Best Laid Plans

by Farlow, LK

  “I guess we better get going,” I say, trying to maneuver out from under my snoring toddler.

  “Or, y’all could stay.” Alden’s eyes widen at his suggestion. “I mean, Tatum’s already out cold, and she has her room here, and I have a guest bedroom set up too. You don’t have to though. It’s just an idea.”

  His nervous rambling is endearing. “No. That’s fine, we’ll stay.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Let’s tuck her in, and I’ll show you to the guest room.”

  I smile and nod as he scoops her up into his strong arms. We once again head up the stairs and together we tuck her in, taking turns kissing her forehead. Poor thing must be exhausted; I hope she’s not getting sick.

  “C’mon,” Alden whispers, grabbing my hand. “Guest room is right down here. You have your own private bath. My room’s at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

  He turns the knob and opens the door, and I’m thoroughly impressed by how inviting this room is. The floor is covered in a plush, sheepskin rug, the bed is decked out with a fluffy, inviting down comforter, and the walls are the most relaxing shade of gray—so pale it’s almost white.

  “Bathroom’s through there.” He nods to the door on the far side of the room. “Towels are stocked. Probably some soap too. You want a shirt or something to sleep in?”

  I glance down at my ensemble of linen shorts and a tank top. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you, Alden.”

  He looks me up and down, smiling. “Yeah, you are. G’night. I’m the next room over if you need me.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” Things are feeling awkward now. Without Tatum as a buffer, it’s safe to say both of our minds are venturing back to earlier today.

  Alden turns to go, giving the door frame two taps as he passes it. “Sleep tight,” he murmurs and then he’s gone.

  34

  Alden

  The thought of Natalie sleeping under the same roof as me—especially after us damn near fucking in the pool—has me way too keyed up to sleep.

  I’m hard enough to pound nails—though I’d rather pound Natalie—and hornier than a fourteen-year-old boy with his first nudie magazine. Basically, shit is dire over here, and I have no choice but to relieve some of this tension flowing through me.

  I shuck off my sweats and lie back onto my bed, propped up against my headboard. I let my eyes drift shut as my right hand trails down my abdomen, lower and lower, calling my go-to Natalie fantasy to mind.

  We’re finally alone together after exchanging looks all night long; you know, the kind that says let’s get naked. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her between my legs. I pop the button to her skin-tight jeans, loving the way she blushes as I pull them down, revealing her pale pink lace thong to me—Goddamn. I waste no time removing her shirt and matching bra. Girl’s a goddess.

  She nibbles her lower lip and asks, “What about you?”

  “What about me, Small Fry?” I run my hands over the firm swell of her ass, up her sides and palm her tits. They’re barely a handful, but that’s okay—just means they’ll be a perfect mouthful.

  “Are you gonna take your clothes off too?”

  I lean forward and suck her left nipple into my mouth, nibbling and kissing it before showing her right side the same attention. “Do you want me to?”

  “Y-yes,” she moans, her head thrown back.

  Once I’m naked, I slide her thong down and press a soft kiss to her right hip, trailing my tongue across and dipping low before kissing the left hip as well.

  I pull her into me and roll us so that she’s on her back and I’m hovering over her. We’re both a little tipsy, but damn, I think it’s making us both feel more. “You sure, Small Fry?”

  “More than ever.” She sounds like she means it and I press forward, meeting resistance. “Keep going,” she gasps out, sounding almost in pain.

  “Oh, holy shit!” My erection dies a painful death. I feel fucking sick. I race from my bed to my en-suite bathroom, where I promptly lose the delicious dinner and popcorn from earlier tonight.

  All this time, that’s been my go-to spank bank material—a fucking fantasy. Except, I’m pretty sure it’s not make-believe. I’m pretty sure that’s a memory of the night Tatum was created.

  A few dry heaves later, I’m in the shower, trying my best to chill the fuck out. That couldn’t have been a memory, right? Nah. Unless…

  Fuck.

