“I know,” he says, breaking eye contact and hopping off the bed. He pads over to the kitchenette, grabbing the bottle of rum from a cabinet.
I take a deep breath. Okay. I can do this.
“I have a kid,” I say with as much emotion as someone ordering at a drive-through.
Dylan’s movements stop for a moment. I don’t even feel nervous, not exactly. All I can feel is my heart nearly pounding out of my chest, but it doesn’t feel like nerves. It’s more than that. It’s something else entirely. This moment is making me feel silly for being nervous about the LSATs.
This is nothing like taking the LSATs.
I hear Dylan clear his throat as he puts the bottle down. Then he turns around, putting his hands on the counter on either side of him as he leans back against it.
A smile tugs at one corner of his lips, but he stays stoic. He’s making himself look so damn sexy even in this, one of the most tense moments of my life. I expect my body to flood with anxiety, I expect my over-active brain to burst and send a flood of doubt through my body. But it doesn’t. All I can feel is that pounding inside my chest, and I find myself in disbelief as Dylan turns to grab more OJ from the fridge, topping off the glasses with juice and a bit more of that rum.
“A kid?” he says with his back to me.
“Yeah,” I say, looking down at my hands. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I can sure imagine. And my imagination goes to the worst possible place.
“How old is...it?” Dylan says awkwardly, clearly just guessing at the right way to ask his question.
I laugh, shaking my head.
“He’s a boy,” I say, “and his name is Jacob. He’s one. Well, he will be one tomorrow.”
“A year old?” Dylan says, “is that so?”
There’s so much inside his question. We both know what the timeframe means. But unfortunately, because of the crazy way things played out, I don’t know the answer to the question that remains unsaid between us.
“Yeah,” I say, “a year. This is the other thing I have to talk to you about.”
Dylan closes the cabinet and walks over to me. There is vulnerability and concern painted all over his face, in his eyes, in the hard way he has his jaw set. I can tell he might grind his teeth at night like I do from the tightness in his jaw. I want to tell him to relax, but I don’t know if it would do any good.
“What is it?” he says softly, perching on the bed next to me. He pours a bit more rum into each of our glasses and hands me one of the drinks while taking a big sip of his own, the ice clanking around as he brings the glass to his lips.
“The text you saw,” I say, my eyes flashing to his, “it was from Eric. He was my fiancé.”
I watch as Dylan’s fist curls up and then uncurls in his lap.
“Was my fiancé,” I say forcefully, “before I met you, like I said. I’d caught him cheating on me earlier that day. That’s why I was acting so...let’s just say crazy. I just wanted to forget everything. I just wanted to leave it all behind. Lose myself.”
I put my hand on Dylan’s back. For such a confident man, for such a talented, handsome, sexy bundle of delicious dirty talk and swagger, he seems very unlike himself right now.
He nods and shifts to face me.
“And the baby?” he says, “we used protection that night.”
“I know we did,” I reply, “I know.”
Dylan smiles softly and takes the glass from me, setting it down with his on the tray on the bed. I feel like our picnic’s been rained on with my news. But this is how I wanted tonight to go. It’s the way it had to go.
I had to do this.
“Amanda,” he says, taking my face in his hands, “I can’t wait to meet Jacob tomorrow.”
He kisses me deeply and I allow everything to fall away from me for a moment.
There is still one unanswered question, and tonight I received one really good answer.
22
Dylan
I hit the door of my truck with my hip to get it to close. I’m carrying two big cases filled with supplies.
Face paint. As assortment of different brushes. Kid-friendly sketches for the little ones to choose from - hearts, animals, stuff like that.
I look up at the building where Amanda owns her condo. There’s a few blue and white balloons tied up right inside one of the windows. That must be where the party is at.
My combat boots thud heavily on the ground, still wet from the rainstorm we had last night. As if by a damn miracle, the sky today is blue and bright and clear, without a cloud in the sky, and the atmosphere is cool and dry.
I think I’m good with kids, or at least I think I would be good with kids if I were ever around them. I’m pretty damn nurturing, if I do say so myself. All those inking sessions where I hear people spill their guts out and bear their hearts? - I think they’ve made me a good listener and good at giving advice.
Isn’t that what being around kids is about, at least partly? Giving good advice? Like hey, little Timmy, don’t put that glue in your hair.
See? I’ve started already.
I go up to the front door of the complex and hit the bell next to Amanda’s name. The door buzzes loudly and I push it open, making my way inside.
She must be a pretty damn good attorney to be able to afford a place like this. There’s got to be a fantastic view of the Hudson from here, and the train to the city is just a few blocks away. This is where all the young professionals live, and it’s in a really good area. It’s just the place to raise a kid. Good schools, good property value, and there’s a park right across the street. I imagine when Jacob gets a little older Amanda will want to move deeper into the suburbs, but for now I think this place is fantastic.
I catch myself and shake my head, laughing silently to myself. Here I am, approving of the place she’s decided to raise her kid, when in reality it’s none of my damn business.
After making my way to the elevator and a quick ride up to her floor, I step into the hallway and hear the laughter of kids and parents alike.
