Room Mates_The Series

by Kendall Ryan

  “You know, I was thinking . . .” She chewed on her bottom lip, and I tried not to stare at the luscious pink curve. “The rest of the house feels so homey and lived-in. Maybe we could spruce up Dylan’s room a little too? I mean, I don’t know what your budget would be—”

  “That sounds like a great idea.” I sipped my wine. “Do whatever you want.”

  “You don’t want to have some say in it?” she asked with a frown. “It is your child’s room, and I don’t want to impose.”

  I furrowed my brow and shrugged. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to start. So have at it.”

  She laughed, a clear, ringing sound that skimmed along my skin and made my posture relax a little more. “Well, why don’t we experiment a little?”

  I stared at her, forcing the filthy thoughts of all the ways I’d love to experiment on her from my mind as I waited for her to continue.

  “We could both design a room for her, maybe. Have you ever been on Pinterest?” she asked.

  This time it was my turn to laugh. “Yeah . . . no. That’s the site where women put pictures of coffee cans that they made into flower pots or something, right?”

  “Sometimes.” She lifted the laptop from the coffee table in front of us and handed it to me. “Here, I have it on my phone, and you can use the one on my laptop. So basically, it’s just like an image search. You look around for fun ideas and make a board for them. I’ll even make yours for you.” She leaned across me, brushing her chest against my arm as she moved. Her hair fell in front of her face, and the lavender smell of her shampoo took hold of me again, sending a rush of blood pulsing to my cock.

  I shifted, leaning forward to take another sip of my wine, thanking the gods that her computer was hiding my lap from view.

  “There.” She looked up at me. “Now enter some search terms like ‘cute baby room ideas,’ and then use the little red push pins to add things to the board. It will give me an idea of the type of stuff you like. I’ll do one too, and in a few minutes, we’ll compare and see what we come up with. Ready?”

  I nodded, then racked my brain, thinking of what would go best in Dylan’s room. I wanted it to be nice—not too frilly, and definitely not all decked out in pink decor and crystal chandeliers. Something she could grow into and enjoy.

  I picked my pins carefully, and by the time Addison announced the time was up, I was feeling pretty damn confident about my choices.

  “All right, who goes first?” she asked.

  “I’ve got nothing to hide.” I shrugged and turned the screen toward her.

  She glanced at it, then at me, then at the computer again.

  “A big-screen TV? She’s one, Max. Plus, you only have three pins,” she said. “We’ve been looking for like twenty minutes.”

  “The TV is for when she gets older. Or if she wants to watch Barney or something. The dude kind of freaks me out, to be honest, but hey. Kids like him.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And the Bob Dylan poster?”

  At that, I paused, weighing my options. This was the can of worms that I still hadn’t decided if I wanted to open.

  “The baby’s namesake.”

  Addison’s eyes softened, and she lowered her phone to her lap. “That’s really sweet.”

  Silence filled the air, heavy and pronounced, and when she opened her mouth again, her gaze was thoughtful.

  “I know it’s not my business. That said, I had wondered . . . if something were to ever happen to you, I know I have your parents’ numbers, but—”

  She broke off, but I knew the words she would say before she said them.

  “What happened to Dylan’s mom? I don’t want to pry, but I wasn’t sure if I could expect her to stop by, or what to say as Dylan grows older and someone asks,” she said, looking apologetic.

  I let out a sigh. Of course Addison would wonder that. It was only natural. But how could I tell her the truth? Then again, what choice did I have now?

  “Dylan is new to my life, actually,” I said, wondering how best to explain what had happened to Jenn—what had happened to me. “I dated her mother, Jenn, for a couple of months last year. I wasn’t ready for anything serious and she was, so I broke things off. I didn’t hear from her once it ended. Fast forward to a few days ago when she left Dylan on my doorstep and said she couldn’t handle it anymore. I had no idea she was ever pregnant.”

