Dirty Sexy Games

by Laurelin Paige

  Callie wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip, glaring at Dana. “That’s not really what I’m comfortable with.”

  “He’ll be nearby,” Dana said comfortingly. “If he has an apartment in Brooklyn. You will have him for three weeks every month. That’s still the majority. And think of all the extra time we’ll get to spend alone together!”

  “I can’t be away from him for more than a few hours at a time already. That’s too long. It’s too soon. He won’t like it either; he needs me. I was thinking more like weekends. A couple days at a time.” Callie was visibly rattled.

  “Sure, I understand.” I did understand. I was taking away her child, in a sense.

  But he was my child, too.

  “Then maybe we could at least agree to share him every day for a week? I could take him during the days and bring him back at night?” It wasn’t exactly what I’d been planning or hoping for. Flying across the ocean every month, I really wanted to have as much time as I could with him.

  But she’d made a good point about his preparedness. Having almost no experience with kids except that I once was one, I really didn’t know what kind of emotional attachment was normal for a two-year-old.

  “Yeah, maybe. Maybe that would work.” She didn’t have time to sit with the idea, because just then a burst of chattering sounded over the baby monitor. “Look who’s up. I’ll go get him. Be right back.”

  She rushed off, and I rolled my shoulders back, trying to loosen the sudden tension that had crept up from the conversation and the renewed anxiety about meeting my kid.

  My kid.

  What if he didn’t like me? What if I didn’t like him?

  What if I saw him and couldn’t let him go?

  “We’ll figure it out,” Dana said, encouragingly. “Just give her some time. Remember, it’s just been her and him. She needs to get used to the idea of sharing that.”

  I nodded, willing to believe her, but too focused on the terrifying moment approaching.

  As Callie walked back into the room, I stood up, unable to sit any longer. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my throat. My hands felt clammy and my muscles jittered.

  But as anxious as I was, my focus was locked on the little boy in her arms. From the second I caught sight of him, my vision tunneled, and he was the only thing I could see. Nothing anyone said or did could make me look away. The house could be burning down, and I would still be focused on this wonderful, amazing, beautiful little boy.

  His hair was long, with curls at the end, similar to pictures I’d seen of myself as a child. So blond in some places it was almost white. His eyes were bright blue under the longest lashes. His lips were incredibly thick and pouty, his face angelic. His outfit looked like something a grown-up would wear—a plaid button-down shirt with khaki pants. One sock was half-falling off his foot.

  Elizabeth stood and automatically reached to fix the sock. Sebastian looked down at the woman touching him.

  “Sock,” he exclaimed, pointing with a pudgy finger.

  At the sound of his high, light, tiny voice, it felt like pieces of my chest broke off inside and scattered everywhere, spreading through me like no drug I’d ever known.

  Elizabeth watched me with a curious smile on her face, stepping out of the way so that Callie could continue her path toward me to show me my son. “Yep. Sock. That’s your sock. And this is your daddy. You see your daddy, Sebastian?”

  Sebastian took a second to draw his eyes from his sock to his mother’s pointed finger, and then finally to me. He met my eyes and smiled.

  I tried to smile back, but my throat felt so tight all of a sudden, it was hard. Inside, my chest did that weird thing again, breaking and spreading throughout me. And my voice was shaking when I asked, “Can I?” I was already holding my arms out toward him.

  “Of course,” she said. “Want to go to Daddy?”

  Sebastian was even smaller than I’d pictured, and I suddenly realized exactly why Callie was so protective. He was hardly more than a baby—I didn’t expect him to welcome a strange man. But he surprised me, opening his arms and reaching for me the way I was reaching for him.

  I held my breath as Callie let him go, and then I was holding him on my own. Holding my son. He was lighter than I’d thought he’d be. So very light. How could something so little and tiny be big enough to permanently change my life?

  My eyes pricked.

