by Ash, Nikki
“She made it at preschool. It was a few months before Richard and I divorced. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of it while I was ridding the place of him.” She rambles on, “The kids have a photo of him in their rooms, but all the photos in the living room are of only the three of us.” She thinks it bothers me that there’s a photo of her ex-husband in her room.
“Hey,” I say, turning in my place to face her. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m well aware you were married and you guys share two kids.”
“I know, but…”
“No buts.” I lift her chin and press my lips to hers. “These people in that photo are part of your life, and if I know you like I think I do, those kids are probably your entire world.”
With tears shining in her eyes, she nods. “They are.”
What I don’t say but am thinking is that I would’ve given anything to have been the man in that picture. To be the father of her children. To have her wear my ring. But I was too late. It kills me she moved on, especially with him. It never made sense to me. She went from barely being able to stand him, to getting pregnant by him. I want to ask how it happened, but I don’t want to go backward. What’s done is done. The past can’t be changed. Right now, all I want to do is enjoy today… tonight… with Harper. Get to know who she is now, starting with the two people who mean the most to her.
“What do you say we order some food in, and while we’re eating, you tell me all about your world?”
“You’re not leaving?” she asks, her brows arching in confusion. What the hell… did she think I would fuck her and run? Or maybe that’s all she was looking for… Oh, shit, maybe her kids are due to be home soon. Although, it is kind of late…
“I don’t want to,” I admit. “But I don’t know how it works with your kids and all…”
“They’re with Richard for the weekend.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and chews on her bottom lip for a moment before she says, “Do you… umm... want to stay the night?” Her middle finger finds a strand of hair and she twists it around in circles nervously.
Jesus, this woman. A couple hours with her and she already has me under her spell. I know one night with her won’t be enough. I’m going to want and need more.
“You sure?” I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or regret anything in the morning.
“Yes,” she says, stepping toward me and dropping the strand of hair. She runs her fingers down the front of my body, and her lips curve into a shy smile. “I would really love to wake up with you tomorrow morning.”
I couldn’t even tell you the last time I woke up in the same bed with a woman, let alone with a woman glued to my side. When I would spend time with a woman it was usually while we were on the road and I would make up some lame excuse about not being allowed to have people spend the night. I never wanted the possibility of the feelings that could come with taking that next step. Spending the night and sharing a bed with someone feels more intimate than having sex with them.
But when Harper asked me to spend the night, I didn’t even think twice. There was no way I was going to miss out on a chance to spend more time with her, even if it’s only while we’re sleeping. I wasn’t sure how it would feel the morning after, when the sun was up and we were no longer high from our orgasms. But as I watch Harper snoring softly with her body tangled in mine, her arm thrown over my torso, and her face nuzzled into my chest, I quickly come to the conclusion that waking up with her is without a doubt the best way to wake up. And if it were up to me, I would make it a point to wake up every day like this.
I run my hand along her back and down her arm. I feel like I need to keep touching her, to remind myself she’s really here with me. Back in my arms, in my life.
I glance over at the clock on her nightstand and see it’s still pretty early. Harper is probably exhausted. After it was decided I would be spending the night, we ordered Chinese delivery and spent hours talking and getting to know each other again, catching up on our families and lives. She told me a little about her marriage and a lot about her kids. I knew Harper would make a wonderful mother, but as she talked about them, it was more than that. They’re everything to her. The moon and the stars and the entire atmosphere. Her world literally revolves around them, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the reason she was afraid to get divorced. The reason she hasn’t dated. She’s been too focused on being a mom while Richie is off getting married and divorced like it’s a sport.
After it felt like we were almost completely caught up with each other’s lives, we spent a couple more hours getting to know each other’s bodies some more. I couldn’t even tell you how many times last night and early this morning I had the pleasure of being inside Harper, or when it was we fell asleep. But it couldn’t have been too long ago. Luckily, her kids are gone for the weekend, and I have nothing I need to do, so we can stay in bed all day if we want.
