Holding her in the parking lot was enough physical contact for one night. It was all I could possibly handle.
I might hate Drew, but my dick wasn’t getting that message earlier.
Sure, Drew’s cute. She always has been.
But something changed about her when she got pregnant.
It’s like she stopped pretending to be someone else and finally accepted herself, and not just because she let her dark hair grow out and had my sister Wren strip it back down to its natural blonde.
It’s more than her appearance.
It’s her.
She’s still mouthy as ever, but she’s much more confident than she’s ever been—and that’s saying something because Drew is the most confident chick I’ve ever met.
“In what world does me going home with you make any sense? The animosity between us is palpable, Winston, not to mention I have a baby. I can’t bring Riker to your house and just set up camp. That’s not how things work.”
“In what world can’t you do that? Put some diapers in a bag and get your ass in the car. It’s not as difficult as you’re trying to make it.”
“Fine. How about I don’t want to go home with you? Are you understanding what I’m saying now?”
I laugh. “You think I want you in my home? Think I’m so fucking eager to have baby crap strewn all over the place and I’m just dying to be woken up in the middle of the night by a curdling scream? Think again.”
“Then why are you so insistent on me coming with you?” Her angry voice echoes around the lot and I swear I hear someone yell out their window in the distance. Her chest heaves up and down as she works to catch her breath, eyes wide, surprised at her own outburst.
“Because despite how much you like to paint me as one, I’m not a monster, Drew. I can’t leave you at your apartment without a vehicle when you have a three-month-old baby. What if something happens to him? To you? What if Riker gets sick? What are you going to do, Drew? Wait on the bus schedule to post and hope and pray it gets here on time? Fuck that. I’m not willing to gamble your life or your baby’s like that.”
Her mouth hangs open. Closes. Opens.
Slowly, her full lips curve into a cloying smile, like I just hung the fucking moon or some shit.
“What?” I bite out when she doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at me.
“You care.”
“Excuse me?”
“You care. About me. About Riker.”
“I don’t even know your gremlin.”
“No, but you care about me, and Riker is a part of me so you care about him too.”
I groan. “Whatever story you need to weave to get you both back into my car, weave it. Let’s just get this show on the road. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
“You? An early morning? Doing what—jacking your dick?”
“No. I’ll be doing that tonight. Mornings are reserved for something a little less naughty but just as fun.” I nod toward the apartment complex. “Get moving. We’re on a schedule.”
With a huff, she turns on her heel, and I follow closely behind her.
She takes the stairs slowly, like she’s stalling for time, and it’s physically hurting me to walk this slowly.
“What’s your damage now?”
She peeks back at me, her bottom lip stuck firmly between her teeth. “It’s just…well, don’t judge me by my apartment, okay? I’m doing the best I can.”
“I would never judge you, Drew.”
And it’s true. I wouldn’t.
Judging isn’t my style, and I know how hard she’s been working to make ends meet. I see it every day. She comes in with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. Her hair sometimes looks like it hasn’t been combed in days. She pulls and twists at her neck, trying to get the knots to loosen up for just a few minutes of relief.
I see it all.
It’s the reason I’ve been picking up so much slack around Slice.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m known for being unreliable when it comes to working in my dad’s pizzeria, but that’s because some days the pain is just too much to bear and I have to smoke myself numb to make it through.
Lately, though, I’ve been cutting back on the smoking and trying to fight through the pain.
For Drew.
The day she came in with tears streaking down her face, her lips bleeding from her biting at them through an anxiety attack…I knew.
I had to step up.
The only blessing in her situation is that she’s easily distracted. I’ve been using it to my advantage for weeks now, getting her riled up about something at work so she doesn’t notice me slipping my tips into her apron.
Either she never counts her money during her shift, or she’s just walking around thinking she’s an extraordinary waitress.
Not that what I slip her is a lot, because I’m a horrible waiter, but it’s something, and something goes a long way when you have a baby and no one else to help.
Sometimes I feel guilty about that.
Drew stops at a door, knocking twice before shooting me another cautious glance.
I ignore her, eyes locked on the door, eager to see who is on the other side.
We can hear movement and it’s pulled open just a crack, a face looking back out at us.
Her face is slim, eyes big, and cheeks rosy. She’s young, that’s for sure. Still a teenager if I’m not mistaken.
The young girl must recognize Drew because she pulls the door open farther, but she hesitates to open it wider when she sees me standing behind her. Her brows lift in a silent question.
“He’s with me,” Drew answers.
The girl nods, pulling the door open completely. Low music drifts from within, and I note that it’s dated for her age.
“I am so sorry I’m late, Doris. My car broke down.”
“Again?” the girl says, sounding just as exasperated as Drew.
“I know.” Drew holds her hand up. “I know. Don’t even get me started. It’s been a long week, but never mind all that and my dramas. How’s my sweet boy doing?”
Doris smiles widely. “He’s wonderful. He just fell asleep about an hour ago.”
