Dad Bod (Under Construction Book 1)

by Silla Webb

  After stopping by at home to change into running clothes, I head to the beach and hit the ground runnin’, “Numb” by Linkin Park blastin’ through my earbuds. But no matter how loud the music is or how hard I pound the ground, the thoughts never seem to cease.

  I can’t bring Casey back. She’s not good for Belle.

  How do I tamp down Belle’s fears that her daddy will leave her like her momma did? Belle was only two when Casey left, so she doesn’t remember much more than one day her momma was there, then the next she wasn’t. In the recess of her small mind, she feels that loss, the abandonment, and that fear is consuming her.

  I run along the shoreline, the cool water splashin’ up around my ankles helping to keep my body cool. My rampant thoughts grow louder than the bass of the music, and I run until my legs are weak and my chest is tight and breathless, trying to outrun the problems I can’t solve. I collapse onto the ground to catch my breath, sand stickin’ to my sweaty skin. Staring up at the sky, the sun hidden beneath the clouds, the panic attack turns to disgruntled anger.

  “Fuckin’ Laney. Why the hell would you not give me a heads-up? Why would you put my baby girl through this shit? You knew, Lan. You fuckin’ knew Belle had no momma to bring her to your fuckin’ grand tea party or whatever shit this is! FUCK!!” Standing, I lace my fingers behind my head and continue to walk the shoreline, my breathing staggering with anger.

  I can go about this two ways: ignore the tea party horse shit, or I guess buy a fuckin’ costume and be a princess for a day. What the ever-lovin’ hell am I supposed to wear? That’s not really a solution, is it? It’s a mother-daughter tea party, so I don’t exactly have the right hardware to attend. I could ask Momma to go with Belle, and she’d likely have no problem doing so, but she’s Belle’s grammy—not her mother. I have to stop placing parental responsibility on Momma’s lap and figure this out on my own.

  I make my way to the truck and grab a bottle of water from the cooler in the back, dumping it over my head before grabbing a second to drink.

  Climbing in the cab of my truck, I find my phone still on the mount, the notification light flickering. Damn it. I never leave my phone behind simply in case Belle needs me. Fuck anything or anyone else right now because my only concern is my kid. Checking the notifications, I’m surprised there’s a missed call and a couple of texts from Jordan.

  Yes, my heart races.

  Yes, sweat beads at my forehead.

  And it’s not because I ran two miles down the beach, or the fact that I’m pissed as shit fuck at life.

  It’s because Jordan Williams has me by the damn ball-sack, and she doesn’t even know it.

  >>Hey, Mad.

  >>Tried calling, but I’m sure you’re on a job site.

  >>I’m just gonna ask outright.

  Damn. Jordan’s one of those one-liners. Must not know what a paragraph is. Or maybe she thinks I’m too incompetent to process more than one sentence at a time.

  >>Can I have your kid for the weekend?

  >>I promise to return her in the same condition I receive her in.

  >>Okay, I realize I’m talking about a kid as if she’s a package or product, or not a human. Sorry.

  There are more messages, but just for the sake of hearing Jordan’s voice, I press dial.

  “Madden!” The excitement in her voice hits me right in the gut.

  “Excited much, darlin’?”

  “YES! Actually, I am. I’m glad you called!” Yes, I do have to silently urge my cock to lay still.

  “Missin’ me?”

  Did she just sigh? All breathy and—fuck. Immediate hard-on.

  “So I know it’s a lot to ask, but Erin and I are taking Kenny to Noble Farm, and I’d like to bring Belle with us.”

  “The what? I’ve never heard of it before?”

  “You’re kiddin’ me, right? I mean, this is a family tradition for us.”

  Yeah, I’m still not followin’ her.

  “It’s a pumpkin patch just outside of Pooler.”

  “Annnd … you want Belle to go; why?”

  “Ya know, so Kenny will have a pal to play with.” There’s a long stretch of silence as I consider the invitation. “I promise to make sure she is securely snapped into her car seat, I’ll drive the speed limit, break no laws; I’ll feed her healthy food and take lots of pictures for you!”

  “At a pumpkin patch? Are you pullin’ my leg? I can’t imagine anything worthy of adventure at a frickin’ pumpkin patch.”