Needing to take a morning piss, I gently move Harper off my body. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up. After doing what I need to do, I consider waking her up for some morning sex, because fuck if I can’t get enough of her. But before I do, I remember she mentioned it’s not often she has time to do anything for herself and that Richie rarely takes the kids when he’s supposed to. So, I imagine it’s been a long time—if ever—she’s slept in and gotten breakfast in bed.
I head out to the kitchen and take a look at the food she has. There’s mostly kids’ foods like Fruity Pebbles and dinosaur oatmeal—whatever the hell that is. Playing professional baseball for the last twelve years has forced me to learn how to cook and eat healthy. You can’t live off of shit food and expect to be the best. Your body needs the proper fuel to function and excel.
I find the ingredients I need and go about making us breakfast to share—a ham, egg, and cheese omelet and pancakes with syrup and whipped cream. I plate it all up, then find a tray in her pantry. I pour us a glass of milk and orange juice, then carry it all into her room.
When I walk in, I’m shocked to find Harper is sitting up in bed, awake. “Good morning,” she says with a breathtaking smile on her face. “I heard you out there, but I wasn’t sure what you were doing.”
“I was making us breakfast,” I tell her, setting the tray up on top of her lap.
She takes it all in and grins. “This looks delicious. Keep this up and I might never let you leave.” Her words are meant to be taken as a joke, but I don’t laugh because the thought of Harper keeping me here forever sounds damn good.
“I’ve never had breakfast in bed like this,” she says, setting the drinks on the nightstand and then cutting a piece of the omelet with her fork and bringing it up to my mouth. Her action of giving me the first bite shows once again the type of person she is. “Once when Hunter was like seven or eight, he made me breakfast in bed.” She smiles as she recalls the memory. “It was only cereal, and of course, he was too little and spilled it all over the floor in the process.” She laughs. “But he was so proud of himself.” She cuts another piece, this time taking a bite for herself.
After we finish the omelet, she starts in on the pancakes. After she’s done cutting them, she reaches over and gives me a bite. It’s really fucking sweet, but good. When she takes her own bite, she lights up. “This is delicious.”
“I was lucky you had the ingredients I needed.”
“So, what do you want to do today?” she asks, taking another bite of the pancake.
“I don’t know about during the day, but tonight I want to take you out on a real date.”
She laughs. “Really?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?” I ask, confused.
“Umm… maybe because you’re a super-hot professional athlete who never dates. I can’t even believe Simon got you to go on that blind date in the first place.”
“One, I’m retired.”
She rolls her eyes.
“And two, what do you mean I never go on any dates?” It’s true, but how the fuck would she
know that?
“Oh, c’mon,” she says, setting her fork down. “You were named The Most Eligible Bachelor several different years. Paparazzi follow you everywhere and they’re always talking about how you never date. You go to events and are occasionally seen with women, but you’re never actually seen on a date, and almost never with the same woman more than once or twice.”
I find myself grinning at her words. “You’re a total stalker.” I laugh.
She groans. “No!”
“Yes, you are.” I nod slowly.
“Whatever, Landon.” She scoffs.
“I bet you’re part of the Landon Maxwell Fan Club.”
“Oh my God! No, I’m not,” she screeches.
“I bet you’re the president of it.”
She snorts. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“You’re right, though,” I admit. “I don’t do dates. At least I didn’t… But I want to take you out.”
“Why is that?”
“Why do I want to take you out?” I ask. “Well, for starters I’ve thought about you almost every day since the day you told me you were pregnant…” I don’t add that that was the hardest day of my fucking life for many reasons.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Why don’t you ever date? Why are you thirty-one years old and still single with no kids and have never been married?”
I still at her question. The easy answer is I’ve been married to my career, but the real answer is far more detailed than that. I consider telling her the truth, the whole truth, but it’s too soon. We’ve only just reconnected. I’m not about to scare her off before we’ve even begun.
“It was just never the right time. Baseball makes it hard to get to know anyone.”
She eyes me curiously, but thankfully doesn’t press for more information.
“So, how about it? You and me on a real date tonight.”
“We’ll see,” she quips noncommittedly, picking her fork back up and stabbing another piece of pancake.
“We’ll see?” I question.
