The Wrong Kind of Love

by Lexi Ryan

  She shrugs. “It was fun and a good workout.” She rubs her right shoulder. “Maybe too good. I’m already getting sore.”

  “You do enough,” I say softly. “You don’t have to add lawn work to your list, okay?”

  She nods. “Got it.”

  “Are you ladies about done with the cookies?”

  “This is the last batch for the oven,” Nic says. “They need to cool, and then Lilly and I will decorate them tomorrow after she gets home from school.”

  I get the impression the review of the timeline is more for Lilly’s benefit than mine. Not that I’m surprised. I’m sure waiting a full day between baking the cookies and decorating them is killing my little princess. I nod and look at my daughter. “Sounds fun.”

  “She’s going to let me put the food coloring in the frosting!” Lilly says, bouncing on her toes. “And then we get to take them to family brunch on Sunday.”

  “That’s awesome.” I turn to Nic, and my breath catches. She has a little bit of flour on her nose, her hair is pulled up into a sloppy bun on her head, and her cheeks are pink, as if she came in from the snow seconds ago, not hours. Again, I’m struck by how perfectly she fits here and how foolish I’d be to try to replace her.

  I’m not supposed to like seeing any woman other than my mother and sister with my daughter. I’m not supposed to imagine the woman could find a role here as something more than temporary help. I decided a long time ago that Lilly and I were good with the family we had. A serious relationship with a new woman would mean introducing Lilly to someone who might leave her. I won’t do that to her again. Losing one mother was bad enough. So why do I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, confident the life I want is waiting in the water below? Why do I suddenly want to take a risk I was never willing to consider before?

  “Look what Nana sent me,” Lilly says. She rushes to the counter opposite where Nic’s been working and grabs a postcard. “It’s from Paris!” she says as she brings it to me.

  The picture on the front is of the Eiffel Tower lit up against a dark sky. I flip it over and read the note from Mom.

  Isn’t it beautiful, Lilly? The lights twinkle at dusk. I hope you get to see this someday.

  Love, Nana.

  I frown and show it to Nic. “That’s weird. It’s postmarked from Berlin.”

  She glances at it and shrugs. “I bet that’s where she was when she mailed it.”

  Shrugging too, I hand it back to Lilly. “This is awesome. You can add it to your others.” I’m grateful Mom’s taking the time to send these. It’s such a small gesture, but it means the world to my daughter.

  “Can Nic take me to bed tonight?” Lilly asks. “I love the voice she does when she reads Pete the Cat.”

  “I’m taking you to bed tonight, goofball,” I say, pinching her nose lightly between two fingers. “I always take you to bed when I’m home to do it.”

  “Fine, but you have to read me two stories.”

  “We’ll see how well you brush your teeth, and then we’ll enter into story negotiations.”

  She giggles. “I’m the best brusher!”

  Nic places the last of the cookies on the tray and slides them into the oven. There are already a couple dozen laid across cooling racks on the counter. She punches the buttons to set the timer. “Well, it’s that time, Lillypad. Why don’t you head up and see if you can get your PJs on before your daddy makes it up there?”

  Always one for a challenge, Lilly squeaks and runs out of the kitchen, scrambling when her socked feet make her slip on the hardwood floor.

  Nic turns to me. “I hope it’s okay that I let her play in the snow. She was so excited, and I knew you wouldn’t be home until after dark.”

  “It’s great. I’m glad she got to play.” I shove my hands into my pockets. I want to touch Nic. I want to wipe the flour from the tip of her nose, then cup her face and thread my hands into her hair until I’ve made a mess of it. But I want to do all that without fucking up anything else, and life just doesn’t work like that.

  She rubs her shoulder and winces. “I’m starting to think I should have worked my way up to the whole driveway.”

  “Here.” Just like that, my hands are out of my pockets and touching her. I sweep her hands away and nudge her to turn around so I can dig my thumbs into her shoulders. I can tell she’s sore because she tenses against the pressure. “Try to relax.”

