DILF DIARIES: Oh Baby

by St. Klaire, Stephanie

“I’m sorry?” Jules wasn’t sure where Marty was going with her line of questioning.

  “Just tell the boy.” Marty sighed and slapped her hand on the table between them for effect.

  “Tell him?” Jules was too stubborn to give in. “Tell him what?

  “You know what. And if I have to spell it out, then you really shouldn’t be working in an ER, smarty pants.”

  With a deep sigh, Jules gave in. “I care. Okay? This little girl lost her mom, she can’t lose her dad too.”

  Marty looked up at the ceiling as if there were a higher power there listening to her plea. “Why, oh why, is it always the smart ones who act so dumb and think the rest of us are dumb?” She then turned to Jules. “Uh huh. You forgot to say you can’t lose her dad either.”

  Jules’ mouth moved, but the words weren’t flowing. Her wide-eyed stare that went along with the speechlessness confirmed what Marty had already called out. She had it bad for Jack Decker and wanted to see him for herself. The rolling doors went up as the fire engines returned — as Jack returned. Jules excused herself and went out to meet him without saying a word. Saved by the truck.

  “Just as I thought.” Marty chuckled to herself.

  Once word got around that Ramsey and Jack were officially father and daughter, a few of the wives decided to throw a baby shower for Ramsey, which ended up becoming a large family barbeque at Jack’s. This was a different kind of barbeque than he was used to throwing, though. No strippers. No loud music. No drunken idiots. It was even over at a reasonable hour. This whole family thing was looking good on him. It was evident he was well loved, as was Ramsey — and even Jules.

  As the crowd dwindled to a low roar, the guys sparked an idea. Roman Knox was Jack’s best friend, paramedic, and the only real player in the bunch, it seemed. He and the other best friend, Felix, tried to coax Jack out for a few drinks as kind of a “bros only” afterparty.

  “C’mon, man. When’s the last time the three amigos went out?” Roman asked.

  “Amigos? Bro, we’ve talked about this. It’s offensive, and it just sounds stupid.” Felix was only half kidding. He hated how Roman called them the three amigos, but only because he hated the movie. Mostly, he just liked giving Roman shit.

  “You say that word all the time, Munoz,” Roman fired back. “I think you just like to bitch. All the more reason to go out and get a little buzz.”

  “Yeah, we all know what you want to get a little of, and I’m sure your shit’s going to fall off soon if you’re not careful.” Felix liked going out with the guys. They were a tight group, but he also liked giving Roman a hard time because his reputation wasn’t any better than Jack’s. The only difference was Roman’s was based on truths and broken hearts— Jack’s was based on bullshit.

  “You guys should go out. It’ll be fun. I think I’m going to hang with my best girl, though,” Jack said, holding Ramsey in the air and making goofy faces until she giggled. “I think she’s had a long day. We’re going to kick up our feet and catch a movie or something. Right, Rams?”

  “Just you and Ramsey?” Roman teased, looking across the yard at Jules. “I think we’ve got a lying piece of shit on our hands, Munoz.”

  “Language,” Jules scolded as she came into earshot. “What’s Jack lying about now?”

  Jack immediately shot Roman a challenging, I-fucking-dare-you glare, to which Roman grinned. Challenge accepted.

  “He’s just lying about why he won’t go to the Ram Shack for a few brews.” Roman smiled.

  “Oh really?” Jules frowned. “Why is that?”

  Roman looked at Jack. “Seems he doesn’t want to leave…his special girl.”

  “Screw you, Knox,” Jack warned. “Quit fucking around and grow up.”

  “Language,” Roman reprimanded, shaking a finger at Jack.

  “Jack?” Jules interrupted the squabble. “Is it true?”

  “Uh, is what…true?” Trying to buy time, Jack played it off. Roman’s accusation wasn’t far from the truth, but Jack wanted to know how the hell he knew — and if Jules reciprocated like he thought she might.

  “You want to stay home?” Jules clarified.

  “Well…I mean…” Jack stumbled over his words, planning a healthy ass-kicking for Roman.

