by Sam Mariano
“Probably,” Derek tells her, reaching into the popcorn bowl in the floor by the couch, grabbing a piece, and throwing it at her.
“Hey!” Cassidy objects. “No throwing food.”
“My house, my rules,” he tells her.
“My house, too!”
“Then you better start paying rent.”
Wrinkling up her nose, she shoots him a dirty look, then turns her attention back to the TV.
“We better be quiet,” I whisper to Derek.
“Fine, then I’ll just get back to doing this,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down the front of my low-cut dress and cupping my breast.
“You’re a menace,” I inform him.
“Your favorite menace,” he murmurs against my ear, before nibbling on it.
I sigh, half with pleasure, half with exasperation. “A cocky menace. The cockiest menace that ever menaced.”
“You should’ve figured that out before you married me six years ago. Now you’re stuck with me.”
With a helpless grin, I close my eyes and shake my head. “Not this again.”
“I’ve decided I don’t believe in divorce, so if you divorce me, you’ll be damning me to eternal loneliness. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
“I am not married to you,” I remind him. “I’m not even dating you. You’re a crazy person.”
“I think you’re remembering wrong,” he says, the pad of his thumb brushing my nipple. It hardens instantly. Small spikes of pleasure hit me as he continues to toy with it, rolling his thumb over the sensitive peak again and again, then squeezing it just hard enough that I arch back against him.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur, moving my hand to his arm, poising my nails over his tanned skin, and raking my nails up his arm.
Tightening his hold on me, he murmurs, “I’m going to distract you even more if you keep that up.”
“There’s a child in the room,” I inform him.
“She’s watching Enchanted. We should sneak to the bedroom.”
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s movie night. I already ruined one movie night, I’m not ruining another one.”
“No?” His tone is too innocent. Definitely not to be trusted. His hand moves out from under my dress and he gathers my long, dark hair in his hand like a pony tail, then yanks it against the couch. My head goes with it, putting my neck right in front of his mouth. My eyes roll back as he brushes his lips across my neck and down my shoulder. He tugs my shirt aside, continuing to leave soft, slow kisses down to the ball of my shoulder, then back. With another tug, he moves my head and kisses the nape of my neck, sending gooseflesh rising up all over my body. I squirm against him and his free hand comes back to my breast, squeezing and palming it before moving lower. Every muscle in my core tenses as he trails his hand down my abdomen, then fingers the hem of my dress, slowly dragging it up my thigh.
I can scarcely breathe. His mouth is magical. I want it all over my body.
Instead of sliding his hand inside my panties, he brings his lips back to my earlobe, nibbling on it before asking, “You want to sneak to the bedroom now?”
Yes, yes, yes.
“No,” I say instead.
“All right,” he says easily, releasing my hair, moving his hand away from my thighs, and settling his arms around my waist. He clasps his hands together and… listens to me.
Dammit!
I tip my head back to shoot him a dirty look.
“What?” he asks innocently. “Just respecting your wishes, like you wanted.”
I shake my head at him, but turn my attention back to the television screen. “Your evil knows no bounds.”
It ends up being a good thing we don’t sneak out though, because a few minutes later Cassidy pops up off the floor, grabs her doll, and runs over to the couch, crawling on top of us.
“This part’s scary,” she tells me, settling on the couch between my legs. Once she’s settled, she props her baby up between her legs and covers her eyes with her hands. Looking back at me, she tells me, “My baby is really scared of the dragon.”
“It’s a good thing you’re there to protect her then, huh?” I reply.
She nods her head. “Can you braid my hair?”
“Me? Sure, I can do that. I don’t have a pony tail to tie it with, though.”
Little elbows and knees dig into my body as she climbs off and goes running down the hall to fetch one.
“Don’t braid it too tight,” Derek advises. “She’ll act like you’re killing her.”
I grin, picturing him braiding little girl hair. “Do you know how to braid hair? I did not expect you to have this skill.”
“I had to watch many YouTube videos to figure it out, but yes, I can braid with the best of ‘em now.”
“Can you do a French braid?”
“Well, no. But I can do Anna and Elsa braids, and that’s all that matters.”
“I love Daddy Derek,” I tell him as Cassidy bounds back down the hall toward us.
“Wait ‘til we watch Moana,” he tells me. “I know all the songs.”
“Do I get to hear you sing?” I ask, delighted.
“If you’re here next Friday night, you do.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, as Cassidy settles between my legs again and hands me a tiny elastic band. “I’ll have to try to make that happen.”
---
The weekends have never mattered much to me. Some people get excited for them—the end of the work week, the time they can spend with friends and family. My weekends have never been like that. I’ve never worked the sort of job that gave me weekends off, and I’ve rarely had friends or family taking up my weekend free time, anyway. In college, I spent my weekends studying or writing my first book. Despite how quickly I pounded out a first draft of Dreamcatcher, my first book took much longer. It was a labor of love, and one I wanted to wallow in for as long as I could. When I finished writing that book, I didn’t feel accomplished, I felt sad.
