by Emma Hart
Unfortunately for me, hours of Nick Jr. on the television every week had rotted a good part of my brain that controlled my common sense.
What the hell had I agreed to? There was something wrong with me. It didn’t matter that she was as much of a spitfire between the sheets as she was out of them, or that one of the most surreal moments of my life had been her taking my cock in her mouth while she met my eyes.
Peyton was unlike anyone else I knew. She always had been. She was open and free and didn’t give a fuck what I or anybody else thought about her. For all her bad qualities, this was one of her best.
Even if it meant we were both in trouble. Neither of us really wanted to be in this situation. The last thing I wanted was a Peyton-shaped blast from my past in my life.
I didn’t want her obstinate, self-righteous, tight little ass in my life, even if it were only on the peripheral. I didn’t want her mouthy, over-confident, drop-dead-gorgeous self anywhere close to me or my daughter.
Was that why I was standing here, half-dressed with a stone-cold cup of coffee to my right, thinking about her over and over?
I pushed off the counter and walked to the fridge and opened it.
“Ah! Daddy!”
“Crap!” I swung the door shut and looked down at my sleepy-eyed blondie. “I’m sorry, Bri. I didn’t hear you coming. Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed her eye and shook her head, staring at me with her other eye. “No. But you saided a bad word, so dat means I get chocwat.”
Damn it.
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”
She shook her head in earnest.
“Well, I think it is. I owe you one with your lunch, okay?”
She sighed. “Fined. Can I had some breakfast?”
“You can. What do you want?” I bent down and pushed her light bangs from her bright blue eyes.
Briony pursed her lips and made a “hmmm” sound. I knew what she’d pick, and she knew it, too. It was the same thing every morning, but I still gave her the option to change her mind.
One day, I’d make her breakfast without asking, and she’d change her mind.
“Chocwat toast and a nana, pwease, Daddy,” she said sweetly, smiling at me.
“Okay. You go sit at the table, and I’ll bring it in for you in a second, okay?”
She nodded. “Can I used your tabwet?”
“As long as you click on the folder with your name,” I agreed. “And don’t turn the volume right up.”
Another nod and she trotted off, pausing only to snatch the stuffed Cinderella from the table. She held both her and the stuffed Moana by the feet as she went.
I swallowed back a laugh and put bread in the toaster. I unpeeled a banana as the bread toasted and cut it up into a small, plastic bowl.
For the first time since I’d met Peyton’s eyes, she wasn’t the only thing on my mind. The mundane familiarity of making Briony’s breakfast was comforting, and it pushed the brunette siren from the forefront of my mind to the back of it.
At least until I’d spread the Nutella on the toast, cut both slices into triangles, and delivered it and a cup of water to the living room. Briony was already happily playing her favorite game on my tablet, so after dropping a kiss on her forehead, I went to make another coffee and left her to it.
I rubbed my eyes as the machine sputtered out much-needed caffeine. What was I supposed to do now?
Could I really go through with this stupid three hook-up thing with Peyton? One down, two to go. But asking my mom to babysit two more times in the next two weeks… well, she’d get ideas. I’d already had a grilling from her when I’d gotten home last night.
I didn’t need any more of those.
At the same time, I wasn’t entirely averse to the idea. She’d made it perfectly clear that last night’s dinner would be the only “date,” something I was more than okay with. Talking to her wasn’t exactly a completely enjoyable situation for me.
Not to mention she sounded like she wanted to bite off my balls every time she opened her mouth…
In hindsight… Letting her mouth near my balls wasn’t the brightest idea. Maybe avoiding that was a good idea going forward.
I liked my balls in one piece more than I liked my cock in her mouth.
Maybe.
I sipped my coffee and stared at my phone as the screen lit up. A second later, it buzzed, bouncing lightly on the marble-effect countertop. Sighing, I picked it up and looked at the name.
My stomach dropped.
My lawyer.
I put down my phone and, with a deep breath, answered it. “Hi.”
“Elliott?” he said. “It’s Lawrence.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure, but…”
“It’s not,” he confirmed. “She’s going against the legal advice and is going to fight for custody of Briony.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Hold on.” I pressed the speaker against my shoulder and stepped into the living room. “Bri? Daddy’s on the phone. I’m going to be in the backyard, okay, princess?”
“Otay,” she replied, her response muffled by food.
“Shout if you need me.”
“Otay.”
I took a deep breath and went through to the back porch. The wraparound porch was one of my favorite things about this house, but right now, it was only useful because the railings kept me on my feet when all I wanted to do was collapse.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t want her to hear it.”
She was three. She wouldn’t understand. But she still didn’t need to hear this.
“Understandable,” Lawrence said.
“How can she do it? Jenna gave up her parental rights. She signed them over one week after she left Briony at our front door.”
“Grandparent rights are muddy waters,” he replied. “There’s nothing truly clear-cut about what they are and aren’t entitled to. The letter from Bethany’s lawyer states her daughter wasn’t in her right mind when she signed Briony solely over to you, and that she’s better being with what would be a two-parent family.”
