by Lacey Black
“What did you mean by next week?”
“Well, while we were throwing that catfish back, it hit me. I have the equipment here, minus a small enough life jacket, which I can get. You can bring him with next Thursday when you clean, and we can hang out. I’ll get some worms too.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, but I don’t really know what to say. He actually wants me to bring my son back? For two hours? Is he nuts? “I’m not sure,” I start.
“It’s ultimately your decision, Leni, but I just thought it’d be something fun for Trace to do. Plus, I really enjoyed hanging out with him,” he says with a sheepish grin.
I want to argue. It’s not his responsibility to watch my son while I work. He’s the client, not the babysitter. And frankly, I don’t really know him. Not well. Not on a personal level. Sure, I know how my heart seems to skip a beat when he fixes those warm chocolate eyes on me, and how my panties are practically useless when he smiles.
“Listen, Malcolm, I appreciate your assistance where Trace is concerned, but he’s not your responsibility to watch.”
“I know. He’s yours, and I can tell just by spending these last two hours with him, you’re doing a great job with him. He’s a good kid.”
I can’t help but smile at the compliment. When you’re parenting solo, you’re constantly questioning every little decision you make and just trying not to mess up too much. It’s exhausting, to be honest. “Thank you.”
“Like I said, it’s your choice, Leni. Just know he’s welcome here. I’d love to take him fishing.” He doesn’t say anymore, just lets me know the decision is mine.
I nod in appreciation, grateful he’s not pushing me to say yes. Turning to head inside to gather my belongings, something catches my attention. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the pergola I didn’t notice before. It has lattice around three sides for privacy, the side facing the back of the house completely open.
Malcolm glances over his shoulder before answering. “That’s the hot tub.”
Images parade through my mind. Dirty ones with a chiseled chest and water dripping down the hard, muscular planes. The same ones that have been keeping me company for the last week and a half.
He leans closer, his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispers, “Maybe some night I’ll give you a private tour. Swimsuits optional.”
I can’t help but bark out a laugh. There he is. The cocky playboy I’ve come to expect. What’s surprising is I seem to enjoy the playful banter more than I ever thought I would, which is probably why I reply with a shrug and say, “I’ve already seen the goods, but I suppose if you wanted to relax without your swimsuit, who am I to stop you?”
He chuckles and glances into the house. I turn and find Trace standing at the door, yawning. “I should get him home. It’s way past his bedtime.”
“It is. I’ll walk you to your car,” he replies, pulling open the sliding glass door and waiting for me to enter first. “Ready to go, Champ? Want to help me carry your mom’s things to the car?”
Trace jumps right in, grabs for the tote. Of course, he needs assistance, since it’s heavier and awkward.
I don’t even have an opportunity to retrieve my own things. The boys grab it all and head for the front door, careful not to upend the plastic tote on wheels. Outside, they load my trunk, and all I can do is stand back and watch. Their interaction is so easy, natural. If Malcolm was ever nervous around my son, he’s not showing it now. In fact, he looks very comfortable, which is a pleasant surprise.
Malcolm grabs the back driver’s side door and pulls it open. “All right, Champ. Time to go home and get some sleep.”
“But I was good, right? I get ice cream?” he asks, his tired, hopeful eyes eager for an answer.
Malcolm looks over at me for confirmation, to which I give a slight nod. “You sure were, Champ. So good, I think you should get two scoops. No, make it three.”
I sigh and shake my head. Of course, there’s a small smile on my lips too. “You’re trouble, Mr. Mayor.”
He waggles his eyebrows and gives me that smug grin. “Don’t I know it.” Once Trace is secured into his seat, he shuts the door and opens mine.
“Thank you.” I don’t just mean him opening my door, and I can tell he understands by the way he smiles.
“You’re welcome.”
I slip into my seat and reach for the handle. “We’ll see you next week.”
His eyes light up. “Does that mean you’ll bring him with you?”
“Yes.” I realize instantly I want to. Their interaction, albeit somewhat brief, did this mom’s heart good. Trace looked comfortable and got to enjoy some time doing an activity he’s growing to love.
“Can’t wait,” he replies with a big smile.
He shuts my door and waves at Trace, stepping back and out of the way while I pull from his driveway. Malcolm remains standing there until I turn the corner and am out of sight, solidifying this growing attraction I feel toward him. It’s not just how he is with me—flirty, yet attentive—but now that I’ve seen this different side of him, the one directed at my son, I feel this whole new wave of fascination.
And damn it, even though I should be more cautious since Trace is involved, I want to see where it goes.
I just pray it doesn’t bite me in the ass.
Chapter 9
Malcolm
I grab my phone and send the message I’ve been contemplating for the last fifteen minutes.
Me: How’s the ice cream?
I know she’s there. I have an unobstructed view of the ice cream stand across the park from my office window. Ever since I arrived at City Hall, I’ve been watching for them, wondering what time she’d bring him over for his reward. I can’t tell if Trace got the triple scoop, like I suggested, but I can tell he’s having fun. I can see his smile all the way over here.
