Releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I nod. “I know.”
He kisses my forehead, his gray eyes holding mine, once again full of that emotion I barely let myself acknowledge. Because what if I’m imagining it? What if I’m projecting? What if he only feels responsible and not …
“I love you, Sam.” His words are soft, but they land in my ear, seeping into my brain, into my heart, and I hold my breath while he continues. “I never stopped. And if Marcus hadn’t pulled you up on stage that night, I never would’ve done anything about it. I wouldn’t know Maddie. I wouldn’t be here right now. Marcus pulling you out of the crowd is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I suck in a shuddering gasp, but before I can formulate a response, he kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine. But this isn’t a kiss that’s intended to lead anywhere. It’s kissing for its own sake, and tears inexplicably prick at my eyes.
When he pulls back and sits up, it’s to grab his phone. Sighing, he shows me the screen. “It’s almost eight. We should get you home so you can get Maddie into bed.”
It takes me a second to process his words, still caught on the declaration of love. He loves me. Still. “Come with me.” The words fall from my lips almost of their own accord, but I don’t want to call them back. “Stay tonight.”
He graces me with another of those sweet, boyish smiles. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Aaron
Taking Sam home makes me feel like we’re teenagers again. Except I never took her home with a packed overnight bag riding in the back seat when we were teenagers. And we were met at her door by her parents, not some guy I’ve never met.
“Hey, Sam,” he greets her warmly, but he goes stone-faced when he spots me over her shoulder as he goes in for a hug.
I return his expression with my own impassive facade. Because why the fuck is this guy giving my Sam a hug? Who does he think he is?
Tamping down my jealousy-fueled irritation, I try for a polite smile, extending my hand after he—finally—releases Sam. “Hey. I’m Aaron.”
He shakes my hand, making me smirk when he squeezes hard like we’re in some kind of grip strength contest. Where the winner gets Sam I guess?
I just let him squeeze, returning it with my standard handshake, because she’s already mine. I don’t need to enter some kind of pissing contest with this asshole. I’ve already won. The poor fuck just doesn’t realize it yet.
He throws Sam a look as she makes her way to the dining room table where Maddie’s wearing a plastic smock and painting. “I thought you went out with Kami.” He makes the statement an accusation, and now I wish I’d crushed his hand after all.
Sam’s head snaps up from where she’s admiring Maddie’s paintings, her brows drawn together. “I did. But then Aaron finally responded to my text messages, and Kami told me to invite him along.” She arches one brow high on her forehead. “Is that okay with you, Dad?” He has the grace to look embarrassed at her pointed sarcasm. She shakes her head. “She convinced you to let her paint, huh?”
He shrugs. “She can be very persuasive when she wants to be.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam gives him a resigned smile, and I step closer so I can see what the big deal is with Maddie painting.
Ooooh. Apparently Maddie considers painting a full body activity. There’s paint all over her smock. Brown with streaks of blue and red and purple all over her hands. Streaks of black and orange and red on her bare legs where they stick out from under the smock. A thick smear of purple slashes across her forehead, almost reaching her hairline, and a splotch of red vivid enough that someone could mistake it for blood drips down her cheek.
“Mommy, I made a painting for you!” She proudly brandishes the paper covered in a mixture of all the colors, causing Sam to sidestep so she doesn’t get sideswiped by the paintbrush still clutched in Maddie’s fist.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Sam gushes.
“Daddy!” Maddie squeals, catching sight of me. “I made you a painting too!”
She shoves the paper in her hand at Sam, who takes it gingerly, and grabs another one before hopping down from her chair and barreling toward me, paintbrush first. I pluck it from her hand and pass it to Sam, who’s actively trying to stifle her laughter.
Then I take the painting from Maddie, looking at the muddled streaks of color. She’s very enthusiastic in her painting, I’ll give her that much. “Wow, Maddie. Thank you so much. I’ll hang this up at my house, okay?”
She beams at me, a drip of red paint falling from her cheek to the shoulder of her smock.
Sam grabs a paper towel and comes toward her. “I think it’s time for a bath, Maddie.”
“Okay!” She claps her little hands. “Yay bath!”
“Say bye to Uncle Kyle,” Sam instructs her as she turns her around so she can undo the smock.
Uncle Kyle … a few pieces click into place. She’s mentioned him before. But she said they were just friends. The way he looks at her, though … I narrow my eyes in suspicion.
Maddie waves over her shoulder. “Bye, Uncle Kyle.”
“Bye bye, Maddie. I’ll see you next time.”
I stare after Sam as she leads Maddie to the hallway, and seconds later the sound of the water filling the bathtub reaches us. Turning my gaze back to Kyle, I discover he’s sizing me up the same way I’m doing to him. Unable to help myself, I cross my arms and arch an eyebrow at him in a silent Can I help you? look.
He puffs out his chest and steps closer, pitching his voice low so there’s no way Sam can hear him over the sound of the bathtub. “Look, man. Samantha’s a great girl, and she deserves better than for you to come in here and yank her around. Maddie deserves better than that too.”