  She tilts her head forward and takes slow, steady breaths. “Do you need any help getting Lilly to bed? You have to be exhausted after such a long day.”

  “No, I like to do bedtime when I can. I miss it all too often, and she’s growing up fast.”

  “You’re a good dad, Ethan.”

  I swallow hard. I don’t want to care what she thinks of me as a father, but those words mean so damn much. “Have you thought any more about next week?”

  “Thanksgiving Day?”

  I nod. “And the weekend. I wasn’t just being polite when I said you’d be welcome.”

  “I think I’ll come to the cabin for dinner if I wouldn’t be intruding.”

  I find the knot in her shoulder and dig into it with my thumb. “You won’t be intruding, and you’ll make Lilly’s day when she finds out you’ll be there.” I want to tell her she should stay the whole weekend. I love the idea of her hanging out with my family. I could see her sitting in front of the big stone fireplace sipping coffee with Shay, her smile warming the whole place.

  “I’ve never been to a big family Thanksgiving,” she says. “I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified.”

  I still. “Never? What about your family?”

  She tenses under my hands. “I don’t have a big family. Always dreamed about one, though.”

  The stereo flips to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” I want to spin her around and pull her against my chest, to feel what it’s like to dance again, to have a woman curl into me again. Not just any woman. This woman.

  “The nanny search is still a bust,” I say softly. I don’t want to stop talking, because as long as we talk, I can stand here. I have an excuse to touch her.

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” She rolls her head to the left, and I dig a little deeper into her right shoulder, and she moans.

  I want you to stay. The words are right there on my tongue, but I can’t ask until I’m sure that’s what I want. Would I be asking her to stay until Mom returned? To stay indefinitely? I’m so conflicted—my fears about the long-term are at odds with what would be best for Lilly in the short-term, and what I want for my daughter is at odds with my own desire.

  “You should take a bath,” I say, my voice rough.

  “No, I don’t want to disturb Lilly. I’ll be fine.”

  I drop my hands and step back. The bathroom she shares with Lilly is right across from Lilly’s room, so I can understand why she wouldn’t want to run a bath while my daughter is supposed to be falling asleep. “Use mine. You can throw some Epsom salts in there and run the jets. You’ll feel so much better.”

  She turns to meet my eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  I shrug. “I’m not using it. Please, help yourself.”

  She beams at me. “Not gonna lie, I’ve had full-blown fantasies about that tub, so I’m struggling to dismiss the idea.”

  “Then don’t.” Everything in me—including my voice—has gone weak at the sight of that smile. The first night I met her, I thought she was beautiful, but seeing her with Lilly transforms that beauty into something that leaves me in awe on a daily basis. Now having that smile directed at me, I look at her, and for the first time, I understand the word stunning.

  And that scares the shit out of me.

  Nicole

  When Ethan walks away from me, my body is still humming from his touch. I liked his hands on my shoulders and the heat of him standing so close. I liked it so much that I let myself close my eyes and commit the moment to memory.

  His footsteps fade into his bedroom, and I
imagine him changing out of his work clothes, stripping down to his briefs, and pulling on the type of lounge pants and T-shirt he favors for his evenings at home. Not long after, I hear the sound of his feet on the stairs, then the landing as he heads to Lilly’s room.

  I take a deep breath. Intellectually, I know our interaction was about my sore shoulder. But the less intellectual parts of me—the parts that have replayed our conversation from Saturday ad nauseam—want to believe he enjoyed touching me. The wicked parts of me want to believe that when he’s alone later, he’ll think about an alternate reality where that touch could have become something more.

  I wonder if his kiss was as good as I remember or if the tequila made it seem better than it was.

  Sighing, I shake my head and try to snap out of my fantasies.

  I wipe down the counters and wash the sink full of baking dishes, then put the cookies from the cooling rack into Tupperware. When the timer on the oven beeps, I remove the last tray of cookies and put them on the stove to cool. I’ll wrap those later.

