“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s a tedious and time consuming process to determine if a student qualifies for the program. If I’m correct, and his test reflects his true potential, it would most likely be three months or longer before he’ll be able to start gifted classes.”
“Shit. I feel like such an ass. I didn’t purposely miss his parent-teacher conference, but I wasn’t worried when I discovered I had.”
The corners of his mouth twitch while he tries and fails to fight back a smile. “Between us, it’s nice to finally meet a parent who isn’t trying to appear picture perfect.”
“Oh, believe me, I jumped aboard that crazy train for several years, but if being a single mother of three has taught me anything, it’s I’m all out of fucks to give.”
His head tilts back at the same time a deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “You are definitely one of a kind.”
Unsure if that’s a complement or not, I sit up, ready to get down to business. “What do I need to sign?”
Noticing my change, his laughter dies. “Take this home, read it over and return it by Monday to the front office if you can.”
“Thanks.” I take the papers from his hand and stand up, ready to get the hell out of here. “Well, if there wasn’t anything else, then I need to get going.”
He jumps to his feet. “Actually, there was one other thing.” His eyebrows draw together while a fit of emotions dance across his face. “By any chance, are you free a week from Saturday?”
My mouth drops open. Holy crap…he’s asking me out. Even dressed in a skirt and heels, I look like death warmed over. I didn’t bother to fix my hair this morning; instead, I pulled my long black locks up into a messy bun and called it good. Add in the fact that I can’t remember if I applied any makeup is a good sign I didn’t bother. “Mr. Dong, Thong—damn…”
“Long. It’s Mr. Long.”
“I bet it is.” Closing my eyes, I hang my head in defeat.
“About next Saturday—”
When you think life couldn’t possibly get any worst, it does. “Mom, Belle just barfed all over the van.” Both of our heads dart to the door.
“Hello, Parker. How are you this evening?”
“Hey Mr. Long. I’m…good?”
“I’ll make sure to get these”—I shake the papers in my hand—“to the office.” Tucking my tail between my legs, I grab Parker’s arm and dart for the door. We make it down the hallway heading in the direction of the main doors when he yanks his arm away from me.
“You’re going the wrong way. Remy brought Belle inside to clean her up.”
“She was fine twenty minutes ago. I thought you made that story up so you’d have an excuse to come inside.”
“Well…” He trails off avoiding my eyes.
“What happened?”
“She kind of…maybe…drank a sippy cup of milk?”
I shrug. “So? Why would that…” My nose scrunches as I realize Belle didn’t have a sippy cup of milk—at least not one from today.
“Parrrrrkerrrrr.”
“She was throwing a fit and screaming she needed a drink. Remy found one of her cups under his seat so he gave it to her.”
I tuck the papers Mr. Hottie gave me into my purse and follow Parker down another hall where he stops and points to the boy’s restroom. Walking through the door, I expect to find a sick little girl, but instead, I find a scene right from Mr. Mom. Belle is naked from head to toe, running through the bathroom, streaming toilet paper in her wake while Remy stands over a sink, running water on Belle’s dress.
“What in the hell?”
Remy stops, his eyes wide with panic while Belle continues to act like a monkey who’s escaped the zoo. “Okay, just stop. Both of you.” I pull her soaking wet dress out of the sink. “Well, she can’t wear that out to the Van. Where’s her panties?”
Remy shrugs then looks around. “I don’t remember her having any on.”
“Again? Seriously, Belle, you can’t take your underwear off in public.”
“I know you are but what am I?” she replies, dancing through the room, still unraveling toilet paper. “That doesn’t even make—no, never mind. Come on, let’s make a run for it. If we’re lucky, no one will notice the naked four-year-old.”
“But, Mom, we have to clean this mess up.”
Parker doesn’t give a damn what his room looks like, but naturally, this would be the time he would grow a conscience. “Argh, fine. Whatever.” Belle makes a run for the door. “Oh, not so fast little lady. You made this mess. If I have to clean it, then your little naked butt is helping.”
She pushes her bottom lip out with a pout. “But, Mama, you said not to touch the uckies on the ground.”
“I also told you to keep your panties on. Apparently, you don’t listen, so get to it.” I point to the paper she strung all over the bathroom.
Five minutes later, the bathroom looks reasonable, minus the fact that Belle stopped helping and started taking everything out of my purse where she found my stash of suckers. She has two in her mouth, and several in each hand.
That’s it…I’m forgoing dinner for a bottle of wine.
Squatting down, I start to stuff receipts, a hair brush, my phone, a pile of crayons, and the papers from Parker’s teacher back into my purse when the bathroom door opens.