  “No! It’s awesome! They have goats and chickens, and tricycles, and these huge play areas for kids; even little playhouses. It will keep them busy for hours. We’ll stop for dinner on the way home, if they can stay awake.”

  I trust Jo, and I think it would do Belle some good to spend time with someone other than Laney and my mom.

  “Yeah, I mean, I guess that’s okay. Anything I need to know? How to dress her? When will you be coming home? Ya know, the basics?”

  “How about we discuss details when I pick her up tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good, darlin’. I’ll see ya then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JORDAN

  “Aunt JoJo, whys we takin’ Belly to the punkin plwace?”

  Things aren’t going as planned. Each fall, Erin and I go to Noble Farms and spend the day pickin’ pumpkins, apples, shopping the small craft vendors all while letting Kenny run his energy out in the Amish play area. Except Erin woke up this morning with a fever, vomiting profusely, and that dreaded D word that no proper lady likes to discuss.

  Typically, I would have canceled the trip until Erin’s feeling better, but I already invited Belle to come along with us. I absolutely refuse to break that little girl’s heart, so it looks like I’m braving the field trip to the pumpkin patch alone.

  Have wine and chocolate cake on standby.

  I’ll suffer in the gym next week.

  “We’re gonna have a good time, Ken-man.”

  “We’s always has a good time, Aunt JoJo, but I don’t know why Belly is coming.” Kenny huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Because Belle is my friend. Belle’s your friend too, ain’t she?”

  Kenny considers this for a moment, his index finger tapping his lip. “I guess so.” Kenny shrugs and turns to gaze out the window. He’s in a bit of a mood today, and I pray he isn’t I’ sick. I refuse to clean up vomit that’s not my own.

  I leave him to his thoughts and turn the stereo up as we drive to Madden’s house. Mere moments later, Ken-man speaks up and asks, “Where’s she come fwom anyways?”

  “Who, bub?”

  “Belly. Where’s she come fwom?” He shrugs, waiting for an answer, but I have no earthly idea what he means.

  Quirking my brow, I deadpan in the rearview mirror. “You’ve lost me, kid.”

  Ken-man sighs in exasperation, his palm slapping his face dramatically. “Belly’s not got a momma.” His shoulders scrunch up to his ears then relax. “Did she come from those big ugwy birds in the sky, or from the cabbage patch?”

  Do … huh?

  What is he saying?

  “What has your daddy been letting you watch?”

  Ken-man shrugs, pursing his lips. “Bubba, Belle has a mommy and daddy, just like you. Kiddos can’t come from birds or vegetables. That would be some kind of sorcery or witchcraft, or…” I glance back through the rearview mirror and notice his confusion.

  “But everybody at school says she has gots no momma. She was cwying the other day because she can’t goes to the tea party. Is that why she’s coming to the punkin patch, cause she can’t has tea?”

  I’m not hearing him correctly. These kids can’t already be picking on each other at such a young and delicate age, right? This world is so pathetic and ugly, but is bullying truly an issue in preschool? My heart absolutely bleeds for Belle.

  “Auntie, is you cwyin’?” I don’t even realize I’m choking back tears until Ken-man mentions it. I swipe away at the wetness on my chee
ks as we cut down the road to Madden’s house.

  Marshland surrounds the gravel path that leads toward the split-level Southern-style house that sits on South Inlet. The view is positively breathtaking. I park the Jeep beside Madden’s work truck, the Davenport Construction logo prominent in bright red and yellow print down the side and around the tailgate. I check my face in the mirror to make sure it’s clear of red splotches. “I’s get out too, Auntie?”

  I climb out of the Jeep and open the back door, unlatching Kenny’s car seat. “Yeah, Ken-man. But I want you to be on your best behavior. A Southern gentleman, okay?”

  “Yes’m, Auntie.” He gives me a chubby thumbs-up as his feet crunch against the gravel.

  “Belly!” Ken-man shouts as he races toward the front porch. “You’s a princess?” His husky laughter tugs at my heart, light with happiness and love. But when I close the Jeep door and follow the path up to the porch, I have to bite back the laughter that bubbles up in my chest.

