“If the guy didn’t look like a model, would it seem crazy to agree to stay with your one-night-stand from four months ago for a few… months? Or however long it takes for this adoption to go through.”
“I never said I was going to stay with him. Not exactly, at least,” I add with a little less confidence.
“But you know how this all works. Surprise visits from child services to make sure it’s a suitable home for a child, inquiries, reports from neighbors… It’s all going to be part of the case to decide if he’s a suitable parent. If you aren’t living there, it’s going to be pretty obvious.”
My stomach flutters, and to add to my own shame, it’s not in an entirely negative kind of flutter. My traitorous mind starts imagining all the situations I might get into while living with Tristan. Maybe he doesn’t have enough spare bedrooms and we’ll have to share a bed. Maybe I’ll walk in on him by mistake when he’s just stepped out of the shower. Maybe—
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop it, Stephanie. I always thought I was better than this. All the times I dated men and broke things off because I knew they wouldn’t make good fathers tricked me into thinking my will-power was ironclad. It seems the real problem was I just wasn’t really interested in those men. Even while everything about Tristan, except his good looks, seems to scream for me to stay far away, I can’t stop from falling into the mental trap of fantasizing about a life with him over and over. It’s maddening.
“Yep,” says Jamie. “That look on your face tells me you know I’m right. Go ahead. Admit it out loud. I want to hear you say it.”
“Maybe I got a little ahead of myself with this whole thing,” I say finally.
“That’s it?”
“And maybe you are a little right?” I try.
“All the way right,” she insists.
“You are all the way right, but I’m still doing this. That little boy needs a good home. He needs a mom. And unless you can think of another way for me to get to adopt, this is my best shot.”
“It’s still crazy.”
“Well,” I say. “Maybe being a little crazy wouldn’t be such a bad change. I wasn’t exactly a beacon of happiness before all this anyway. How much worse could it get?”
“There’s always murdered and your body is buried in the woods worse.”
“He's not going to murder me,” I say dryly. “Although I guess I already tested that possibility by going with him on the night of the auction and giving him every opportunity to add me to his serial killer list if that was his game.”
“What if he tries to take advantage of you?” she asks with a quirked eyebrow.
“Stop it,” I say, but I can’t look her in the eye because I just got done running through all my dark fantasies about him doing exactly that.
8
Tristan
Stephanie is moving in today. I run a hand across the stubble on my chin and shake my head in disbelief at what I’ve let myself get roped into. One minute I’m trying to convince myself I’m over the girl and that I’m about to close the door once and for all on my past. The next? I’m agreeing to take a kid in and pretending to be in a relationship with a one-night-stand from four months ago.
It was only yesterday that I saw her by chance and made the dumbass decision to walk over to her. I couldn’t help it though. I might as well have fought against gravity for those few moments. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced.
One minute I was focused on getting this kid to a better home and going back to my usual shitshow of a life, the next I’m walking toward Stephanie like a fucking love-sick zombie. Love. I could laugh at the idea. I think my dad beat the love out of me a long damn time ago, and if it wasn’t him, she showed me enough to make me want to keep an emotional distance from anyone and everyone. No attachments. No messy emotions. I had a simple philosophy and in a few minutes I managed to fuck it all up.
But I’d be lying if I said the thought of having her tight little ass roaming around my house didn’t get my blood flowing. It’s uncharted territory for me. I’m so used to shoving people out of my life as soon as I can that I don’t even really know where it goes from here, but I know the truth is it probably isn’t going anywhere. She’s not doing this because she wants to be near me. She wants the kid.
I saw it in her from the first few minutes I was with her after the auction. Something is deeply broken inside her, just like me. I don’t know what the missing piece is to the puzzle that would unfuck my life, but from the way she jumped at the chance to adopt Cole, I know what is missing from her puzzle. She needs a kid. I just can’t figure out why she’d want to adopt when she’s single. I guess I don’t really know what is and isn’t normal, but that doesn’t seem normal to me.
The sounds of explosions from the TV draw my attention back to the here and now. I head out of my room and into the living room where I’ve got Cole playing some action game I picked up for him at the store. I don’t know the first thing about entertaining kids, but I know kids like video games.
“That game fun?” I ask.
“Dad never let me play games,” he says.
“Yeah well fu—” I clear my throat. Real nice, Tristan. I may not know shit about being a temporary parent, but I can at least avoid swearing in front of the kid. “Well, if you need a drink or something there are sodas in the fridge. There’s stuff to make peanut butter and jelly in the pantry. If you’re into that kinda thing.”
“I don’t know how to make a sandwich,” he says, looking up at me like I’m ridiculous for thinking he could.
“Well damn,” I say. “What can you do?”
“I’m potty trained,” he says proudly.
I chuckle. “Congrats. You can wipe your own ass, but you can’t even make a sandwich?”