“Hey, Mr. Long.”
Leaving my pride on the floor, knowing at this point, there’s not a chance in hell that I don’t look like a hot mess, I turn toward Mr. Hottie, faking a smile. “We were just leaving.” I sweep up my nude four-year-old and tuck her on my hip. “I hope you have a nice evening.”
Stepping around him, I open the door, ready to get the heck out of here when his smooth voice greets my ears. “I think you forgot something.”
Instinctively, I glance at both boys, assuming I left one behind when he extends his hand, holding out a tampon. “Who knows what the boys would do tomorrow if they found that.” That sexy-as-hell dimple pops out while he smiles, and for a moment, I want to take him up on his offer to go out, but shit…I can’t. He’s my son’s teacher... “Thanks.”
“Let me know about next Saturday.” He winks. “Parker said you were free.”
“Wait…what? You talked to Parker about asking me out on a date?”
His eyes go round. “Er… Um, actually…”
“Mom, you can help with the school carnival. You never have any plans.”
Rock. Bottom.
One doesn’t know what that feels like until they hit it. “Actually, I plan to spend the entire evening with my new Triple Tickler Rabbit. I heard it always ensures a good time. Make sure to tell the other mothers that when they ask why I’m not there.”
“I want a rabbit,” Belle says at the same time Mr. Long busts out laughing.
And these are the days of my life…thank God I love my kids.
Acknowledgments
My two teenaged children have and probably always will drive me crazy. They complain, they whine, and there’s not a day that goes by that they don’t fight with each other, but…I wouldn’t change my life for anything. They’re the reason I know love at first sight truly exist. I was blessed with two beautiful souls and that’s a gift even in my weakest moments, I’ll always cherish.
I need to say a big thanks to my husband of nineteen years. You are an amazing father and a wonderful husband. Life without you wouldn’t be the same.
To my new friend with two names. I’ve always believed everything happens for a reason and while I’ve yet to figure out what I did to be blessed with having you in my life, know that I won’t take anything you do for me for granted. Thank you for pushing me further than I knew was possible.
About the Author
Riann C. Miller lives in southeast Kansas and writes steamy contemporary romance stories. When she’s not reading, or writing, she spends time with her friends and family or you might catch her watching a baseball game with a beer in her hand.
Riann who pronounces her n
ame (Ry-an) also preoccupies a lot of her time on social media connecting with readers.
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Other books by Riann
Living With Regret
Living With Doubt
Beneath The Lies
Locked Away
Meeting The Unpredictable
Unlikely Love
Damaged Love
Sugar, Honey, & Iced Tea
S.M. West
Copyright © 2017 by SM West
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, storylines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or occurrences are purely coincidental.
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Introduction
Some days, you just want to stop the world and get off. Cait’s having one of those.
She’s not at the top of her game, but her five-year-old son, Miles, needs her.
It’s a big day for him, and she’s determined to make it a good one,
no matter what. Because, when sh*t happens, you make sugar, honey, and iced tea.
Chapter 1
Sugar, Honey, & Iced Tea
Four-Foot, Knife-Wielding Boy
Beep. Beep. Beep. I clumsily search the nightstand for my phone. Beep. Beep. Beep. Rolling to my side, I reluctantly open my eyes while grabbing the offending object. With a tap, the noise stops.
Finally, silence, but it’s not bliss. Everything hurts. My body aches, my throat is sore, and my head feels like it’s stuck in a vice. What the hell? I went to bed exhausted last night, but I figured all the activity with Miles had wiped me out. My little guy can do that. But it’s more than that; I feel like I’m dying.
Groggily, I fiddle with my phone to check the time—9:15. Shit. With a rambunctious five-year-old, 7:30 is what I consider sleeping in, even under the weather; I’ve been sleeping way too long. I have to check on Miles, and I can’t ignore the niggling inside me that I’m missing something.
Once in the bathroom, I rummage the cabinets looking for cold meds, or anything that will alleviate the pain. So far, the one positive is that it’s Saturday, which means no rushing to get him dressed, fed, and off to school on top of somehow getting myself ready for work.
Although, the weekend presents another set of challenges because my little guy is active. He won’t want to stay indoors while I lie on the couch and die. I outwardly groan. Today is going to be a long day.
After reading the recommended dose on the bottle of decongestant, I pop double the amount into my mouth and pray for relief. I need coffee, to check on my son, and head back to bed until the drugs kick in. God, I hope they kick in soon.
