by Kim Karr
“I went for a run and grabbed a quick shower. Like a dumbass, I left my bag down here with my clean clothes and thought I could mad dash it once I heard the garage door. Guess I was wrong. You don’t have to keep your eyes closed. I’m sure you’re not going to see anything your French guy Andy isn’t equipped with.”
Dumbass is right.
Feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the heart, I give up the struggle with Max and let him down just in time to see Nick’s back muscles ripple as he bends to open the large duffle bag on the ground beside his bare feet. “His name is Ansel, not Andy,” I correct, “but I’m pretty sure you already know that. And for the record, he’s not my guy anymore. We broke up.”
Nick raises his gaze, and for the first time I notice just how blue his eyes are. “I’m sorry to hear that. Ethan hadn’t mentioned it,” Nick says rather sincerely as he pulls on a pair of jeans, opting to go commando.
Not that I notice.
Without bothering to button them, he then grabs for Max who is already by his side. “Hey kiddo,” he says, scooping him up and tossing him in the air a few times before setting him on his feet. “What do you say we get these warm clothes off?”
Max giggles and nods his head, taking his own hat off and tossing it to the ground. His hair is a mess, much like Nick’s, and I think he knows it because he pulls on his own blond curls to try to make them stand straight on end, more like Nick’s. Nick copies him, making his dark hair look somehow put together despite the fact he is fresh out of the shower. Even if I hate to admit it, it is kind of cute to watch their interaction.
As Nick starts to unzip Max’s coat, I clear my throat.
Nick looks over at me.
I am standing at the top of the stairs from the lower level and he is still standing across the room near the bottom of the stairs leading to the upper level. It’s odd, but neither of us has moved very far.
Are we at a stand off?
“What are you doing here?” I ask again. This time I added the word here to be more direct. And yes, I also did that so I wouldn’t sound like Max on repeat.
Having already removed Max’s coat, Nick shoves Max’s hat and mittens in the sleeves and hangs the coat on the banister, all the while glaring at me with a look of utter confusion. “I’m here to help you with Max.”
Dumbfounded, I drop Max’s things to the floor and take a step forward, pointing my finger at the very large duffle bag. “You’re staying here? In this house?”
Nick nods.
“With me and Max?” I clarify, now taking my own hat and coat off because even though it is only twenty degrees outside, it feels like a hundred in here.
Again, he just nods.
“No, no you’re not. No way,” I insist.
There is a slight rise of his brows. And then he does it again. He nods, like him and I living together is the most normal thing in the world.
Max nods too.
And then Nick sits on the floor and Max copies him, flopping to the ground in a burst of cuteness and landing right in front of Nick. “Let’s take your boots off,” Nick says, pointing to Max’s feet.
Max points to Nick’s bare toes, which I have to admit, are pretty damn sexy. “Socks too,” Max says.
Nick laughs. “Socks too.” And then he gets to work removing Max’s boots.
“Nick,” I say calmly this time.
“Tess.” He glances up.
“You can’t take care of Max. What do you know about kids, other than being a big kid yourself?”
Nick’s eyes narrow and he flips me the bird behind Max’s back. Okay, I deserved that one. I might have gone too far with that because obviously he is a big part of Max’s life. I, on the other hand, haven’t lived in Chicago since way before Max was born. To Max, I’ve just been the visiting auntie. So, what the hell do I know?
“Okay, yes, clearly you can,” I concede. “Still, we cannot live in this house together for the next two weeks.”
Nick merely grins. “Well, we are, so I guess we can.”
It takes all I have to suppress my snarl of rage. “No, we’re not.”
“Tess, we are. Both Fiona and Ethan have entrusted us with Max. Their son. And I don’t plan to disappoint them. And if you take a moment to think about it, I doubt you do either.”
Way to put it. “That just sucks,” I say rather childlike under my breath. Then add, “You can sleep downstairs on the couch.”
Nick laughs again. “It’s cold down there. How about we compromise. I’ll sleep in the guest room upstairs, but shower downstairs.”
I cross my arms in protest. “Fine, but this sucks.”
“I heard you the first time. I’m going to wager a bet that Ethan neglected to mention that I would be here.”
It hits me then—why Ethan had been so accommodating last night. He must have been working on his back up plan all along.
And Nick was it.
“Yes, conveniently he did. And so did Fiona, for that matter,” I sputter.
“To Fiona’s benefit, she didn’t know until this morning when I walked in the door to take Max to preschool.”
“You dropped him off?” For some reason I just thought Ethan and Fiona had dropped him off before heading to the airport.”
“Promptly at eleven. Like I said, I’m here to help.”
With my arms still crossed, I keep them there, knowing for some reason my nipples are protruding under the cashmere of my sweater. “This situation still sucks,” I mutter.
Nick bends down to kiss Max’s little toes, and my heart does the oddest pitter-patter, and then he averts those very blue eyes my way and that pitter-patter speeds up. “Are you worried?” he asks.
