I stare blankly at him. “How in the hell did you ever get a girlfriend?”
“Ah, ah, ah—a live-in girlfriend.”
I briefly squeeze my eyes shut and try not to laugh at his enthusiasm. “Right. My bad.”
“It’s because of my ass. That’s what sealed the deal, really.”
“Dad, Uncle Zach said ass. You said I couldn’t say ass. Why does he get to say it?” He walks back into the kitchen and sets his plate on the counter, then rolls his sleeves up before getting to work rinsing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. He knows I’m here to take care of him, but he has to clean up after himself. It’s teamwork.
Zach looks at me, eyes innocent and face red with held-in laughter.
“Get the hell outta here, man. Wait, why are you here anyway?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I was in the area. Met with that client at the ass—”
“Hey!” Xavie says, jumping off his stepstool and pretending to punch Zach’s stomach.
Zach pretends to take the hit and makes all the proper noises. He’s the best fake uncle ever.
“I meant butt, you little turd. Calm down.” The kid backs away but is ready to strike again if necessary. “Anyway, I met with him at the butt crack of dawn and knew you’d be up getting this rascal ready for day camp, so I thought I’d stop in and see him since it’s been a while.” He nods toward my phone. “Apparently that was a good idea. It’s like I had bestie intuition or some sh—stuff. Why, did you think I was here to see your ugly mug?” He scoffs. “Like I need more of you in my life.”
“Shut up,” I retort, then turn my attention back to my buzzing phone.
Monty: So, Robbie from Lola’s, why’d you text?
Me: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Monty: Wow. Straight to the point then.
Me: I’m not one to beat around the bush. Not my style.
Monty: Good to know.
Monty: If I’m being very honest, and even though I can feel my cheeks heating just thinking of admitting this to you, I’ve thought about you as well.
“Who you texting, Dad?”
“Business.”
“Business?”
“Yeah, none of yours.”
He props his hands on his hips and scrunches his face up. “That’s not nice.”
“Fine. It’s Santa Claus. Homeboy just told me if you don’t go brush your teeth and get dressed, you’ll be missing a present under the Christmas tree.”
He lifts a brow. “Santa’s old. He’ll forget by Christmas time. It’s July, Dad.”
“He might forget, but I won’t. Scoot!”
The little smartass lets out a sigh but obeys, trudging off down the hallway to get ready for the day.
When he’s out of the room, Zach sidles up next to me. “That her?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what else to say.”
“I told ya, tell her about the banging thing.”
“Please leave.”
He laughs and claps me on the shoulder, giving me a good shake. “You’ll figure it out. Let me know if you need any more pointers. I’m gonna say goodbye to the rugrat. I’ll see you at the office.” I hear him shuffle down the hallway and into Xavie’s room. “I’m out, kiddo. Here’s five dollars for letting me in. Make your dad get you some ice cream or something.”
“You’re the best, Uncle Zach!”
“I know.” I picture him dusting off the shoulder of his leather jacket as he says this, because that’s so something Zach would do.
He gives me a wave when he walks back through the apartment.
“Don’t be late! Your boss hates that shit!” he hollers over his shoulder before the door clicks shut.
“Uncle Zach said shit! You said shit was a bad word!” Xavie yells.
I groan and remind myself to kick Zach’s ass when I get to work. “I know. Just get dressed. We’ll talk about it on the way to school.”
I begin cleaning up the small mess left over from breakfast and grab Xavie’s backpack. I’m in dad mode now, putting in the final additions to his lunch—writing out the joke I always slip inside the box—and grabbing the miscellaneous school supplies scattered throughout the apartment. Kid is a mess.
I head back to my own bedroom and make quick work of shucking my sleep clothes and exchanging them for my work ones. Thank god Zach is chill and doesn’t make us dress up. I love being able to work in jeans and a polo.
Right on time, I meet Xavie in the hall. I grab his backpack and he grabs his lunch, then we slip our shoes on and off we go.
We have our routine down to a science by now. When Holly and I agreed to an every-other-week custody agreement, I was a bit nervous. As bad as it sounds, I was only used to having Xavie around every other weekend and each Thursday, not for an entire week at a time.
But, we got the hang of things fast, and now I wish I had him every day of the year, not just when the court allows.
We buckle into my car and head about eight miles down the road to his school for the day camp he’s taking part in this year. I both love and hate it.
I hate it because it takes time away from us and love it because it allows me to spend time with him and still pay the bills.
Luckily, he’s forgotten all about the shit incident with Zach, and we just jam out to some Parkway Drive.
What can I say? My kiddo loves some metal.
I park in front of the school and hop out of the car, pulling Xavie’s door open.
“Be good. Be smart. Be kind.”
“Be good. Be smart. Be kind,” he repeats.
We bump fists twice. “Love you. See you at three.”
“Love you too!”
He runs off to his friends and I head to work.