  “Oh my God.” Addison raised a hand to her mouth, but before she got the chance to respond, I rushed on.

  “Look, I know it’s weird. But just because I’ve only known Dylan for five days doesn’t mean that I don’t love her as deeply as any father loves his daughter.” I didn’t know why, but it felt important that Addison knew that. The defensive tone to my voice was hard to hide. Since she’d arrived, there hadn’t been a single moment that felt like a sacrifice. Making room for Dylan in my life was easy—I really did love the little thing already.

  “This just . . .” She shook her head. “It explains so much.”

  “It does?”

  “There are no pictures of her or Dylan as an infant anywhere. And I couldn’t understand why you’d give a baby an entire piece of burned toast with peanut butter on it for breakfast.”

  I let out a grudging laugh. “I’m clearly still getting a handle on this whole thing.”

  “So, what happened to Dylan’s mother? Where did she go? Does she want to see Dylan again?”

  I swallowed. I didn’t know the answers to those questions. How could I explain this to Addison if I couldn’t even explain it to myself? I’d been the one to screw things up with Jenn in the first place. Maybe if I had just stopped her from leaving, or if I’d told her something, anything, when she’d asked about having a family, I wouldn’t have missed the first year of Dylan’s life.

  I didn’t know what she looked like when she was born, and hadn’t gotten to celebrate her first steps or her first tooth. It was all my fault. Because Jenn had known she was pregnant when she’d asked about having kids. Instead of probing or realizing how emotional that conversation had been on her part, I’d just written it off and let her go.

  These last few days, late at night when I was alone in bed, I’d begun wondering if somewhere deep down, I’d known all along and it had just been more convenient to ignore.

  My heart flipped in my chest as I thought of the ramifications of those actions.

  Jesus, what if Jenn hadn’t brought her to me? What if I’d missed countless more milestones as Dylan grew up without her father?

  I cleared my tightening throat and shrugged, turning my attention back to Addison, who waited patiently for my reply.

  “I’m not sure what Jenn’s plans are, but no matter what, Dylan will be in my life going forward,” I said finally.

  Addison nodded. “She’s a lucky girl.”

  I winced and took another slug of wine. “Debatable.”

  She patted my arm gently and then pulled her hand away. “I see how you are with her. You’re a natural when it comes to the important stuff, like love and attention. And hey, we’ve all got our regrets, you know?”

  “Do we?”

  She pursed her lips, apparently at war with herself, then in a too-casual tone, she said, “Sure. Hey, I turned my last boyfriend gay, so . . . you know, sometimes life is full of curveballs.”

  “You did not turn him gay,” I scoffed.

  “I promise you, he was definitely gay, and you do not want to know the details.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said. “You didn’t turn him gay. He probably just wasn’t willing to admit to himself or anybody else that he was gay, and you got caught in the crosshairs. Happens to more people than you think.”

  She rolled her eyes and took another sip of her wine.

  “Truly, any man would be lucky to have you. You’re beautiful and funny and smart.”

  She looked up at me through her thick lashes, a soft, thoughtful expression in her eyes. A pretty pink blush colored her cheeks as she said, �
�Thank you.”

  I shook my head, ignoring the pulse fluttering in her neck and the swell of her breasts. “Just stating the facts. Now, you still have to show me what you came up with that is apparently so much better than a sweet-ass baby cave with a big-screen TV and a Dylan poster.”

  “Oh, you’re on!”

  She clicked on her phone, then handed it to me. It looked like a real little girl’s room—pictures of boxy white bookcases filled with brightly colored books, stuffed animals, and toys abounded. There were soft, fluffy blankets, and in one picture, just above the crib, hung a hand-painted plaque with the quote, “She be small but mighty.”

  Everything was in shades of dove gray and pink with touches of yellow. These were only pictures, but I already felt like it was special somehow. Like it had all been put together just for Dylan.

  “This is great,” I said sincerely. “I’m impressed.”

