by LK Farlow
And the only thing standing between me and my goal is the results of this damn test.
As they’ve done all day, my eyes ping between my work and the clock. According to the lab’s webpage, they’re only open for another hour. Someone better call me within the next forty-five, or so help me God, I’m calling them.
I make it half an hour before I find myself dialing the lab. After two transfers and a lengthy hold, I have the results.
“Again, my apologies for the delay.”
“These things happen,” I say, my voice stiff.
“That they do, but your patience is appreciated all the same.”
As soon as I end the call I jump up from my desk and head for the door. I’m nowhere near done with my tasks for the day, but they can wait for tomorrow, because right now, I need to pick up my son so we can celebrate.
I fly to Ashley’s place and pound on the door. “Colton! Hey. You’re really early. Is everything okay?”
Gratitude and euphoria and longing hit me like a ton of bricks all at once. Before I can think better of it, I have Ashley in my arms, holding her to me in a tight embrace.
“Everything’s perfect.” I speak the words against the smooth skin of her neck, breathing in her sugary scent.
“Okay,” she says slowly, wriggling in my hold. “Not that I don’t love hugs, but you’re kind of freaking me out.”
I release her, smirking all the while. “We’re going out to celebrate.”
“To celebrate—oh my glob! You got the paternity results!”
“I did.” Now she’s the aggressor, launching herself right back into my arms.
“Let me get Cruz and y’all can be on your way.”
She turns to call after my son, but on impulse, I stop her. “I said we, that means you, too. Get changed.”
“Me? Are you sure?”
Honest to God, I’m not sure, not at all. But something—some deep, hidden part of me saw her—and demanded I ask her to join us. And so, I did; I only wish I understood why.
Nevertheless, I lie and say, “One hundred percent. Wear something fancy.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmurs before skipping off, leaving me to find Cruz. I take a minute to collect myself—to will away the semi she brought on by calling me sir in that honeyed voice of hers.
A few deep breaths and several decidedly unsexy thoughts later, I wander further into the house in search of my son. I find him seated at the dining room table with a phonics book spread open before him.
In the short week Ashley has been keeping him for me, she has gone above and beyond to not only babysit, but to teach him, to nurture him, to love him. She’s a purple-haired, crazy-making godsend.
He looks up when he hears me approach. His confusion at seeing me before his usual pick-up time quickly gives way to excitement in the form of a cheek-splitting smile.
“Hey, 005.” I take a seat beside him. “Did you and Ashley have a good day?”
“Yeah. We played Candy Land and Gold Fish and had macaroni with hot dogs for lunch—it’s my new favorite.”
A triumphant grin tugs at my lips at his lengthy reply. In all, Cruz is still a quiet kid. Unless it’s Ashley, he tends to keep to himself, but he’s giving me more and more of his words when I speak to him.
“Go Fish is a fun game,” I say, correcting him gently, “but I really like War. I’ll teach you one day if you want?”
He nods. “Yes. Please.”
“It’s a done deal. Are you hungry? I took off work early to take you and Ashley to dinner.”
His stomach growls, answering for him.
“Someone has a rumbly tummy,” Ashley says, waltzing into the room, looking like pure temptation wrapped in a form-fitting dress that calls attention to every asset she has.
The golden-yellow hue makes her lavender hair pop and her skin glow, while the sweetheart neckline all but shines a spotlight on her tits. The stretchy fabric skims her sides and hugs her ass much in the same way I’d like, too. Holy shit, I’m jealous of a dress.
“I am,” Cruz tells her, looking as smitten as I feel. “You look really pretty.”
“Why, thank you. You’re handsome yourself, bud.”
I preen internally, because hello, the kid looks just like me.
“Are y’all ready?” She looks from Cruz to me.
“Very much so.” I stand and find that in her heels she’s actually the same height as me. With any other woman, that would be a turn-off, but with her, it’s plain hot.
After helping Ashley into her seat, I buckle Cruz into his booster. The entire drive, my eyes keep sliding her way, as if drawn by a magnet.
“Where are we going?”
“I made reservations at Anson’s.” I drop my right hand to the center console, my fingers brushing the side of her arm in the small space.
She shivers at the contact but plays it off. “Oh, yum. I’ve shot a few rehearsal dinners there!”
“Best steaks in the city. Oysters, too.” Ashley makes a face, and I laugh.
At the restaurant, the hostess promptly guides us to our table, leaving us with our menus and the promise of our server being by soon.
We chat idly between ordering drinks and dinner. I go for the oyster and filet surf and turf with hollandaise, whereas Ashley goes for the shrimp pasta. Cruz, my brave little guy, selects the kid’s beef tenderloin with garlic mashed potatoes and broccoli.
We each taste small bites of one another’s food. Ashley’s pasta gets added to my go-to list; Cruz vows to never eat another oyster for as long as he lives.
Once our bellies are full and the plates cleared, I decide it’s time to share the lab results with Cruz.
“You remember earlier this week when we went and had our cheeks swabbed?”
“The mouth Q-tip?” He shudders and sucks down some of his Shirley Temple.