It still feels weird not driving to Zach’s, where our headquarters used to be, but I couldn’t be prouder to pull up into my very own parking space at Embody Positivity.
Delia’s climbing out of her car as I park, lifting two boxes of donuts and two trays of coffee from inside.
“Hey!” she calls when I step out. “I heard you finger-banged some girl in the bathroom of a bar.”
“I fucking hate your boyfriend.”
She gives me a look telling me she doesn’t believe a word I say. “Are you two still texting? You know that’s my and Zach’s thing.”
I realize then I never texted Monty back. I pull my phone from my pocket and see I have four unread messages.
Monty: OH GOSH. That was SO embarrassing. I’m sorry. I probably just made this so darn awkward for you. I’m sorry.
Monty: I don’t know why I apologized…TWICE.
Monty: I’m so stupid.
Monty: Just ignore me. Pretend I don’t exist. We’ll just forget the other night happened and go on our merry ways in three…two…one. GOODBYE FOREVER, ROBBIE!
Three
Monty
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Robbie since I ran out of that bathroom.
I ran right to Denny, my twin sister, and demanded we leave. She didn’t argue, just grabbed her purse and got us a cab. I didn’t mention Robbie once the entire ride home.
When we got back to the apartment we share, I showered and crawled into bed…only to awaken three hours later from one of the hottest dreams I’ve ever had and an ache between my legs.
The same dream has been on repeat for days.
I’ve been kicking myself for two reasons: not getting his number and not staying.
I finally told Denny about it yesterday, and that conversation went exactly as I had expected.
She didn’t believe me.
On one hand, I can’t blame her. It is me, after all. I’m not known for making out with strangers in bars, let alone letting them…you know…do things to me.
It took about twenty minutes of convincing, and eventually I had to unbutton my pants and show her the fading bruises on my bum.
That set her off on a whole new tirade that took a good five minutes to talk her down from. The bruise
s came from the sink, not Robbie.
When he first approached me, I was ready to reject him based on his appearance alone. He stood so tall above me that it almost scared me, and his tattoos made him look…menacing.
Then he flashed a bright white smile and I melted.
Don’t even get me started on his deep, rumbling voice. It’s so…sexy. I don’t think I’ve ever personally heard anyone with that heavy of a baritone. It’s warm and inviting but a smidge authoritative, a whole different level of hot, especially with his massive, muscled arms wrapped around you.
There’s a commotion outside my door and I peek out the window.
A classroom full of kids goes rushing by with Mr. Donahue—or Brandon, as us adults know him—following closely behind. They’re on their way outside for whatever creative activity he’s come up with this time.
“Oh, hey there, Miss Andrews. What are you doing here today? School doesn’t start for another month.”
He slides up next to me, and I can’t help but compare him to the last man who stood this close to me—Robbie.
They’re nothing alike, and not just when it comes to looks.
From what I’ve gathered about Brandon in the few short weeks I’ve been attending the weekly new teacher luncheons, he tries too hard to be liked, has no qualms about lack of personal space, and is crushing on me…hard.
Though he is the exact type of man I should be interested in—professionally dressed, manners out the wazoo, would never take a strange girl into the bathroom and touch her in her most private spots—I’m not.
The last guy that was “my type” turned out to be the worst thing to ever happen to me.
I take a step back, hoping he doesn’t notice, and give him a polite smile. “Just taking a few pictures of the room so I can start buying some supplies and decorations.”
“I bet your room is going to be beautiful because”—he waves a hand my way—“you know.”
I don’t, but I say nothing. I simply nod and point toward my room. “I’m going to get back to it. Just wanted to see what all the noise was out here. Better catch up with the kids.”
“I-I…oh, yes, of course. I’ll see you around, Monty.”
I have no reaction to the way he says my name, not like I did with Robbie.
My phone buzzes in my hand as I walk back into my classroom, and I almost fall down in surprise.
Python: You’re not stupid and that wasn’t embarrassing. I said it first so if there’s anyone who should be embarrassed (and there’s not), it’s me.
Python: I don’t want to say goodbye just yet. I’d kind of like to talk to you some more, if you’ll let me.
Me: You want to…talk to me? Seriously? After all that?
Python: If we’re being perfectly honest here, I want to do much more than just talk to you, Monty.
Me: Oh.
Python: Yeah, OH. I want to taste those sweet lips of yours again, want to wrap my hands in your long, red hair, and I don’t want to stop there.
Me: I don’t think I’d want you to stop there either.
What? No, no, no, no. Stop it, Monty!
Me: But you should. I’m at work right now and I can’t be doing…THIS while I’m at work.
Python: So? I’m at work too.
Me: Yes, but do you work with a bunch of children?
Python: Actually, yes, though they aren’t here right now.
Python: I’ll stop.
Python: But Monty? The moment the clock strikes 5, it’s on.
Heat charges to the apex of my thighs and I squirm. It’s on.
Who the hell says things like that to a stranger?
