“I travel a lot. I’m used to new surroundings.” He smiled and handed me a glass. “Am I being too comfortable? I told you I don’t have any game. You can kick me out at any time.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m enjoying myself. I didn’t mean to suggest you were overstepping. I just meant that this is fun and easy. Being with you is easy.”
Maybe I was drunk, because why the hell would I say that? It sounded too… intimate.
But Brandon didn’t seem to think so. He dropped his chopsticks and pulled me onto his lap. “Very easy.”
He kissed me again and I let myself get swept away on wine and his touch.
Chapter Five
I jerked wide awake, hand reaching for my phone on Dakota’s nightstand. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep and I needed to get my ass home before the nanny woke up and realized my bedroom door was wide open and I was nowhere to be found. I squinted in the dark as the screen lit up. Seven minutes after five. Mentally groaning, I glanced over at Dakota. She was still sleeping soundly on her side, away from me. The sheet had fallen down and I could see her shoulder, her spine, the narrow dip at her waist.
It was very tempting to just ease that sheet down even further and wake her up with some well-placed kisses. She had been amazing and I was deeply satisfied, yet wanted more. She was just so damn gorgeous. My fists clenched. If my nanny, Lena, quit like her predecessors, I was fucked. My girls were already getting a bad reputation at the agency. I had to go.
I stared at the ceiling, kind of blown away. If I had thought I would walk away without at least suggesting we see each other again, I had been stupid. There was no way I wasn’t going to attempt to repeat last night.
My plan had never been to date Dakota. Hell, there had never been any plan of any kind. She’d run into me and we’d both just gone for it. But while I didn’t need any more complications in my life, I didn’t want this to be the end of it. I wanted to see her again, even if it was just casual. Even if it was just sex. The sex had been too damn good not to repeat.
The sex. So much sex.
I groaned and wrestled with being responsible. I had to go. I didn’t have a choice.
So I gently shook her shoulder. “Dakota,” I murmured.
She didn’t move. I shook her again. “Dakota?”
“Five more minutes, Mom,” she murmured, not moving at all.
That made me smile. She really had an adorable sense of humor.
“I have to go. I need to get home before the nanny wakes up,” I said.
She just made a sound that might have been disapproval or just an acknowledgement, I wasn’t sure. I got out of bed, getting dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Most of my clothes were on the floor between her kitchen and the open bedroom door. A shower would have been nice, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. Glancing around, I didn’t see anything I could write on. I tucked my phone in my pocket, made sure I had my wallet, and went into Dakota’s dark kitchen area. We had left the countertop a disaster of half-eaten Chinese food and empty wine bottles. I looked under her sink, found her trash, and dumped the empty bottles and balled-up napkins. I put the rest in the refrigerator, then pulled sixty bucks out of my wallet. It was the last of my cash so hopefully it would cover what we’d spent.
There was a pen on the kitchen counter. I snagged it and sorted through a stack of mail, looking for something to write on. There was an envelope that had been torn open and was no longer with whatever had arrived in it, so I scrawled my number and a quick note on it and took it back to her nightstand. I set it down and gave the top of her head a kiss.
“I left my number, give me a call or text me. I had a great time with you.”
Her eyes briefly opened and she said, “Bye, Brandon.”
I hesitated. I really wanted to stay.
It sucked being an adult because I really couldn’t stay.
“Bye, Dakota,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm.”
I took one last look at her. All that soft, blond hair. Those full, delicious lips. That smile she gave when she was teasing me. Her laugh. That tight, tight body…
Fuck. I shoved my feet in my shoes and walked back through her living room with a hard cock. I was amazed I still even get a hard-on after the workout I’d put my dick through the night before. Then was glad I could.
The cold air on the street smacked me in the face, and I breathed deeply, knowing what was facing me at home. A disgruntled nanny, a belligerent twelve-year-old, and an eight-year-old who was too smart for her own good and fond of science experiments involving glue.