“Yeah, that.” God, this kid is cute. “Long story short, it was a special test to prove that I’m your daddy.”
He gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything.
Ashley speaks up, throwing me a bone. “What your daddy is trying to say is the test says he is one hundred percent your daddy, and now no one will ever be able to say you don’t belong with him, because you very much do.”
Cruz smiles. “Good. That’s good.”
“Are you happy?” I ask him.
“I am,” he whispers before grinning deviously. “But cake would make me even more happier.”
The rest of the evening is spent in celebration with a slice of triple layer chocolate cake the size of Cruz’s head, unending laughter, and a whole lot of love.
22
Ashley
“Okay, dude, it’s time for lunch!” I announce, setting Cruz’s plate on the small table in my dining room.
He comes running in, tripping over his feet in his haste, like a basset hound puppy with too-long ears.
“You hungry?”
“Yeah.” He parks himself in what he’s dubbed as his chair and tucks into his PB-P-and-J sandwich. I watch as he takes a bite, waiting for him to get to the crunch. “This is different,” he says once he swallows.
“Different good or different bad?”
He thinks for a minute before taking another bite. “Good. It’s crunchy. I like it.”
“I put some pretzel rods on it. It’s how I like mine, too.” I wink, causing him to grin.
“It’s my new favorite.”
His declaration puts a cheek-splitting smile on my face. I’ve been keeping him for two weeks now for Colton during the weekdays while he works—unless I have a shoot, then Stacia watches him. We try something new each day, and every time, it’s his favorite.
Which is fitting, because this kid—he’s my favorite.
He’s been talking to me more and more every day. While he now answers all of my questions, he’s never initiated a conversation. He talks to Colton more, too, but still reverts to nods and head shakes when he’s nervous or can’t fully read the situation.
“What do you want to do after we eat?” I ask him, biting into my own PB-P-and-J.
“Can we…draw?” This is the second time he’s asked to do some kind of art project this week—and it’s only Tuesday. I make a mental note to hit up the arts and crafts store as soon as possible.
“We absolutely can. You got anything in mind?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Oooh.” I rub my hands together. “I love surprises!”
“Will you draw with me?”
“I will.”
Cruz beams like he’s just been given a lifetime supply of ice cream. And me…knowing I’m the reason for that smile of his, I feel like the coolest babysitter on the entire planet. Hell, maybe in the whole galaxy.
After lunch, we spend the next hour coloring. Cruz had me set up a divider to keep our papers private. I’m tempted to peek at his, but I worry it would break his fragile trust in me, so I keep my eyes on my own page.
“Okay, I’m done,” he announces, scooting his chair back from the table. “Are you?”
“Almost,” I tell him, putting the finishing touches on my picture. “There! Wanna trade on the count of three?”
“Yeah.”
We count together and swap pages. Tears instantly well in mine when I see his. It’s composed of three stick figures. The one on the left is wearing a tie, the one on right has a triangle-shaped body and a shock of purple hair, and the one in the middle is half the height of the figures on either side of him.
“It’s a…family picture,” he murmurs so softly I almost miss it. “‘Cause you and Daddy are my family, right?”
“Yes, sweet boy. We’re your family. Always.”
“D-do you like it?”
“I love it!”
“Do you think Daddy will, too?”
“Bud, I bet he’ll even hang it on the fridge!”
Cruz’s blue eyes glow like twin lanterns. “Really? On the fridge? His big, shiny one?”
“I bet so. Better yet, I know so.” Because I’m going to text his ass as soon as Cruz lays down to rest and make sure he knows how much this means to his son. Not that I think he’d balk at it—he just might not be so happy to have me in their family portrait.
We clean up and then I situate Cruz on the couch to rest. I don’t make him nap, per se, but he does have to chill out and have quiet time for thirty minutes to keep him from getting overstimulated, per Stacia’s suggestion.
Like I’ve done every day for the past two weeks, as soon as he’s settled, I step into my office and scour the internet for any traces of Megan Grace and her bitch brigade. She’s been suspiciously quiet for the last week or so. Part of me thinks she took the cease and desist seriously; another part of me thinks it’s foolish to think I could get rid of her so easily. I guess only time will tell.
I check a few more sites before pulling out my phone to text Colton.
Me: FYI, Cruz drew you a picture. I promised him you’d hang it on the fridge.
Colton: *adds magnets to shopping list* Sounds good. How is he?
Me: He’s amazing. Resting right now while I do a little work.
Colton: Still all quiet on the Megan front?
Me: So far so good. You think she’s done tormenting me?
Colton: Too soon to say for sure, but outlook is good.
Me: Okay, who are you and where’s my Colton?
Colton: Your Colton, huh? That’s presumptuous.
Me: SEE! That’s what I mean. In less than two minutes, you’ve cracked a joke and quoted a Magic 8 Ball. And not to mention, the real Colton would have 100% said something cutting about not being my anything. So, again, I ask WHERE IS THE REAL COLTON?
Colton: *stands up* I’m right here.
Me: OMG! And now an Eminem reference. I’m calling you an ambulance; clearly, you’re ill.
Colton: Not ill, Ash. Just in a good mood.
