Dad Bod (Under Construction Book 1)

by Silla Webb

  He’s right.

  But damn if I don’t hate admitting that.

  Truth is, I’d already decided it was time to leap, but it’s something I’d rather to have kept to myself because Carter misconstrues everything.

  “You done, RuPaul?” Fuckin’ drama queen. Carter laughs around a bite of food, the burger keeping him silent for whatever time I can steal. “I’m takin' her to dinner Friday night.”

  “Hell yeah!” he cheers, full of encouragement. “Why didn’t you say something? What’s her name?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Carter. It’s one date.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  JORDAN

  I’ve been dreading this day since I peeled myself from my bathroom floor on Sunday afternoon sometime. How long did I lay there? I’m taking that one to the grave. I may or may not have laid there long enough to count every single tile in the bathroom. Every. Single. Tile. The remainder of Sunday wasn’t any better. I spent the evening hydrating, popping Advil, and contemplating anything from playing sick tomorrow or skipping town all together as all the events of Saturday night come back to me. Alcohol, you are a nasty, nasty bitch. How am I supposed to face Madden today after rearranging his face with puke? At least I managed to get more on him than in Carter’s truck; otherwise, I would have had to listen to him bitch and moan so much that I would have offered to clean his nasty ass truck just so he would shut up. I have no clue what is up with he and Laney anymore, but their interaction held more bite than it normally does.

  “Let’s take it up a notch!” Bryn shouts through her headset, sitting like the perfect version of a workout queen in the front of the room. She instructs the spinning class as if she wasn’t also on the hangover from hell yesterday. I have no clue how she hides it so well. I’m almost certain I’m legit sweating alcohol through my pores, and the smell makes me want to vomit all over again. It’s going to take me awhile to get over this one.

  Panic at the Disco blares loudly from the speakers singing about High Hopes as Bryn instructs us to turn up the resistance and visualize the mountain we’re pretending to be climbing on our bikes. I take this time to close my eyes and just be, clear my head and focus on what lies on the nerves of steel I need for today when I have to face Madden. I also vow to stop thinking about how nice it was to have someone take care of me and how good it felt to be in his arms. Well, in his arms until they became puke covered anyway.

  Bryn and I exit the spinning room together and now that I can see her up close, she looks like she feels as bad as I do. Damn, I wish I could hide it as well as she does.

  “Girl,” Bryn chides, “Jose and I are on a permanent break.”

  It takes me all of thirty seconds to realize she’s not speaking about a real person, and I chuckle lightly.

  “Me too,” I agree. “I can still smell him as I sweat.”

  “We still need another girls’ night, though. We have to get you some action.”

  I shake my head and open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off before I can get a word out.

  “Jo, you are friggin’ hot, and your body is banging. Heck, I’ve even had dirty thoughts about you before.”

  I have no clue what to do with that, so I start stuttering like Stanley and manage to croak out, “You’ve had what?”

  Bryn bristles it off and continues to walk as if she hasn’t said anything. “Pshhh, girl, you are too young and too damn hot to be “nun” status. You need to get laid.”

  “I have battery-operated things at home that take care of me just fine.” Apparently, Bryn and I have reached the point in our friendship where there is no such thing as TMI.

  There is a witty jab right on the tip of her tongue, I can tell it, but all of a sudden her eyes go wide, and I hear a chuckle behind me. I know that chuckle. Fuck my life. I should have skipped town. Bryn giggles and makes some kind of comment about showering as she darts away.

  “So,” Madden draws, “let me get this straight, darlin’. You—my hard-ass trainer—can’t handle alcohol, and you like to pretend you’re a DJ. But”—he clasps his hand over his mouth to hide his laughter—“did I hear that correctly? You won’t be joining a covenant because you have toys at home?” His brow quirks, his hazel eyes intrigued.

  That smug bastard is enjoying every minute of my mortification, too much. I can’t even defend myself, and that kind of pisses me off. So I’m going with denial. Yep, that is my coping mechanism for this.