I loved my daughters fiercely, but there was nothing easy about being a single dad.
Pulling out my phone, I ordered a car on an app, and breakfast. I wasn’t much of a cook and I needed some pancakes and bacon. It felt like a victory morning. Old Brandon got to bone. Definitely cause for celebration.
Two hours later the desire to celebrate had disappeared over an avalanche of preteen tears. Willow had been crying into her pancakes for nearly half an hour.
“You’re new here,” I said, again, for the fourth time, because I didn’t know what else to say to comfort her. “The other girls don’t know you yet, that’s why you weren’t invited.” I didn’t have the full story because she was sobbing too hard, but it was something about a sleepover and half the seventh grade and them intentionally not inviting her.
“That’s not it,” she said, sounding viciously stubborn. “Jessica Chang started a week after me and she gets invited to everything. But she’s from Paris, so she’s like so cool. But I’m just a hick. They all say I’m a total hick.”
Bewildered, I ran my hand over the back of her head as she sat at the kitchen island, stabbing a pancake. She pulled away from my touch. “How can you be a hick when you grew up in Seattle?” I asked. “Besides, what’s wrong with being a hick? I’m a hick and I’m a fun guy.” I was trying to lighten the mood.
Willow shot me a look of disdain over her shoulder. “Ew, Dad. Stop.”
When she went back to staring morosely into her breakfast, I glanced over at Poppy, who was sitting next to Willow. Poppy rolled her eyes and shrugged. I gave her a grin. At least she still liked me. But she was only eight, and Willow had still liked me at that age too.
“Those girls are just bitches,” Poppy said.
I almost dropped my coffee. “Poppy! You can’t call them that.”
“Why not?” She tucked her sandy blond hair behind her ear and looked very unconcerned. “That’s what Lena said they are.”
“She said they’re rich bitches,” Willow clarified, as if somehow that made it better.
Lena was leaning against the far kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone. She was twenty-four and wasn’t exactly the loving Mary Poppins I had envisioned. But she had come recommended and was willing to be in residence.
“Lena,” I said, feeling a headache starting behind my eyes that wasn’t from the alcohol or the lack of sleep. It was stress, plain and simple. “Why would you say that?”
She glanced up and shrugged. “It’s true. Nasty, mean, little rich bitches.”
Whether it was true or not, the jury was still out. Willow and Poppy had only been at their private school for six weeks. But I couldn’t let Lena talk shit about kids, bitchy or not. “That’s not an appropriate thing to say.”
“Do we have any iron shavings?” Poppy asked, looking up from her iPad, clearly no longer interested in bitchy girls.
“What?” I asked, totally distracted by the randomness of the question. “Iron shavings? Between the Italian seasoning and the lemon pepper.”
She made a move to get up. I touched her arm to stop her. “Poppy, I was being sarcastic.”
“Being sarcastic with children is counterproductive,” she informed me.
I sighed. “You’re right. But why would I have iron shavings and what are you planning to do with them?”
“Nothing
. Never mind.” Her lips were pursed and she blinked like an owl.
It was so much easier to keep professional football players in line. I preferred screaming at some grown-ass men to stop being defeatist and get their shit together than trying to get inside the head of an eight-year-old girl. Football players, with a drive to win and lots of testosterone, I understood. I had been one.
This? I was fucking clueless. I had one daughter who desperately wanted to please everyone, fit in, and be popular, and another who was either the next Marie Curie or a budding serial killer. The jury was still out. I understood wanting to fit in, because everyone wanted that, but I hated to see Willow’s confidence in herself eroded. Poppy had plenty of confidence, just maybe not enough of an ability to ask herself if something was a good idea or not.
“Are you working today?” Willow asked, shoving her plate of tortured pancake across the quartz countertop.
“No. Do you want to go to a museum or something?” I glanced at my phone for the seventieth time, hoping Dakota had texted me. She hadn’t.
“Can we go shopping?”
