up at him, showing clearly that I’m not amused. I sweep my arm in front of me in a ‘be my guest’ manner.
    “I thought we could have our first date tonight,” he says, with obvious amusement.
    “Are you flippin’ high? I’m not going anywhere.” I step back to close the door and a muscled arm shoots out to stop me, pressing it back open. He steps into the house, instantly shrinking it, causing me to back up.
    I sputter and shake my head like I’m having a seizure as he passes me to go down the hall into the kitchen. I trail behind him saying, “You can’t just come into my home, Brody. We have rules, boundaries.”
    “Routines?” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.
    I nod my head vigorously, the ball of hair on top of my head waving wildly. “Exactly.”
    “Yeah, that’s what your mom said.” He stops walking right before the doorway to the kitchen and leans on one foot. “When she called. Approximately thirty minutes after I—,” he leans down to whisper softly, “had my fucking head between your legs.” He straightens and looks over his shoulder before asking me, “You wouldn’t be oversharing with your mother, would you, Jules?”
    I scoff and look to the side, laughing under my breath, like he just asked me if I smoked weed in my basement. I don’t even have a basement. I should probably get my mind off of drugs, too. “No! She caught me in a moment and is clairvoyant. I can’t believe she called you.”
    My mom was always butting her head in where it wasn’t needed. Seriously. But I was happy she was there for me this morning. Routines. Right.
    “I need you to go. No date.”
    Brody ignores me, of course. Trigg is bellowing out from the kitchen table, a particularly overlong “Mom”