  “Let’s see how smug you are after we finish cardio,” I taunt, “on two different machines today.” Then I turn quickly and start toward the cardio room, knowing he’s right behind me. Not only by the grumbled, “shit” he exhales, but I can feel him behind me. His attention is all on my backside, and that makes me, what the hell—his attention is making me giddy. I am so screwed. I cannot be crushing on this man. I simply cannot. Bryn is so right, I need to get laid, and I need to get off with something real—not battery operated.

  Madden has been at it for almost forty-five minutes now. Mondays we focus a lot on cardio simply because Sunday is his rest day, and it’s important we get his heart rate up and his body back in rhythm for the weight training and toning we’ll do later in the week.

  “Hey, got good news for ya. Had a follow-up with my doctor this mornin’ and he’s pleased with my progress. He was impressed with your diet and workout plan and said I could likely get off the medicine if I lose at least fifty pounds, so work your magic, darlin’.”

  “That is awesome news, Madden! Did you weigh-in?”

  “Didn’t dare look. Ain’t ready for that yet, Jordan.”

  “No worries. We’ll get to it soon.”

  I can’t let this whole session go without apologizing for vomiting all over him Saturday night. I have to give it to him, he took it all in stride. I guess as a dad he may be used to that sort of thing. Once his treadmill has halted, we walk over to the cool down area to stretch before we conclude the session.

  “Soooooo,” I chirp, eyes focused solely on the floor. Then I get friggin’ diarrhea of the mouth and spew it out. “Madden, I am so, so sorry for Saturday and my behavior.” But I don’t stop there. I keep on. “And your clothes. Oh my God, I vomited all over you.” Brilliant, Jordan, I’m sure he needed the reminder. It isn’t like he lived it or anything. Yep, and because I’m awkward and apparently a lunatic, I beat the hell out of that vomit-covered dead horse. “And for the conversation you overheard earlier. That is so unprofessional. I should never ever be discussing battery-operated objects to umm … service.” My words die when I feel his finger slide under my chin and slowly lift my head to look him in the eyes. Madden has really nice eyes, and I’m not talking about the mesmerizing hazel green that completely enraptures me. That’s nice too. There is something else about his eyes. They look genuine, wise beyond their years, warming—kind of like the feeling you get of home. His chuckle interrupts my thoughts, which brings my attention to his lips. Lips, that are full, round, and inviting. He slowly darts his tongue out to wet his lips and… What the fuck, Jordan, look away. Am I still drunk?

  “Darlin’, that’s not the first time I’ve ever been puked on. Belle used to do that shit all the time.”

  I can feel the blush all the way to my toes. “Yeah, but you’re not my daddy,” I tease, and his eyes hood and darken all at once. Totally not the appropriate thing to say; shit, I need a do-over for today. Clearing my throat, I step back and say, “Big day today! It’s weigh-in day.” I smile and dart toward the weigh-in room, and Madden follows closely behind.

  “Alright,” I instruct Madden, “shoes off and step up on the scale. Let’s see if I’m kicking your ass hard enough.”

  He’s apprehensive, I can tell. His eyes are nervous, almost fear-stricken. Madden and I are more alike than I realized. He, like me, lives in fear of failure. Madden is afraid of failing himself and his daughter while I’m afraid of failing to do my job and helping him improve his health. Reluctantly, he steps up on the scale and exhales
. The scales blink rapidly for what feels like minutes, when in reality it is only seconds. The number displays, both of us transfixed on the screen. We stare for a moment then make eye contact with each other, and both of us smile our biggest smiles.

  “Hell yeah!” I high-five him, and he chuckles, looking relieved. Madden didn’t only meet his goal—he crushed it, surpassing his first milestone, which was twenty pounds, and is damn close to the second. He has lost a total of twenty-eight pounds. That number on the scale makes me smile my first real smile of the day, and I feel confident as a trainer.

  “So you’ve earned it,” I tell him. “I think a cupcake, just one cupcake,” I put emphasis on one, “is on your menu now.” I chart his numbers in my app, which recalculates his macros, calories, and weight-loss goals. “I’m so proud of your progress, Madden. You’ll have that date before you know it!”