“Aw, I hate to have to wake him.”
“I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing his mama.”
“I—” Drew looks back at me, like she forgot I was there for a minute, all her attention having shifted to her son. “Here.” She hands her lanyard to me. “It’s apartment 4B. The key with the flowers on it will open the door. I’ll meet you up there in a few minutes.”
I grab the keys from Drew’s outstretched hand, figuring the girl who can’t be a day over sixteen—whose name is dated right along with her musical taste—looks harmless enough.
Racing up the steps two at a time, I slide the lock into the door and push it open, unsure what I’m going to see on the other side.
My throat begins to close as soon as I step into the room.
Because that’s all it is—a room.
Drew’s been living in this tiny-ass apartment—with her baby—while I’ve been living it up in a fucking two-bedroom house.
I’m a jackass.
Not only is the apartment—or more accurately, the bedroom—small, it’s just as cold in here as it is outside.
I close the door.
Nope, still too cold.
Especially for a baby.
Drew mentioned she was behind on her bills, but I didn’t realize she was this behind on them.
The guilt seeps in just a bit more.
Glancing around the room, I begin picking it apart.
The paint is peeling, and there’s a bucket in the corner clearly placed there to collect the water dripping from the ceiling. Cabinet doors are missing. There’s a musty smell Drew’s tried to cover with the candles littered about.
It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen, but it’s not ideal, especially with the lack of heating.
I step farther into the room, looking over the very pe
rsonal items strewn about.
It’s mostly kid toys—rattles and other noisy shit—but there are a few things of hers lying about too.
A romance novel is splayed across the arm of the couch, holding her spot for whenever she gets another free moment to read, something I know she used to love doing.
A grocery list and a pen with a mercilessly chewed-on cap sit on the coffee table next to an abandoned blue bracelet and a pair of earrings.
A single photo of Drew and Riker in the hospital sits in the center of the small entertainment center next to an old, outdated laptop.
Other than that, the place is sparse.
No decorations. No other photos. Nothing.
She doesn’t even have a bed for crying out loud. She’s been sleeping on the couch.
It’s like she doesn’t plan to be here long enough to settle in.
The door behind me rattles as Drew tries to push it open and I pull on the knob, knowing her hands are going to be full of Riker and his things.
“Thanks,” she mutters, barreling through the door. “I’ll just grab some of his stuff real quick and we can get going. It’s way past his bedtime.”
“Just tell me what he needs, and I can grab it.”
“It’ll be much faster if I do it. You have no idea what’s what.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not incompetent, Drew. I can deduce what a baby does and doesn’t need.”
“Fine.” She turns her lips down at the corners, hating to accept the help but knowing it’ll be better in the end so she doesn’t risk waking up the baby.
I roam around the room, stuffing some diapers, formula canisters, bottles, wipes, plenty of clothes, blankets, and a few toys into the two different diaper bags I find as Drew coos and sings to a sleeping Riker.
“Shit, Winston, how long do you think we’re staying with you?”
“As long as you need to,” I answer simply.
I pull open the only two drawers on the small, raggedy dresser that must belong to her and she squeaks from behind me.
“Wait! Those are my drawers.”
“Yes,” I say, holding up a pair of baby blue lacy underwear. “I assumed this isn’t something Riker would wear.”
“Put my panties down,” she urges through clenched teeth.
“Relax. It’s not like I’m going to stand here sniffing all your underwear in front of you.” I tuck the lacy garment into my front pocket. “I’ll save that for later.”
“I hate you.” She shoots a fiery stare my way, wanting so desperately to charge at me and wrestle the panties from my pocket but knowing there’s nothing she can do about it right now.
I grab a handful of underwear and socks, shoving them into another bag I found. I grab some tees and pants, enough to get her by.
“If you need something else, we can stop by later, or just hit up the store.”
She snorts. “Right, like I have spare cash to spend on new clothes.”
I tighten my jaw at the comment, trying not to dwell on it or her situation for too long.
“You ready?” I ask, my arms loaded down with bags for them both, enough stuff to last a week.
“To stay with you? Never, but what choice do I have?” She sighs. “Let me get him into his car seat and get this hell over with.”
* * *
“No. Absolutely not.”
Drew stands before me, hands on her hips, eyes puffy with tiredness.
She’s exhausted, beyond so. Which is why I offered her my bed.
Well, that and she can’t sleep on the couch with Riker and I have nowhere else to put him. My bad because I clearly didn’t think this whole You’re coming home with me thing through.
“Well, tough fucking tits. It’s happening.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to sleep in your bed and take over your room while you sleep on that dilapidated couch, Winston. I hate you, but damn—I gotta draw the line somewhere.”
“I’m offering it to you. I’m choosing this. Just accept it and quit bitching about the handout.”
Drew’s jaw tightens. I don’t know if it’s the truth behind my words that gets her angry or the word choice.
Either way, she knows I’m right.
