Don't Cry Over Spilled MILF: The G.D. Taylors Series Read online

  Don’t Cry Over Spilled MILF

  Willow Aster

  Laura Pavlov

  To Greyley and Indigo, Chase and Hannah--the kids who have our whole hearts! We love you always!

  Contents

  A note from Willow and Laura

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Bonus

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by Willow Aster

  Other Books by Laura Pavlov

  Copyright © 2021 by Willow Aster & Laura Pavlov

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7373619-2-3

  * * *

  Cover by Jena Brignola

  Editing: Edits by Sue

  Proofreading: Christine Estevez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  A note from Willow and Laura

  Thanks so much for reading the G.D. Taylors series! We are having so much fun with this family and we hope you are too. If you’re coming in new to the series with this book, welcome! We’re glad you’re here. A little heads-up about Gus—he’s over-the-top, but we have a special place in our hearts for him. He’s the only brother in the family who hasn’t found his true love yet, and even though he’s been a bit of a player, we have high hopes for him. ;)

  Happy Reading!

  Love,

  Willow and Laura

  Chapter One

  Gus

  * * *

  Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

  I press my fingers into my skull, willing the pounding to go away, but it happens over and over again. Is it in my head or—? I pry my fingers off and open one eye. No, the framed picture of my family is rattling across the room with each thunk.

  We did have the time of our lives at my brother’s wedding last night, but holy Fireball, I didn’t think I drank all that much. This can’t just be the hangover talking from Caden and Cosette’s wedding.

  I sit up and shove the covers off, stalking to the wall to see if I can tell what the rowdy neighbors are up to. I’d thought there was a fraternity taking up residence next door, but then a run-in with a little angelic sprite of a girl in the hall earlier this week has me thinking the new neighbors must be small but mighty. I don’t know kid ages, so for all I know the little girl who shall not be named—seriously how the hell did I get stuck next door to a little girl named Olive when it’s like the one thing I cannot tolerate—could be anywhere from two to seven years old. Who the fuck knows with tiny humans? But I do know this: Olives and I go together like spaghetti with refried beans on top … not at fucking all.

  There’s a loud clatter and I grip my head. I take my hangover cure and when I hear a faint shriek through the walls that I know firsthand are meant to be soundproof, seeing as how I installed them myself, I find myself knocking on the neighbor’s door. While I wait, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that one of my brothers got married last night. It’s crazy that my little sister Pen and I are the only two Taylor sibs unattached.

  I plan to keep it that way for a long time, maybe an eternity.

  Let it be said far and wide that Gus Taylor is happy in his singlehood.

  The little girl answers the door even though I can hear her mom telling her not to.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Hey, little Ol-eander,” I slide the word out because I just can’t say her name.

  “No, Olive,” she says. “O-live.” Slowly, as if that will make it better.

  I shudder, imagining all the trips to the bathroom I’ve taken since my run-in with Estella Whitfield and her excessive use of all things olive. I love the woman and am game to try anything, which has been a detriment to my stomach. She’s my brother Jesse’s girlfriend’s mother—our family tree is growing by the day with all of the Taylor brothers getting attached.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “I’m Gus.”

  “That’s a funny name.”

  “Not as funny as y—” I’m in the middle of saying and it’s probably a good thing I don’t get it out because it’s not the nicest thing in the world to diss someone’s name, even when she did it first.

  No, I’m stopped stone-cold sober in my tracks, my head clearing up for the first time this morning, because of the unearthly creature standing in front of me. A grown-up version of the little girl, only a fucking stunner who causes my heart to palpitate.

  It’s weird though because she doesn’t look happy to see me at all. And I haven’t even spoken yet.

  She’s scowling.

  And eyeing me up and down like I am scum on the bottom of her shoe.

  I glance down at myself. Shit. I didn’t even bother to put on a shirt in my hurry to see what was going on over here. It must be because it’s in front of the little girl because no woman has ever been disappointed to see this chest. I grin somewhat apologetically and point next door.

  “I’m your neighbor, Gus, and I met your daughter in the hall once before. Making sure you guys are all right over here because it sounded like the fuc-the walls were caving in.” I grin wider, pleased that I caught my potty mouth in the nick of time. Being raised by my mother who does not tolerate cussing whatsoever, us Taylor kids still have some raunchy mouths, but I’m able to rein it in whenever I need. Thanks, Ma.

  The heavenly angry creature manages to look contrite yet pissed, if that’s even possible. I find myself wishing I’d worn a shirt and that has never happened.