But waking up a little before ten with Derek’s strong arms curled around me, his naked body pressed snugly against my bare skin, I can sort of see the appeal of Saturday mornings.
Sighing with contentment, I shift in his arms. My back is to him now, and I want to face him. I like feeling him against me, but I want to be able to see him, so I roll over and curl close.
He’s awake now, stretching and giving me a sleepy smile. “Good morning.”
“It is a good morning,” I agree, throwing my leg over his and pulling his body closer. “We should get up.”
He drapes his arm around my waist. “I disagree. We should stay here for a while longer.”
“Cassidy is probably up. She’s probably confused and thinks she has the whole house to herself. She’s probably hungry and thirsty and needing a million things.”
“She has a water bottle in the fridge, so she won’t dehydrate. We’ll feed her when we get out of bed.”
“Parents of the year,” I say dryly.
“Six years running,” he agrees.
“All jokes aside, we need to go see what she’s up to.”
“Trust me, she’s fine. She knows to grab her water and play in her room if she wakes up before me. She’s not an invalid, she’s just short.”
“It really seems like you’re nailing this whole dad thing,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I’ve always had to do the heavy lifting. When She Who Shall Not Be Named was still around, she mostly liked having Cassidy as an accessory. She liked to order her expensive shoes and headbands and clothes, she liked to take pictures and show her off, but she was never in love with actual parenting. I was the only other option, so I had to step up.”
I nod my head, running my fingers along the curve of his bicep. “Well, it suits you. As the daughter of a much less adept single father, I give you all the props.”
“I don’t deserve props for doing the job I signed up for,” he says, smiling faintly.
“You didn’t really sign up for it t
hough.”
He shrugs again. “It all worked out. Not the way I would have liked, but hey, we got here eventually. Sometimes stories need to unfold their own way, not the way we want them to.”
I murmur noncommittally.
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t want to fight about it,” I tell him.
“We’re not fighting, we’re talking,” he reasons.
“I’m not sure I’m a subscriber to the belief that the harder you have to work for something, the sweeter the victory. I’m a hard worker, and I still don’t believe that. Honestly, even though I wasn’t smart enough or qualified enough to make these kinds of decisions when I was just a dumb girl in love, I wish I would have. I should’ve committed to the first person I fell in love with and started having babies before I could legally drink, because I think I’ve let myself get old enough now that I see what a terrible idea all of it is.”
Frowning, he says, “Explain.”
“When I was 18, I was already damaged. I was already jaded and afraid. I already hated love. Nothing about the years since has made me feel less of any of that. The older we get, the more cautious we get. I couldn’t really afford more caution than I came into adulthood with.”
“So, what, you don’t want to have a family anymore?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I do in a sentimental way, but I feel like I’m very near the point of outgrowing it. If you ask me again in a few years, I think the answer will be a hard no.”
He doesn’t appear to like that response. “Why?”
“Because I used to think that having a family with someone would be beautiful. Obviously my family was never like that, but I thought it was because mine wasn’t done right. I figured if you did it right, it would be a great thing, but I don’t know if I believe that anymore. Now I think, no matter what, it might just be a stressful mess I want no part of. All these years I had no idea Kayla was gone, so I imagined being with you would mean co-existing with her, I imagined your kid being torn between households with Kayla being petty and making a big deal about me, and us stressed out over having to deal with her. I saw the mess in my mind.”
“But Kayla isn’t in the picture, so none of that is how it would be. If you and I decide to have a family together, no one else will be involved. There’d be no mess. Sure, Cassidy isn’t yours, but does that have to matter?”
“No, that doesn’t matter to me. Cassidy is great. I don’t mean that.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“Love isn’t enough and relationships aren’t made to last, so having babies with someone you’re in a relationship with is just asking for heartache. What happens down the road when it gets hard again? When it’s not enough to keep you anymore? When we end up divorced, and I’m bitter and washed up, and you’re marrying a 20-year-old. And I can’t run away this time, I still have to deal with you because we made a family together and I’m trapped. I like things the way they are. I like having the option to never see someone again if they hurt me. I like being able to leave. Even if it nearly kills me, I know staying is harder. Can you imagine what my life would be like if I had stayed here, Derek? Do you know how much more hurt I would have had to endure?”
“We need to back up,” he tells me. “Like, back way up. I want to rewind to our inevitable divorce and my remarriage to someone who can’t legally drink. Let’s pause there.”
“There are no guarantees. There are no safe picks. Everything ends.”
“You are a ball of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?” he asks, dragging me close and leaning in to give me a kiss. “Everything doesn’t end, Nikki. I mean, I’ll die someday, I can’t do much about that, but we’re definitely not going to end up divorced with me marrying someone else.”
“We would. I’d wear you out. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as loving as I used to be.”
“I think you are, you just have it all locked up. If I find the right key, it’ll come spilling out.”
“I cemented all the keyholes shut,” I inform him.
He leans close, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I’ve got a really nifty sledgehammer. With a little elbow grease, I can take care of that.”
I sigh heavily. “Now I’m picturing you swinging a hammer. I like it.”
“Is Thor your favorite Avenger?”