That sounded like hell on earth. But I smiled and said, “Sure.” I just wanted to spend time with my daughters. And maybe remove them from Lena’s influence for a few hours. Lena clearly had no clue she was on thin ice with me at the moment.
She was still glued to her phone screen, but she said, “So why didn’t you come home last night, Mr. M?”
I froze at the unexpected question, feeling guilty as fuck. I hadn’t gone home because I’d been balls deep in a dancer. Then I remembered I was the adult, the parent, the employer. I knew moving to Manhattan was a big change for my daughters and they didn’t need to freak out over me being gone all night. I gave Lena a hard look.
“I went to the charity event, like I told all of you. Then I got home around two,” I straight-up lied. But I wasn’t backing down on this one.
“Hmm,” she said.
Was I being judged by a twenty-four-year-old? I reached down and grabbed the plate holding Willow’s abandoned pancake. I stabbed it with a fork and shoved half a pancake into my mouth. I didn’t want to say something I would regret.
This was why dating was impossible.
At least I’d had last night. I glanced at my phone again.
Nothing.
I slept late. Really late. But Brandon had kept me up until after three.
Reaching for my phone, which I usually kept on the windowsill behind my bed, I didn’t find it in its usual spot. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t gotten his number and he hadn’t asked for mine. I had a vague memory of him saying he’d left his number, so I stumbled out of bed.
He had cleaned up the mess we’d left out the night before. And he’d left a note with his number and money for the ridiculous amount of food and wine we’d ordered. God, he was actually perfect.
I was slightly embarrassed I had told him being with him was easy. It might have been too eager, too revealing. I wasn’t sure. But I obviously hadn’t scared him off because he’d left his contact information.
After showering, I spent the next few hours on the couch watching TV and eating leftover rice, marveling at how sore I was and how many orgasms I’d had. Finally, I decided it would be cool to text him.
I squinted at the numbers on the envelope Brandon had scribbled on. I had waited an appropriate amount of time to reach out. Post-lunch, pre-dinner. Time for both of us to eat, shower, do a few Saturday errands. I did not want to look overly eager. Clingy wasn’t a good look, but if I waited too long, he would think I was rude and/or not interested. I already felt guilty about being a lousy hostess. I hadn’t offered him coffee or a shower or anything. But to be fair, I had barely even realized he was leaving. I had been almost entirely asleep still.
Which was technically his fault for keeping me up so late.
Lounging on my couch, I typed the numbers into my phone. I wanted to see him again, without question. He was intense, considerate, and really damn good in bed.
You know what I don’t like? Mornings. But I had fun last night.
I had told Brandon the night we met that I liked everything. I did like sleeping in. But I had to admit I wasn’t a fan of getting out of bed before eight.
The bubble popped up. He was texting me back. I wondered what a single dad did on a Saturday with his kids. Movies? Was he walking a dog with them right now? It was an intriguing visual. I pictured him with a bulldog. That seemed to fit.
Same. Are you still in bed?
No.
Damn. I want a nude from you.
Huh. Okay. That didn’t seem like a Brandon request. At least not in those terms. But then again, how well did I know him?
Haha, forget it. What are you planning to do today?
Jacking off to the pic you send.
What? I sat up, unsure how to respond to that. Then I went for the comedic deflection. I sent him a picture of a bulldog.
That’s bullshit. Wait, does that mean you’re a guy? That dog has a dick.
It took me a second, then I realized what was happening. Oh, great. I was texting a stranger.
Seriously. Are you a dude? Because fuck off if you are.
I groaned and wished I had a pastry. Thank God I hadn’t seriously contemplated sending this jerk a nude. Not really. Only sort of. I would have if it had sounded more like Brandon. But it hadn’t seemed exactly him.
I didn’t even respond to the stranger’s last stupid comment. Instead I opened up a food service app and ordered a six-pack of donuts delivered to my apartment. Then I eyed the phone number written down on the envelope again. It was possible I had either entered the number wrong or that eight was really a six.
