6+ Us Makes Eight: A Teacher and Single Dad Romance (Baby Makes Three)

by Nicole Elliot

  “I’m not attached. I like spending time with him. I like having someone to indulge carnal desires with.”

  “Carnal desires? Are we really not going to say ‘sex’?” she asked.

  “You can say it however you want. The point is, I enjoy what I’m doing, and I know he’s not playing me,” I said.

  “Well, at least you’re not as cynical as you used to be.”

  “I’m not cynical.”

  “You were. Always shutting yourself off from the world and talking about ‘doom and gloom’ bullshit when it came to men. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to have a date.”

  “Then isn’t this a good thing?” I asked.

  “I don’t want you to give your trust to the wrong person. That’s all. And Ryan? With his reputation? He’s the definition of the wrong person.”

  “Then maybe people should stop judging him on his reputation and get to know him.”

  “If he kept people around long enough without trying to fuck them, maybe we would,” she said.

  “He’s keeping me around.”

  “Which is the only reason why I’m not currently telling you to run for the hills,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “The relationship is strictly casual with a dash of me making sure the kids are okay. They’re going through a heck of a situation with their mother, and I do care about them. Zoey in particular, since she’s in my class.”

  “Just make sure it’s casual for you both at all times. Ryan doesn’t get serious. He never has. That much is certain from his public persona. And before you shit on me again, if he didn’t want to be painted the way he is in the media, he’s rich enough to have ways to cover up how he lives his life. He chooses not to, and that opens him up to hefty opinions his P.R. sector fields on a constant basis.”

  “Thanks for being concerned,” I said. “But now? I have to pee.”

  I set my glass of wine down and headed for Catherine’s bathroom. But I didn’t have to use it. I locked the door behind me and leaned against the counter, then promptly searched the internet for Ryan’s name. I was vaguely aware of his reputation, but Catherine was making it seem like he was a serial playboy. Someone who took pride in breaking the hearts of other women and making a public spectacle of it. And that didn’t seem right.

  But her insistence on it left me uneasy.

  His name was so fully searched that Google filled it in for me and a knot tightened in my stomach. I clicked on the news button and began to scroll, and what I found was nothing short of exactly what Catherine said. Tabloid articles on love affairs with married women and scandals involving women that claimed he harassed them at one point in time or another. Late night articles with him coming out of clubs, his arms draped over two women. Covered in glitter. Throwing back shots. Partying abroad in his own hotels surrounded by women in bikinis.

  And the headlines were disgusting.

  Playboy Billionaire Breaks The Bank For Latest Bunny

  Woman Accuses Playboy Billionaire of too Much Play in Office

  Bikinis and Billionaires: The Secret Life of Ryan Aaron (That Isn’t So Secret)

  10 Things Ryan Aaron Does To Woo Women That You Shouldn’t

  It went on for pages. Pages and pages of nothing but Ryan and his extracurricular activities in clubs and hotels around the world. Very little was centered around his business, and none of it painted him in the light I had seen him in over the past few weeks. My heart was slamming against my chest and my hands were shaking.

  Was Catherine right?

  Could I really not trust Ryan?

  I thought I could. The mere fact that he kept asking me out and wanting me to come over told me I could. I was about to go over there tomorrow night for dinner, but now I wasn’t sure. Was CPS right? Were those kids really safe with him?

  I refreshed the news section of Google and took a look at the dates for the articles.

  All of them, published a long time ago. And the most recent article regarding his antics was published almost five weeks ago.

  That was good, right?

  That meant he was conducting his life differently, right?

  But if he was doing it differently for the kids, then what would happen when he didn’t have them? When his sister got out of the hospital and went back home, would he resume his older ways? Would he toss me aside and find me boring once it was appropriate for him to get back out to the big-busted women I saw in the articles?

  My head was spinning, and suddenly I wanted to go home.

  “Emma? You okay in there?”

  Catherine knocked on the bathroom door and I was ripped from my trance.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I think I had a little too much wine,” I said.

  “That isn’t even your first glass.”

  “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. So it’s probably that.”

  “Girl, why the hell didn’t you say so then? I’ll order us some Chinese. You want your usual?”

  “That sounds good. Yeah. Thanks. I’m going to splash some water in my face, then I’ll be out.”

  “Take your time, girl. Red wine on an empty stomach is never a good thing.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  I tucked my phone into my pocket and turned on the faucet. I had no idea what I was going to do. I wanted to spend time with Ryan. I enjoyed the time I spent with him. He made me feel beautiful. Wanted. Cherished in the way a woman should feel. But after seeing those articles, my mind was running away from me.

  I felt in over my head.

  I threw some water into my face, then reached for a towel. My hands were shaking and I knew I had to find a way to calm myself down. I wasn’t sure what to do about dinner with Ryan and the kids the next day, but I knew what I needed to do immediately.

  I needed to emotionally remove myself from the situation.

  I had to make it about the kids again.

  “Emma?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The Chinese place is running a special. Want some vegetable lo mein, too?” Catherine asked.

  My stomach growled in anticipation as I hung the towel back up.