Both of Max’s feet are bare now, and he jolts up like a jack-in-the-box. Nick follows, and the sight of his long, muscled limbs, and smooth sun-burnished skin curls my fingers, even inside the leather of my gloves. “No, I’m not worried,” I say, pulling my gloves off and then turning to head toward the kitchen to prepare Max’s dinner. “It’s not like I think you’ll do anything to me, besides I know self-defense moves.”
Nick’s laugh is loud. Almost obnoxious. It takes everything I have not to whirl around and scream, “You really are a jerk.” And it’s a good thing I didn’t scream those words because when I turn around, I find myself laughing equally as hard.
He wasn’t laughing at me.
Max has pulled his own long sleeve shirt right over his head. And is pointing to Nick’s very bare chest, to the ridges of his ribs, to the muscle that defines his abdomen, and then to his own pudgy little belly.
This is obviously a thing between the two of them.
Copycat.
Admittedly, it’s rather cute.
Once the laughter finally comes to an end, and Max is proudly hiccupping and kicking a little soccer ball that Nick has pulled out of his bag, Nick strides into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and grabs a beer. “Want one?” he offers with his obviously very strong back to me.
Turning the stove on to warm the small containers of chicken, applesauce, and peas I had already pulled from the freezer, I stare at them. Fiona had pre-made the food, either knowing I’m not that great of a cook, or worried I wouldn’t feed him the organic items she insists on. Looking away from the food, I turn my head in Nick’s direction and answer with a, “No thank you, I prefer wine.”
Surprising me, he doesn’t make a smartass remark, instead he pulls a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the refrigerator and sets it on the counter. After reaching for a glass, he pours the wine and hands it to me. “By the way, I wasn’t asking if you were worried because I thought you were concerned about what I might do to you. I was asking because I thought you might be worried about what you might want to do to me,” he snickers.
I narrow my stare at him and mouth, “Jerk.”
Nick just shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, sets the bottle down, and then walks over and grabs his duffle in one hand, and a still hiccupping Max in the other. As he heads up th
e stairs, he tosses over his shoulder, “I’ll give him a quick bath while you get his dinner ready . . . if you don’t mind that is.”
“That’s fine,” I concede.
“Oh, and Tess,” he says, “Ethan mentioned you aren’t much of a cook.”
My stare narrows to small slits in my eyes.
“So,” he goes on before I can address the comment, “since you were picking Max up, I stopped and got us Chinese for dinner. It’s in the warming drawer. Hope you like it.”
Just before popping the small containers of Max’s food into the steaming water, I call out, “Nick.”
This time he looks over his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
He gestures with that nod that is really starting to infuriate me, and then says, “After we get Max to bed, I thought we could make a schedule for his care.”
He’s such a contradiction that it is now my turn to nod, because really, I am at a complete loss for words.
“See, having me around might not suck after all. In fact, you might even like it.”
At that, I roll my eyes.
Famous last words.
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And Also: A sneak peek into BIG SHOT
PRESENT DAY
Jace Bennett
LUNCH WAS A bore.
Despite the fact I was at one of downtown’s finest dining establishments, and in the company of a beautiful woman, my disinterest was still plunging with each passing minute.
Attempting to wine and dine the head of a local software company turned out to take more focus than I had to give. Much to my dismay, the woman was having none of that.
Before our meals were even served, she’d taken the meeting to a physical level by opening her blouse so wide I could all but see her nipples. When that stunt failed to grab my attention, she ramped up her seduction by placing her hand on my thigh beneath the table.
Not only was her assertiveness for the midday hour overkill, but what she didn’t know was that with the state of mind I was in, it was useless, or at least it had been.
The white tablecloth served as more than a functional piece of linen. She was using it as a shield to hide her strident advances as she began to run her fingertips slowly up the fabric of my slacks.
Within seconds of her inching her hand up the inside of my thigh, something started to tingle inside me—a wisp of lust. It was something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. In fact, it was enough incitement that for a moment I considered taking her up on her advances.
Astonished, I sat there contemplating the feeling. In the end, her aggressiveness was too much of a turnoff to truly turn me on. Putting an end to it, I pretended to need my napkin from my lap and gently pushed her hand slightly lower.
Attempting to brush it off, she put her hand to use by grabbing her wine glass. With each sip of wine she took, and every unanswered advance she made, my hopes of convincing Amanda Woodward to let me buy the software application she had just launched dwindled further and further, along with the little attention I had to give her.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t good looking.
She was.
It wasn’t that her body wasn’t smoking hot.
It was.
It wasn’t that her lingering touch didn’t make me hard.
It did.
It was more that I hadn’t been interested in having intercourse with anyone since my wife died nearly three years ago.
Experience told me the woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and I tried my best to pacify her. I didn’t move her creeping hand off my thigh or look away from her double d’s.
We’d danced this dance a few times over the years, and usually our meetings ended before they had gotten too far into the physical interaction part.
This time though I really wanted that app, so I didn’t fake a reason to leave, instead I toughed it out.