“Wipe my own ass?” he asks.
I cringe. “Don’t say that word.”
“Wipe?” he asks.
“Ass. It’s a bad word.”
“Why did you say it?”
“Because I’m not a very nice man.”
The doorbell rings. Cole perks up. “Who’s that?”
“Stay here,” I say. I head to the front door and try to pretend I don’t feel a growing sense of excitement building in me. I told myself I’d handle this like a business deal. She’s staying in my house, but it’s just so we can get Cole into the right home. If I let things get personal, it’s going to turn this arrangement into a huge mess.
I pull the door open and she’s waiting on the front porch with a small suitcase. Her brown hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail and she’s wearing a simple outfit of jeans with a big winter jacket and boots. Even through all the layers, I can still picture that perfect body of hers. I can remember how it felt to have her milky soft skin beneath my rough hands, how sweet it was to draw moan after moan from her lips as I drove myself into her.
Stop it. I motion for her to come in, forcing myself not to grin or say anything about how good she looks. “Come in,” I say.
“This place looks even bigger during the day,” she says. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and looks down, clearly embarrassed because she just reminded us both about the last time she was here—the time I took her virginity.
“You’ll get used to it. Come on. I’ll show you where your room is.” There are several spare bedrooms in the house. Four are on the ground floor and one is upstairs just across the hall from my master suite. I prepared one of the downstairs rooms for her earlier today, but for some reason I walk past the hallway where most of the downstairs guest rooms are, leading her toward the stairs.
I show her into the room across from mine. “This is yours,” I say a little stiffly. “Mine is right across the hall if you need anything.”
She gives me a curious look, clearly wondering about my intentions in giving her a room so close to mine.
“The other rooms aren’t as nice,” I say. It’s a weak lie, and if she gets curious enough to look at them she’ll see it’s not true. They’re a
ll about the same.
“I see,” she says. “Well, thank you for giving me the nicest room, then.”
She tosses her suitcase next to the bed and then moves to stand beside me again. “Where’s Cole?”
“Downstairs playing a game.”
“Can I see him?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I take her back down the stairs while my mind is racing. I thought this was going to be easy. Just thinking about her across the hall from me, about her undressing for bed and laying there so goddamn close I could be with her in a heartbeat… Maybe this was a mistake, but it’s too late to put a stop to it now.
We find Cole right where I left him. It’s only when Stephanie is with me that I realize letting him play a game where he’s shooting people might not have been the most age-appropriate decision. The look on her face confirms she’s thinking the same thing.
She leans in close, lowering her voice. “All the kids games and you picked that one for him?”
“Some… mistakes may have been made.”
To my surprise, she looks amused. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m here then, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it is,” I say. A strange chill runs through me when I hear the words come out of my mouth, as if they mean more than I realize.
9
Stephanie
I find Tristan making himself a drink in the kitchen after I put Cole to sleep. Tristan’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. I catch myself biting my lip as I run my eyes over the way his arms stretch the sleeves. He runs a hand through his wild hair, pushing it to the side before he turns and notices me. “Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“It’s only nine,” I say.
“Fair point,” he says, taking a sip of his drink and then titling the liquor bottle toward me. “Want some?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“Let me guess, you don’t drink?” he asks.
Something in the challenge of his tone makes me bristle. I close the distance between us, reach for the glass in his hand, and throw back a gulp that burns all the way down to my stomach. I try not to cough but fail, bending over as it feels like I’m hacking up a lung.
He puts a hand on my back, laughing. “Well, I give you ten out of ten for spirit. Zero out of ten for execution.”
“Shut up,” I say, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take one, but something that tastes less like gasoline would be good.”
He goes to a cabinet full of liquor and picks out a few bottles I don’t recognize to mix me a drink. He finishes it off with a splash of orange juice from the fridge and hands me the glass.
I give it a cautious sip and then nod in surprised approval. “That’s actually good.”
He leans against the counter and sips at his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. “How long do you think this’ll take?”
“Getting custody of Cole?” I ask. “It depends, honestly. If they think we’re in a relationship, that should help a little. I mean, it’d obviously help more if we were engaged or something, but I think—”
“It would?” he interrupts.
“Well, probably. Yeah. The courts look for stability. They want to put kids into families if they can, not just into the hands of a bachelor or a bachelorette.”
He frowns, taking another sip from his drink and not taking his eyes from me.
“You’re not seriously considering…” I say breathlessly.
“What’s the harm?” he asks. “You pretend to be my fiancée instead of just my girlfriend. Once it’s all over we can just call off our fake wedding.”
I shake my head. “I’ve already agreed to do something completely insane for you, but pretending to be your wife is a step too far.”
“For me?” he asks. “I was under the impression you were doing this because you wanted to adopt Cole.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Why do you want to adopt him so badly anyway?”