Biting my cheek, I meet his stare without flinching, taking a breath before responding. Maddie calls him Uncle Kyle. This guy’s obviously part of their lives, and Sam trusts him to watch our little girl. I find it interesting that he only calls her by her full name, though.
But that’s a puzzle for another time.
While my first instinct is to tell him to fuck off, I don’t want to make Sam mad by being an asshole to her friend. Kami might be on my side, but if she had to choose between listening to Kami and listening to this guy … I have no idea who she’d pick.
I need more information. “And why is that any of your business?”
He’s not tall enough to be intimidating—not to me, at least, since I’m a few inches taller. Nor is he overly muscular. But I gotta give the guy props for trying as he puffs his chest out more, hands clenched at his sides. “I’ve made Samantha my business for the last two years while you’ve been off screwing around.”
Ah. I see how it is. Or at least how he wants it to be.
I let a deliberate smile stretch across my face. “So you’re a fan?”
He snorts. “Look. Don’t dick her around, okay? She’s got people here who care about her—”
“Like you?” I interrupt, feeling more certain about how things really are by the second. Letting my arms come to my sides, I put my hands in my pockets, making sure to appear as relaxed and unaffected as possible. This guy’s not a threat. But he wants to be.
His nostrils flare as he gives a stiff nod. “Yes,” he bites out. “Like me. Like her parents. Like the rest of the staff at work.”
Ah. They work together.
I rub my chin, scraping my nails over the shadow on my jaw and hum thoughtfully. “Is she aware of your feelings for her?” I hold back from calling it a crush, even though that’s probably more accurate. I’m needling him on purpose, but I don’t want to push him too far. But this guy doesn’t know Sam. Not like I do. Because if he did, he wouldn’t need to posture like this.
His eyes flash. I’ve hit a nerve. When he doesn’t actually answer my question, I know I’m dead on. “You might think that you’ve got some kind of hold on her. And maybe you do. But the reality is that you’re temporary. You’re not here fo
r the long term. I am. So enjoy playing house with them while you can, because that’s all it is. Playing. You don’t have what it takes to stick around, and you know it as well as I do.”
My nostrils flare, and my hands clench in my pockets, my muscles bunching with the desire to punch this guy in the mouth to shut him up.
Before I can even open my mouth to respond, though, the water cuts off and Sam’s voice carries to us. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.” And then she’s in the entrance to the hallway, stopped in her tracks as she takes in the obvious standoff between Kyle and me. “Hey,” she says slowly. “I didn’t realize you were still here, Kyle. Sorry for trying to push you out, but I need to get Maddie ready for bed.”
Kyle crosses to her and wraps her in a hug, acting as though I’m not even in the room. “No problem. I get it. Maddie comes first.”
I have to fight to stifle the snort-smirk combo that wants to come out when he cuts a glare at me over his shoulder. As though I don’t know that Maddie needs to come first. As though I haven’t been living that reality for the last several weeks. Granted, that’s not long, and I’ll happily admit that. But that’s not exactly my fault. And I rearranged my life to be here with her as soon as I found out about her existence. What else am I supposed to do?
I guess I should’ve magically known that Sam kept the baby years ago and been here the whole time … At least according to this guy.
Lost in my own circling thoughts, I miss most of what Kyle and Sam are saying until I hear Kyle mention something about walking me out.
Sam pulls back, looking between Kyle and me, her expression confused. “No, Aaron’s staying. He helps with Maddie’s bedtime.”
“Oh.” Kyle clears his throat, taking a step back and nodding. “Sure. Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.” Stopping by the door, he rests one hand on the knob. “I’ll see you at work.”
“Bye, Kyle,” Sam says, moving closer to me.
He casts one last glare in my direction before letting himself out.
Sam steps into my side and slides her arms around my waist. I lift one arm and drape it around her shoulders, looking down into her face. Her brows are still pulled together. “What was all that about?”
I shake my head, trying to decide how to answer that question. “Have you guys ever dated?”
She straightens away from me, the furrow on her forehead deepening. “What? No.” She shakes her head, scoffing at the ridiculousness of that assertion. “Kyle and I are just friends. It’s not like that between us. Why would you ask that?”
Glancing at the door where he just disappeared, as though I can still see him through it, I lift one shoulder. “No reason.” If she doesn’t know, there’s no reason to go there. Not tonight. Not after the evening we had together.
He might be her friend, and I might think he’s an asshole on top of being a poor sap for his unrequited crush on my girlfriend, but I’m not going to let him ruin an awesome night.
Instead I pull her close, placing her in front of me and wrapping my other arm around her back as well, and bend to kiss her. I love that I can do this now without worrying. Without wondering. Without wishing.
Regardless of what Kyle thinks, I am in this long term. Nothing about us is temporary, at least not as far as I’m concerned.
Yeah, we still have a few hurdles to clear, but what relationship is bump free?
Sam’s hands make their way to my cheeks, and she kisses me back without reservation.
Yeah. That guy can fuck off.
Sam’s mine.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Samantha
“Hang on,” I yell from my bathroom when the doorbell rings, even though I know there’s no way Kyle can hear me from back here.
I finish slicking on a quick layer of my favorite everyday lip gloss and press my lips together, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear before heading to answer the door.