  “Jack, it’s okay. I understand,” she said.

  “It…it is?” Jack was stumped. Maybe she did know and reciprocated. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I can totally watch Ramsey if you want to go out, though. I know you like your time together, but you need to be Jack too, not just dad. I can watch her,” she said. “It’s almost her bedtime anyway. I’ll just finish cleaning up then put her down. No biggie.”

  “Oh. That. Yeah. That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Jack said as Roman let out a high-pitched cackle on his way into the house.

  “What got into him?” she asked.

  “He’s just an asshole,” Felix said, following Roman.

  “Really. I don’t mind. Go have fun,” she said.

  “I’ll stay and help finish up. Go be a bunch of hooligans,” Marty added, arms full of empty beer bottles.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “If you’re sure?”

  Jules nodded and smiled, so Jack kissed Ramsey and put her in her bouncy seat for Jules.

  “See ya later…then…I guess.” And Jack headed inside after the guys.

  When the party was cleaned up and the baby put to bed, Marty agreed to stay for a glass of wine to end the evening. Marty ended up with a tall glass of ice water while Jules hit the bottle. One glass turned to two, then three, and before she knew it, Jules was on the second bottle pouring her heart out to Marty, who was still nursing the same ice water while listening, nodding, and rarely engaging. Jules went on about men, how they treat women, why women can’t trust them, how they just want to go out and party and have flings. She especially had a problem flirting, and “dirtbags like Roman.”

  “You want my two cents?” Marty asked. When Jules didn’t answer right away, clearly trying to decide whether it was a loaded or trick question, Marty laid it all out. “Well, I’ll give it to ya anyway. You won’t remember this shit tomorrow, but I’m going to say it anyhow. Stop fighting it.”

  “Fighting what?” Jules went into defensive mode.

  “Jack, the feelings — tell him what you think and feel.”

  “Oh, I could never…” Jules said before taking another sip. “None of this has to do with him anyway.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t.” Marty snorted. “That’s what’s wrong with you young people. Unless you can text it in the form of an emoji thing on those phones of yours, you don’t do feelings. Jack’s a good boy. I think he’d surprise you. And if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it and slash your tires.”

  When tears welled and threatened to spill over, Marty scooted away as if emotion were contagious. “Oh, Jesus. You’re not just a chatty drunk, you’re a drunk crier.”

  “I am,” Jules cried. “I cry from wine…OMG, wine makes me whine.”

  “It makes you foolish, that’s for sure. Just…lay down. You’re cut off. You need to sleep it off.” Marty tossed Jules a throw pillow and the folded blanket from the back of the couch.

  Jules accepted both and began to lay down after wiping her nose and face on her shirt. “Yeah, sleep with Jack. Got it. You’re really good at this, Marty.”

  “Oh, Lord, I didn’t just hear that.”

  When Jack arrived home, mostly sober, he was surprised to see Marty was still there.

  “Hey, I thought you would’ve left a while ago. Everything okay?”

  She pointed to Jules. “That one’s been drinking — likes the wine. But the baby is sleeping. Should be fine for the night. The blonde is another story. I’m outta here. Watching the runt wore me out.”

  “Wasn’t Ramsey asleep most of the time? Did she give you trouble tonight?”

  “Wrong runt,” she said.

  “Jules?”

  Marty nodded as she slung her bag over her shoul
der. “You got yourself a good thing going here. Don’t be an idiot and ruin it.”

  “Oh, we’re just friends,” Jack insisted.

  Marty shook her head and let out a deep sigh. “The blonde said the same thing, and I’ll tell you what I told her: friends my old wrinkled ass. I’d bet my famous cornbread otherwise.”

  “Cornbread? That’s serious talk, Marty.”

  Marty flipped him off. “Shut up, go to bed — but not with that one! She’s drunker than a skunk on moonshine.”

  Jack didn’t say a word, surprised by Marty’s claims. He left Jules asleep on the couch while he locked up and checked on the baby. It took him a few minutes to leave Ramsey’s room. He stared at her and smiled. Going out really wasn’t the same as it used to be. He missed her and wanted to come home the whole night. Sure, the guys were fun, but so was Ramsey, and he didn’t want to miss any more than he had to with her. And if he were being honest with himself, he wanted to get back to Jules too.

