Dad Bod (Under Construction Book 1)

by Silla Webb

  “You got it, boss.” Fifty turns on his heels toward Mav.

  I look around the kitchen, happy with the progress Carter’s crew has made. Monday morning we’ll do a walk-thru with Mr. and Mrs. Peterson while Mav leads the crew on the startup of another project. A year ago I never imagined I’d be leading my father’s construction business with my best friends by my side, but fate led me here today, and while the circumstances were unfortunate, I’m proud to have stepped into Dad’s shoes—so to speak. He lived and breathed Davenport Construction, and it’s my vow to continue his success.

  “You got this under control, man. I think I’m gonna head home and take Belle to the beach for a couple hours.”

  “Sounds good. You gonna come by later?”

  I scratch the back of my head, considering the invitation.

  “I don’t know. Maybe if Belle decides to stay with Mom tonight.”

  “Bring her with.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. But before you go”—he steps closer and lowers his voice—“what’s going on with you and Jo?”

  I cock my brow and shake my head. “What?”

  “Jordan. The way you reacted to Mav cuttin’ up. I haven’t seen that reaction from you over a woman in a while.”

  Shit. I know Mav well enough to know he wasn’t lying when he said he’d tried to get with Jordan, but why it upset me is beyond me. “I can’t stand the way he belittles women; that’s all.”

  “You sure that’s it? He brags about his one-night stands all damn day, and you’ve never got so pissed as you did just then.”

  “Jordan’s my trainer. Nothing more.”

  Carter nods, eyeing me skeptically. “Okay, Mad. I’m gonna get back inside and get this project wrapped up. You and Belle come by tonight. I might need help wrangling the ladies up after their night out on the town.”

  “You really think dealing with four drunk women and a five-year-old you will undoubtedly jack up on Red Bull is a good idea?”

  Carter grabs his stomach and doubles over with laughter. “I plead the fifth on that, brother.”

  I shake my head and turn on my heels, walking to my truck. “I’ll see you after while, man.”

  *~*

  “I'll see your twos and raise you one,” Carter claims, joking with Belle and sliding a Skittle toward her. We’ve just finished dinner—Carter washing down his ribeye and loaded baked potato with a Budweiser, while Belle and I each had a four ounce portion of salmon and steamed mixed vegetables. Belle sweet talked Carter into a friendly game of Go Fish. Me—that kid is a demon at cards, so I’ll sit on the sidelines and watch her school his ass.

  “Unk, if you can't play Go Fish right, I quit.” She huffs and throws her cards down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Go Fish? I thought we were playing Hold ’Em.”

  “Uggghhh!” Belle groans. “No. It's Go Fish. If you has no twos, you say Go Fish. You can't waise anything. What's that even mean? And you know the healthy lady says I can't has candy, so why are you even twickin' me?”

  “Hold up. Pause Goldfish.” Carter throws his cards down on the table and leans forward, his face in his palm as he gives Belle his full attention.

  “It's Go Fish!” She face-palms herself in obvious frustration.

  “The name of the game ain't important, Belly. The healthy lady told you no Skittles?”

  “NO!” Belle shrieks. “I’S CAN'T HAS ANY CANDY! OR CUPCAKES!” Belle cuts her hands in front of her, her body language loudly shouting no.

  “No cupcakes? That's ridiculous. What does she expect you to eat, Belle?”

  “Beggies!”

  Carter visibly shudders. “And to think, your daddy is goin’ along with her evil plan.” He slides a pile of Skittles toward Belle and says, “I won't tell,” then winks.

  Belle looks toward me with puppy dog eyes. “A few Skittles ain't gonna hurt, right, Daddy?”

  I cock my brow. “How much sugar did you have at Grandma's?”

  “Only a teensy tiny bit?”

  “And you ate all your dinner?”

  “Well…” Belle taps her cheek, deep in thought. “I ate all that I like. My belly gets sick if I eat carrots.”

  Carter nudges the Skittles even closer and whispers loudly, “Do it…” the two-hundred twenty pound proverbial devil on her shoulder.

  I roll my eyes and relent. “Jordan doesn’t hear about this.”