  He studied me as closely as I was studying him, and the quick rise and fall of his chest reminded me to take my own breath. I let air into my lungs, slowly, taking in every detail of the moment with my indrawn breath. Memorizing this first moment—the first of a lifetime—with my son.

  Sebastian reached out with his pointer finger, all his fingers splayed, and touched my chin. “Chin,” he said. Then reached higher to try to stick them in between my lips. “Mouf.”

  “Sebastian!” his mother scolded. “Don’t stick your fingers in people’s faces!”

  I took his arm, pulling it gently away in accordance with his mother’s words. “That’s right. That’s my mouth.” I was practically trembling. My kid knew where my mouth was, and it rocked my world. Surely other two-year-olds weren’t this smart. He was a genius. A miracle.

  I swiveled so he could see Elizabeth. “Look here, Sebastian. This is…Lizzie,” I said, quickly deciding that was the easiest thing for him to call her. “Can you say Lizzie?” I didn’t know if he could repeat words at this stage in his development, and I didn’t care. I was making conversation. With my son. We could speak complete nonsense, and I’d be happy.

  “Izzie,” Sebastian said, pointing to my wife as she stepped up next to him. “Izzie mouf.”

  Elizabeth let out a happy, tearful sound that made my skin tingle. “He said my name!”

  “He did! I want him to say my name.” I was greedy and content all at once.

  “He’ll say it, I bet. Ask him,” Callie prompted.

  Fuck, my knees were shaking. “Sebastian, can you say, Daddy? I’m Daddy.”

  The room was silent, all of us waiting and watching for him to perform—poor kid.

  Sebastian looked back to his mother who nodded in reassurance. “Go on. Can you say Daddy?”

  “Daddy,” he said, looking back at me, the d’s so light in the middle of the word they were barely there. And when everyone applauded and cheered, he said it again, stronger. “Daddy.”

  “That’s right. I’m your daddy. That’s me.” I hugged him to me tight, pressing my mouth against his hair. He smelled like baby powder and wet wipes and baby shampoo and by God I was ready to declare the combination my favorite scent in the world.

  Except then I looked over at my wife standing next to me, her eyes brimming, and I knew her tropical body wash/perfume scent so well now that I could almost pick it out on the air, and I remembered that it was my favorite scent in the world. Especially when it was mixed with the musk of her arousal or the after-smell of sex.

  I guess now I had two favorite scents. Two favorite people. Two favorite worlds to build my own around.

  Why the hell did loving them both have to be so complicated?

  Today wasn’t for the complicated parts, though. Today was for the good parts.

  I brushed away the worry of the future and sat down on the ground with Sebastian in front of the coffee table. “I brought you something. A present. Do you want to open it?”

  I reached over for the gift before he could answer and handed it to him.

  His eyes lit up, big and bright. His mouth formed a perfect O shape. “P’esent!” he exclaimed in that toddler voice. He immediately started grabbing at the ribbon, and I looked to Callie to make sure it was okay.

  She nodded reassuringly, and sat down on the ground near us.

  There was no way he was getting that ribbon off without help, so I tugged it off for him, but then he only wanted to play with it.

  “Give it to Mama,” Callie said, calling to him.

  Sebastian looked at t
he red ribbon in his hand, contemplating before he happily flung it over to his mother. Then she pointed him back toward me and the gift. I nudged a corner of the wrapping paper up so he could grab it and together we tore all of the paper off.

  “Oh!” Sebastian said, pointing to the picture. He was so surprised and pleased, it was written all over his little face. I swelled with pride as he examined it. The box contained a big block LEGO train set.

  “I hope he doesn’t already have it,” I said.

  “Nope. He’ll love it.” Callie gathered the rest of the paper and Dana took it, along with the ribbon, to the kitchen to throw away.

  “Tain! Daddy, tain!”

  Every time he said daddy, my heart did that ricochet, shocking new parts of me to life that I didn’t even know had been dead.