  She was bossy, sarcastic, and a pain in the ass — like a tiny dictator — but he enjoyed her company just the same. She may still think of him as the playboy type, but he could tell she was coming around and maybe seeing him for who he really was. She had to enjoy him as much as he enjoyed her being around. He could tell by the way she looked at him and how easily flustered she became when she caught him with his shirt off. That had to mean something.

  Then, there was how she was with Ramsey. She didn’t owe them a damn thing, yet here she was, co-parenting like she was invested or something. The playboy thing worked for a while, but it wasn’t who he was. It was a façade. He knew heartache and heartbreak, and neither were for him, so he let the rumors roll after a night at the Ram Shack when he disappeared down a hallway with a couple scantily clad women from out of town. The guys thought he was having a private party in a backroom. He was really out back behind the building changing a tire.

  It worked. His reputation grew, and he had admirers everywhere on both sides. Guys wanted to be him, and women wanted to be with him. Truth be told, he hadn’t been with anyone since Kate — and that was a one-time drunken night of mostly talking away their sorrows. Letting the reputation ride worked; it kept the real heartbreakers away, and the one-night standers thought they were always a minute too late.

  He returned to the living room where Jules was drooling on the couch. He chuckled as he swept her up to take her to his bed. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he held her a little higher so she couldn’t feel the hard ridge she was teasing.

  “Jack…are you here to rescue me?”

  “Whew,” he said, smelling the wine with every word. “Something like that. Looks like you had a little too much to drink, darlin’.”

  “No, I only drank all of it. That’s it.”

  “I think all of it was the problem, Jules.”

  “Yeah, Marty got me drunk, huh?”

  He chuckled. “Marty said you got yourself drunk.”

  “She’s a liar. Never did trust that woman,” Jules slurred.

  “She stayed to take care of you and Ramsey.”

  “Oh, that was sweet. I’ve always loved that woman,” Jules admitted.

  “I thought you didn’t trust her?”

  She raised her head abruptly and poked him in the chest. “You take that back. She’s the sweetest woman I know. But she’s kind of an asshole.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Jack laughed, because Jules, who was typically focused and totally together on all fronts, was a blubbering drunken mess, and it was funny.

  He lay her down on his bed, and she was quick to notice. “This is your room.”

  “That it is.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Jack. No matter how bad I want to.”

  He paused in surprise. Was this just the alcohol talking? “I know, Jules, I’m not sleeping with you either.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with me?” She raised her head, offended.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s the problem.”

  “Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping together.”

  “There’s a whole lot wrong with sleeping together,” he replied.

  “Exactly. Wait — why?” Jules’ head popped up from the pillow again. “My boobs too small?”

  “Not at all. They’re…perfect.” His cheeks puffed out as he let out a slow breath. This was getting complicated, and hard…where he really shouldn’t have been hard at that moment.

  Scooting on her knees to the edge of his bed, she placed one hand on her hip and looked back over her shoulder. “My ass is flat — not fat enough.”

  He shook his head, a bead of sweat gathering at his brow. “It’s…perfect…too.”

  “Good, I hate squats.” She nodded, and her lips twisted into a sour face as she went through a mental list of possibilities as to why Jack didn’t think sleeping together was a good idea. “It’s my name, isn’t it! I need a stripper name like Buffy Boom Shaboom. Is that a good stripper name?”

  Jack shook his head and laughed. “It’s a terrible stripper name. I prefer Jules. Not a stripper name.”

  “I like it when you call me Jules,” she said as she fell back into the pillows.

  “Do you now? That wine working as a truth serum?” he asked. “What else do you like?”

  “You, without a shirt, in a towel. Playing with a baby without a shirt, in a towel.” Her brow furrowed as she corrected herself. “You, that way, not the baby. That’s just weird.”

  “You like my body?” he asked, intrigued by her answer. She was making it really fucking hard not to climb into that bed.

