by MJ Fields
I blink, stunned, confused… turned on. Part of me strangely appreciates the fact that my money turns her off. So many women these days seem to be after all the wrong things. They want to know about the businesses I own. The places I travel. The cars I drive. When I met Hope, I hadn’t made any money yet. And as we grew, we grew together. But since I rejoined the dating pool, it’s as though my money magnetizes all the wrong women. “Actually, I think it makes perfect sense to accept a date with me.”
“Doesn’t make any sort of sense…” Her slurred voice trails off.
“It would be mutually beneficial for us.”
“How so?” she mumbles sleepily.
“Those around us will stop trying to hook us up with people we’re not the slightest bit interested in.”
“Perfect, except the money thing.” She yawns. “And you have a son.”
“I can promise you, Nikki, I don’t take Nathaniel on dates. He’s yet to meet any of the women I’ve dated for precisely the same reason you won’t date a ‘man like me.’ After they get off physically, they seem to want a resumé and financial report. It’s off-putting on so many levels. So, Nikki, we’d be doing one another a favor.”
She’s in and out between wake and sleep when she whispers, “Fine.”
“Friday night after soccer then.”
Lifting her feet so they rest on the seat, she curls into herself and mumbles, “Uh-huh.”
By the time I pull into town, Nikki is passed out beside me, literally un-wakeable. When I called Faith from my phone to explain the situation, and that I may be later than I had thought, Faith reminded me no one at Nikki’s house would miss her since she was supposed to stay with Jenny. Then she encouraged me to bring Nikki to what she calls the ‘drunk tank.’
The drunk tank is literally a small studio apartment I’d had constructed when I gutted the top two floors of the building to make Nathaniel and me a home.
It was initially intended for visits from my family. However, they preferred a hotel over a brick-walled industrial loft. Nights when someone who’d over imbibed needed to lay down, it was always available. It didn’t happen often, but it still puts my staff and me at ease to have it available.
No one hates drunk drivers worse than me.
After parking in the back lot, I open the passenger side door and lift her out effortlessly. Fat-shame my arse, her curves are perfect. She mumbles something, a whisper, a warning, a mixture of both, yet doesn’t wake when I walk into the lit entrance or take the flight of stairs up to the second floor.
When I reach the top, Faith is standing at the doorway to the ‘Drunk Tank.’ She not only smiles, but her eyes twinkle.
I warn, “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Imagination is a horrible thing to waste, and hope should never be lost.”
“Faith,” I say her name like the warning it is intended to be as I walk past her and into the apartment. “She’s drunk, passed out cold. I fail to see anything remotely romantic about this situation.”
She hurries to the day bed that doubles as the couch and pulls the pillows off of it. “Not going to try the ladder to the loft? You could throw her over your broad shoulder and stalk up the—”
“Yes, that sounds like a great idea. Sexy, too. Jostle her around, and then she could puke down my back.”
She shakes out a blanket and hands it to me, grimacing. “You had to ruin it for me.”
I chuckle as I cover Nikki with the heavy down comforter. “She was cold in the car. Could you make sure the heat is on?”
She places her hand over her forehead. “She’s not warm.”
“Tequila tremors.” I chuckle as I force myself to turn and walk away so Faith doesn’t get her ‘hopes’ up.
“Will she be okay alone?”
I nod. “She’s fine.”
“Maybe I should stay a bit longer?”
Yes, please, I inwardly plea but instead nod. “If that will make you feel better, then sure. I’m going to read to Nathaniel.”
“He fell asleep while I was reading to him,” she says with a slight cringe.
“That look tells me you swayed from the reading list he and I came up with and—”
“Ended up back at Hogwarts,” she admits. “He loves the message, the magic, the—”
“I’m aware, but a seven-book series seventeen times is a bit excessive.”
“That’s what his therapist says, but the heart wants what the heart wants. We know him better.”
I nod. “Thank you for hanging out with him tonight.”