My phone chimes with a message, and I can’t believe how anxious I am to see it. I’ve never been this guy. The one who waits with bated breath for the woman to respond. Yet here I am, palming my phone so I don’t risk missing it.
Lenora: Excellent.
And then a photo pops up. One of Trace, smiling a big toothless grin at the camera, ice cream and chocolate syrup smeared all over his lips.
My heart somersaults in my chest as I grin at the image and save it to my phone.
Me: Is that a triple scoop of swirl ice cream?
Lenora: It is. With chocolate syrup and sprinkles.
Me: Wow, he must have been really, REALLY good!
Lenora: Or someone told him he deserved three scoops, so he wasn’t letting me get away with not buying him three scoops. *insert devil grinning emoji*
Me: *insert angel emoji*
Me: He deserves it. I’ll even buy since it was my mouth that got you into that situation.
Lenora: Not necessary.
Wanting to keep the conversation continuing, I ask:
Me: So what kind did you get? Triple scoop of rocky road? Cookie dough? Key lime pie?
Lenora: Just a single scoop of plain vanilla for me.
Me: What in the ice cream blasphemy is that?!?! *insert shocked emoji*
Lenora: I’m trying to watch what I eat, but since I’m not strong enough to resist ice cream, I kept it simple.
I groan. A diet? Fuck no. Lenora is damn gorgeous. Sure I’m attracted to her beautiful smile and her alluring eyes, but also the rest of her. Her body is sexy as hell, the things wet dreams are made of. No way does she need to lose weight, and it kinda pisses me off that she thinks she does.
Me: No. Go get some chocolate syrup on that thing. Sprinkles and whipped cream too. You’re beautiful just the way you are. You don’t need to diet.
She doesn’t reply right away, and I wonder if I overstepped, but dammit, she needs to hear it. She’s simply stunning, especially with her large boobs and wider hips.
Finally, after a long minute, she replies.
Lenora: That’s kind of you to say, but I do. Ever
since I had Trace, my boobs and ass have developed their own zip codes.
Me: Fuck that. Your boobs and ass are perfect.
Lenora: Of course a man would say that. The bigger the boobs, the better, right?
Me: Nope. I don’t say anything I don’t mean, sweetheart.
Lenora: They’re way too big for my short body. Everyone thinks so.
Me: False. And it sounds like you’ve been hanging around some real jerks.
Lenora: You may have a point there, Wright.
Lenora: I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you. Am I making you uncomfortable?
Me: Just in the pants area, Lenora. They’re suddenly…tight.
I continue watching them out the window, wondering if I went too far. She needs to know her body is perfect, despite what she feels are imperfections. I’ve known a lot of women who are rail-thin and still pour on the “I’m fat” bullshit, but it’s just to get compliments. In the short amount of time I’ve known Leni, I already know that’s not what she’s doing. She’s speaking her mind, her truth. She’s not fishing for accolades. She’s telling me like it is, how she sees herself.
Well, fuck that.
It’s time she knew how I see her.
Grabbing my phone and wallet, I shut down my computer and turn off the light. I push through the back door, making sure it’s secure behind me and walk through the park, heading for the ice cream stand.
Trace spots me first, since he’s facing my direction, and waves frantically.
“Hey, Champ. Mind if I join you for ice cream?” I ask, stopping at the place where they sit only long enough to see him nod. It kills me to not look at her, but I keep my focus on the boy. She’s wearing shorts, her long, tanned legs on full display, and a low-cut V-neck T-shirt. Her long hair is down and blowing in the warm breeze. I know if I glance her way, I’m liable to pop a boner right here in the middle of the town park on a Friday night.
Families. Children. Ice cream. It would be all over the gossip chats before I could even finish my double scoop.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I jump in line to order and make small talk with a few of the locals. The young couple directly in front of me just got married a few weeks ago, so I make sure to congratulate them on their nuptials. By the time they finish telling me about their honeymoon in Aruba, it’s their turn to order. I wait patiently, making sure not to glance back at Trace and Lenora so I don’t seem too anxious.
Finally, it’s my turn to order. Of course, the moment I step forward, I see both Hattie and Hazel Jackson behind the counter, bickering about something.
“I’m telling you, we’ve sold more chocolate than vanilla,” Hattie proclaims, her bluish hair even brighter under the lighting.
“I wasn’t arguing about that, Hattie,” Hazel retorts, her bright red hair and lips matching the maraschino cherries they serve on the sundaes.
I can’t help but smile as they continue to bicker about ice cream flavors. Hattie is in a typical plaid shirt with blue jeans, while her sister is wearing a white ruffled top and blue slacks. Hazel definitely looks like she just got back from church.
“You were too, Hazel. I heard what you were mumbling under… Oh! Mayor Wright. We didn’t see you there,” Hattie states, stepping up to the counter and pulling an ink pen from behind her ear.
“Mayor Wright, please excuse my sister. She’s out of sorts tonight. It’s an honor to see you this evening. How are your parents?”
I give the older women a smile. “They’re doing well, thank you for asking.”
“Out of sorts,” Hattie bellows in disbelief. “You’re the one arguing about which flavor we sold more of tonight.”