  Belle’s dressed in a fluffy cotton candy pink tutu dress that wraps around her neck and flows full and wide toward her feet. Thick pom poms in multicolor are sprinkled about the tulle, brown leggings, and white canvas shoes. Glitter dusts her pink-tinged cheeks, and her dark brown hair is … well, it looks like she had a tussle with a hairbrush, and she won. Brown locks of tattered curls and frizz stick up in this direction and that. She’s certainly got a style of her own goin’ on her, and I’m diggin’ it.

  “What is yous wearin’?” Ken-man’s eyes are alight with amusement as he giggles

  “Grammy always says you are what yous eats. And I wants to eats all the cupcakes. So I’s a cupcake.” She slips cupcake embellished shades on her face, shoving stringy strands of hair out of her face as she struts down the steps, so much swagger and grace in her little steps; I’m in awe of her confidence.

  And this, y’all, is the very reason why my new best friend is a five-year-old preschooler because this kid is livin’ her best life.

  “If she’s too much, I don’t mind to make her change into something more…” Madden considers his next words as Belle pins him with a glare.

  “Grammy says I gotta own it, and I”—Hot Mess Bess sweeps her arms out in front of her dress, careful not to pull at the material—“wook fasbulous.” Belle raises her sunglasses and attempts a crinkled wink at Madden.

  “What’s wong withs ya hair, Belly?” Kenny scrunches his brows as he takes her in.

  She smooths the tattered locks back from her face. “What you mean?”

  “It’s all over. Did you bwush it? My momma always makes me comb my hair before I leave the house.”

  Belle reaches into the mess of fluffy tulle and brandishes a lollipop. Never mind the fact that she just littered. Her daddy can scold her for that. I’m completely enamored with the fact that her tutu has freakin’ pockets. I need this. I need this tutu with pockets to wear to yoga or on midnight Walmart runs. It’s versatile and makes a unique fashion statement for sure.

  “Brushin’ ya hairs ain’t cool, Ken-man.” Belle shrugs and shoves the sucker between her lips.

  And as if a lightbulb has flickered in Kenny’s mind, he shrieks, “You’re it!” as he slugs Belle in the arm and pumps his little arms and legs into a jog around the Jeep. And do you think this little sassafrass cares that she’s dressed in frills? Hell no. She drops her sucker to the ground and hikes her tutu dress up around her waist, as not to trip over the long layers, and she chases Ken-man around the Jeep singing loudly and out of tune.

  Maybe that wine should be tequila, and stat.

  “You’re in over your head, Williams.” Madden laughs from behind me. I cock my glare in his direction, a smartass reply lingering on my tongue and ready to slip off, but… I’m bought up short and speechless when I drink him in. He’s leaned against the column, a black tank highlighting the definition in his chest, his biceps roped and corded in muscles, and his callused hands are tucked into the pockets of gray sweatpants.

  And this, my friends, is where I’m caught—hook, line, and damn sinker, because that niggling intuition to speak, react, freakin’ breathe … well, it’s as stunned into disbelief as I am. My body is frozen in my place, my jaw slack, and drool trickling down my chin.

  Madden’s smirk stretches so far across his face that if this beautiful man didn’t have ears, that smile would cut his head in half.

  Thank God he has ears.

  And sun-kissed flesh.

  A sexy smirk that makes my knees buckle and—

  “Oh my gosh, yous has a cocker!” Ken-man exclaims. What in the ever-lovin’ fuck is a cocker? I can’t see the kids, only hearin’ their voices projecting from somewhere near the side of the house.

  “Hers name is Barbeque, Kennet! Not cocker! She’s a chicken.”

  “You has a chicken as a pet, Belly?” Ken-man laughs. I can’t make this shit up, y’all!

  “Here, hold her. She just laid eggs, see?”

  I look up at Madden for direction on where to find the kids, and it’s then I register he’s struttin’ toward me, hands still stuffed in his pockets.

  And with every step he takes nearer, I realize my head is suddenly pounding with an intense pain because it seems I’ve fuckin’ forgot how to breathe.

  A callused finger trails along my jawline and tips my chin upward, a devious glint in his baby blues. “Gonna catch flies in that pretty mouth, Jo.”

  I miss his touch immediately as he steps around me, leaving my head whirring in desire.

  I try to talk myself off that ledge.

  He’s a client.