  “No, I like your body,” she repeated.

  “That’s what I said.

  “No, you said ‘you like my body?’” she said in a low tone, mocking his voice. “But I like your body.”

  “That…makes more sense.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

  “Right? I like your hair and your smile. The way you grin, and wink, and that one eyebrow that does that thing when you’re being ornery…God, I love that thing,” she moaned before finishing. “Makes me want to jump your bones.”

  Jack’s eyes shot wide open. Part of him felt guilty for egging her on and letting her tell him how she felt about him, but there was a strong chance she’d forget everything by the time she sobered up, and he was willing to take the risk. “The eyebrow does it for you, huh?”

  “No, you in those…tight…black…underwears,” she slurred. “And you bending over. That makes me want to jump your bones. Jesus, even when you’re dressed and wearing that baby thing — Christ, my lady parts sing.”

  “They sing, huh? Wow, Jules.”

  “Yes, Jack. It keeps me up so late some nights, and I have to use the thing in my nightstand—”

  “Whoa,” he interrupted, putting his hands out in front of him. “You’ll regret telling me that in the morning.”

  “Yeah, batteries are dead…”

  Intrigued, he decided to let her finish. He’d warned her; she didn’t listen. It was no longer his fault she was giving him intimate details. “You use it that much?”

  “Yeah, every night now. I even use it here when I help with Ramsey.”

  “You do?” The thought of Jules getting off in his house while thinking about him was about to get him off.

  “Yeah, I read a lot.”

  “Wait, you use it to read? How does that work? Oh, wait — I know what you’re reading when you use it. I get it.”

  “You’re the only person with super powers, Jack. I can’t read in the dark, so I use the light.”

  Instant let down. This wasn’t going anywhere near the direction he thought. “The light. In your nightstand drawer.”

  “Yeah, what else would I keep in there? I’d never tell you about my vibrator.”

  And there it was. Jack’s disappointed lessened. “No, of course not. It wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss that at all.”

  She planted her hands on either side of his face and pulled him in for an unex
pected kiss. It was slow, sexy, and inviting. Her hands began to roam, and he let them. In the back of his mind, there was something nudging him to stop, and when he tasted the wine in her kiss, he was quickly reminded why he couldn’t have her. Not like this. She was drunk, and he wasn’t that guy.

  When he broke the kiss, she gasped, offended. “What — what did I do wrong?”

  It pained him that she thought she did something wrong when it was him who was crossing the line. “Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re perfect.”

  As quickly as she was offended, she was just as swiftly relieved. Jules lay back down and let him pull the covers up while she drifted off to sleep.

  He stood over her for a few moments, watching her drift off, wondering how much of what she said was booze talk and how much was real talk. Man, he hoped it was all the latter. Time would tell.

  Jack grabbed a blanket and kicked off his shoes and extra clothing before making the chair in the corner of his room his bed for the night. He wanted to be close in case she got sick and disoriented — which she did. Often.

  CHAPTER 9

  Waking up in the morning with a wicked hangover only to find yourself in bed with Jack Decker wasn’t Jules’ idea of a good morning. It was more of a nightmare. Especially when she tried to sneak out of bed only to find herself half-naked. Jules stood there, frozen, unable to move, looking down at herself and back to Jack, who appeared to be sleeping still…maybe naked. The jury was still out on that one. She. Freaked. Out.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” came the groggy voice from beside her. “How you feeling?”

  Jules slid back in bed and pulled the covers neck-high, hoping he hadn’t seen her in her…well, almost nothing. Then her mind shifted gears. What if he already had? Maybe he saw her in nothing. Her stomach rolled at the idea. And what was worse is she didn’t remember a damn thing.

  “Um, like I got ran over,” she answered. “We didn’t…”

  “No, we didn’t,” Jack said, followed by a raspy morning chuckle.

  Relief washed over her, until it sunk in. Suddenly, she wasn’t satisfied with being half-naked and his answer. “Wait, why didn’t we?”

  “You were wasted, and I’m not that kind of guy.”