  “It’s probably going to be noisy until I can get everything hung up and the built-in bookshelves fully completed,” she says. “I let management know it might be loud until that’s done. I can give you their number, if you want to take it up with them.”

  “Built-in bookshelves? You had someone besides us build your shelves?” I frown. “If I’d known you wanted built-in bookshelves, I—”

  “Why would you care if I have bookshelves?”

  “I love bookshelves.” My hand is on my chest when I say it and I scratch my smooth skin. Her eyes follow the movement and her scowl grows. I take a step back, feeling like I’m being punked. I look around the hall and no one is around. Have the brothers installed cameras on my floor unbeknownst to me? I wouldn’t put it past them.

  “Like I said, if you’d like to speak with management, take it up with them.” She moves to shut her door and I speak up.

  “I am management. My brothers and I, technically my sister too, although she’s in Chicago … hopefully not for long, but yeah.” I seem to be stuck in a ramble and can’t stop myself. “I own the building and my bookshelves are...” I kiss my fingers and pop them out and her eyes
widen when my fingers do.

  I hear a giggle and glance down. I’d almost forgotten the creature’s mini-me is even here, and she is pretty unforgettable.

  I smile back at her and she points to the goddess next to her, who seems to be growing even more agitated. “This is my mom, Susannah, and we just moved in. This place is way better than our other place, ‘cept Mama said no one ever puts in enough bookshelves in her ‘pinion.”

  “Olive,” Susannah says under her breath. She slightly shakes her head at the little girl and we both just stare at her.

  And then she keeps talking like her mom didn’t just motion for her to stop. “We love it here and it’s near where I’m gonna go to school. Not yet, but soon!” she squeals, holding her fists up and I laugh.

  “Fifth grade?” I ask. And it gets the laugh I wanted. From the small one. Geez, the mom is a hard nut to crack.

  “No, silly! Kindergarten,” she yells.

  “Ow, Ollie,” I tease. “I hear you, I hear you.”

  “O-live. O-live,” she repeats, big brown eyes serious.

  Shit.

  “Well, we’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want you to catch a bug, you know, seeing as you’re standing out here half naked,” the bigger, meaner one says. I look up and my gaze locks with hers. I’ve never seen eyes this color. A greyish-blue, and they are gorgeous even when they’re glaring in my direction, which they’ve been doing since I arrived.

  “You going to make a complaint to management?” I wink, trying to soften her up. It normally works like a charm.

  Not this time.

  In fact, it seems to have the opposite effect, and her scowl only intensifies.

  I lift my arm to sniff my armpit, because something must be off. The tiny human laughs.

  “I smell my stinky pits all the time, too. Do yours smell?” she asks as she buries her nose in her armpit, and her mother looks away, fighting a smile.

  There she is.

  Fucking gorgeous too.

  She’s got long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail and I can’t help but look at her. Her death stare had me locked up, but since she’s looking away, I strike.

  Tan skin that glistens in the light coming through the window, blue-grey eyes, plump pink lips, and a body that would normally make me drop to my knees at just the sight of her.

  If she wasn’t radiating all this hate toward me.

  She snaps her fingers in front of me as I zero in on her perfect tits. A perky handful to be specific, and I swear her headlights turn on before I pull my gaze away.

  “Are you in some sort of a trance?” she asks, and the little one cranks her head all the way back to look up at me.

  I snap out of it and smile. She can pretend she’s annoyed by me, but her body’s saying something different.

  “Nope. All good over here.” I raise a brow and smirk, my attempt at softening her disdain for me.

  “Well, we need to get back to unpacking, if you don’t mind. They should be finished up with the bookshelves in the next few days. Sorry about the noise.”

  I glance past her shoulder to see a tall dude painting the shelving white. He’s wearing some sort of painter’s pants, which pisses me off immediately … the fucking poser. I paint all the time and I don’t wear a costume. And he’s been making a ridiculous amount of noise. There’s another guy who is still building the shelving right beside him and sanding all the edges as he goes. Do these dudes even have a clue what they’re doing?

  “Do you mind if I take a little peek at the work? I do this for a living after all,” I remind her.

  Her eyes double in size, as if I’ve asked her to drop her panties. Not that I’d mind that, but it’s not like I said it aloud.

  “You want to come in? I mean, you aren’t even dressed,” she says, raking her eyes across my chest.

  Again.

  “You have mentioned that more than once now.” I lean in closer, conspiratorially. “It’s like I’m wearing a bathing suit, and this is a pool party,” I say, moving forward and basically inviting myself in because I’ll be damned if these guys are going to take advantage of my new neighbors.