Kyle cornered me at work yesterday, asking if he could cash in his rain check on dinner to catch up. Maddie and Aaron already had a night together planned for tonight, a last Daddy-daughter date before we all go to his bandmate’s wedding this weekend, so I told Kyle we could go out tonight.
I assumed we’d be meeting at the restaurant, but when I checked with him to confirm the location today, he told me that he’d be picking me up. He seemed so serious and firm about it, and I had a patient to retrieve from the waiting room, so I’d just agreed. Not an argument worth having, for sure.
While full grown men might not throw tantrums quite like four-year-olds, I didn’t see any reason to start the night with Kyle in a sulk for me not letting him pick me up. Motherhood teaches you to pick your battles, that’s for sure.
Pulling the door open, I’m surprised to find Kyle in charcoal slacks and a blue button down shirt that brings out his eyes. “Oh!” I can’t quite contain my surprise. He has the top button undone and the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, but it’s a decidedly dressier look than I expected.
Glancing down at my graphic tee that reads “Instant human, just add coffee” and leggings combo, I step back and gesture him inside. “Hang on. Just, uh, let me change my top.” I walk backwards across the living room, still talking. “I thought we were just going to our usual spot. Did you have somewhere else in mind?”
“Yeah. I thought we’d go to Luigi’s.” It’s not haute cuisine, but it’s a step up from the local sports bar, that’s for sure. His eyes scan my body, a look on his that’s both familiar and foreign. My own brows pucker in confusion and … concern. Why is he looking at me like that?
“Oh. Luigi’s. Um … okay. Give me a sec. I’ll be right back.” That seems an odd choice for friends hanging out and catching up. Maybe he has a craving for lasagna. That must be it. Or breadsticks. They have killer breadsticks there.
Once inside my room, I start shoving through the hangers, trying to find something that’s dressy enough but not too sexy. Appropriate for a friend dinner. Because this is a friend dinner. Not a date.
Definitely not a date.
Right?
Right.
With a pink silky top in my hand, I stop and think over our conversation yesterday. He specifically said he was calling in his dinner for us to catch up. That’s what he said. That’s not asking for a date.
And yet …
He’s dressed like this is a date.
And now I’m changing into something nicer so I don’t feel underdressed. And wishing I’d made more of an effort with my hair.
Why, though?
If Kyle had asked me out on a date, I would’ve told him no. I said yes to friend dinner. My hair is fine for a friend dinner.
Sure, okay, putting on a nicer top to go to a nicer restaurant isn’t a big deal. My favorite snarky shirt isn’t really the right choice for a nice restaurant.
Irritated with myself for overthinking this and with Kyle for surprising me like this, I quickly change. After a quick stop in the bathroom to double-check my reflection and smooth the hairs mussed by pulling shirts off and on, I head out to the living room, pasting a smile on my face and hoping it looks more genuine than it feels.
He doesn’t seem to notice anything’s off, though, and he scans me from head to toe again, that same look in his eye as before. If he were Aaron, I’d call it a heated look.
But this is Kyle …
My friend. One of my best friends. The only person who knew all my secrets until recently.
I suppose he doesn’t know all of them anymore, but …
Well, something about dishing with Kyle about my relationship with Aaron just doesn’t feel right. And now that I think about it, I haven’t actually talked to him as much as I normally do since Aaron’s been in town and we’ve been spending time together. Even less as my relationship with Aaron has progressed.
I’m not quite sure why it feels wrong somehow to talk about Aaron with Kyle …
Gathering my purse, I give myself a mental shake. Kyle’s my friend. He’ll be happy for me as lon
g as I’m happy.
Right?
My uneasiness about this dinner only grows as the evening progresses. The little touches. The change of topic anytime I bring up work, which is what our usual conversations feature. The way he keeps refocusing on the future, what I want out of life. But the biggest red flag is the way he goes still and silent anytime Aaron comes up, even in passing.
By the time we’re done with dinner, I’m ready to go, but when the waitress comes by and asks if we want dessert, Kyle says, “Sure,” and takes the slim menu she offers.
He lays the menu sideways and open on the table so we can both crane our necks to read it. “Want to share something?”
It should be an innocuous question, but somehow it feels more portentous than just dessert. I study his profile without answering for long enough to make him glance up at me, his eyebrows raised in question. A small smile pulls at his lips, and his eyes light with affection as he waits for my answer.
Uncomfortable, I duck my head, wishing my hair were down instead of pulled back in my usual ponytail so it could shield me from the all-too-palpable weight of his gaze. Clearing my throat, I point at the caramel apple pie, careful not to brush against his hand where it rests on the menu. “That sounds good.”
He agrees in a rumbly hum, and his hand flips over, capturing mine before I can withdraw. I freeze, wanting to tug my fingers free, but also not wanting to be a jerk, because Kyle’s my friend. He’s been there for me through a lot over the last couple of years—taking me under his wing at the office, listening to me vent about being a single mom, not judging me when I told him I never told Maddie’s father about her. He’s been the person I’ve leaned on the most other than my parents. He’s listened to me whine about my failed dating attempts with a smile and an offer of ice cream or alcohol or both.
Everything I Want Page 21