  I head upstairs and pass Lilly’s room on the way to mine. She and Ethan are sitting on the chair at the head of her bed, and she’s snuggled in his lap as he reads her Pete the Cat. I poke my head into the room. “Night, Lil. See you in the morning, sweetheart.”

  “Night, Nicky!” she says, snuggling into her daddy’s chest and smiling.

  I get my robe and pajamas from my room before going back down to Ethan’s, grabbing my phone and wireless headphones from the kitchen counter on my way.

  The light in his bedroom is on, and his bed is still unmade from this morning. I feel weird using his bathroom. It’s an oddly intimate space to share, but my desire to sit in that big tub with all the jets on my sore muscles outweighs any awkwardness I feel.

  I run the bath and let the tub fill while I strip off my clothes and fold them into a neat pile in the corner.

  On the counter, there’s a container of Epsom salts that I didn’t notice when I cleaned the sinks in here this morning. He must have pulled them out for me. I bite back a smile and dump a scoop into the tub before I climb in. The water feels amazing—hot and fizzy against my skin.

  I cue up my favorite relaxing playlist, turn on the jets, sink into the water, close my eyes, and indulge in a Grey’s Anatomy-style fantasy starring Dr. McBroody Pants and his daughter’s dutiful nanny.

  Ethan

  Lilly is such a chatterbox when I’m getting her to bed that I think it might be hard for her to settle down. But once her head hits the pillow, her eyes close, and her whole body goes limp. It’s going to be one of those blessed nights when she doesn’t fight sleep.

  “Goodnight, Daddy,” she murmurs as I tuck her in.

  I kiss her head. “Goodnight, princess.” I turn on the closet light and close the door behind me as I leave.

  Nic must have really worn her out in the snow. My mom did a lot with her when I couldn’t be here, but Mom’s getting older and has been getting tired really easily lately. She can only do so much snowman-building and cookie-baking before her various aches and pains start to get to her.

  After heading downstairs, I pour myself a couple of fingers of bourbon and head to my bedroom with it. I settle into my recliner in the alcove and try not to think about the fact that Nic is naked on the other side of my bathroom door.

  I fail.

  In fact, that’s all I can think about. Nic naked and wet and . . . thinking about me.

  I close my eyes and let myself imagine going in there, seeing her in the water. She’d hold my gaze as I strip, her eyes as hot and greedy on me as they were that first night. I palm my dick through my pants as I imagine climbing in the tub with her. I’d sit behind her and pull her between my legs so I could cup her breasts and toy with her sensitive nipples. I apply more pressure to my cock as I imagine the sounds she’d make, imagine her tight ass grinding against my dick as she writhes in pleasure. I’d kiss her neck and put a hand between her legs to give her the release she craves. She’d be slick and tight, and when I slid a finger into her, she’d beg me for more.

  My breathing is shallow now, and the pressure of my palm through my pants isn’t enough. I eye the door. Still closed. The jets are still running. “Fuck.” I’m too turned on thinking about Nic to stop and exercise good judgment, so I pull my cock from my pants and take it in my fist in long, hard strokes.

  The fantasy changes. Instead of being in the tub with her, I’m right here in this chair. She walks out of the bathroom—nude and wet and heading straight to me. She drops in front of me and gets on her knees. When I imagine her perfect lips sliding over the head of my cock, I come hard all over my hand, squeezing and pumping as I imagine her mouth still on me.

  Seconds later, my fantasy is snatched away when the message alert on my phone beeps and brings me to my senses. Shit.

  I’m sitting outside the bathroom jacking off to the image of the woman inside. I’m not sure if this is a new low or a sign that Nic and I need to do something about our unfinished business as soon as possible.

  I grab some tissues from the bedside table and clean myself up, still listening for the jets to turn off or the tub to drain so I’ll know if she’s coming. The door remains closed while I clean up, and when I pour myself another drink.

  I haven’t heard a sound from the bathroom since I came in here. I can hear the whirring jets, but nothing else. No splashing water. No music to entertain her. Just . . . silence.