  “That actually sounds good. Get me some. And some of those crab rangoon things, too. I’ve been wanting more since I tried one of yours.”

  “Coming right up,” she said.

  “And feel free to dig in my wallet for money!”

  “You got dinner last time, so it’s my treat. Love you, mean it!”

  I shook my head as I drew in a deep breath. I could panic all I wanted at a later time. But right now, I was with Catherine. Enjoying some girl time after a very long and exhausting week at work. It was time I needed with her and I wasn’t going to let her opinions of Ryan spoil it for me. I was a big girl. I could make decisions on my own.

  If only I knew what the right decision for this situation was.

  “Emma?”

  “I really can’t pee in peace can I?” I asked.

  “I’ve got Magic Mike 2 as well as the new Fast and Furious movie. Which do you want?” Catherine asked.

  “Do you really have to ask me?”

  “Fast and Furious, it is. Hopefully Vin Diesel’s shirtless in this one.”

  “He’s always shirtless. You’ll get your shot,” I said with a grin.

  “Got the food ordered! Now get your ass out here and watch all the explosions with me.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said.

  Sixteen

  Ryan

  “No, Zoey! Stop!”

  “Uncle Ryan! Zoey spilled the milk!”

  “I’m gonna get you!”

  I threw my head back and laughed as Zoey chased the boys around the kitchen. Emma had come over for dinner and we were all gathered around the kitchen island trying to piece things together. The chicken was in the oven and the vegetables were roasting on the top rack, and Zoey proclaimed that she wanted cake for dessert.

  And apparently, Emma could bake.

  “Ryan, could you
hand me the little bit of milk that’s left in that jug? We can replace what we don’t have with water and then add some sour cream and half and half to make it moist.”

  Zoey chased the boys around the kitchen with milk on her hands as flour flew everywhere. I was covered in it. Zoey’s hair was dusted in it. The boys’ shirts had floured handprints all over them. But I didn’t care. This apartment had never felt more like home until this very moment. With Emma baking a cake and the kids running around chasing each other with the flour-and-milk mess on their fingers.

  “Got you!”

  Benjamin slapped his dirty hands on my back and I turned around. I chased him down the hallway, leaving footprints dusted in powdered sugar in my wake. Emma and Zoey were giggling and Hunter was hiding. Waiting for one of us to creep up on him so he could douse us with whatever he was holding. I picked Benjamin up and swung him around, listening as giggles fell from his lips.

  Then, something splashed on the back of my legs.

  “Got you!” Hunter exclaimed.

  I looked back behind me as Benjamin wiggled from my grasp. I was soaked to the bone in water. I looked at Hunter as a broad smile crossed my face, then I chased him back down the hallway. Zoey was sitting on the kitchen island with Emma cracking eggs and stirring the cake mixture, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the sight. Emma, with her full-length summer dress and her bare little feet with her beautiful blonde hair pulled back, smiling at Zoey who wanted to change into a dress the second Emma had walked through the door.

  She was teaching my niece how to bake a cake from scratch.

  “Can I see?” Benjamin asked.

  “Oh! Can I crack an egg?” Hunter asked.

  “You’ll have to ask Miss Emma,” I said as I picked Hunter up in my arms.

  I set the boys on the counter next to Zoey before I wrapped around to stand beside her.

  “The key to making a cake is to measure out the ingredients well. Cooking is abstract, but baking is science. Chemical reactions are what cause these ingredients to become what they do underneath a certain temperature. A little too much or too little of either ingredient and the cake is ruined,” Emma said.

  “Can I do something?” Benjamin asked.

  “You want to stir? I need to mix the wet and dry ingredients, but I need someone to stir,” Emma said.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Can I pour the wet stuff?” Hunter asked.

  “Of course you can,” Emma said with a smile.

  “What can I do?” Zoey said.

  “Your job is the most important,” Emma said. “The wet ingredients have to be combined in three stages. So Hunter will pour, and you tell him when to stop. Do you know how much one third is?”

  “No,” Zoey said.

  “Okay. See this bowl of wet ingredients?” Emma asked.

  She picked up a bowl with stuff sloshing around in it and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was so patient with the kids. And always willing to teach. I wondered if she had always been like that. So willing to educate others.

  “I see it,” Zoey said.

  “Use your mind to split it into three pieces. That’s how much Hunter needs to pour in at one time before stopping. You tell him when to stop, okay?” Emma asked.

  “I can try,” Zoey said.

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Emma said with a smile.

  She handed the stirring utensil to Benjamin and he went to work. Emma picked Hunter up in her arms and held him over the bowl while he poured in the ingredients, and Zoey had way too much fun telling her brother when to stop doing something. And she did pretty good. The first pour had way too much in it, but she got the hang of what was supposed to be happening. Hunter shook the bowl of wet ingredients until absolutely nothing was left, then set him back on the counter by his sister.

  “Way to go,” Hunter said as he held out his hand for Zoey.

  I watched her high-five her brother as a smile crossed my cheeks.

  “What now?” Benjamin said.

  “You want to pour the batter into the cake pan?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah!”