  He seems lost in thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and now he’s the one refusing to make eye contact. He mumbles under his breath, something like, “stupid fucker,” or maybe, “taint sucker.”

  “Excuse me, what did you say?” I wasn’t expecting this reaction.

  He chuckles again, and I worry he’s going to rub the skin off the back of his neck. “Fuckin’ Carter,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t ready, but like his usual nosey ass, he was persistent and pushed me.”

  My laugh is restrained and uncomfortable, and I feel my stomach pit a little, like I know what’s coming.

  “I was browsin’. Testin’ the waters. My profile wasn’t even complete until that fucker snatched my phone and… I don’t know shit about swipin’ left and bumble bees.”

  I bust out in laughter because even though that pit is in my stomach, this shit is hilarious.

  “What the fuck do bees have to do with dating?”

  “Bumble, it’s a dating site.”

  “Right…” He pauses, rubbing the light smattering of gruff framing his cheeks. Damn, I hadn’t noticed how sexy that five o’clock shadow is… “Well, I sort of have a date Friday Night.”

  I blink rapidly, but gather myself pretty quickly. It should not, absolutely not, bother me that Madden is going out on a date. That was one of his milestones to reach. I have no right to be jealous, so why the fuck am I jealous?

  “That’s great,” I tell him, using my best bravado. “You are killing it with your milestones.”

  “It’s just that… I’m just… Shit, it has been so long I’m not sure I even remember how to interact with a woman.”

  “You interact with me just fine, Mad. You’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah but you’re,” he pauses, thinking over his words, “you.”

  Huh. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended. Does he think I’m too good for him, or does he not even think of me as a female? Lost in my own thoughts, it takes me a few minutes to realize that Madden is wired. Like he’s had two Five Hour Energy and a Red Bull wired. I’ve never seen him this out of sorts.

  “Hey,” I say in my most soothing tone, “what is up with you?” A sweat has taken over his whole body, which is odd because we’ve been cooling down for several minutes.

  Grabbing the back of his neck, rubbing furiously, he begins to pace like a mad man and keeps mumbling some shit about Carter and how he’s going to fix him a new asshole. After a couple seconds, he looks up at me and says, “Shit, I’m a mess. I’m just going to cancel this date. I don’t even know how to date.”

  My heart and this man should not be so connected, and I have no idea when the hell that happened. “Sit down, Madden,” I instruct. “You remember how to date; it’s like riding a bike. What do you need to get ready?”

  “Uh—at the risk of sounding like a girl,” he mutters, “what the hell do I even wear?” Ah wardrobe, maybe I can at least do this little bit to help him out.

  “That’s easy enough. What do you have in your closet?”

  “A bunch of button-up shirts my mom picked out and work jeans.”

  Ummm … not sure what I can do with that. “So you need clothes for your date, and probably just all around with the amount of weight you’ve lost.”

  He nods solemnly. Grabbing my bag, “Get your stuff, and let’s go.” I tell him. He looks perplexed, but he follows my orders and doesn’t ask any questions until we’re nearing the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?” he finally mutters.

  “We’re going shopping, Madden.”

  *~*

  I lead Madden into the mall and straight into Brighton’s Department Store. You can learn a lot about a person when shopping with them. It doesn’t take me long to determine that Madden does not like shopping, but he’s easily distracted by his surroundings. Also, judging by the sticker shock he currently goes into when he looks at the price tag on the pair of jeans I hand him, his Mom must do all the shopping for Belle because Justice price tags would send this man into full cardiac arrest.

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?” he bellows. “$85 for a pair of jeans?”

  The jeans he currently holds are not one of the most expensive brands, so I make a mental note to keep him away from the higher priced items in the store. It’s safe to say that Madden Davenport will not be wearing any True Religion jeans. Yeah, yeah, yeah—I’m a total label whore. I haven’t always been that way, probably because most popular brands wouldn’t fit me back then. Once I lost weight, clothes were my main form of reward. Expensive clothes that currently hang in my closet because I wear workout gear every day.