  I don’t trust myself not to get lost in another fantasy. Jacking off like a creep once in a night is enough for me, so I try to distract myself by grabbing my phone. The text message is from Brayden, letting me know he emailed details about a new distribution deal. My mind is in no place for business, so I put a pin in that and scroll through email. But this time it’s not a fantasy that has me distracted. I’m worried. I can’t stop thinking about Nic and the lack of noise coming from the bathroom.

  With a sigh, I drain my bourbon and rise from my chair to go to the bathroom door. I hesitate before knocking, not sure exactly what to say. The most appropriate thing would be: “Hey, I’m a little neurotic after finding my wife dead in my living room, and my imagination runs away with me. Tell me you’re still breathing, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  I knock on the door. “Nic, did you find everything you needed in there?”

  She doesn’t answer. Fuck.

  I look at the ceiling and close my eyes, trying to muster patience I don’t feel. Then I rap on the door again. “Nic? Are you okay?”

  No answer. Shit.

  I try the handle. It’s unlocked. I crack open the door. “Nic?” I say softly. After giving her hell on day one for being in my private space, it would be dickish for me to invade hers right now. But when she still doesn’t answer, I’m too worried to give a shit about privacy, and I burst into the bathroom.

  She’s in the tub, the jets whirring, headphones covering her ears. Obviously, she couldn’t hear me. Obviously, she still can’t. But that’s not what has me frozen in my tracks.

  I can’t take my eyes off where her hands are. One between her thighs. One cupping her breast and toying with her nipple. Those soft thighs. Those fucking perfect breasts.

  She’s stroking herself between her legs, her fingers dancing over her clit. Her eyes are closed. Her neck is arched. Her lips are parted. And my cock is so damn hard it aches. I fist my hands at my sides, because fuck, I want to touch her more than I want anything else.

  This is the moment when it would be good for me to remember her right to some privacy. It would be a great time for me to back the fuck out of this room and pretend I was never here. But I’m hypnotized by the rhythm of her hand moving between her legs, her thumb brushing her nipple.

  “Nic,” I whisper softly. And though I’m sure there’s no way she could have heard me whisper her name, she must sense my presence, because her eyes open, and when they meet mine, she draws in a breath. She gasps, but not in shock. Pleasure.

  She shuts her
eyes again as she arches her back and moans, and holy shit . . . I get to watch her come apart.

  Nicole

  “Oh my God. First of all, I knew you could do it if you just believed in yourself,” Teagan says. “And second, you’re, like, a seduction genius!” Her grin stretches from ear to ear, and I’m pretty sure that my confession about last night’s bathroom discovery is the best thing she’s heard all day.

  “Except I’m not trying to seduce anyone!”

  She lifts her palms as if to say, That’s relevant how?

  We’re at a table at the back of Jackson Brews, where Teagan agreed to meet me for lunch and where I’ve spilled my mortifying tale from last night. Because apparently even stories that end in amazing orgasms can be mortifying.

  “So tell me,” Teagan says, “on a scale of one to shouting your ex’s name during sex, how awkward was talking to him after? Was he in his room, or did he just stand there and watch you get out of the tub?”

  I scowl at her, too embarrassed by this whole conversation to merit her questions with a response.

  “Was it, like, tit for tat? Did he whip it out and jack off in front of you?”

  Apparently, the longer I sit here and scowl at her, the more cringe-worthy questions she’s going to recite. We’re all better off if I stop her now. “He was in the living room drinking when I got out of the tub,” I say. “And I don’t know exactly how awkward it’ll be to speak with him again, because I haven’t done it yet. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for the awkward to blossom last night, and he was gone when I woke up this morning.”

  “But you don’t know if it would’ve been. It could have just been zero to sexy. He could have finally sealed the deal. That’s the problem, you know. If you two would have just finished the business between you the night you met, you wouldn’t be walking around like giant throbbing balls of sexual tension.”