  “You want to open it? Let’s open it.” I started to open the box, which turned out not to be as easy as it looked.

  “Yeah, they make these things impossible,” Callie said.

  She was right. Once I got inside the box, it was even worse. All the pieces were fixed to the plastic backing with elastic ties. It was going to take forever to get all fifty-six pieces out of the box.

  “Tain. I want tain,” Sebastian said, tugging at the pieces unsuccessfully, as his little voice rose in volume.

  I managed to get one piece out while Sebastian was grabbing at the others. “Give it to me,” Callie said, “I’ll work on the rest.”

  Elizabeth knelt down beside her. “I’ll help.”

  I handed the box over Sebastian’s head to his mother. He followed, trying to get at the other pieces while they were working on them.

  “Sebastian,” I called. “Over here. Look at this.” I rolled the single train car back and forth along the coffee table. Somehow that only brought his attention to the bourbon that I’d left there, and his eyes once again widened in delight.

  Thankfully Dana swept in and grabbed my mug as well as Elizabeth’s, just before Sebastian stuck his hand in. “I’ll take those,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “Sebastian,” I said again. “Look.” I ran the train piece again along the table and he watched, mildly interested, but also torn between wanting to find out more about what was going on with his mother and the other pieces. Before I lost his attention totally, I decided to do a little sleight of hand—taking the car, waving it around, and then I made it disappear. “Uh-oh! Where’d it go?”

  Sebastian’s look of surprise was comical. He grabbed my hand and turned it over, but there was nothing there. Then he grabbed my other hand and examined it with equal intensity. He walked around my entire body looking everywhere for the train car.

  “It disappeared!” I said, wiggling my fingers to show that it was nowhere.

  Immediately, he started to cry.

  “No. No. Don’t cry. It’s right here.” I grabbed it from between my legs where I’d dropped it. “It disappeared but now it’s back. See?”

  “Disappeared,” Sebastian said, his lips still quivering. “Come back.”

  “Right. It disappeared, but it came back. I’ll do it again.” I did the trick again, waving my hands, distracting him so he didn’t notice the drop. Once again, the tears started the minute the object was out of sight.

  “I don’t like dis’peared,” Sebastian said.

  This time, I brought it back quicker. “But it comes right back.” He stopped fussing. The third time I did it there were no tears at all, only a big smile when I brought the object back into sight.

  “Come back!” he said, taking the car from my hand. He ran the train along the table himself then. “You made come back.”

  “I did. I made it come back,” I told him. Then I pulled him into my arms again, hugging him, tight. Tighter than a squirmy little toddler wanted to be held, because it felt like I had so many hugs to make up for, so much time that I’d missed. I hugged him and I held him, and I breathed him in. And I whispered in his ear, “I’m going to be a good dad, Sebastian. I promise you. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. And sometimes, maybe I’m going to disappear. But I promise, I’ll come back. I’ll always come back.”

  He pulled away, rushing over to claim the new cars Callie and Elizabeth had freed, bringing them back to me. I showed him how they hooked together, feeling the pride swell again when he did it himself. He was so smart. So perfect. And I made him.

  Yes, I would always come back.

  I didn’t know how everything was going to work out with all of us just yet, how we would survive the lengths we had to go to in order to all stay together, but I could promise him that at least, and mean it.

  Couldn’t I?

  15

  Elizabeth

  Weston was a natural father.

  I knew it even before I’d seen him play with my cousin’s child back in Utah. And why wouldn’t he be? He was a charmer, loved games, and had an easy smile. And a heart so big it was made for parenting.

  I was jealous of him, in a way. I didn’t know that I had that natural instinct in me—the desire to give and sacrifice for others, especially a creature that could barely communicate. I appreciated conversations with intelligent human beings. I didn’t like messes. I liked things neat and orderly.

  But how could I not fall in love with that child, that baby boy that looked exactly like the man that I loved so much? Was it just because Sebastian belonged to Weston? Or because he was such an amazing kid in his own right, which he certainly was? Or was it that I wanted a baby of my own, more than I realized?