And I am flooded with apprehension. Fuck. I should turn around right now. I look down at my boots and my black t-shirt. I really picked the wrong outfit for the day. I didn’t even put any effort into my clothes at all. The only thing I was concerned with was getting kid-safe paint, some new brushes, making some quick sketches of animals, trucks, and other kid stuff, and grabbing a cat toy from the pet supply store for her sick kitty.
But I told Mandy I’d be here, so here I am, and I’ll be damned if I change my mind. I’m not going to disappoint her. I just won’t do it.
And it’s too late to turn around now anyway, because I see a door at the end of the hallway open and her head pop out.
“Dylan!” she says, coming out into the hallway.
The hair around her face is clipped up, accentuating her cheekbones while still letting that gorgeous brown hair fall down her graceful shoulders. She’s wearing a yellow and black sundress with a little black cardigan, and her lips are painted with pink gloss.
“Hey,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “sorry I can’t hug you. I’ve got my hands full.”
“Oh my goodness,” she says, her eyes wide, a smile lighting up her face, “what is all of this?”
“I thought I could do some face painting today,” I say, “you know, catch some new clients.”
“This is such an awesome surprise,” she says, “plus, the clown I hired cancelled at the last second.”
“Wow, what a clownish thing for him to do,” I quip, “imagine that.”
“It’s not a big loss,” Amanda says, smirking up at me, “I think it was about fifty-fifty on whether Jacob would be afraid of the clown, anyway.”
“Well, I have brought the fun activity for the afternoon,” I say, “now where are the little rascals?”
Amanda beams as she leads me into her apartment. I step inside behind her, and I’m met with an open plan kitchen with a big island in the center, covered with b
lue and white cupcakes, and in front of it, a young woman holding a little guy wearing a crown.
The woman must be the nanny, and the little guy must be Jacob. Amanda’s king and the birthday boy.
“Hello,” I say, putting down my two cases of supplies by the door. I have no clue why, but I’m smiling so hard it nearly hurts my damn face.
“Hello,” the young woman says to me with a smile. Amanda comes up next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.
“This is my nanny, Sarah. And this,” she says, taking the little man from Sarah, “is Jacob.”
I regard the kid from a slight distance. He’s so damn chubby - I think he and I go to the same pizzeria down the shore - and he’s got a thick head of curly, black hair. Enjoy it now kid, I want to tell him, because I had hair like that when I was younger, and now that I’m in my late twenties, it still looks reasonably good but isn’t curly like it used to be. I could have been in a boy band when I was a kid. Now, not so much.
“Hey, Jacob,” I say, putting my hand up to high-five him. He puts his face against his mom’s chest and coos a little.
“Say hello to Dylan,” she says gently, kissing him on one of his adorable, round cheeks.
I don’t know what age kids start talking, but the little man puts his hand up to high five me. I guess that’s his way of saying hello.
And Jacob smiles at me. It’s freaking crazy that I am feeling a connection to a baby - a baby who belongs to my girl’s ex - but my heart grows warm inside me. I feel like the little guy sees me, instead of seeing my clothing or my boots or my reputation or my ink. I’ve heard that kids can be very candid and aren’t afraid of pointing out oddities or things they find out of the ordinary with no regard for tact, but he doesn’t gawk at me at all the way some kids I’ve met do. And I suddenly feel hopeful when I look at him. The day feels fresh. It feels new. The only other person I’ve felt this with before has been Amanda.
“Hey, I like this guy,” I say, taking a small step back.
“I think he likes you too,” Sarah says.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m so rude,” I say, putting my hand out to shake hers, “nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she says, “can I get you anything?”
“I’m good for right now,” I say, “I actually brought some face painting supplies. Would you guys mind if I set up in here, or do you want to do it outside?”
“Here is fine,” Sarah says brightly, “let me help you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, grabbing my cases, “you’ve got your hands full. I’ve got it.”
“I’m gonna go see if our guests need anything, then,” she says, grabbing a tray of cupcakes. She nods over to the small dining table where three moms and five babies are sitting around, chatting and laughing. The moms look over at us and wave, and I wave back in return, flashing them a smile.
“I like kid parties,” I say to Amanda. She perches on the edge of a stool at the kitchen island, pulling Jacob onto her lap. “This is low key. It’s cool.”
“And what were you expecting?” Amanda asks with a small chuckle, smoothing out the big white bib on Jacob’s blue and white striped sailor onesie, “a keg?”
“Kids getting high on pacifiers?” I laugh, “I have no clue. Where should I set up?”
“Right there on the counter is perfect,” Amanda says.
I hitch my two cases onto the counter and open them up, taking out the bottles of kid- and skin-safe paint, the brushes, and a few paper cups I grabbed from home to keep everything contained and organized.
“Oh,” I say, remembering the cat toy I have stashed in my pocket, “I have something else for you.”
“Oooh,” Amanda says, turning to me, “what is it?”
I go into my pocket and pull out the little toy. She’d told me not to bring anything, but I wanted to bring a little something at least, in addition to the face painting supplies.
She cocks her head and gives me a smile when she sees the little toy mouse.
“What is this?” she says with a laugh.