“He is now,” I tell him, smirking. “You really need to grow your hair back out.”
“Next Halloween I’ll be Thor. You can be Jane. Cassidy can be Loki.”
“Oh, my God, do not talk to the commitment phobe about next Halloween. It’s June. And I don’t want to be Jane. If we’re going with a superhero theme, I’ll be Wonder Woman.”
“I approve. You can dress up as Wonder Woman for me anytime.”
Smiling as he kisses me again, I tease, “Oh yeah? You wouldn’t object?”
“I’d tie you up with your own lasso,” he tells me, shifting his weight and pulling me under him.
As if scandalized, I blink up at him. “Thor would never.”
“Maybe I’d be a better Loki,” he offers. “Cassie can be Thor.”
“The trickster god, huh? I’ll take it.” I tilt my head as he kisses my neck. “Does Cassidy like superheroes?”
“She does. She was Princess Supergirl for Halloween last year, actually.”
“Princess Supergirl?”
He nods. “A Cinderella crown with a Supergirl costume. Princess by day, superhero by night. She’s always trying to be too many things at once. She can’t pick just one thing.”
“Are we sure she’s not my daughter?” I ask.
“I told you, she’s yours and we’ve been married for six years. I don’t know why you won’t believe me.”
Chapter Twenty
My day with Derek and Cassidy went way too fast. It wasn’t even a full day—18 measly hours, then a whole week before I’ll get to see them again.
I’m surprised by how bummed I feel to return home. I don’t have time to feel bummed, because I have two days’ worth of work to do now, but all I can think about is Cassidy and Derek at the park without me. I had to leave after lunch, but Cassidy was begging Derek to go to the park so they could blow bubbles and play basketball. He told her they could go after I left, and now as I sit alone in my house and fire up my computer, it feels like I’d rather be there than here.
Instead of working, I find myself browsing the internet for Wonder Woman lingerie. I don’t order any, but I do order a cute Wonder Woman sports bra before I force myself to get out of the Derek bubble and back to work.
It only takes me a couple of hours to get back into the swing of things. Before I know it, it’s evening. I don’t realize it by the darkening sky outside or by remembering to look at the clock, but by the “bedtime story” picture Derek sends me. It’s a picture—crooked, and clearly taken by Cassidy—of Derek lying in her princess bed with the open book on his chest, pretending to have fallen asleep. A helpless grin splits my face as soon as I see it.
A little while later, he interrupts me again, this time sending a selfie of him in his bed alone, shooting me his patented, heart-melting, sad puppy dog look.
Sighing heavily, I text back, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“It’d be easier to go to sleep if I knew you had an orgasm first. Send video evidence so I can sleep peacefully,” he tells me.
Laughing at his gall, I tell him, “Nice try. Last time I let you have a naughty video of me, you blackmailed me with it. You’ve lost your naughty video privileges for life.”
“No fair. I want a reduced sentence for good behavior.”
“So fair,” I send back. “And you would have to actually EXHIBIT good behavior first, so… your appeal is rejected.”
“Hey, I have been on my best behavior. I gave you orgasms last night and this morning even though you won’t swear off other men.”
“You also stalked me and broke up the relationship I was in because you felt like it.”
/>
“I also didn’t take advantage of you while you were drunk in my bed the night of your dad’s wedding,” he boasts.
“You also KIDNAPPED me the night of my dad’s wedding.”
“But I made you breakfast,” he offers.
“And tried to impregnate me,” I volley back.
“So see, it’s basically even.”
I grin, shaking my head. “You’re a lunatic.”
“Yeah, but you like it.”
“Maybe a little.” I pause, then add, “I have to get back to work.”
“You should go to sleep,” he tells me.
I’m a solid four hours from sleep, maybe even five if I decide to work on my own book before turning in. We’ll see how it goes. Instead of telling him that, I attach a kissy emoji and say, “Good night, Derek.”
“Good night, Nikki.”
---
Once I get over the Saturday hump, my routine comes back to me. Derek texts me every now and then so I still get to hear from him, but instead of monopolizing all of my time, he’s only taking up tiny chunks, and I can still work while we’re talking.
Edits are back on my book, so I have a lot of my own work to do. I pencil it in for Wednesday night, but when Wednesday rolls around, I get a mid afternoon text from Derek—unusual, since he works during the day and can’t usually talk while he’s on site.
“So, about this weekend…”
All the gears in my brain and my heart freeze. He’s going to cancel. We were going to do a repeat of last week—I’d come in Friday night for dinner and leave Saturday after lunch.
“Something come up?” I ask, forcing myself to be more casual than I feel. It’s okay if he cancels. It has to be okay if he cancels. The whole point of this arrangement is that we only see each other when it’s mutually convenient. The fact that I feel traces of disappointment registers, but before I have time to work myself up into a full blown retreat, he texts back.
“There was an accident at work today. I had to come home early. As of right now, I’m kind of out of commission. If I’m feeling better by weekend I’d still love for you to come, but since I only get one day, maybe we could move it to Sunday so my back has a little more time to recover?”