  The chicken and the vegetables came out, then Hunter helped Emma slide the cake in. The kids helped her whip up a quick cream cheese frosting for when the cake was done, and I plated all of our food. The kitchen was a complete disaster. It would take us at least an hour to clean the place down. But for dinner, I settled for the kids washing themselves up a bit before we all sat down.

  “Miss Emma?”

  “Yes, Zoey?”

  “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Of course,” Emma said. “Anytime.”

  “This is really good,” Hunter said with a mouth full of chicken.

  “Mhm,” Benjamin said as he ate his vegetables.

  “Well, you guys all helped, so be proud,” I said. “Dinner is good because you guys made it.”

  “Can we make more dinners like this?” Zoey asked.

  “Yeah! And Miss Emma can bake cakes!” Hunter said.

  “Only if you guys help,” Emma said with a wink.

  “Can I stir the next one, too?” Benjamin asked.

  “Of course you can. And if it’s all right with Ryan, I’ll even let you lick the spoon,” Emma said.

  “Yes!” Benjamin exclaimed.

  Dinner was fantastic. The kids talked Emma’s ear off about their days and she listened with great intent. Benjamin asked for help with his English homework and Emma was more than happy to help him with it. I cleaned up the majority of the kitchen while she helped all three of the kids with their homework for the night, then it was time for a bath.

  Honestly, we all needed one.

  Dirty clothes got tossed in the bins and we all tried to clean ourselves down a bit. Emma wiped herself off at the sink, then we switched off, so I could do the same. We ran three tubs of water for each kid, washing the flour and sugar and oil from their hands and hair. Emma and I were still a little coated in things, but it wasn’t as bad as it was before. We got the kids dried off and into pajamas, and by the time nine o’clock rolled around they were all in bed.

  Emma even read them a bedtime story before the lights went out.

  I stood at the couch with a glass of wine prepared for her when she slid out of the room. She looked at me with a far-off glance, and I could tell she was in her own little world. Exploring the depths of a mind that was slowly captivating me. Even with the flour still in Emma’s hand and the glistening of oil and butter still on her chest, she looked beautiful.

  Incredible.

  Magnificent.

  “Oh, is that for me?” Emma asked. “Please say it’s for me.”

  “It is,” I said with a smile. “Here., I figured you could use it.”

  She took the glass from my hand and our fingers touched. Electricity shot through my veins and I dropped my arm quickly to my side. I didn’t want her seeing the goosebumps that raged along my skin at the touch of her fingertips.

  “Wanna sit?” I asked.

  “Yes. My feet are killing me,” Emma said.

  “Well, I’d tell you to kick off your shoes, but you did that earlier.”

  “They’re currently covered in milk. And I can’t say wet shoes are comfortable shoes.”

  “Not in my experience,” I said with a grin.

  The two of us sat down on the couch and I patted my lap. Emma looked at me with a curious stare as she sipped her wine, unsure of what to do. I rolled my eyes and reached for her legs, then spun her around and placed her feet in my lap. Her eyes were hard on the side of my face as I took a swig of my Scotch.

  “Better?” I asked.

  “We’ll see in a few minutes,” Emma said.

  “So what were you thinking about earlier?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You came out of the room and had sort of a glazed over stare. Everything okay?”

  “Oh. That. Yeah, yeah. Everything’s okay.”

  “Then why am I not convinced?”

  “I was just thinking, tha
t’s all.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  She took another long pull of her wine as I sat there patiently.

  “About how being around you makes me feel,” Emma said.

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Bold. Brave.”

  “Do you not feel those things on a regular basis?” I asked.

  “No. Though trust me, I know that’s the persona I give off.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being serious. But she had a point. She did give off an air of confidence and grave. Poise in a way that struck me as strong. To hear her admit she didn’t feel like that on a regular basis was something I didn’t expect from her.

  “Why were you thinking about that particular subject?” I asked.

  Emma gave me a wary look and I shifted my body to face her.

  “When you’re with me, Emma, you can leave your inhibitions at the door. I can guarantee you that there’s nothing I haven’t heard and most certainly nothing I’ve never done.”

  “That doesn't shock me one bit,” she said with a grin.

  “Either talk to me or tell me what you really want. Be open with someone, Emma. Be open with me.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  I took another sip of my drink and rolled the word around in my mind. It was a good word. A good question to ask someone. Why should she be open with me? Why was that something I wanted from her. My eyes locked onto hers and I felt her legs shift in my lap. She settled further into the couch. Into the cushions that cradled us as alcohol flooded my veins.

  “Because everyone deserves to have someone they can be themselves with,” I said.

  “And you think I’m not being myself?”

  “I think you hide things. But I think you hide them from everyone. Not just me. I’d like to have a chance to be that person you don’t hide those things from.”

  “You do.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  Emma nodded and finished off her glass of wine. I reached for the glass and took it from her, placing both of our empty glasses onto the coffee table beside us. I took one of her feet in my hands and began to massage it, watching her head fall back into the couch. She groaned. Filled my living room with her sighs as the pads of my fingers worked the ache from her arches.