  Belle smiles from ear to ear and cheers, “Yes!” She leans down and inhales the scent then says, “Mhhhmmm, suga. Too bad it's not a cupcake.” She pops a single orange Skittle into her mouth before she proceeds to separate them by color before she eats them.

  “Want one, Daddy?”

  “No thanks, Belly.”

  Carter stands and says, “I'm getting another beer. Want one?”

  “Nah, I'm good, man.”

  “Unk, can I take my Skittles to the living room? I wanna watch TV.”

  Carter scrapes her Skittles into a bowl and turns the TV on for her.

  “This has to suck, man. I had no idea the effect of you trying to get healthy would have on all of us. Drinkin’ a beer ain't no fun doing it alone.” He longingly looks down at the bottle of Budweiser in his hand.

  I chuckle. “It will be worth it.”

  “I'm proud of ya, Mad, taking it in stride.”

  “No choice, Carter. Passing out at Belle's birthday party … losing my dad. It put it all into perspective.”

  Carter straddles his chair, setting the beer bottle down and picking up the deck of cards, shuffling them. “Twenty-one?” he asks, and I nod.

  He deals the first hand, and we fall into an easy conversation. “So how does it all work? Training with Jo?”

  I give Carter a detailed account of the fitness plan Jordan developed for me, showing him the app. “We log my workout progress each day, along with my nutritional intake. She can make adjustments as needed, but as long as I follow her plan to a T, I should see progress, whether it be in inches or pounds lost.”

  “And Belle … you think it's okay to cut snacks out for her too?”

  I shake my head, knowing where he’s going with this. “It's like this—if Belle learns how to eat healthy now, it's a tool she can benefit from for life. She has to learn the importance behind the different foods that will help her to grow and the risks she takes by eating unhealthy.”

  “It just seems cruel to take her favorite snacks away.”

  “I thought so too. You should've seen the look on her face when I explained to her at Publix that we couldn’t have cupcakes for a while.” I pull up the nutritional value for a Publix cupcake and flash my screen at him. “As much as I enjoy sweets, this doesn’t fit into Jordan’s plan.”

  “But you'll do cheat days, right?”

  “Not until I meet my goals.”

  “And what is that?” he asks, seeming genuinely interested.

  “A cupcake at twenty pounds."

  I shouldn't feel the impending judgement that I suspect to come, but although Carter is my best friend, I’m not comfortable sharing my goals with him.

  “And after twenty pounds?”

  I close the app, and Carter grabs at my phone, snatching it from my hand.

  “You're on Bumble?!” His mouth drops open into an O, eyes wide in shock.

  Fuck.

  I snatch at my phone, but he quickly stands, putting distance between us. “Woah, dude. If you expect to get a date, you need a better profile picture than this,” he jokes. “Here, hold still. No, turn your hat around backward. Show off your eyes.”

  Did he really just say that?

  “Okay, I get it. It's pathetic that I'm using a dating app, but—”

  “Remember those words came out of your mouth—not mine,” he chastises. “So when are you going out on a date?”

  Carter scrolls through the app, clicking on the profiles of different women.

  “Probably not until I hit my second weight-loss mil
estone.”

  “Which is how much?”

  “Forty pounds.”

  “The fuck? Why are you waiting so long?”

  “It's just a goal, man. Who knows how long it will take me to reach it.”

  “Fuck that shit.” He straddles his seat and continues to scroll, pausing between different profiles.

  “I can find my own dates, fucker.”

  “I know you can. I'm just snipping your wings now,” he replies, his fingers flying furiously across the screen. His phone rings in his pocket, and he quickly finishes typing and slides my phone across the table to me before fishing his phone out.

  I stare down at the screen as the blood drains from my face.

  “That was Mav. The girls are down at Nell’s on Congress Street, tearin’ the place up. Figured he’d let me haul 'em in before the cops do it with pretty bracelets.” He laughs.

  I pick up my phone, glaring at the flashing notification light, completely mortified. I open the message and read over it once, twice, and again. Carter rambles on, and I hear his voice, the words jumbled and distorted.

  “Let's go, Mad.” Carter snaps his fingers in front of my face.