  I shut off the water and throw my sweats back on, not bothering to dry off. I need to talk to Nat. I have to talk to Nat.

  Singularly focused on getting to the bottom of this…epiphany, I tear out of my room and rush into the guest bedroom, not even bothering to knock.

  The sight of her lying in bed, with the covers pushed down around her hips, wearing only her tank and panties while reading on her phone, just about does me in.

  “We gotta talk.”

  She tosses her phone down onto the bed and pulls the blanket up to cover her. Pity. “About what? Is everything okay?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “Fuck, Nat. I don’t know. I…I think I remembered.”

  She looks at me like I’m spouting off complex math equations in Mandarin. “Remembered what?”

  “That night. Us. Together.”

  “I’m sorry. But, what?” She shakes her head. “Alden, I’m not following.”

  Oh, Jesus. I’m going to really have to spell this out for her. “I…ahem. I was taking care of business, and there’s always been this one fantasy I would play in my head.” Kill me now, I just admitted to jerking off to her for years. “But tonight…tonight was different. Tonight, I realized it was a memory.”

  Realization dawns. “Are…are you sure?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

  “About ninety percent. I was hoping you could clear it up for me.”

  She nods, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

  I go through my fantasy with her, as painful as it is, and by the time I’m finished, she’s all-out sobbing. “Nat, are you okay?”

  She flings off the blanket and crawls to me, wrapping herself around me. Her tears are cool on my overheated skin. “You re-remember.” The words are soft and broken sounding. Right here, in this moment, the weight of her relief is palpable.

  “I do,” I murmur, kissing away her tears.

  We sit just like that, with her quietly weeping while I rock her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Finally, she calms and pulls back, and I wipe the moisture from beneath my own eyes…what the hell? When did I start crying?

  I’m scared she’s going to vacate my lap, but she snuggles into me deeper and asks, “What now?”

  We both do our best to ignore the way my untimely erection is pressing into her, begging for the release he’s twice been denied today. “This might sound crazy, but I want to give us a chance. I don’t care how it complicates things. I want you, and I think you want me too.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Me. You. Together.”

  It’s kind of cute the way her brain isn’t processing what I’m saying. “Like together? For real?”

  “Yeah, Small Fry, for real. I think we’d be doing us—and Tatum—a disservice not to see where things go. I’ve always been attracted to you, long before it was socially or morally acceptable. I want to try and see if things will be as good between us in real life as they are in my head.”

  “I…Yes,” she breathes out the word on a shaky exhale. I lean in for a kiss, but she pulls away. “But, we need to tread carefully. Because as amazing as this could be, there’s also the potential for it to end horribly—and we’ll still have to co-parent, even if things go south. We don’t need to get Tatum’s hopes up until we know for sure.”

  Here she is, once again, showing me what an amazing mother she is to our girl. Even now—especially now—she’s putting her first. “Agreed. We play it casual when Tatum’s around. But, Nat, I’m not holding back.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is
soft and breathless—a direct line to below my belt.

  “We’re gonna do this right. I know we’re all kinds of out of order, but I want to date you. To woo you.”

  “Th-that sounds good.” She sounds overwhelmed, in the best possible way and I love it.

  “But, there’s something I gotta do first.”

  “Wha—” I swallow her words with a kiss, molding my lips to hers, my tongue demanding entry, which she immediately allows. I taste and savor her, drinking down the soft noises she makes like a sweet nectar. Her hips begin to shift restlessly, signaling to me that it’s time for me to pull away.

  Which I do, much to her and my dick’s dismay. The little wanton moan she gives as she chases my lips makes me feel like I’m on top of the fucking world. “Dream of me, Small Fry,” I say, brushing my mouth against hers once more before retreating back to my bedroom.

  35

  Natalie

  You know when something seems too good to be true, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming? This is totally one of those moments. Using the nails of my thumb and index finger, I squeeze at the skin of my thigh. “Ouch!” Definitely not dreaming then, and yet all of my dreams are coming true.