Except I did have the number right and when I tried it with a six instead of an eight I got a really lovely elderly woman in Seattle who thought I was her granddaughter. My donuts arrived while she was telling me about her embroidering altar cloths for church. I gave her an occasional “uh-huh,” and let her rattle on as I chewed on a glazed donut and made fresh coffee.
Eventually she wound down and I said I had to go and she told me she loved me. I had no choice. “I love you, too, Grandma.”
Hell, it could be her last day on earth. I couldn’t shatter her world and not have her granddaughter return the sentiment.
I called Isla, who lived irritatingly far away in Brooklyn with her boyfriend, Sean. Otherwise, I would have shown up on her doorstep. “Hey, I’m going to send you a picture of a phone number written down and then I want you to tell me what numbers you see,” I said when she answered. “I tried to text what I thought it was and it was the wrong number. Hang on.”
It took a second, but I quickly sent the note from Brandon to Isla, then put the phone back to my ear. “So what do you think?” I rooted around the kitchen countertop for a pen and another random scrap of paper. For some ridiculous reason I didn’t want to mar Brandon’s note with scribbles and attempts to decode his phone number.
“It seems your Valentine’s Day out on the town with Elijah was a success,” she said. “Since you got some dude’s number.”
“It was carriage rescue man,” I said. “I literally ran into him, splashing his drink all over myself. We had a lot of fun.”
“Naked fun? Or just hanging-out-at-the-bar fun?”
“Naked fun.” I sighed, hearing the dreamy quality to my voice, and not caring about that one single bit. “He left super early though and I wasn’t really awake or I would have had him put his number in my phone. Now I’m left trying to interpret his terrible handwriting. Maybe he’s a doctor.” I studied the phone number again. Frankly, half the numbers could be interpreted in at least two different ways.
“You don’t know what he does for a living?”
“Um, no. I didn’t get around to asking that. We just kind of jumped into bed. He did mention he has two daughters though. He’s divorced and has full custody.”
“Whoa. That’s complicated. Most parents don’t get full custody. The e
x must be a nutbag or something. Are you sure you want to get involved in something like that?”
“I’m not trying to marry him,” I said, annoyed. I didn’t want her to kill my vibe. “I would just like to repeat the four orgasms I had last night. We had fun together. As I mentioned.”
Fun seemed such a pale word for getting down and dirty with each other.
“Well, here’s both my and Sean’s consensus on what that phone number is. I showed it to him and we’re in agreement with each other.” She recited a number.
She thought it was the same number I originally texted. “Nope. That belongs to a dirtbag stranger who asked me to send nudes.”
“Oh. Hmm.” There was a pause. “Do you think it’s possible he gave you a fake?”
That thought had occurred to me and I hated it with the burning heat of a thousand suns. That thought sucked. A lot. “Why would he bother? He could have just rolled out of here before I even woke up. It was like five in the morning.”
“Because guys don’t want to seem rude. So they lie. It’s stupid, but it happens. Why did he have to leave so early anyway?”
“He said he had to get home before the nanny woke up.”
“Why?”
This was not how I had pictured this conversation going down. “I don’t know! Maybe she’s judgmental. Maybe it’s her day off. It is Saturday, after all.”
“Or maybe nanny is just another name for girlfriend.”
That had never even entered my head and I was seriously annoyed that Isla had put such a cynical idea in my mind. “I hate you,” I told her. “And I refuse to believe that until I have proof otherwise.”
“Sorry, just trying to consider all possibilities.”
“I don’t like that possibility.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter, because you’ll never see him again.”
“Ew. Harsh.” I tossed my half-eaten donut down on the kitchen counter. “That’s very disappointing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry. You sound like a woman with a boyfriend who thinks I’m being dumb.” I sipped my coffee, feeling very, very sorry for myself.
Halftime Husband Page 5
