Once Roman is inside, I plant a hand on the doorframe, leaning in and lowering my voice. “Cartoons again? We talked about this shit.”
“No. You talked about it,” she says. “I’ve got shit to do, Reid. I can’t just--”
“Lower your voice,” I growl. The last thing Roman needs is to overhear how little his mom really cares about him. I’m still holding out hope that she’ll get her act together soon, for Roman’s sake.
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “I can’t just hold his hand all day. So I sit him in front of the TV for a few hours. What’s the big deal?”
“You have him two days a week. Weekends only. Make some fucking time for your son.”
She shakes her head and smirks nastily. “You don’t like the way I’m treating him? Talk to a judge about it. I hear they really love to give full-custody rights to mothers.”
I shove his bag of toys and snacks at her. “Don’t let him talk you into giving him the Goldfish until he’s had his veggies.” She never has anything healthy in her fridge or pantry for him, so I have to make sure it comes with him. “See you on Sunday,” I say, turning to leave.
“Fuck you too,” she shouts after me.
I sit in the truck and turn the key, letting the sound of the engine calm me. Cars and machinery have always helped me cool down. Something about the way a well-oiled machine just works has always brought peace to me. I think about the pistons moving in unison, the controlled explosions moving through air-tight chambers keeping everything in motion. I know every part of this truck like I built it myself. Hell, I did build half of it myself. I’ve owned her since I was fourteen. She was a ruster, but I spent every day after school trolling the salvage yards and going door to door to raid old abandoned cars in wheat fields for parts. Working on the car was my escape.
I shake my head at the memory. Those were the good years. Back when my little brother Mark wasn’t a jackass. Back when grandpa was still around. When dad was still healthy.
I look toward Tara’s place, fighting the urge to go and yank Roman out of there. I hate leaving him with her, but I know it’s best for him. Even if she’s a shitty mom. Even if she doesn’t appreciate him like she should. She’s his mom. That’s fucking important.
I rev the engine and peel out of her driveway, heading back home. When I pull up, I see Sandra outside her new place with a ladder that barely reaches halfway up her house. She’s on her tip toes on the highest step trying to knock debris out of her gutters. I sigh, making a good effort of not noticing how good her ass looks in the daisy dukes she’s wearing, or how long and smooth her legs are. It’s a good effort, but ultimately a failure.
My grandpa taught me to always use the right tool for the job. Seeing anything else rubs me the wrong way. So as much as I wish she would just pack her shit up and leave, I grudgingly grab a full length ladder from the garage and walk it over to her.
“Here,” I say, taking in an eyeful of her ass as she stands above me on the ladder, straining to reach.
She flinches at the sound of my voice and loses her balance, teetering on the edge of falling.
I step forward quickly and steady her by grabbing the only thing I can reach. Her ass.
A long, drawn-out second passes while I have her perfectly round ass in both of my large hands. Then she slaps my hands away and gets down the ladder, face a mask of rage.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I bite down the words that threaten to come out. Just getting started. No. I’m not just getting started. “Giving you the right tool for the job,” I growl, tapping the ladder I dropped in the grass with my toe.
She looks at the ladder for a long moment. I can see the temptation to accept my offer in her features. Then her mouth hardens into a thin line and she crosses her arms. “I don’t need your big, stupid ladder. This one is big enough.”
I can’t help grinning. “Trust me. Once you use my big ladder you’ll never be satisfied with a small one again.”
She frowns as the double-meaning sinks in. Her cheeks flush red and she covers her mouth, clearing her throat and pretending not to catch my implication.
I smirk. Fuck. Why is my cock stiffening? Yeah, she’s hot enough. Fuckable, even. But she’s not my type. I have no time for some rich daddy’s girl. No patience. Despite all that I find myself wanting to tease her, to draw this out.
Sandra motions towards her driveway. “I thought I told you not to touch my car.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Then why is my car in your stupid garage right now? Did it just magically teleport over there?”
I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “Because I’m not going to let you drive that thing around town. You’re my neighbor now, like it or not. I need to know you’re safe.” I frown a little, surprised by my own choice of words. “That the car is safe,” I add quickly. “If it dies somewhere people can see, it’ll make me look bad.”
Sandra gives me an odd, searching look. “Right. You want to make sure my car is safe.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Exactly what I fucking said. Now use the ladder. Just start slow. It may seem too big at first, but I know you can handle it.” I don’t wait for her to respond before I turn and walk away without looking back.
I head back inside and let Tyler and Garry work on Sandra’s Camry while I snag a beer from the fridge. I spend a little too long looking out the window, watching as Sandra struggles to unfold the full-sized ladder I brought and prop it against the house. She looks toward my place several times, but from this distance I can’t tell if she’s glaring or grinning.
A vague, hazy idea starts to form in my mind as I watch her long legs climb up the ladder. A dangerous idea. A stupid idea. But I’ve never let stupid stop me before.
Fuck. Am I really considering this?