  I quickly set an alarm on my phone to make sure I’m up before Tatum. The last thing I want is for her to wake up scared. I grab my spare charger from my bag and plug my phone in.

  I toss and turn for a few minutes, unable to find sleep. Restless and overly excited, I slide out of my bed and creep down the hall to check on my sweet girl. I’m relieved to find her curled up in a ball and snoring like an old man.

  Back in the guest room, I crawl under the covers and will my mind to shut down. Finally, after what feels like forever, sleep takes me.

  I wake feeling more relaxed and rested than I’ve felt in a long time. A quick glance at my phone tells me why. It’s nine-thirty—well past the time I set my alarm for.

  As fast as I can, I step into my shorts and dash toward Tatum’s room. But she’s not there. I fly down the stairs, only to come up short at the sight of Tatum and her daddy in the kitchen cooking up a feast.

  I stay put in the shadows, observing them together, my heart swelling with emotion. Their relationship is so effortless. I can only hope mine and Alden’s will be the same.

  At the sound of their combined laughter, I step into the room. “I see y’all got the party started without me.”

  “We’s not at a party. We’s making breakfast. Pamcakes!”

  “Ooh, I love pancakes. What kind?”

  “All da kinds!” Tatum gleefully yells.

  “And by that, she means, banana walnut, chocolate chip, and old-fashioned buttermilk.” He waves his arms Vanna-White-style toward the island. “In the way of toppings, we have sliced bananas, freshly made whipped cream, and strawberries.”

  “Y’all went all out, huh?”

  “Yes! Daddy said we was gonna make it for you and surprise you in bed. But, you waked up.”

  “Breakfast in bed, really?”

  “Thought you might enjoy being taken care of for once.” Swear to God, I’m a puddle of swoon at this man’s feet. “I heard your alarm going off, and I might have turned it off and woke Tatum up. Hope I didn’t overstep.”

  “Well, you aren’t gonna hear me complain. Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in.”

  “You deserve it, Nat. Now, let’s eat!”

  We dig in, each of us choosing a different flavor. I go for the banana walnut, Tatum obviously devours the chocolate chip topped with whipped cream, and Alden opts for the buttermilk doused in syrup and covered with strawberries. All in all, it’s been the perfect morning, and if I play my cards right, there will be a lot more of them.

  The rest of the day is spent poolside, breaking only for lunch—grilled cheese and tomato soup. We swim and soak up the sun until it starts to dip below the horizon.

  * * *

  Alden makes good on his promise of wooing me. So much so that here we are, two weeks out from what I like to call Remembrance Day, and he’s just now taking me out on our first real, official date.

  Now, that’s not to say that just because we haven’t had our date yet that he hasn’t been wooing me. Because, sweet baby Jesus, he has. From fresh coffee waiting for me on my opening shifts, to shoulder rubs, and even a spa day, that man has been wooing my socks off.

  Our dateless status is not from lack of trying, either. He’s been slammed at work, trying his hardest to revive our sweet little café, and my class load has been kicking my ass—who knew accounting was so damn hard? The only highlight in all of this is even though we’re moving at a snail’s pace, he’s still a regular fixture in my and Tatum’s lives.

  Any time I need a little extra help—and even when I don’t—he’s there. We eat dinner together most nights—sometimes at my place and sometimes a quick bite at the café. Lord knows Tatum thinks going to Mama and Daddy’s work is the best thing ever.

  But back to the date thing. I’ve cycled through every outfit in my closet. Usually I would break out my trusty wrap dress, but maybe on this first date, I do want to put out. I’m in a downward spiral of fashion despair when my doorbell rings.

  “Come in,” I holler, knowing good and well it’s Jenny. Since I’m still not on the best of terms with my parents, and Nate’s still working nights, she agreed to keep Tatum for us tonight.

  Jenny’s cheery voice fills my apartment as she greets Tatum. “Hey Lil Mama!”

  “I’s not a mama!” Tatum informs her, mild toddler outrage coloring her tone.