  I didn’t know. But I really did want to be part of his life, part of Sebastian’s life.

  And the shitty thing, the terrible, rotten, incredibly certain thing that I knew after seeing Weston with Sebastian was that I wouldn’t be a part of his life.

  Weston needed to be with his child.

  And since I couldn’t keep them from each other, I would have to let them go.

  It took everything I had not to let the heartbreak show on my face while I watched Weston’s heart grow fuller.

  We drove back to the city, my husband as talkative and excited as when we’d driven to Brooklyn. He relived every moment with Sebastian, commenting on every single thing the child had said and done, relating the entire afternoon to me as though I hadn’t even been there. I understood, and I was happy for him, so happy for him, and his endless stream of narration made it easy for me to hide away the turbulent storm of emotion inside me.

  Yes, it would have to be faced. Eventually. But I understood now more than ever why Weston had pushed away telling me about Sebastian in the first place, how he’d kept stretching the days of our honeymoon before disclosing the information that would change everything. My frustration over that had drained completely. Because now I was the one keeping my secret plans to myself.

  It would wait another couple of days. Until after Christmas. I wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

  For us.

  Before we left Callie and Dana’s, we’d made arrangements to see Sebastian again. Dana, it turned out, didn’t have any family living close by, her parents both long deceased. Callie’s family celebrated the holiday on Christmas Eve. Weston and I had plans to spend the twenty-fourth with my mother and Marie, and we had a standing invitation to his parents’ for Christmas Day, which we hadn’t yet committed to.

  Now we were going to get to spend the holiday with Sebastian, and, with that change in the agenda, Weston wanted to take him to meet his folks. Callie and Dana had agreed, even finding a restaurant in Larchmont that served Christmas dinner so they could drive up with us and have a nice meal out together while we were with the Kings, then we’d all return together. That way, Sebastian wouldn’t be too uncomfortable during such a long day without his mother.

  All of it had worked out perfectly, everyone agreeing easily, all the stars aligning as though it were meant to be, and with each piece that fell into place I felt more and more secure in the path I had set forth.

  If only it didn’t have to h
urt so much.

  But I’d been hurt before, and I would hurt again. At least this time the hurt came from a father who was doing the right thing.

  It wasn’t until we were back at our apartment, after we’d had dinner and Weston had opened a bottle of wine for the two of us that he noticed I was unusually quiet.

  “You know, you haven’t said much since we left Brooklyn,” he said, stretching out on the sofa in the living room. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Lizzie?”

  I flipped on the lights to the artificial tree, the one Christmas decoration we’d had time to put up. It didn’t even have ornaments on it, just a string of white lights, but it set the mood nicely with all the overheads dimmed. Then I turned to face my husband.

  “I don’t know. Today was a lot, you know? In a good way. I guess I’m just tired now.”

  “Come be tired on my lap.” He set his wine glass down so he could tug off his pullover sweater and toss it to the ground. Now he was just wearing his button-down long-sleeved shirt. Plaid, not unlike the one that Sebastian had worn in miniature form.

  Jesus, one day that kid would grow up and look like him. It was almost unfathomable. To imagine those tiny limbs growing and forming into long, muscular, strong, toned arms and legs. Hands that were soft and sweet now, but would become large and capable.

  I took him all in once more before wandering over, then I curled up onto his lap, tucking my head under his neck and bending my knees up against us.

  Automatically his arms came around me, wrapping me up tight. “That’s better,” he said.

  Weston started kissing along my neck and I leaned my head against my shoulder to give him better access, wondering how many more times I would feel his lips on my skin, how many times I had left where simple kisses would give way to abandoned clothes and tangled bodies.

  However many times it was, it wouldn’t be enough.

  I had to make it be enough.

  “Tell me something,” I asked, as a shiver rolled through my body from his light nip on my earlobe.