I’m letting her stay here free of charge when it’s painfully clear she desperately needs the help but is too fucking stubborn to ask for it.
Riker coos and we both glance his way, silencing any argument Drew might have made.
She knows she needs to do this for him.
I’m not a baby person at all, but even I can admit the little bundle of jelly rolls is adorable as hell. He’s still buckled into his car seat nice and tight, having slept the entire way over here, not making a single peep when she carried him inside. I’m certain that means he’s out for the night.
Thank fuck, because I could really use the sleep.
“At least let me repay you for all of this.”
“With all that money you don’t have?” I scoff. “You couldn’t even keep your fucking heat on, Drew. I don’t see how you’re going to pay me for letting you stay here.”
Her eyes flash with anger again, but she brushes off my insult. “It was on when I left for work this morning. I wouldn’t have stayed there with my son if I didn’t have heat. I’d never put him through that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now. I can repay you for letting us stay here in other ways.”
“Please tell me you mean sexual favors.” I smirk. “I would love to fill that sassy mouth of yours with my cock.”
I say it to fuck with her, because lord knows I don’t mean it.
Heat steals up her cheeks and her breaths become uneven, and I can’t tell if it’s because she loves the idea or hates it.
She screws her face up. “You’re disgusting.”
But there’s no bite behind her words.
“That wasn’t a no.”
“I am not giving you sexual favors. I meant like help around the house. Doing dishes, cooking…those sorts of things.”
“Those don’t sound nearly as satisfying as blow jobs.”
“Get out, Winston,” she huffs.
Laughing, I pull the door mostly shut behind me, leaving her there to stew.
After stopping at the hall closet to grab a fresh set of sheets, I make my way to the living room.
I pluck the fitted sheet from the pile, slipping it around the couch cushions as best I can.
“Is it just me or do you have a thing for taking in strays?” I hear the recliner squeak as my roommate, Sully, takes a seat. “I could have given her my room, you know.”
I peer back at him. “No way, man. I’m the one who offered to let her stay here. This was my bad decision.”
He snorts in the way only he can.
The way that says There’s more to your story, but I’ll let it slide for now.
“You know the rules, Sully—if there’s something you want to say, just fucking say it. Don’t do that hippie mind-reading bullshit with me.”
“I just think it’s funny you’re calling this a bad decision.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because something inevitable can’t be a bad decision. Not when it was meant to be all along.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You know. Deep down, you know.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “I’m convinced you’re the reason I smoke so much sometimes. It’s so I can get your bullshit out of my head.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he agrees.
I plop down onto the sofa, and though the linens are fresh, they do nothing to hide how uncomfortable this damn thing is. “How the hell did I let Foster sleep on this for so long?”
“Because you’re a good friend.”
“You’re only saying that because I let you stay here for free.”
“True.” Sully laughs, pushing up from the chair and grabbing his surfboard that’s resting against the wall. “I’m heading out.”
<
br /> I want to tell him he’s an idiot for surfing at night, that anything could happen out there in the dark, but I know he’ll just argue that anything could happen in the daylight too.
“Enjoy your therapy,” I mutter.
The back door slides shut, and I pull out my phone, setting myself a reminder to make an appointment at the local auto shop first thing tomorrow morning. I know Harvey Schwartz will fit me in, especially considering how much money I’ve spent there keeping my station wagon alive and chugging.
It’s the same old clunker my mom used to drive us around in, and I couldn’t let it go.
I click the lamp off and lie back on the couch, arms crossed under my head, trying to get my brain to settle down, something it never wants to do at night.
Not since the accident.
Nearly three years ago now, I was clipped coming home from a party in college.
The road was winding, dark, dangerous…wet from hours of rain.
I was lucky, limping away with only a broken collarbone, a fractured leg, and a whole slew of chiropractor appointments from messed-up discs in my back and neck.
The other driver walked away with minimal damage physically, but not financially.
When her toxicology report came back, we found out she was drunk off her ass…something my lawyer didn’t let slide by without a big stink, especially considering she was the mayor’s daughter.
I took the insanely large settlement they offered and bought this house in cash, setting me up for a long time to come. Then I went about my life like I didn’t see the accident on replay every time I closed my eyes.
The joke was on me though.
I blew off too many doctors, too much physical therapy, and now I’ve left my body beyond repair.
The light sound of music drifts from my bedroom and I can’t quite make out what it is. Probably a kiddie lullaby or some shit.
I turn to my side, hiding my face from the light coming through around the door. The second I turn, I feel it.
The aching that won’t go away.
The one that hurts so bad I can’t sleep at night…unless I smoke until I can’t see straight.
I’m aware of the fact that this constant pain is partly my own doing.
After my accident, everyone looked at me like I was this broken, fragile thing. I couldn’t handle it. Every day I was still strapped into that sling or being whisked off to physical therapy, it was another day they were staring at me like I was shattered. I couldn’t fucking stand it. The moment I declared I was healed, they all started treating me differently.
I Knead You Tonight Page 2