“This weekend, too? Remember you said after the game he could—”
“I remember.”
“He loves helping me at Bookland.”
“He certainly does. Goodnight, Faith.”
“Goodnight, Raff,” she says as she sits down at Nikki’s feet and begins unlacing her boots, something I had planned to come back and do later.
It wasn’t until after two in the morning that Faith left. I checked on her immediately, stayed a little bit longer than intended before heading back to my flat, and when I went over at five, Nikki was gone. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, but I was impressed that the bed was made and the blanket folded.
When Nathaniel got in the car for school, he noticed a pouch of some sort on the floor. It must have fallen from her bag. He dropped it on the console without any questions, as he knew I often took people home.
I was even more grateful that her phone, which also must have fallen out somewhere inside the seat, didn’t ring until he was walking into school.
While digging for the phone, I saw the pouch had her initials, N.D.W., engraved in the pale blue satin. It’s quite beautiful. When I got to her phone, I saw the caller identification announcing Winterfield’s Sweet Spot. Before I could push accept to let them know that I had the phone, the call ended.
I tossed it on the seat beside me and decided to make a stop before hitting the gym.
Rule Number Eight
When in doubt, ask a mom
Nikki
I’m pretty certain that this could possibly be the third shittiest day of my entire existence, and just as confident that bad things do, in fact, come in threes.
This morning, I woke with cottonmouth, a near paralyzing headache, in a strange place. It was pretty terrifying until I jumped up, looked out the window, and recognized my surroundings. Then I remembered … Raff giving me a ride ‘home.’
If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to do the walk of shame down Main Street in wrinkled clothing and heels for five blocks to my aunt and uncle’s home, where I quickly found the hideaway key and snuck inside… at twenty-seven years old. Thankfully, I wasn’t caught. Not even by the Golden Retriever Duke, whom I’m convinced has lost his hearing.
To add insult to injury, after washing up and popping two Advil, I realized my phone was gone.
And now, watching out the window of the Sweet Spot, I desperately wish that I did something with myself after my shower. Like call Raff and see if he had my makeup pouch and phone. But the shame was unbearable. And how would I even find his number?
No, no, I don’t want to reach him. Rich prick, I remind myself. I can buy new makeup, and my phone is due for an upgrade anyway.
Rich guys are not for me. I need a man who works with his hands. A man who punches into a stable, nine-to-five job. Pays his taxes and has no fancy accountant to find loopholes in the tax code….
Oh, shit. It’s like slow motion watching him get out of his fancy black Audi and walk to the front door of the shop. I desperately wish I could just disappear.
I drop down, hoping he doesn’t see me hiding behind the counter. But when the silver bells on the door jingle and I hear Nellie’s uncharacteristically chipper voice saying, “Craving something sweet this early, Rafferty Graham?” I curse my luck.
His voice is less playful when he answers, “Something like that.”
“I meant candy.” Her voice now resembles a pout.
“Ju
st dropping off a couple of things Nikki left—”
I pop up quickly, cutting him off, “Hey, did I leave my phone at the bar last night?”
He looks at me, slightly confused.
“You know when Jenny and I were there for girls’ night?”
Walking toward the counter, I see the dimple beneath the sexy scruff deepen, as if he’s amused by my attempt to cover my tracks, as he sets my phone and makeup bag on the counter. He does not even attempt to hide that he’s looking me over.
I shut my eyes and exhale, remembering how I look today. Not only is my hair in a give-a-shit-less bun, but my face is bare as a newborn baby’s behind—a very pale, white behind.
Before he has a chance to answer me, Nellie calls his attention back to her offer of a cup of coffee.
“I will warn you. It’s already in the carafe, so I’m sure Nikki here,” she tosses a thumb in my direction, “has loaded it with so much sweetener, it may taste more like cocoa than coffee. I’d never drink something like that since I actually care about my figure.”