“Oh, hush, now! Malcolm, what can we get you tonight?” Hazel asks, taking the pen from her sister’s hand and leaning over the counter.
“I’ll take a double scoop of vanilla with banana split toppings, please.”
“Coming right up!” Hattie bellows the second I place my order.
Hazel sighs and inputs the order into the register. I hand her a five-dollar bill to cover my ice cream and take the offered dish once Hattie has it ready. “Thanks, ladies. It was a pleasure seeing you.”
“Oh, you too, Malcolm. Will we be seeing you run past our place later this evening? You know, it’s the highlight of our day,” Hazel says slyly with a big ol’ grin on her face.
I bark out a laugh. “If that’s the best excitement you ladies have, I think you need to get out more,” I tease, throwing them a wink before waving goodbye. “Have a good evening.”
“You too, Mayor!” they sing together.
Hattie glances around me and adds, “Oh, I think that’s Lenora Abbott over there. Rumor has it you two had dinner at Pony Up last week.”
Shaking my head, I turn and walk away, the sound of their laughter trailing behind me as I go.
I head to where Lenora and Trace sit. She’s done with her plain vanilla by the time I sit beside her son, and he’s busy stirring the chocolate syrup into the melted ice cream. “What kind did ya get?” he asks, eyeing my dish. “Are those bananas?”
“Yep. It’s a banana split dish, so there’s strawberries, pineapple, and chocolate syrup, along with banana chunks. Wanna try it?” I ask, pushing my dish his way.
Trace nods, licks his spoon, and shoves it into my ice cream, securing a big heap of the sweet treat.
“Trace!” Lenora chastises. “That’s not nice. Mr. Wright was offering you a small bite, not half his sundae.”
The boy gives me a sheepish grin before scraping part of the mixture off his spoon. I reach my own utensil into the dish and take a much smaller bite. “How is it?” I ask as he sucks the contents off his spoon.
“Dood!” he replies, his mouth full.
I can’t help but chuckle as I push the bowl closer to Leni. “You’re next.”
“I’m not eating your ice cream.”
I go ahead and scoop a variety of toppings with a little ice cream onto my spoon and hold it out. “Just try it. It’s way better than the boring ol’ vanilla you just had.”
She holds her lips shut tightly, making me smile. “That’s all I wanted.”
Moving my spoon in her direction, I make the airplane noise, like I’ve seen in movies or TV commercials, resulting in Trace giggling. “You gots to, Mommy! The airplane is coming,” he announces, making the sound right along with me.
I wave the spoon in front of her lips, touching the tip and leaving a trace of cream behind. My cock jumps with excitement, but I ignore it, trying to keep my focus away from all the dirty things that want to enter my mind.
Trace laughs, making Leni smile. She tries not to open her mouth as she does it, but as I drag more mess across her lips, she finally grins widely and giggles. That’s when I shove the spoon between her lips and try not to groan as they cover the plastic. I do well until she releases the utensil and licks the tip of the spoon.
That’s when a painful noise spills from my lips. It’s deep and dirty, just like the parade of naughty thoughts flipping through my brain. Ones of her tongue licking…things.
Well, one specific thing.
And then I remember where I am and who I’m sitting next to, and guilt replaces those very vivid daydreams. It’s a horrible cycle of being sexually aroused and then embarrassed because of where you’re at, and the fact it keeps happening with Lenora is awfully telling. I can’t stop thinking about her.
Wanting her.
I’m pretty sure I hear a camera click as I remove my spoon from her sexy-as-hell lips, but I ignore the implication. If someone did snap a picture of me, there’s nothing I can do about it. Hopefully it was just a mom taking a quick photo of her kids eating their ice cream. With any luck, that’ll be the image floating around social media, and not one of me feeding a woman ice cream, most likely with lust written all over my face.
But my luck isn’t that good where potential gossip is concerned. I’m usually one of the first to get talked about somewhere
, which is fine. I’m used to it. Hell, most of the time, it’s because I’ve given the busybodies a reason to talk. Whatever. But the thought of them focusing on Lenora because of me doesn’t sit right. I don’t want her name tarnished because someone thought I was trying to seduce her with ice cream in the middle of the park, with her son right there. She’s trying to run a business, and well, she deserves better.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, grabbing a napkin and wiping off her lips. Even though I’d much rather she use her tongue, I’m kind of glad she didn’t. I’d likely die from blood loss, with all of it flowing to one concentrated area, and that’s not how I want to be remembered.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, scooping up a bite of the cold treat and eating it, liking the thought of my mouth touching something hers just touched.
I listen to Trace retell the story of catching our fish last evening, and I’m surprised I’m still as invested in it today as I was yesterday. I can picture his eyes as we reeled in that fish, even though it wasn’t a very big one. He watched with curiosity as I carefully removed the hook and explained why we were going to throw it back. “So it can keep growing bigger and bigger,” he tells his mom, finishing the story.
She just smiles, the side of her head resting against her palm. When her gaze turns to mine, she says, “It was all he talked about last night at bedtime.”
“We didn’t read a book from Aunt Laken’s store because it was late. But tonight, I gets to pick out two books to read.”