  I look around checking for a husband, but I don’t see anyone but dumb and dumber who are staring at me now.

  “Pool party, yes!” The little angel claps her hands together, and I try to block out the fact that her name makes me physically ill.

  Susannah groans from behind me.

  “Hey there, fellas. Just came to see the bookshelves.” I study the woodwork closely.

  “Who are you?” One guy asks as he watches me check out his work.

  “I’m Gus Taylor. I’m a good friend of Susannah and … Pumpkin.” She has a round face, and she is cute like a little pumpkin. It fits her much better than her real name.

  “O-live,” she says over a fit of giggles.

  Susannah moves beside me. “Sorry. He just wants to take a look. We’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Actually, guys, just a little tip. If you’re sanding those edges while he’s painting, all that dust will go into the paint. I imagine Susannah doesn’t want a botched-up paint job. Not to mention, that bookshelf is about a quarter of an inch taller than this one. That’s going to be real noticeable when all is said and done.” I cross my arms over my chest and they both look at the other and shrug.

  “This is our first job,” one of the guys says.

  “What? Bob said you’ve worked for him for a while,” Susannah says in a huff.

  “We were just assembling furniture before this job. We’ve never built anything more than a Lego pirate ship.” The dude’s head falls back in laughter and I roll my eyes.

  “Why don’t you pack it up, guys. I’ll take over from here.”

  They both look to Susannah, and she rubs her temples. “Let’s just call it done for now, and I’ll be in touch.”

  They shrug and start cleaning up their supplies, and an overwhelming smell floods my senses. I’ve got a keen sense for baked goods.

  “Do I smell cookies?” I move toward the kitchen. Their place is nice. A large white sofa takes up the living room with a farmhouse-looking coffee table. She’s not modern, that’s for sure. She’s got vases with flowers all around and enough candles to light if the power goes out. Distressed signs hang on the wall, making the place cozy.

  “Oatmeal raisin cookies.” The little cherub jumps up and pumps her fist toward the sky. “Mama’s the best cooker girl.”

  “Raisin seems like a nice nickname for you, am I right?” I whisper, as her mother is apologizing to the painters for God knows what, seeing as they were doing a shitty job on her bookshelves. She walks them to the door.

  “Nope. My name is O-live.”

  “How about Cookie? That’s cute. And in reality, a cookie is much more popular than an olive,” I say, as I bend down to face her.

  She giggles and drops to sit on the barstool and hands me a cookie before taking one for herself.

  Damn. Susannah really is the best cooker girl.

  “Mmm-hmmm.” I groan as the warm sugar melts in my mouth.

  The door slams and I startle.

  “Are you happy? Because they certainly are not.”

  “Now that I’ve had this cookie, I’m real happy. Nugget and I both are.” I won’t stop trying. This little angel deserves a better name than an edible shiny black or green fruit that gives me the shits.

  Her smile is all sunshine and rainbows, but she shakes her head once again and I know I’ll need to keep trying.

  “So, now I have one half-painted bookcase and one that is slightly taller, thanks to you.” She stands with her arms folded across her chest like she’s angry.

  Her resting bitch face game is strong at the moment. But she still manages to look gorgeous.

  “Ummm … you’re welcome,” I say, walking to stand beside her. I lean forward and rub the pad of my thumb down the chunky paint. “This is all dust from sanding the wood while he was painting. It all needs to be redone.”

 
She leans forward to study the work and then closes her eyes in frustration. “It’s bad, I agree, which is a bummer because I paid upfront. But I can’t unpack until these shelves are done, and now I need to find a painter and someone to fix the taller one.”

  “Don’t give it a thought. I’ve got you. Consider it my housewarming gift.”

  Her gaze narrows. “You’re serious?”

  “Not normally, but about this I am,” I say, moving to look at the unpainted bookshelf. “The woodwork isn’t bad. They’re just inexperienced. I can fix this up for you over the next two days. It won’t take long.”

  “Well, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

  “How about you pay me in cookies?” I wriggle my brows and the little one laughs.

  “You’ll need supplies. And I have to pay you for your time.”

  “Does she always worry this much?” I ask as I look down at the little one.

  “Mama takes real good care of me.”

  She didn’t answer my question, but she sure is cute.

  “No more cookies, Olive. You head to your room, and I’ll be right in to help you put your shoes away.”

  “Bye, Gus.”

  “Bye, chicken pot pie.” I chuckle when her head falls back as she laughs all the way down the hall.

  “It’s Olive,” she shouts.

  “Thanks for stepping in,” Susannah says. “Just let me know what time tomorrow. I work from home, so I’ll be here.”