Well, I mean…I did let him do certain things to me, so I guess we’re not complete strangers now.
But still.
Me: Change the subject, Robbie.
Python: Why’d you leave me your number if you thought I’d never use it?
Python: Or were you HOPING I’d never use it? Did you give me your number as a pity thing?
Python: Do you think I’m a bad kisser, Monty? Because I don’t think that’s the case, not with the way you… Oh, wait, I promised I’d stop.
Me: I am blushing so hard because now I can’t stop thinking about you kissing me.
Me: No, I didn’t give you my number as a pity thing. If that were the case, I would have given you a fake number.
Python: So why were you surprised I contacted you?
Me: Because I just left you there after…
Python: After what? And, please, be specific.
Me: I am not saying it!
Python: Chicken.
Me: The biggest chicken you’ll ever meet.
Me: Can I be honest with you?
Python: Please do.
Me: You’re not my type, not even close, and let’s face it, I’m not yours either. We simply LOOK like we don’t belong together. I gave you my number because I felt like I HAD to after I let you do what you did. Also, because I liked the way you kissed. A small part of me hoped you’d reach out, but I was mostly hoping we’d both move on and forget it ever happened.
Me: I’m sorry if you hoped for more, but I’m not a random hookup kind of gal.
Python: What makes you assume I’m a random hookup kind of guy? What makes you assume you’re not my type? Because of the way I look? Tsk, tsk. So judgy, Monty.
Python: For the record, I’ve had random hookups in the past and they didn’t work out in my favor (i.e., I got a girl pregnant).
Me: You’re a father?
Python: I am.
Me: I…I did not see that coming.
Python: Is it a bad thing?
Me: No, not at all! I love kids.
Me: Not that I plan on meeting YOUR kid or anything like that. Just in general.
Me: I guess I just also didn’t think dads did…well, THAT with strangers in public.
Python: Are you ever going to just say it?
Me: NO!
Me: I don’t talk like that.
Python: Fine, I’ll say it: I touched your pussy, Monty. I led you into the bathroom, kissed you senseless, and rubbed your clit until you were panting in my ear, and you liked every damn second of it. You came undone from my touch alone. Your hair was wild and your eyes full of satisfaction. Your cheeks burned a scarlet red and I can’t fucking stop thinking about it.
Python: I want to see you come again. BAD.
Python: I know I said I’d stop but I couldn’t help it, not when you keep talking around it like you didn’t enjoy it just as much as I did.
Holy crow.
My heart is hammering in my chest, sweat beading up on the back of my neck. I’m suddenly so glad I wore this skirt today because man, oh man, is it hot in here.
I gather my long hair and twist it into an artful bun then pinch at my boatneck shirt and fan it, trying to give myself some reprieve.
I want to send so many things back to him—like my address, for starters.
The need to see him again, to kiss him again, to let him touch me again…is strong. I don’t get what’s come over me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of sexual encounters before. I’ve just never “gone all the way”.
I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who was saving herself for marriage while her fiancé was giving himself to anyone and everyone.
Even though I’ve fooled around before, I can safely say I have never been so turned on by someone. I believe if we hadn’t been interrupted that night, I would have gone home with him in a heartbeat. Alcohol fueled a good part of it, and maybe the public setting too, but there was just something about Robbie that was different.
He felt…off limits.
Forbidden.
All kinds of wrong, and so right.
“Hey, a—”
“Ahhhh!”
My phone goes flying from my hands at the unexpected interruption. I bend down to quickly retrieve it and inspect the damage—a chip in the corner.
And of course, I just got it.
>
I let out a frustrated groan as Brandon crosses the room, taking four long strides to reach me.
“Oh, hell. I’m so sorry, Monty. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not. “No big deal.” It is. “What’d you need?”
“I-I…” he sputters, nervous now. He clears his throat, stands straight, and tries again. “I wanted to invite you out to dinner tonight.”
He must see the fear in my eyes because he’s waving his hands and launching into a pitch within seconds.
“It’s a group thing, you know, drinks downtown—nothing too crazy.”
I tilt my head. “So our weekly luncheon, just for dinner instead?”
He looks nervous again. “Um, no. It’d be with my buddies and their, uh, girlfriends. I figured you might want to meet some new people, you know, not just the staff here at Wayward Elementary…”
Oh.
The polite girl my parents raised me to be knows I should say yes, should accept the invitation. I should be friendly, social, engaging.
But I don’t want to.
The whole reason I moved out here to live with Denny was to leave my “yes” life behind, because that’s all my life has ever been.
Yes, I’ll take care of the baby at three AM.
Yes, I’ll go to the college you pick.
Yes, I’ll marry you even though you cheat on me.
I almost did too, was so close to it. Then one day I woke up and realized I wasn’t living my life. I was living for everyone else and I couldn’t keep doing it. It was wearing me ragged, something a twenty-three-year-old shouldn’t be feeling.
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