Anger bubbled inside me. “A two-parent family who haven’t seen her since she was three weeks old. I offered. I told them I’d never keep her from them because even if her mother didn’t care, I wouldn’t take that out on them. They didn’t care until two weeks ago.”
Lawrence’s heavy breath crackled the line. “I know that, Elliott, and so do you. We also know that she wouldn’t benefit from living with them over you, but as I said, this is muddy waters. We offered them one weekend a month with her after you took sole custody, but I have a feeling this has been brewing since that day.”
I clenched my jaw. “Well, now we pull that offer off the table. If they get her, they’ll never give her back.”
“Already reneged,” he replied. “Now, I know you know this, but I have to advise you not to have any contact with Jenna’s family or close friends at all, and I’d extend that advice to your family and anyone you may be close to right now. If they call, you don’t answer. If they come to your house, you don’t answer the door. Understand?”
“I understand,” I gritted my teeth. “What happens now?”
“I’ll respond to her lawyer and inform them of our stance. Unless Bethany and Vincent change their mind, we’ll end up in a small court, at the very least.”
Great.
“Great. Just what I need,” I said.
Like I had the money for all these legal fees.
“The good news is that when they lose, we’ll make sure they cover all necessary legal fees,” Lawrence said as if he could read my mind. “We have both the moral and legal high ground, Elliott. Don’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Come into my office this week, and we’ll talk about this more, all right? Let me do some research on similar cases. I’ll email you when I have something.”
Like I had a choice. “Fine. Works for me. Look—I gotta go. Bri is shouting for me,�
�� I finished on the lie.
“Sure. I’ll be in contact soon.”
I hung up and stared at the unlocked screen of my phone.
Three months. It’d be three months since I’d been advised by him that the parents of the woman who birthed my daughter were looking into gaining full custody.
We never thought it would happen. All we found told them no, it was a lost cause, you’re wasting your time. We thought they’d listen—that we could arrange something amicably.
Three years.
It’d been over three years since her maternal family had seen her. Since Jenna had left her at my parents’ door when I’d been at work. Since we got the note that she’d given up all rights to her.
Some people weren’t cut out to be parents. She was one of them, and I’d had no idea until that day. I’d had no idea until I read the diary I had no idea she kept during her pregnancy. How she chronicled how she hated every second, how she resented my daughter, how she hated me for doing it to her.
How she’d have aborted her if she could have.
And her parents? Briony didn’t know them. They hadn’t seen her since she was small enough to be held lying in one of my arms. They hadn’t cared to see her, although I’d lived in the same house for the past two years—a house they had the address of.
I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket.
They could fight all they wanted.
There were few things in this life I really cared about, but I’d die before I’d lose my daughter.
And that was all there was to it. If they wanted a fight, I’d give them one.
Chapter Six – Peyton
Lingering feelings of hatred toward the guy you were with last night equals great sex, multiple orgasms, and a healthy dose of “What the fuck were you thinking?” the next morning.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Oh, that’s right. I wasn’t.
I hadn’t actually thought about the fact I was going to have sex with Elliott Sloane. I hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to kiss him or have his hands on my body. I hadn’t stopped to consider what it would feel like to have my naked body under his, or his hands gripping my hips as he fucked me from behind.
I hadn’t stopped to think for a second that he might be a fucking dirty talker.
Nope. It was classic Peyton. Do, don’t think. Get on with it, don’t consider it.
Now, now, now. That was me. Demanding and impatient and oh so fucking stupid.
I tore a big bite off my donut. A couple of sprinkles dropped onto my desk, so I licked my finger so they’d stick and tapped them all up to eat them.
Sugar. I needed sugar to process this.
I swear, I could still feel his fingers digging into my hips. If I touched my hips, they were still tender. He hadn’t hurt me, not at all—and if he had, it’d felt too damn good then for me to register any kind of pain.
It was good. Great. Mind-blowing. Everything sex with Elliott Sloane had no place being.
I shivered, then took another bite of my donut to brush it off.
Goddamn him.
Goddamn me.
Goddamn my brother and my friends and this stupid thing called my life.
I hated Elliott. Hated him. With a passion. If you struck a match on my hatred, you’d have a nuclear explosion.
Was that why all I could think about was how hard he’d made me come?
Oh, I was so mad. I could feel it all snaking its way through my veins like a poison. I was so pissed at myself for having sex with him—I was even more annoyed that I’d enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it.
I licked frosting from my thumb.
I can’t believe I had sex with Elliott Sloane.
Red-hot, filthy, dirty-talking sex.
And I’d liked it.
I’d liked it. I was attracted to him. Hated him, but attracted to him. Did that even make sense? I didn’t know. Nothing much did make sense. Like how I’d even ended up sitting across from him in the first place.
Oooh.
My best friends were assholes.
Of all the submissions. Of all the guys. Of all the choices they could have made.