Hey, I was doing what I had to do.
But when I didn’t respond to her advances, my lack of reaction only seemed to fuel her fire.
Despite that fact, I kept my eye on the prize, and continued to bring the conversation back around to the purpose of our meeting.
To the purchase I actually did want to make.
The software application.
Her software application.
By the time we’d finished our meals, she had yet to agree to the sale, but I was fairly certain she wanted me to fuck her in the restroom. No, not fairly certain. Certain. She’d whispered the idea in my ear.
Like I said though, I wasn’t interested in a quick lay, and that was one thing I couldn’t fake.
I was there for the app, and the app only.
The app’s name might have been simplistic, but the idea was brilliant. I’m Here allowed for a person to pin themselves to locations, and once they did, those following that person would be updated every time their location changed.
My business would benefit greatly if I could add that newest technology to its platform.
And by my business, I’m referring to Flirt Enterprises. The Fortune 500 company I built from the ground up.
Flirt is a hub of social media applications targeted toward those looking to connect with someone. Its features are diverse and well liked. Think of it as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat all in one place.
What makes Flirt different from all the other dating sites out there isn’t only the unique platform it’s housed on, but the fact that it’s not targeted to only finding the one.
The truth is, people wanted a less complicated way to find one-night stands, companionship, fake fiancés, and even arranged marriages.
In fact, they wanted it so much that they were screaming for it. Check out Craig’s List circa 2010, and you’ll see what I mean. Recognizing this niche, I happily obliged by providing the technological platform to allow for them to connect, both conventionally and unconventionally, without judgment.
Flirt Enterprise’s number one app might be Date Me, but the number two position will no doubt surprise you. It is Fake Me, a place people go to find a fake fiancé or spouse for an upcoming occasion. Seriously, the amount of people looking for someone to take to a high school reunion or wedding as their soon-to-be spouse or spouse would astonish you.
Marry Me also has a huge number of members, and comes in third by a landslide to Friend Me, the companionship connection.
After the waiter took our plates, I slid back in my chair. “The offer is above market,” I said, trying to keep the constantly derailing conversation on track.
“Jace,” she purred as she scooted her chair closer and pretended to straighten my tie. “I think that’s enough business talk for one lunch. What do you say you come to my place tonight and then we can talk some more?”
Did she think I was born yesterday? “Look,” I said, matter-of-factly, “are you interested in selling or not?”
Stunned by my tone, she sat back. “I’m not certain. Like I said, I think we need to discuss it further.”
“Okay, I can understand that.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
My tone softened. “What are your concerns?”
“Oh, Jace,” she waved a hand, “I’ve had way too much wine, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing something as big as this under the influence.”
Ignoring her attempt to avoid the reason we were meeting, I opened my briefcase and removed the contract my best friend, college buddy, and attorney, Ethan Miller, had drawn up. “I think you’ll find the terms of my offer very favorable, and I doubt once you read it, you’ll have any concerns.”
Tucking a piece of her dark wavy hair behind her ear, she leered at me in disbelief.
That didn’t bother me, and I handed her the papers anyway. When she refused to take them, now that bothered me.
“Jace,” she smiled, “I think you know I’m interested in more than just the sale of a downloadable app.”
I blinked. Shit, she was bold. “Yes, Amanda, I do, but I’m sorry,” I said
, “I’m not interested in anything at this time but purchasing your app.”
Her face tightened, and yet her exotic features still somehow remained soft. It had to be an art perfected over time. “Everything has a price, Jace, you know that.”
“I do, and that is why my offer is more than fair.”
“Stop with the offer,” she scowled in irritation.
Christ. Enough was enough. Having wasted way too much of my time, I started to gather my things. “Too bad, this could have been a win-win for both of us.”
She looked stunned. “Are you really going to walk away?”
I nodded. “I am.”
“Screw you,” she whispered before throwing her glass of water in my face.
Lunch was over.
Like I said, the woman was used to getting what she wanted, and obviously not getting it was a deal breaker.
Fuck me.
Or in this case . . . not.
PRESENT DAY
Jace Bennett
NO WASN’T A word I was used to being told.
The events at lunch had put me in a foul mood, and I decided walking back to the office would be a great way to burn off some steam.
Besides, it was a decent day, and the early September breeze would certainly dry my shirt. The weather wasn’t something I typically noticed or paid attention to, but this morning I had checked it for a reason.
After all, September fifth was a day I knew I’d remember forever, and not because it was a day when I’d been groped under a table. Rather, because it was my daughter’s first day of Kindergarten.
The memory of getting her ready was still ingrained in my mind. Plaid jumper. Auburn hair in ringlets. And a smile that lit up my world. That’s how I would remember this day—forever.
Fast strides brought me to the thirty-six-floor skyscraper located in the Near West Side of Chicago much quicker than I had anticipated. With my temperament still in brooding mode, I wasn’t ready to go back to work. That’s when I decided to circle around to the river. Something I never did without my daughter.