My grandfather’s will never said anything about love. All I need is the paper saying I’m married. Then there’s the part about kids. Plural. Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to find anyone to agree to that deal. I wouldn’t mind having another kid, but I would mind having another woman in my life. As far as I’m concerned, committing to a woman is a mistake I made once and never plan to make again. Things are easier without the strings. I’ve got Roman and my shop. For now.
Still. I can’t help wondering if I could pull it off. Get a woman who hates my guts to marry me and have my baby. And I only have a few months before I’d be out of time. It’s not my proudest moment, but if it comes down to it, I’d do anything to protect the life I’ve built for Roman. And I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if I lost the shop. I could come clean once I had everything in my name and squared away. I’d take the kid, let her go her own way.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, eyeing her again. I imagine what those long legs would feel like wrapped around me and groan. I’m just making this worse. I drain the last of my beer and head out to the shop. Maybe I can hit some shit with a wrench to get my mind right, because there’s no way I’m seriously considering doing something so fucked up.
45
Sandra
I stand outside my bakery, staring at the letter that I found taped to the front door. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and the birds chirping peacefully seem at odds with the disaster I’m holding in my hands.
Town Ordinance
Dear Small Business Owner,
Your building was constructed on a provisionally reserved city block (See attached form 231B). This location is scheduled to be converted into parking lot. Construction will begin in two month’s time. Appraisals value the property at $112,337. A check for this amount will be paid to you. This amount is subject to federal taxes.
If you wish to retain the property, please make a payment of $11,831 to the City of Oldeen. This amount will be used to procure a neighboring site as an alternate construction location.
Thank you for your cooperation,
Gerald Gordana, Mayor
I shake my head in disbelief after r
eading it again. I have no recollection of signing any kind of contract or being notified that this was a possibility. A thick layer of numbness blankets everything. Somewhere, just beneath the surface, I feel the despair, anger, and outrage that are struggling to break through. Except all I can do is stare blankly at the page, reading and re-reading it until my hands tremble.
I still remember how good it felt the day I signed the papers and made the bakery mine. It took weeks to get everything set up inside and get it all the way I wanted. I worked with Ed in his wood shop to design the letters hanging over the entrance. I even picked out the cute, loopy cursive font. Sandra’s Sweets. I spent forever browsing Craigslist to find the tables and chairs for a reasonable price. I bartered with a retired baker for my oven and dough mixer. Every last part of the building and its contents are the result of hours and hours of hard work, and they let me know it’s going to be taken away with a letter.
A hundred and twelve thousand dollars for my bakery? That’s not even half of what I paid. The price makes me want to throw up. I’m still making payments on the three hundred thousand dollar mortgage, and most of that money hasn’t even started working toward the principal. If they take my business and give me that check, I’ll be losing all the years I’ve spent chipping away at the interest payments. I’ll be losing everything.
There’s no place I could buy for that amount of money to restart my business either. I should know after all the time I spent finding this one for the price I did. All the years of saving carefully and working two jobs to save up for this. It feels like every moment of my life built up to getting this bakery and making my dream a reality. I was finally starting to let myself believe it was real, that it would last. Maybe I could have started actually focusing on finding a man to complete the picture. On making a baby.
Now this.
I turn and start walking back toward home, feeling numb. Jennifer and Lauren will be wondering why I haven’t shown up, but they’ve run a shift on their own before. I can’t stand to go inside right now knowing that it’s all going to be taken away. Stolen. And it’s going to be perfectly legal.
For the first time since my car wouldn’t start two days ago, I’m glad I don’t have it. I need the long walk back home to clear my head. The most maddening part is how easy it would be to fix this. I know exactly what my sister would do. She’d shoot a text to my parents asking for some money. She’d probably round up a hundred or two hundred thousand dollars. My father would make a call and the money would be in her account within hours. She’d pay the fee and maybe treat herself to a nice vacation for the inconvenience.
As much as I’ve worked to distance myself from my parents, I still know they would give me the money if I asked. But asking them would invalidate everything I’ve done. Right now, I can look in the mirror every morning and know I’m looking at a woman who made her own way. A strong, independent woman who didn’t need handouts to get where she is. A woman who I can be proud of. If I go crawling to my parents for help now, all that ends. Maybe that’s vain of me. But for better or worse, I’ve built my identity around my independence. If I give in now, who will I be?
Besides, I may have also told them a little white--okay, grayish--lie. I told them I was engaged to a wealthy businessman, but it was just to get them off my back. I regretted it after I said it, but when they stopped trying to set me up after they found out, it suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Except the part where they said they wanted to come visit and meet him “sometime.” Knowing them, sometime means never, but now I have that looming over my head too. Wonderful.
When I finally reach my house close to forty minutes later, I see Reid working on a car in front of the shop. He’s shirtless, of course, and his broad back is glistening with sweat. The way his dark hair falls in front of his face as he leans forward and the smears of grease on his powerful arms and chest just pisses me off. Why should such an asshole look so good? He looks like he shooting an ad for Chippendale’s, for God’s sake. He’s so sexy it’s almost ridiculous. I tear my gaze away from him and the way those blue jeans hug his tight ass, increasing my pace in hopes that he won’t notice me.