Of all the men on that website who were sexually compatible with me, they picked him.
My enemy. My arch-nemesis. The villain in my fairytale.
All right, I was exaggerating. He was nothing more than a decade-long grudge, and I sure as hell was not living a fairytale, therefore there was no room for a villain, but still.
How could they pick him? There had to be at least ten people on that site I could have screwed and happily got on with my life without.
I knew Elliott—or I had, once upon a time. But I still knew him. I remembered him. I remembered that he preferred baseball to football, he hated ice-cream, and he’d never seen an episode of Friends in his life.
Which was blasphemy, but I digress.
Or did he?
Did he still prefer baseball? Had he grown to like ice-cream? Had he finally watched an episode of my favorite TV show?
I didn’t know Elliott. I knew high school Elliott, not adult Elliott. I knew the guy who snuck out after curfew, who played football because it made his grandpa happy, and who was a petulant jerk.
I didn’t know the guy who’d sat across the table from me during dinner last night.
I didn’t know the man who was a father.
And I hadn’t allowed myself to ask. I was curious—too curious by nature, and that would be the one thing I’d have to curb if I was going to sleep with him again.
Questions. No questions. Not about him and not about his daughter. It was none of my business. The only thing that was my business was what was inside his pants.
I was only allowed to care about what was inside his pants.
And, you know what? The assholes who called themselves my best friends had been right.
His cock really was kinda pretty.
***
“I cannot believe you two!” I slammed Chloe’s front door behind me.
A scream echoed. “Damn it, Peyton!” Mellie shouted when I walked into the open living area. “I almost cut my thumb!”
“I don’t care!” I tossed my purse on the couch and pointed vigorously at them. “Y’all are lucky I don’t cut you for the stunt you pulled!”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Chloe said, cradling a wine glass.
“Lies!” Mellie pointed her knife at her. “It was your suggestion!”
I threw up my hands. “The betrayal! How could you do this to me? Why would you do this?”
“Settle down, Jennifer Lawrence.” Chloe put down her wine glass. “The Oscars aren’t evaluating this performance.”
I glared at her.
“Okay, maybe in hindsight it wasn’t the best idea.”
“Maybe? Not the best idea? What part of you ever thought it was a good idea?” I was almost shrieking.
What? I’d kept this inside all day. The more I thought about it, the more their audacity pissed me off.
“You hate him,” Mellie answered reasonably, tossing sliced sausage into the pan. “You’ve hated him for ten years. I couldn’t think of a better person for you not to fall in love with if I’m honest.”
“Did you even bother to read his profile? He has a child!”
Chloe poked her head out of the fridge and looked at me. “He has a child?”
Mellie turned. “He does?”
“Yes. A three-year-old daughter he has sole custody of. He was only on the website because his mom thinks he should start dating again.”
“That’s a lot of new information for someone you hate,” Chloe pointed out.
“You sent me to dinner with him! Was I supposed to sit there and glare at him the whole time?” I mean, half the time was more than enough to convey my annoyance at the situation.
“You could have left.” Mellie shrugged.
“And let Dom win? No way!”
“He didn’t even know.” Chloe shut
the fridge, wine bottle in hand, and retrieved a glass from her cupboard. She poured.
“Keep goin’,” I told her. “I want a real glass after the emotional distress you’re putting me through.”
Mellie burst out laughing. “Emotional distress? Oh my God, Peyt. You’ve lost your damn mind. If sitting opposite that hot piece of ass all night was distressing for you, then I think you’ve lost your touch.”
“Hot piece of ass?” I questioned. “Hot piece of ass?”
“We saw his photos. All of his photos,” Chloe reminded me as she slid me my glass across the kitchen island.
My full glass.
I sipped. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, he’s hot. He always has been hot.”
“He’s hotter now,” Chloe mused.
They were goading me. They weren’t going to win.
“I can’t believe you picked him. Just because I want to win doesn’t mean I want to be tortured while I try to do it!” I huffed and leaned forward, resting my forearms on the countertop of the island. “Of all the people—”
“Here we go,” Mellie muttered, throwing more sausage into the pan.
“I can’t believe you’d pick him. You know how much he hurt me in high school. You know what he did to me and how he humiliated me.”
“That was ten years ago!” Chloe said.
“Isn’t that how long you’ve been in love with her brother?” Mellie asked.
“No!”
She was right. It wasn’t. It was way longer than that.
“And we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Peyton.” Chloe turned to me. “Ten years ago. Can’t you bury that hatchet to screw the guy three times? You’re the one who agreed to Dom’s stupid-ass challenge, Peyt. Nobody made you do it. By picking Elliott, we picked the guy we thought would help you win it.”
“She’s right,” Mellie interjected, turning around. “We’re on your team, Peyton. I guess we didn’t realize you held such a huge grudge against him still.”
“I don’t still hold it,” I argued. “It was brought back to life when I walked in there, and one look at him set my panties on fire.”