“It’s a cat toy,” I say, slightly confused, “for Mr. Whiskers.”
Amanda looks down and bites her lip.
“I have a confession to make,” she says with a smirk, “there is no Mr. Whiskers.”
“What?” I say, concern growing in my chest, “did something happen to Mr. Whiskers? I thought you said he was okay.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, “I kind of made him up. When I had to leave our date, it was because Jacob had a fever. I didn’t want to tell you about him just yet. I’m really sorry.”
I shake my head, laughing, looking at the gray cloth mouse in my open hand.
“You mean you tried to pass your kid off as a cat?” I say.
Amanda nods, biting her lip.
“I guess so, kinda.”
“Is Jacob okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, he’s fine. I think it was just a little cold or the after-effects of an ear infection he had last week. You mad at me?”
“No,” I say, “I can understand why you did it. But let’s agree to no more little white lies, okay?”
I kiss her on the cheek and hand the mouse to Jacob, who takes it happily, putting the nose of the little toy to his nose.
“Is there catnip in there that can get my kid high or anything?” Amanda says, taking the toy from Jacob gently.
“Nope,” I say, “I checked with the store clerk. He said some people are iffy giving their cats drugs, so I’d be safer with this little guy. I’m not sure that catnip will make a kid high, but I guess you’re better safe than sorry with this kind of thing.”
“What kind of sound does a mouse make?” she says, turning her attention to Jacob, giving the little mouse back to him.
And Jacob promptly puts the mouse into his mouth.
“Okay,” I say, “should he be doing that?”
“No, he shouldn’t,” Amanda says, taking the mouse again gently, “but he’s at the age where he puts everything into his mouth. Here,” she adds, directing his attention to one of the beads on her necklace, “this thing doubles as a teething toy. Go at it, buddy. We’ll just save the mouse for later.”
“The mouse is pretty cute,” I say, taking him with me to the counter where I started taking out my paints, “now, down to business. Should I give you a bumble bee to match your dress?”
“Yes,” Amanda says, “and maybe Jacob can get a sailboat.”
“That would look adorable on him. How about a sailboat on one cheek and an anchor on the other? I have a little notebook of sketches for the kids to pick from.”
I pull the notebook out of one of my cases and hand it to Amanda. She takes it from me and starts flipping through with one hand, holding Jacob secure on her lap with the other.
“This is really cute,” she says, her eyes flashing up from the book to me.
“Of course I’ll do custom designs if any of the kids want. Lots of people come into the shop not knowing what they want, though. I figured kids would be the same way.”
“Half of these kids don’t even know their own name yet,” Amanda says.
“Then I did good with the sketch book,” I say.
“Yeah,” Amanda says softly, “you did good.”
I kiss on Amanda on the cheek before going into the dining room where the other party guests are assembled.
“Who wants their face painted?”
The moms and kids alike smile and me and a few of the kids clap - or, they try to. I guess they’re not at the stage of development where they can really successfully clap yet, but they’re trying.
I never imagined I’d be doing face painting at a kid’s birthday, but I think I might end up being pretty damn good at it.
And I’ll finally be able to give Mandy that tattoo she wanted.
23
Amanda
“He isn’t what I expected,” Sarah says to me.
The party was lovely. Dylan held Jacob while Jacob blew out the one s
ingle candle on the small ice cream cake Sarah and I made for the party. I’ve always loved ice cream cake, but the store-bought ones are too simple for such a special day. I wanted to do something a little bit extra for my little man’s big day, so we made one to mimic a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, complete with a mini PB&J nestled right on top. That, paired with the face painting and the balloons and the cupcakes made for the perfect party.
It’s been the perfect day.
All of the guests have left - well, all except one. And I don’t know if I think of him as a guest. As I watch him and Jacob playing with a big blue mylar balloon on the floor of the living room, I’m starting to think Dylan isn’t a guest at all. I’m starting to think he belongs here.
“What were you expecting?” I ask, picking up a couple of crumpled cupcake foils from the kitchen counter, dropping them into a big garbage bag.
“I don’t know,” she says, “maybe, like, more...I don’t know. He isn’t one night stand material, I will say that much.”
“I know,” I breathe, “he isn’t.”
“You don’t have to say anything else,” Sarah says. I look over at her, taking my eyes away from Dylan and Jacob, and catch her looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
I continue tossing empty paper cups and cupcake foils into the trash bag.
“He’s already more than a one night stand, isn’t he?” Sarah say.
“I told you already,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, “I don’t know.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, shaking her head wistfully. “I was asking if he means something more to you regardless of…you know.”
Has it been completely irresponsible of me to leave the confirmation of Jacob’s dad’s identity unknown? What should I have done? I’ve tried to not let it get to me. I’m still trying to not let it get to me, because there’s nothing I can do about it right this second. His dad is either Eric, the cheating douchebag who I left and will never go back to, or his dad is Dylan, the drunken one night stand. The man I never thought I’d see again, who I thought didn’t want to see me again. I wouldn’t introduce my child into a situation like that; I wouldn’t want to introduce my child to a man who was lukewarm about me.
Bad Boy's Baby_A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance Page 15