  Addison shrugged, and her fingers brushed over mine as she reclaimed her phone. “One of my favorite hobbies. It’s nothing.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  She rolled her eyes again.

  “Are you always so hard on yourself?” I asked.

  Her blush deepened, and she swirled her wine thoughtfully. “Maybe. It’s just . . . you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I said, and something in my tone made her straighten. She let out a deep breath, her brow furrowing again.

  “Fine. It’s just like, have you ever felt like a complete disaster area?”

  I nodded. “When I first started my construction business, I knew I was going to torch everything important to me. I’d left the Army and the promise of a promotion to do something I had no experience in. It’s just one of those things you have to let play out. I love working with my hands, and if I hadn’t given it a try—”

  She shook her head furiously. “No, it’s like ever since everything happened with Greg, I feel like I’m a failure, you know? I’m a disappointment.” Her face turned the brightest shade of red yet as she mumbled, “In the guy department. Ugh, this might be the wine talking, but I feel like he shattered my confidence. Like no man will ever truly want me.”

  “If we’d met under different circumstances, I would show you how very wrong you are.” The words came out before I could stop them and in a voice that had dropped to a low growl.

  Addison stared at me, her mouth half-open, her eyes unblinking.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  Sure, I was attracted to her, more than attracted. If she were anyone else, I would have been unbuttoning her pajama top an hour ago. Hell, I might have fucked her right on the kitchen table if she was down.

  But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Dylan’s nanny. And a great one at that.

  I could be attracted to her, but I had to keep my dick in my pants—especially now that I was rock hard, thinking about her spreading her legs open for me on the kitchen table.

  I cleared my throat and slapped my hands on my knees. Time to retreat before I fucked this up even harder.

  “Anyway, I better get to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

  “Um, yeah, g’night,” she murmured, her words barely above a whisper.

  I left my wineglass on the table and stood, careful to hide my erection as I marched up the stairs and disappeared into my bathroom.

  “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath.

  Total clusterfuck. She could be down there right now wondering if she should pack her bags and bolt.

  Then I thought back to her expression at the end there. The way her pupils had dilated, the way her delicate nostrils had flared, just slightly. Had her nipples gone hard beneath that pajama top?

  I groaned again and slid my hand down the front of my straining zipper. No way I was going to get any rest tonight until I tamed this fucking beast. I took my cock in hand, thinking of how soft and supple Addison’s skin would be against my chest. The lavender smell of her hair. The heat in her eyes when I’d all but told her how much I wanted her.

  I gripped myself harder, imagining that it was her full lips wrapped around my cock instead, working me up and down while her tongue lapped at the head, teasing me before she dipped lower and took all of me into her mouth.

  Damn, how I’d like to weave my fingers through her hair and feel her tits brush against my thighs while she was on her knees in front of me, sucking every last inch and still moaning for more.

  She didn’t feel sexy or desirable? By the time I was finished with her, she would feel like a fucking goddess. The way she walked, the way she moved her hips, I knew that she would be heaven between the sheets.

  Or on top of a table.

  Or against the wall.

  Or in the fucking street, for all I cared.

  I imagined myself sinking between her thighs and pushing deep, feeling her hips grind against me while I worked her sweet pink pussy.

  Fuck, if she let me at her, she would have all the confidence in the world.

  My balls drew up and I suppressed a groan as the need to come filled me. Working myself harder and faster, I closed my eyes, imagining those sweet lips wrapped around me, those wide eyes staring into mine.

  “Fu-uck!”

  I came in a hot, pulsing surge, relishing the wave of euphoria that swept over me, making my muscles quake. My breath was coming in long drags as I let my eyes slip open again.

  No big deal. This was perfectly normal for a red-blooded male living with sex on a stick. The old nanny fantasy.

  In my dirty mind, Addison was the perfect sensual vixen, ripe for the taking.

  And in my mind was exactly where she’d have to stay.