Me: Okay, well, I’ll see you in a few hours.
Colton: If you happen to cook dinner before I got there, I wouldn’t hate it…
Me: Did you seriously just ask me to make you a sandwich?
Colton: *laughing emoji* A grilled cheese does sound delicious.
Me: You. Emoted. Nope. No. I’m calling West, you’ve been body snatched.
I rock a perma-grin the rest of the day after our little texting session. Since I’ve been watching Cruz, we’ve definitely grown closer. Some days, he treats me like a client, others like a friend, but my favorite of all are the days where he looks at me like he wants to eat me whole when he thinks I’m not looking. Which makes this fun and flirty phone-banter a problem, because light and carefree Colton is honestly kind of sexy—and the last thing that man needs is more sexy.
I’m working on chopping tomatoes for my soup while Cruz washes the carrots. Me and my little sous chef work together like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen.
Cruz sniffs the air as the scent of the garlic and onion sautéing in the bottom of my pot fills the kitchen.
“Smells good, huh?” I ask, taking the freshly cleaned carrots from him to chop.
His little button nose crinkles up. “Are you sure I’m gonna like this?”
“I can’t promise that you will, but you won’t know if you don’t try, right?”
My little warrior steels his spine and nods. “Right. What can I do now?”
“After I chop these bad boys up, you can help me stir them in.”
“They look gross.”
“Carrots give you superpowers.”
“Do not.”
“Okay, you’re right. They don’t—but!—they do contain beta-carotene.”
“Beta-what-o-teen?”
“Beta-carotene. Your body uses it to make vitamin A and vitamin A helps your eyes.”
“Hmmm.” He eyes the orange sticks carefully.
“Hey, all I’m asking is that you try it. I won’t make you eat something you don’t like.”
“Do secret agents like trying new things?”
I hand him the big wooden spoon and instruct him to stir slowly as I add the questionable veggies to the pot before answering his question. “Secret agents love trying new things. That’s part of why they’re so brave.”
“I’m gonna be brave, Agent Purple.”
“I know you are, Agent 005.”
Thirty minutes later, dinner is ready, and our special dessert is in the oven. The only thing missing is Colton.
A knock sounds at the door. There he is now. I check the peephole, just in case, before letting him in.
He’s smiling, so I assume his good mood is still in effect—lucky me. Or maybe I should say unlucky, because the man is attractive scowling, but smiling…he’s downright lethal.
“Something smells good,” he says, his voice a gruff growl. He inhales deeply as he shuffles past me, almost as if he was sniffing me, but that’s preposterous. Right?
“Cruz and I made dinner.”
“Right.” He takes a step back from me. “What’s on the menu?”
“You’ll have to wait and see. Cruz is in the living room. Y’all can go to the table and I’ll bring out dinner.”
“Let me help.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got—”
Colton raises his index finger to my lips and shushes me. “I insist.”
“Oh-okay,” I manage to stutter out, utterly shocked by the stark intimacy of his touch.
Sure, there have been small touches here and there—small, casual, and platonic.
Or so I tell myself, because allowing myself to momentarily imagine that the brush of his fingers across my lower back is anything more than friendly is detrimental to my mental—and sexual—health.
Don’t forget his eyes, my brain unhelpfully adds, the way he always knows where you are in a room…the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying atten
tion…the way his eyes drop to your lips when you talk…
I kindly tell my brain to shove it. A few accidental touches are nothing to shake a stick at. At least, that’s what I’m choosing to believe it is, for now. I know we’ll end up together—it just isn’t our season yet.
He trails behind me to the kitchen. “Where do you want me?” he asks, leaning against the wall with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
Talk about a loaded question. I can think of multiple ways to answer it: in my bed, on your knees, in my heart. Instead, I settle for, “Can you grab three bowls from the cabinet to the right of the sink?”
“You got it.” He strides across my small kitchen in two steps. I’m entranced as he reaches up to the second shelf. I can see his muscles bunch through the material of his button down. He has the kind of body that comes from a mixture of good genes and hard work; simply put, he’s delectable, and I can hardly wait to get a real taste of him.
Colton places the bowls on the counter next to the plates I took down before he arrived. I ladle out three portions of soup before pulling my pan of grilled cheese sandwiches from the oven where they were warming and plate them up as well.
“Holy shit! You actually made—”
“Just wait until you taste it. I made us a grownup version and Cruz the classic American cheese version.”
“Hell yeah.” He comes up behind me at the counter, close enough that the heat of his body sears into mine. His nose skims my neck, and I have to clutch the lip of the counter to stay upright. “Everything in here looks delicious.” His voice is back to that low growl from when he walked in; the sound of it does all kinds of things to me—like make my panties wet and my nipples hard.
“Let me give you a hand.” He reaches around me and grabs a plate, spins away from me, and grabs another. “C’mon, little temptress, we want to eat it while it’s hot, right?”
He winks and disappears into the dining room, leaving me panting and confused in his wake.
I crank the cold water at the sink and let it run over my wrists, splashing a little on my face to quell the raging hormone fire Colton ignited within me before carting our bowls of soup to the table.