“It’s none of your business,” I say, feeling suddenly irritable. I set down the drink and cross my arms.
“No? This is going to be a tough pretend relationship if you shut me out.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says.
“My reasons are my reasons. Okay? You made it perfectly clear four months ago that you didn’t want what happened between us to mean anything, so let’s just keep it simple. I’ll keep to myself and you’ll keep to yourself. You’ll let me take care of Cole and the adoption process, and then when this is all over, we can both go our separate ways once and for all.”
“Damn,” he says. “I didn’t realize you liked me that much.” He takes another obnoxious sip of his drink, grinning at me like he has me all figured out and he knows it.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood. Seriously though, consider my offer. I think a ring would look good on your finger.”
The next few days pass in an odd kind of silent battle of attrition. Tristan seems intent on letting me make the first move—assuming there is even a move to be made, and I am trying my damnedest to stay focused on what should be the only reason I’m doing any of this: Cole. Tristan leaves the house for work at odd, inconsistent hours, and when he does join us for meals, he watches me with an unreadable expression from over his food. What galls me the most is how his silent treatment has the infuriating effect of making me think about him every minute of the day.
If he would just act obnoxious and cocky I could make myself hate him. But this? It’s like I can’t help wanting to make him notice me and like me. Either way, I may feel conflicted on the inside, but I’m strong enough to keep all those mixed emotions bottled up, right next to everything else I keep crammed into the darkest corners of my mind.
Maybe the strangest part of all has been how as much as I’ve loved all the time I’ve already been able to spend getting to know Cole, that emptiness I’ve always felt inside is still there. I always believed the moment I was with my future adoptive child I’d feel full again, like I was a complete human for once in my life.
I’m not going to let myself dwell on it too much, though, because the real problem is likely just that I know we still haven’t won the battle for Cole yet.
Tristan surprises me on my fourth day in his house when he knocks on my door a few minutes after I put Cole to bed.
“Just a minute,” I say, wrapping my towel tighter around myself and scrambling to find some clothes to throw on after my shower.
He opens the door without waiting for permission. “Glad I caught you at a bad time,” he says with a look I haven’t seen on his face since my first day in his house. He looks amused.
I pull my towel close and glare at him before shoving my blanket over the bra and panties I was about to reach for on my bed. “Would you mind waiting until I get dressed?” I ask. I want my voice to sound more angry, but the sad truth is that after only four days of the silent treatment, part of me is just glad he’s acknowledging me. The only company I’ve had is Cole—who has been adorable and amazing—and the representatives at Child Services who are helping us get the paperwork started on his case.
“No need,” he says casually, like I’m not half-naked while he looks completely put together in a suit and tie. “I’m taking you out tonight. You have something nice to wear?”
“What?” The half-whispered question is all I can seem to manage after the confusing turn of events.
“Four star restaurant,” he says. “It’s on a boat, though, so you’ll need a jacket.”
I frown in confusion. “Who said we were going on a date?”
“I did. This,” he says, gesturing between us with his index finger. “It’s not working. Consider it a peace offering. Or just a free meal, if that makes it easier to swallow.”
“A peace offering? From where I’m standing, the only one trying to make a war out of this is you. I’ve tried to be civil and all you’ve done since I got here is glare at me and play the silent g
ame. I don’t know if you remember, but you’re the one who asked me to help you.”
“Call it a free meal then,” he says nonchalantly.
I growl in frustration. “No. Let’s call it, you tell me what the hell is going through your head if you expect me to say another word to you, let alone go on a date with you.”
He seems to consider my offer for a few moments before he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “You want to know the truth?”
I throw my hands up. “Yes. I think I’ve made that pretty goddamn clear.”
He sighs, letting his confidence falter for a split second. “I thought it’d be easier.”
“That what would be easier?”
“Resisting you. But the truth is, ever since the moment you walked into my house, all I can think about is getting my hands on you again.” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping closer until I’m vividly aware of the thin, wet towel being the only thing standing between him and my naked body. “I keep remembering how fucking good it sounded to hear you moan for me. How good it felt to wrestle the submission out of you. And late at night when I know you’re just across the hall? It’s like fucking torture trying to keep myself from coming over here and giving you the night of your life again.”
It feels like my mouth is full of cotton balls, but I swallow and lick my dry lips, looking down to avoid the intensity of his eyes. Words tumble out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. “I never said the first time was the night of my life,” I say breathlessly, totally aware that whatever I might say, my body language is sending an entirely different message. I want you too.
“Ouch,” he says. “Then I guess I’d have to ratchet it up a couple notches if I got you in my bed again, wouldn’t I?”
I feel a little dizzy, but I make a concerted effort to gain some of my composure.
“So?” he asks. “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
“Yes,” I say. “But I’m only going with you for the free food.”
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