  “Shit, sorry. What'd you say?” I slide my phone in my pocket, shaking my head to clear it.

  “Laney, Jo … we gotta go get them. Girls' night has hit a nuclear level.”

  “Let's roll,” I say, not bothering to mention how quickly Carter's smooth talking may have scored me a date.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JORDAN

  The devil may be standing in here somewhere. Not. Lying. It’s that hot in here tonight, and being in the middle of all these gyrating bodies on the dance floor doesn’t help either. Therefore, the heat combined with the fact that I have drank my weight in Long Island iced teas might have something to do with the fact that I’m sure I just saw Satan.

  “Wooo! I like it like that,” comes from my left in a singsong voice. Erin, my sister, sings along with Cardi B and mimics her dance moves to the best of her ability. Bless her, not a rhythm in that child’s body. I fucking love my sister, I really do. I’m so glad she, along with my bestest friends make time to do girls’ night.

  We have reached the point of the night, the all-important point that determines if we end up sleeping it off in Laney’s bonus room floor, or in the back of a cruiser. That is a totally true story, one I only like to tell when I’m drunk. And even though I’m beyond drunk right now, the flailing arms of my best friend Laney pulls at what little “mom” friend in me that hasn’t left the building. What the hell is she doing? Wait, is that a man … a man who isn’t Carter that she is dancing with? I squint, hoping the beer goggles has me seeing things, but fuck me runnin’, what in the fresh hell is she thinking!

  This man is tall, very blond, and very much not her husband. This guy reeks of Richie Rich Tourist, looking for one night of love. All the way from his pink Polo, pressed jeans, and Sperry’s with no socks. Bless his heart, he’s trying, but he can’t move worth a lick, and my girl is straight up Beyoncé right now.

  The DJ is blaring a remix of “Drunk in Love”, and Laney is all up on this guy as if he is Jay Z. Drunk brain gets me for a moment; I freaking love this song. Like really love this song. My body has a mind of its own as I start to move sensually to the beat before I get back on my train of thought, watching Laney under a careful glare. Let’s be honest, you have to be able to really move to dance to this song, and more than likely you’re going home with whoever is on the receiving end of the lap dance. Where in the hell did Laney learn to move like that? Girl has been holding out on me. Was she a stripper in a past life? This is definitely something we will be discussing, if I can remember it. Laney. What the fuuuuccckkk?

  As I make a move toward the area where my very drunk best friend is still giving the Queen B a run for her money in dancing, the same sight catches the eyes of Erin and the remaining member of our Fearsome Foursome, Bryn.

  “Is that?” Bryn starts to ask, but the words die on her tongue as another hot specimen comes up to Laney. The newcomer, this man, he is so sexy it’s sinful. Bryn, Erin, and I all are frozen, while those around us proceed to be drunk in love. This is 100% not beer induced; this man is sex in jeans. His light brown hair is cut so short it’s almost shaved, but there’s just enough left to run your fingers over. He’s dressed in a tight black t-shirt that showcases his chest. His very taut and thick chest. Damn. This shit ain’t even fair. Bitch is married, and she has two men all up on her. While reformed fat girl over here, her best friend, has cobwebs surrounding her girly bits.

  Laney’s pink-wearing friend slinks away as we approach to intrude on the animated conversation she is now carrying on with the newcomer.

  “Holy, master of vaginas,” Bryn huffs, “is he real?”

  My sister’s response, “Uhhh … ummmm.”

  We are close enough now that I can make out his features, and even with my alcohol-induced goggles on I would know that smirk. Fucking Maverick.

  “Yep,” I huff to Erin and Bryn, “he’s real. A real piece of work.” Shaking my head, I walk on up to him just in time to hear Laney say, “Back the fuck off, playboy! It’s not as though we were having sex. We were just dancing.”

  Holding his hands up and taking a step back, Maverick shakes his head. “Didn’t say you were doing anything wrong, Lan, just didn’t want Pink Punk gettin’ too handsy with you, that’s all.” As he finishes his sentence, he notices our approach and gives us the guy nod as he proceeds to shamelessly check each of us out from head to toe, stopping the longest on Bryn. He gives her his signature cocksure smile. Oy! I do not seeing this end well. At all.