  “My bad. Are you excited for us to hang out tonight?”

  I can’t see my daughter, but I can vividly picture her reaction. Most likely she’s tapping her pointer finger against the sweet, little dimple in her chin pondering the question.

  “That a’pends. Will you paint my fingernails? Can we have dessert first? And can we watch Trolls?”

  “I will even paint your little piggies. No ma’am, dinner first. And you betcha.”

  It’s quiet for a minute and then Tatum says, “Two outta free, not bad. Oh. You go helps Mama?”

  “Help your mama with what?”

  “Her says she has nothing to wear, but Miss Jenny, her has lots of clothes. Not as much as me, but lots!”

  Jenny laughs. “I’ll get her sorted. Maybe you can think about whatcha want to eat?”

  “You can cook?”

  “Lord no, but I can order takeout like a boss.”

  “Uh. Okay.”

  Jenny laughs again as she makes her way down the hall to my room. At the sight of damn near every stitch of clothing I own strewn across the room, she doesn’t even blink. Nope. She just sets to work organizing it and creating outfit choices out of items I would have never ever thought of pairing together.

  I watch in awed silence as she works until she has three outfits laid out on the bed for me. The first one being a flouncy, burgundy-colored chiffon skirt with a black button-down blouse. The second is a little slip dress I forgot I even owned. It’s a silky emerald green and shorter than sin. The third is by far the most out of my comfort zone, which is saying a lot seeing as number two looks like sexy pajamas. Somehow Jenny managed to find an old crop top of mine that I only wear when I’m cleaning and has paired it with a pair of pale pink, high-waisted linen shorts.

  “The first is really cute,” I murmur, my eyes straying back to option number three.

  “It is,” she agrees. “But let’s start with this little number.” She grabs the shorts and crop top and shoves them into my arms and then me into the bathroom. “Get changed, babe. Now.”

  I do as she says because, at this point, someone else calling the shots is a weight off my chest. I’m already clad in sexy undies—not that he’ll be seeing them, but a girl can hope. I slide my legs into the shorts and pull them up, instantly appreciating how the rise accentuates my waistline.

  It’s the crop top that has me out of sorts. It’s almost cut like an
elongated sports bra, stopping at the bottom of my rib cage. Due to the cut, an actual bra is out of the question. Hope he doesn’t take me anywhere chilly.

  All in all, the outfit is good. It doesn’t show nearly as much skin as I was imagining—just a sliver of my abdomen. Feeling inspired, I quickly turn on my curling iron, tease my crown, toss my hair into a low pony and curl the ends. After that, I dust on some bronzer, apply a hint of eyeliner, coat my lashes in mascara and gloss my lips. Hell yeah. I’d do me.

  I step out, and Jenny appraises me like I’m a piece of art and she’s a critic. I’m worried she hates it but said worry dissolves when a brilliant grin splits her cheeks. “Yesss! Bow to your queen!”

  I give her a little bow and we both giggle.

  “Now you need to accessorize.” A statement necklace and a few bangles later, I’m just about ready. I cross the room to my closet in search of the perfect shoes, settling on a pair of nude-colored wedges.

  “Are you meeting him or is he picking you up?” Jenny asks, as Tatum barrels into the room.

  “Mama! You look so pretty. But why your tummy showing?”

  Her question catches me totally off guard. Luckily, Jenny answers for me. “Because she’s a grownup and wants it to.”

  “Can I show off my tummy when I grow’d up?”

  “As long as you’re over eighteen, go for it, kid.”

  “Yay!” Just as quickly as she entered, Tatum exits the room in a tornado of excitement.

  We both laugh and then I say, “And to answer your question, he wanted to pick me up, but I figured it would be confusing for Tatum if I went somewhere with her daddy and left her behind…”

  “Ah. Smart, Mama.” She ushers me toward the door. “Have fun. We’ll call if we need you.”

  On the way out the door, I stop and pepper my girl with kisses, hugging her tight. “I love you, Tater Tot. Be good for Miss Jenny?”