  A friend.

  You have rules, Jo.

  But for every excuse the logical side of me has, the devious bad girl in me wants to throw caution to the wind and see where things could lead.

  “Did I hear her right? She has a pet chicken?”

  Madden grumbles in response.

  “So where y’all headin’ again?” he calls from behind me, his voice muffled behind something. I turn on my heel to see him transferring Belle’s car seat to my Jeep.

  “Oh, uhm…” I shake my head as I stammer over the words. I guess the chicken’s not that much of a concern. “Noble Farms, just outside Pooler. Erin and I take Ken-man every year.”

  “Yeah, where’s she? Meetin’ y’all there?”

  “No. Actually, I’m ridin’ solo because Erin came down with the stomach flu. She doesn’t want Kenny to get sick, so I’m keeping him at my place until she’s fever free.”

  Madden’s face contorts into concern. “Y’all ain’t contagious, are ya? Belle gets sick, she’s down for days.”

  I cut him off with a sweep of my hand. “No worries, Madden. I’d never subject her to the Black Plague or Swine flu.”

  “What the hell kinda flu? That sounds serious, Jo. You’re sure she’s fine with you?”

  “Relax, Daddy. It’s a twenty-four-hour tummy bug. Erin’ll live.”

  Madden sucks his bottom lip and groans low in his throat, his eyes darkening.

  I need a zipper on my big fat mouth!

  “So what are you getting into today?” I redirect the conversation from treading into dangerous territories.

  He scratches the five o’clock shadow framing his jaw and cocks his head. “Been runnin’ every day on the beach. Just to clear my head, ya know. Probably meet up with the guys for a beer later, if I can.”

  “You definitely should. Everyone needs a little time to themselves, Mad. Don’t worry about Belle. She’s in good hands.”

  Madden mutters something beneath his breath, but I can’t quite make it out. So to keep from further embarrassing myself, I continue with my thought. “In fact, why don’t you make a night of it. I can bring Belle home tomorrow evening.”

  “Woah, darlin’, I agreed to a few hours at the pumpkin patch, not for you to play babysitter.”

  “Oh hush it. Go out and enjoy yourself.”

  “What if I want to enjoy myself with you?” Madden asks, closing in on me.
<
br />   I swallow back a gulp of air that’s caught in my lungs and throw out the first retort that comes to mind. “That ain’t part of the plan, big guy.”

  “Could be. Just say the word.”

  Madden is so close I can smell the mint on his breath and clean scent of aftershave on his jawline. Except … he obviously hasn’t shaved for days. Recognition dawns on me—he’s playing his hand for mine.

  I shove off his chest and spin on my heels, hollerin’ for the kids to load up.

  “You gonna leave me hangin’ just like that?” I don’t look back.

  It would be a mistake. A stupid move on my part.

  “Just like that,” I reply, a hint of laughter in my voice.

  Madden’s chuckle washes over me. “That could be perceived as kidnappin’, darlin’.”

  “These kids ain’t nappin’, Davenport. Go live your best life. You can tell me all about it—three pm tomorrow.”

  I climb in the Jeep and crank the ignition, leaving a bewildered Madden in my wake.

  *~*

  How do Mommas do it?

  Run after preschoolers, tots, and in-betweens from daylight till dark? Belle and Ken-man talked non-stop on the drive to Noble Farm, telling jokes and laughing, playing games, and singing. As soon as the Jeep rolled to a stop in the parking lot, Kenny unlatched his harness, then Belle’s, and they hit the ground runnin’ for the Amish playground as soon as the back door was open. They’ve played on the swings, the slides, the monkey bars; they rode tricycles through the corn maze. They have gone full throttle, and the sugar break they took halfway through the day only fueled them to play harder.

  And play harder they did. After loading the back of the Jeep with pumpkins, apple cider, and Erin’s favorite kettle corn, we headed home for the evening to start our slumber party.

  I don’t know what kinda slumber parties y’all had as kids, but down South, we cover every damn surface in the house that is waist-height with a sheet, secure the corners with any redneck ingenuity we can think up, and we call that a tent. Ken-man and I built our make-shift tent while Belle showered and dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of Kenny’s PJ Masks underoos, then while Kenny showered, Belle and I prepared snacks.