A bitter, smoldering odor creeps into my nostrils the closer I get to the kitchen. I quicken my steps, and my stomach churns as my mind conjures all the disasters a child could get into without a parent to watch over them.
Entering the kitchen, the smell of burned toast hits me. My little man is standing on a kitchen chair with a butcher knife in his tiny hand. The toaster is smoking behind him on the counter, and maple syrup is running down the cabinet and onto the floor.
“Miles!”
My shriek startles both of us. I clutch my chest as Miles jerks and swivels in my direction, his eyes wide in surprise. His movements are so fast that he almost falls off the chair. I lunge, expecting to catch him, but he somehow steadies himself.
With a sigh of relief, I cautiously near him, not wanting to surprise him again. Adrenaline hums through my body, my aches forgotten as the fear of what could have happened—not only just now but also while I was sleeping—run through my mind.
My eyes never waver from my almost four-foot, knife-wielding boy as I wonder why he couldn’t just stay put in front of the TV until I got up?
“Mom, you scared me.” He chuckles and grins, revealing the gap where his two front teeth should be.
“What are you doing?” I take one step closer, still out of arm’s reach.
“I’m making breakfast. I’m starving, and you wouldn’t get up.”
“What are you doing with the knife?”
He waves the sharp blade around in a questioning gesture, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Honey, just listen to me. Stop moving.”
My pleading tone causes his brow and nose to scrunch as he cocks his head to the side, staring at me in confusion.
“You’re acting weird. I was making waffles.” He puffs out his chest and swings the knife back and forth.
“Miles, please do your mother a favor and stop moving.” Like a hostage negotiator, my voice is calm and even as I take another step closer. Almost there.
“Sure.” He shrugs, arching his little brows with a look that says he thinks I’m a crazy woman.
He stops his erratic movements and with one final step, I remove the knife from his grasp and dump the weapon into the sink.
“I made waffles, but they got stuck in the toaster,” he babbles while I shake my head to rid my mind of the vivid, scary what ifs. “And you told me never to put my fingers in there because I’d get burned. So, I was using the knife to get it out.”
“Little man.” I lift him off the chair and exhale the breath I’ve been holding. “You should never put a knife in a toaster. You could get electrocuted.”
“But, Mom, you do it all the time.” Dammit. Sure, I’ve done it, but with a butter knife, not a cleaver. Another strike out for Cait! Way to set a great example.
“What’s a eluctued?” He asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and rack my brain to come up with a good explanation for my reckless behavior. I’ve got nothing.
Crouching down, so we’re eye level, his gray eyes sparkle like his smile, and my heart melts. Even when he’s challenging, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have him.
“Little man, e-lec-tro-cuted is…” I come up blank. I didn’t think this through. I don’t know how to explain the word without scaring him or causing more questions. Going for the easy way out, I skip it all together. “Both Mommy and you should never put a knife in the toaster. It’s dangerous to stick anything in there but bread. Also, it’s dangerous to use a knife. You could have cut yourself or worse. You should have woken me.”
“I tried,” he whines, stomping his foot. “But you wouldn’t get up, and I was hungry!”
His voice rises, and red inches up his neck as his tantrum unfolds in front of me. Shit, I can’t handle this without coffee. I’d rather face a firing squad than deal with one of his infamous melt downs.
“I know you’re hungry. I’m sorry.” Wrapping him in my arms, I place him onto my lap. “You can have whatever you want for breakfast.”
As the w
ords leave my mouth, I realize my goof, but I’m cranky, ill, and desperate. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with my son’s hunger and the fallout from my neglect. Right now, I’d give him anything.
“I want donuts,” he demands. “And ice cream.”
Shit, no matter how many talks we have about what is acceptable for breakfast, it never sticks. Funny how he picks up my bad habits with ease, but the good ones, like choosing a healthy breakfast, not so much.
“Donuts mean we have to go out. Why don’t you pick something from what we have here? You could have yogurt parfait or eggs, or cereal.”
“That’s not fair. You said anything. C’mon, Mom.”
“Let’s have cereal, and I promise we’ll have ice cream later. How about that?” I say like the no good welcher that I am.
Now standing, I deposit him on a chair and make a beeline for the coffee maker. Caffeine will make it better, or at the very least, bearable.
“No, I want donuts and ice cream. Besides, we’re gonna be late for swimming.”
“Sugar, honey, and iced tea!” I curse. It’s my lame but necessary substitute for shit.
Today is his last swim class, and I completely forgot. He can’t miss it. If he does, he won’t get his certificate or move to the next level.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” he accuses, folding his arms and looking at me like I stole his favorite toy.
#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 17