The dig doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s actually shocking, and I’m a bit hurt, but she doesn’t get to know that. I straighten my stance and stand a bit taller. Sure, I’ve gained some weight since moving here. But what the hell, she’s my cousin! In fact, after my parents’ death, she was basically my sister.
“Not much of a black coffee drinker myself,” Raff says, keeping the conversation light. And then he looks at me. And I mean, he really, truly looks at me. His eyes are loaded with something I can’t name, but I can feel. When he gives me a slight wink, it’s that moment I recognize the look—he wants me.
My face immediately heats up. That white face I’m sporting? It is officially burning red.
Nellie interrupts, “Why don’t I make you some tea?” She blinks her lashes and adjusts her top, showing off her double Ds.
Were her boobs always this big?
I think not! Imposters.
Although I want to kill her right now, maybe I should be a bit more embarrassed for her. With the way she’s acting, she may as well cut to the chase and just drop to her bony little knees and offer him a blow job.
“Already had my morning cup. I woke up extra early, thinking I had some... business awaiting me.” His eyes capture mine again before adding, “But apparently the offer was tabled by the time I arrived.” He cocks his head to the side, questioning.
He’s purposely ignoring Nellie, homing his attention on me. He’s not even trying to disguise it.
Business, I huff to myself.
Nellie, not one to take a hint, giggles again. “Oh, it’s no trouble. Who doesn’t love an extra cup? We have tea somewhere. I think it’s even an English brew. Which would be perfect since, duh, you’re English!”
His whiskey eyes roll ever so slightly before he replies with a smug look on his devilishly handsome face. “I myself am a huge fan of Winterfield’s famous hot cocoa. I’d love a sip of Nikki’s.”
“It’s not actually Nikki’s cocoa; it’s just driven by Nikki’s sweet tooth—”
He looks at her, his features visibly hardening. “Nellie, I appreciate it.” He looks at his watch. “Actually, I need to get to the gym.” He looks back at me. “Would you mind seeing me out?”
“Seeing you out?” Nellie laughs, but her annoyance is clear. “The door is literally right there.”
“Nikki?” He waves his hand toward the door. “After you.”
As I walk toward the door, knowing he’s following me, Nellie calls out, “Make sure you tell Nate that I’m working tonight, and I have a nice shiny nickel for him to choose whatever he wants.”
I stop and am about to turn around and put her on blast, or notice, maybe both, when his hand plants on the small of my back, gently pushing me toward the door as he reaches around me and opens it.
Once outside, I turn around quickly to put him in his place.
Eyes to muscled pecs, and not daring to look up, because I will definitely get lost in a whiskey-eyed inducing fog. “You need to understand that I am perfectly capable of dealing with—”
A gust of wind blows, and I am hit with a delicious scent. It’s masculine, maybe rosewood and musk. I want to continue my rant, but suddenly, I can barely speak. It’s as though this man has all of my senses on the highest alert.
“Everything all right?”
My eyes move from his chest downward before my jaw drops. “W-what are you wearing?”
“Black track pants, because apparently, I draw a bit too much attention in gray sweats. And—”
I shake my head, trying and failing to hide the smirk. “I was talking about your cologne.” I pause and shake my head. “Never mind.”
“Perfect, and before you begin again, I am going to warn you if someone is disrespectful or blatantly trying to degrade you because she is trying to get in these track pants, I will intervene. I will further warn you that since you and I agreed last night to a trial date, which will, of course, go smoothly,” he nods, “and will become at least a biweekly happening, there will be other times in which I will step in if I feel you’re being disrespected in the slightest.”
I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling the need to protect myself. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He steps a bit closer, bends down, and whispers in my ear, “Ask me, why you.”
“What?” I giggle, yes, freaking giggle like a schoolgirl at my age. God, I hate myself right now.
“The truth, nearly every woman in this town, single or otherwise, has thrown themselves at me, and even after making it clear I’m uninterested, they continue. You, you’re not like them, and I find that wildly attractive.”