  “Try these on, Mr. ‘I own my own Construction Company so I know you can afford it’, please.”

  Grabbing the jeans, he starts toward the dressing room mumbling about how this one pair of jeans is the equal to two hours of tiling a bathroom.

  “Madden,” I call out to him, and he turns. I hand the simple black button-up to him, purposely hiding the price tag. “Try this on too.” Jerking the shirt from my hand, he huffs and walks off. Waiting on him to come out from the dressing room, I smell her before I see her. Shit on a cracker, I know Gia is there before she speaks. She wears enough perfume in the gym every day that you can smell her coming a mile away. She has to keep Jimmy Choo in business with the amount of that stuff she wears every day. Who the hell wears perfume in the gym? Seriously. I push my shoulders back before she can open her mouth and underhandedly insult me with the venomous sugar that coats her tone. I beat her to the punch.

  “Gia,” I beam, “done so early today?” Shit, I totally forgot what a blubbering idiot Madden becomes when he sees her. Watching him fawn all over her, in addition to the insult or compliment he gave me earlier, may be what pushes me over the edge today. Why do I care? Hell if I know, but for some reason I want Madden to think highly of me. I’ve never really cared if a man found me desirable, but with him I do, which is why I’m currently running ramped around my own head, trying to figure out how to get rid of her.

  “Ha,” she draws, “Jordan, looking for your next outfit in the men’s department; why am I not surprised.” This chick always has been a grade A bitch. Too bad she still lives in high school while the rest of us have graduated long ago. I rarely give in to Gia’s pettiness. I’ve found that she hates to be ignored more than anything.

  I smile even though it pains me. “You know me, always thinking outside the box.” Her sneer indicates that I’ve achieved my goal. Mouth open and ready to spew something hateful at me, her eyes lock on something behind me as she gapes. I feel him behind me. My traitorous body now knows when he’s near. Excellent. I turn to look at Madden, and for the moment I’m stunned too. He looks good. No, scratch that—he looks damn fine. The jeans and shirt fit him incredibly. This is what he must absolutely not wear on a date, with another woman. I’m in so much trouble. And here stands this strong man, blushing like a schoolboy at the most vile woman I’ve ever known.

  I turn back to her and think of a reason to excuse myself from this fucked-up love triangle that only I know about.

  “Hey, Madden,” she coos, and I f
orce myself not to regurgitate in my own mouth. “Looking good.” And then she winks at him, and I swear I hear him sigh. Fucking Christ. The green monster rears its ugly head, and the words just spew from my mouth.

  “Madden,”—I look down at my Apple watch then back up to him, ignoring Gia completely—“can we hurry it up; I have plans.” He blinks, and it’s like he just now remembers that I’m here with him and the ‘one who got away’.

  “Uhhhh… Yeah.” He pauses for a moment. “Ummm … just let me”—he points back toward the door—“get changed and pay.” His attention now is back completely on Gia. “It was good to see you,” he stammers. “Soooo good.” The smile on her face is victorious, yet I don’t know what she has won.

  “You too, handsome.” She pats his back and winks at him while she saunters off. And I may vomit everything I have ingested today, onto Madden if I don’t change my mind.

  Walking out of the store and into the mall, he keeps looking at me, but I look anywhere but at him. It’s my fault I let my jealously make this weird. Friend, I’m his friend; in the zone of friends. My eyes make contact with one of my favorite stores in the mall, and an idea pops into my mind. Just friends doesn’t mean I can’t mess with him a little. We both go to speak at the same time.

  “Jo, are you…”

  “Madden I need to…” We both bust out laughing, and he nods for me to go on. “I was going to say, will you walk into this store with me for a minute?” I nod toward Victoria's Secret as I ask, and all the color instantly drains from his face. This is too easy. “I’m meeting up with an old friend tonight, and I need a male’s opinion.” I walk toward the store without giving him a chance to disagree.