  Chapter Eight

  Addison

  Light streamed into the room and I blinked, rolling over to grab my phone from the nightstand beside me. Clicking it on, I glanced at the time and gasped.

  “Shit.” I jumped from the bed and rushed to the baby’s room, my hands already outstretched to soothe whatever tears were surely waiting for me.

  Why had the baby monitor stopped working? And why hadn’t Max woken me up before he left? He was already long gone—had probably left an hour ago, which meant Dylan was completely unattended and it was entirely my fault. If she was hurt or hungry . . .

  I pushed open the door to find Dylan standing at the bars of her crib, gurgling happily, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Thank God,” I breathed, moving closer to scoop her into my arms. As I approached, I noticed something else—a little piece of paper, the same shade of white as the crib, with tiny, scrawled words in cramped lettering.

  Addison—

  Sorry I missed you. The baby got up at the crack of dawn so we had a daddy/daughter early morning. She’s fed and changed and needed a few more Zs, so I figured I’d let her wake you when she was ready.

  Have a great day,

  Max

  I blinked. “Have a great day?” That was it?

  Why the hell would he get up so early with the baby when he had to work all day? Unless . . .

  I scrubbed my free hand over my face and then lifted Dylan from her crib.

  I’d overstepped last night—gotten too personal too fast. And now, of course, he was avoiding me.

  Greg had done that too. When I’d first confronted him about his proclivities in the bedroom, he’d shied away from me and barely spoken to me for a week. He’d told me that I ran over him like a steamroller, that I didn’t give him time to express himself naturally.

  Had I done that to Max too?

  Dylan strained to get down and I set her gently onto the carpet. She toddled toward the little box full of toys I’d brought for her yesterday, and I glanced around the room.

  This place alone should have been clue enough that Dylan hadn’t been living here long. Aside from the barely stocked white changing table and the matching white crib, the room was bare. The walls were white and the windows were undressed. It was more fitting for a nunnery than a nursery.

  “We’re going to have to do
something about this, little lady,” I told Dylan.

  “Ball,” she responded, holding one up to show me.

  “Smart little girl.”

  I pulled her into my arms again and carried her downstairs, careful to make sure her ball was in tow, and together we started our daily routine. We made breakfast together and ate, and afterward, I built a fort for her with the spare linens in the hall closet.

  Like I had the day before, I texted pictures and messages to Max, and little gray checks appeared on my screen, letting me know he’d seen my messages and had chosen not to respond.

  Well, that was okay. After all, he hadn’t responded yesterday either.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the mental image of him grimacing when he saw my name flash on his phone screen. Like just looking at what I said—no matter what it was—was some colossal reminder of what an oversharing, prying asshole I was. And then I’d gone and made it a billion times worse by telling him the story about Greg. Max had probably felt obligated to make me feel better, hence his panty-melting declaration, but that didn’t change the fact that I’d overstepped.

  There was nothing to do about that now, so Dylan and I went on with our day, playing and cleaning and laughing until the doorbell rang at three in the afternoon.

  I frowned, wondering if Max might be expecting a package, but when I made it to the door, I found a tall, leggy woman grinning at me. She was in a gray business suit that perfectly matched the color of her eyes and set off the bright red of her hair.

  I sucked in my cheeks, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Dylan and I had deemed today a pajama day.

  “Hello,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  “Oh, hi.” Her voice was just as chipper as her smile, but something about it sounded too shrill and wrong—almost like she’d had to rehearse what it sounded like to be polite. She took a step inside the house and I backed away, somewhat at a loss as she stuck her hand out toward me.

  I accepted it and shook it, not sure what else to do.

  “I’m Tiffany, Max’s assistant. I was in the area, and Max asked me to drop by and let you know he’d be working late tonight. He also wanted me to see if you all were doing all right?” She glanced over at the linen fort, which was primarily held up by the vacuum Dylan had taken to sitting on like it was a pony.