  “Jo,” he nods, “you have an entourage tonight?”

  “Maverick Reynolds, meet my very married sister Erin, and my too good for your games friend, Bryn.”

  He shakes his head and chuckles, turning to face Bryn, and completely ignoring my sister now that he knows she’s married. Although, I’m sure he has a few married woman notches on his bedposts. “Nice to meet you, Bryn; where have you been all my life?”

  “Really,” Bryn scoffs, “that’s the best you can do, hotshot?”

  “I would love to show you the best I can do.”

  At this point, Laney has plastered herself to the stool at the table behind us, drinking more alcohol that she needs to share with me. I make my way over to her left side and Erin sidles up to her right, leaving Bryn and Maverick to their eye fucking and foreplay banter.

  “Who is that, and why have I not seen him before?” Erin asks.

  Laney, who is slurring but still understandable, says, “That asshole works with Carter at Davenport Construction. He is the biggest man-whore on Tybee Island.”

  “I’ll bet,” my sister agrees, “his body screams bad boy who will make you scream bad things.”

  We all three laugh so loud we draw the attention of most of those around us.

  “Move along,” Laney shoos them, “nothing to see here.”

  “Lan, where in the hell did you learn to dance like that?” I ask, “I wasn’t sure if I was watching you or Beyoncé.”

  “Driver, roll up the partition please,” Bryn singsongs in reference to yet another sex-filled Beyoncé hit as she and Maverick crowd around the table.

  “Shit, I got moves that would even make Maverick blush.”

  “On that note, ladies,” he nods, “try not to get into too much trouble.”

  Bryn studies his backside like it’s a new yoga pose as he saunters off, noticing him take a seat beside a busty redhead. “That fucker was totally trying to get into my pants while he has a date sitting over there, wasn’t he?”

  Snickering, Laney pats her on the back. “Trust me, Bryn, you would have to live in one of your fuckin’ body-shouldn’t-be-able-to-bend-that-way-meditation-poses to deal with that man.”

  “Truth,” I add in for support, or just to hear my own voice—I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that my face has reached the numb status, meaning it�
��s time to slow down on the alcohol. So maybe, just one more drink.

  “Jo, any chance of you making use of your lady parts tonight?” Bryn asks

  “Preach,” my sister agrees while Laney nods enthusiastically. We have been here for two hours and while there are multiple men here, I haven’t managed to talk to one of them except for the time I had to turn down the fifty-something who asked me if I wanted to do the “Giddy Up” when they were playing it earlier. Fuck my life. Really, this is the best I can do? I washed my hair today for fuck’s sake. Hair, makeup, tight red dress and it is still as if I’m invisible to anyone who isn’t on leave from Green Acres Senior Living Center here on the island.

  “Shots!” I shout toward the bartender, knowing that nothing good will come from this, and I will have to run even further tomorrow to rid myself of these calories. I really don’t care about anything other than getting rid of the mental picture I’ve conjured in my mind—dating rest home residents with old man balls. Jose, make it stop.

  Three shots later—we are all trashed, completely trashed, but that’s okay—my mind is free of any real thoughts.

  “Those have to be fake,” Bryn huffs, as she eyes Maverick and the redhead on the dance floor.

  “Ooooh,” I say, patting the table as if it gives my words more umph. “I’ve never felt fake ones; do you think she’d let us feel them?”

  Three heads meet my gaze head-on immediately.

  “Shit, sis, how drunk are you?”

  “Drunk enough to not think about old man balls,” I reply, as if they totally know the story behind my thoughts and the fact that I really have always wondered what fake boobs feel like. Who hasn’t? The sounds of Lizzo start to fill the room, and every woman in the room whoops cause honestly, we are all 100% that bitch. Laney, Erin, Bryn and I dance our way back to the middle of the dance floor, eager to do some ass bouncing. Just as we pass Maverick and Red, the lyrics, “Why men great till they gotta be great” plays, and Bryn and I lip sync them flawlessly to Maverick. We continue to sing along as we take over the middle of the dance floor.

  Drunk me doesn’t understand why I’m not a performer; I can fuckin’ sing. Sober me knows that I sound anything other than good.