I feel myself going toward the figurative light, floating, feeling the weight of my worries being lifted off my shoulders, and then I remind myself why it will never happen.
I am an independent woman who doesn’t need some gorgeous, entitled, rich man to make me feel anything. With all the strength I can muster, I raise my eyes to his. “I was drunk last night when I allegedly agreed to that. It didn’t count.”
He steps back just slightly, but it’s enough to remind me that I am strong.
“Are you a woman of your word, Nikki?”
“I am, and I promised myself never to date any man who felt he was above my station. Clearly, you’ve done well financially. And while that’s wonderful for you, it’s not what interests me.”
He shakes his head and starts to respond, but I open my mouth before he can speak.
“When I’m ready, which I’m clearly not, I want something real, and there is nothing real about an overly confident man with money.”
He narrows his eyes. “I disagree.”
“Thankfully, this isn’t a debate. Honestly, I appreciate you taking care of me last night, but real or otherwise, this isn’t happening.”
I hurry around him to the door that’s stuck open just a bit and jump inside.
Late Friday afternoon, I stand and watch kids running like wild animals across the field, several different fields actually, chasing the elusive soccer ball.
Beside me, Jenny screams, “Come on, Joshua! You can do it! Push harder! Pump those arms!”
I never saw Jenny as the type who would get competitive over kids’ sports, but apparently, when it comes to her children, she is.
I laugh, nudging her shoulder with mine. “Look at you, soccer mom of the year.”
“Hell yes! I mean, look at him. He’s obviously a natural. And that little shit number six thinks he can steal my boy’s ball? Not on my watch—Come on, Joshua! Ben, Joshua is open! Pass the ball, pass, pass, pass!” She’s screaming so loudly that I’m sure she’ll lose her voice.
Unable to stop herself from reciting the play-by-play as Joshua kicks the ball down the field and into the net, Jenny screams, “He scored!”
We cheer, jumping up and down together. I’m practically breaking a sweat on the sidelines. I take off my jacket, draping it over the silve
r bleachers, and look around a bit. I used to play here, too, as a kid. Granted, the coach had me playing varying defender positions in hope that the ball would never get to me. But still, I tried. I swallow hard, remembering how Townes and I used to play soccer in Central Park. He, being the athlete, was always trying to teach me how to dribble properly. But we’d always wind up laughing together, mock wrestling on the grassy field before making out like crazy and the—
“Earth to Nikki.”
I turn to Jenny, and she gives me a sad smile. “Don’t let your thoughts take you down a dark road. Now give me your phone before you open up that damn social media app, which you need to delete by the way.”
Like a kid ashamed, I hand it to her. “Happy, Mom?”
“Yes.” She smirks. “Now be a good girl and get Mommy an iced vanilla hazelnut from Dunkin Donuts across the street.”
“Skim milk and two Splenda?”
“You know me too well.”
I grab my bag, minus my phone, and leave the bleachers to cross the field. It doesn’t take long for me to spot Raff kicking the soccer ball back and forth with his son. God, they’re gorgeous. The perfect duo. He may not be the man for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate his looks. And his kindness and decency. He definitely did not have to help me out like he did the other night, but he did it anyway. I walk as quickly as I can, hoping to avoid him. It’s like the heavens are finally on my side because I make it across without incident.
I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings. If he were to see the look on my face right now, he would probably be able to tell how shitty I feel about the way I spoke to him the other day at the Sweet Spot. Of course, there is nothing wrong with a man who does well financially. But the reality is, I just can’t get myself caught up in that life and game. Jenny and Bobby have it so good. While he’s home taking care of Danny, who is now throwing up, she’s here with Joshua. They’re a team. I thought I had that once. I now know it may be a bit late in the game for that kind of relationship, but it’s not too late for me to become what I have dreamed of and then find a man who fits with me and me with him—a good man who does good work and then comes home in time for dinner. Anything more would be wrong for me. It’s just not the type of girl I am.