“Damn, sweetheart. That was the shortest workday I’ve ever seen,” shouts Reid.
I stop dead in my tracks, jaw clenched and sucking in quick breaths through my nose. “Fuck you, asshole,” I shout back.
I’m about to step inside when I hear something metallic slam down. When I look up, I see Reid stalking toward me, eyes ablaze. He rakes a hand through his thick black hair and pushes it out of his face, making every single muscle on his chiseled torso stand out. I open the door, suddenly afraid of what he’s going to do.
I get inside just as he storms up my porch. I try to shut the door, but it stops dead. His large hand is pressed against it, keeping me from closing the door. He pushes it back open, leaning in the doorway. He smells like metal. Sweat. Power. The man practically radiates sexuality, and I hate him for it. He doesn’t deserve it.
“I must have misheard you,” he says. His dark green eyes are locked on me unflinchingly.
I swallow, but refuse to back down. “I said. Fuck you. Asshole.” My voice is a little more muted than I would like, but I deliver the words convincingly enough.
His hand is on my shoulder, pushing me against the wall inside my house. His body looms over me, pressing against me. “Careful,” he rasps.
I see the hint of something other than anger cross his features. Something like hunger. Lust. I feel it, too, as much as I hate it. Something hard is pressing into my belly, and I’m not sure if it’s a huge wrench or his cock. The thought makes me feel a little lightheaded.
“Let me go,” I say, but my voice comes out as soft as a whisper.
He bites his lip. “You sure you want that?”
I look away, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his eyes. “Yes.”
He pushes off the wall, glaring down at me. “You can come by tomorrow for your car, by the way. And I’ll need these,” he says, snatching the keys to my Camry off the key rack on the wall.
Without another word, he turns, slamming the door behind him. I’m left breathless in the hallway, staring after him. What was that? For a minute there, I thought Reid Riggins was actually thinking about kissing me, or more than that. And for a minute… I think I wanted him to.
I shake my head, going upstairs and making a point of not looking at my newly dinged and dented furniture that still needs to be arranged. I hop in the shower even though I just showered about two hours ago before I left for work. I need to clear my head. I need space, time, and I need every last bit of Reid’s scent off my skin. I don’t need little reminders of him catching me by surprise throughout the day.
I squeeze out shampoo and wash my hair, whether it needs it or not. I’m undoing all the work I did of getting ready this morning, but that, admittedly, wasn’t much. I slapped on some mascara, concealer, and just brushed the tangles out of my hair, letting it air dry on my walk to work. It’s not like I have anyone to impress.
Except Reid.
That thought rises up, unwelcome and frustratingly pleasant at the same time. I rub the soap to a furious lather, thinking about Reid and the way it felt to have him against me. I turn my back to the faucet and rub the soap across my chest, cupping my breasts as I do, feeling a tingle of warmth that has nothing to do with the water.
My hands slide down my stomach and I rub myself between the legs, eyebrows drawing down, imagining his hard cock is pressing into my belly, throbbing. His body is hard against me, lips only inches from mine. Vivid images of him pumping into me, groaning with pleasure flash in my mind and I’m soon leaning against the wall, working my fingers fast, riding the waves of my shameful climax.
I shut off the water and towel off, feeling the guilt from what I just did seep deeper and deeper. Even if Reid wasn’t a total asshole, he’s Tara’s ex. Even if she has changed recently, I’m still her best friend. I lost track of how many pints of ice cream we shared
while she talked through her problems with Reid to me. I never really looked at their relationship objectively though. I always looked at it through the lens of being Tara’s best friend. I took her side. That was my job.
Now, I think back on it and realize that she was horrible to him. She always came to me and complained that he was a deadbeat who didn’t want to make enough to support her, that he didn’t love her enough to make the life she wanted. And what did I do? I defended her. I told her she was right, and that he should have goals beyond just doing what makes him comfortable. I can’t help feeling like shit looking back on it. As much as I love Tara, she didn’t know Reid at all. He may be the most abrasive asshole I’ve ever met, but he seems to know what he wants and he’s devoting himself to doing it, regardless of what the world says about it.
A lot like me.
The realization gives me chills. Did I just compare myself to Reid Riggins? I sigh, wrapping a towel around myself and heading downstairs to pour myself some wine. I really could use a good buzz right about now. Who cares if it’s not even past noon. When I think back to the notice folded in my purse I feel like I could actually go for something closer to black-out drunk. Anything to forget. Anything to put this all behind me, even for a little while.
Well, at least the solution to my problems is simple. I just need to come up with about twelve grand on short notice. Yeah. No big deal.
46
Reid
I wipe the sweat from my eyes and squint toward the road at the sound of an approaching car. A six cylinder, by the sound of it, and poorly maintained. I can practically hear the pistons struggling to pump from here. Once the car pulls into view I realize exactly who’s driving.
Single Dad's Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 33