“We’ll. See.” She shrugs, but I can see the smile threatening to break free, telling me she’s going to let me take her out.
We take turns, each getting bites of the pancakes, until there’s only one bite left. Plucking it off the plate, I dip it into the cup of syrup and then bring it up to her mouth. She takes the piece from me, moaning as a bit of syrup drips down her chin.
Leaning over, I lick the stickiness off her chin. “The pancakes are good, but you taste way better.”
She giggles. “I really like when you taste me.” She waggles her brows playfully.
“I can taste you again,” I offer. This time when she laughs, she must forget she’s holding a tray in her lap, because her knee comes up and knocks it over. It clatters to the ground, but not before the cup of syrup flies through the air and lands on the bed… and all over Harper.
“Oh my God,” she shrieks. She’s about to scamper off the bed when I stop her.
“Don’t move,” I say with a laugh. “You have syrup all over you.” I point at the front of her. The syrup has landed all over my shirt from last night. After the second—or maybe it was the third—round of sex, Harper grabbed our discarded clothes from the living room and brought them in here, where she proceeded to put my shirt on. With several of the buttons undone, her cleavage spilled out of the front, and I told her she’s only allowed to wear my shirts from now on. She laughed and told me she’s okay with that since they always smell like me.
“Oh, no.” She pouts. “That’s going to stain your shirt.” She lifts the shirt carefully over her head, but as she does so, the syrup drips downward and lands all over her luscious fucking tits. It’s like watching porn but better because she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing.
Grabbing my shirt from her, I throw it onto the ground. Then I move the bedsheet, which will need to be washed, out of the way.
“Landon! What are you—”
Before she can finish her question, my tongue darts out and laps up the stickiness that’s covering her skin. Harper moans in appreciation, then juts out her chest, wanting more. One thing I’ve learned about Harper is she always wants more. And I always want to give her fucking more.
Once I’ve licked her clean, I circle my tongue around her perfect, pink nipple. Her hands grip my hair and she tugs on the strands.
I’m moving my way down her sticky body, licking and sucking on her flesh, when I hear something that sounds a lot like a door slamming and someone saying something.
I glance up at her. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” she whines, wanting me to keep going.
Fucking horny woman.
I listen for a few seconds but don’t hear anything. “Never mind.” I shake my head and spread her thighs, thankful she fell asleep with no underwear on. Just as I’m spreading her lips and am about to feast on her pussy, I hear someone yell out, “Mom!”
This time Harper hears it too because she whisper-yells, “Oh, shit! My kids are home” as she scrambles off the bed faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move.
Eighteen
Harper
The moment I hear my sweet girl yelling for me, I go into freak-out mode. While Richard has brought other women around our kids since only a few months after our divorce, I’ve never brought a man around them. It’s not that I wouldn’t. I’ve just never found a man worth bringing around my kids.
Landon, though, is worth it. However, my children meeting him while he’s between my thighs is not how I ever imagined it happening. And if my kids are here, that means their father is too… And the last thing I need is his hypocritical, judgmental ass talking shit.
After I’ve quickly thrown on a long pajama shirt and some leggings and grabbed my robe from behind the bathroom door, I hiss to Landon to stay here. Then, closing him inside my room, I head out to the living room where I find a pissed-off looking Richard, a sad-looking Ella, and Hunter, who is glaring daggers at Richard.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, plastering a smile on my face.
“No,” Richard says. “Hunter’s apparently mad at me, but won’t tell me why. I asked him several times, but he just kept saying he wants to go home. I have a surgery scheduled for today and I don’t have time to deal with this.”
Deal with this? This is his damn son… Sure, Hunter can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s about to be a teenager.
“Kids, why don’t you run upstairs for a few minutes while your dad and I talk?”
Both children nod and run upstairs without a word.
“It’s your weekend,” I say to Richard once the kids are upstairs and out of hearing distance.
“I just told you I have a surgery scheduled.”
“You were supposed to go away.” I remember very clearly he said his fiancée booked them a romantic weekend away. “So, you shouldn’t have anything booked.”
“When she had to cancel it, I told them to put me back on the schedule.” Of course he did. God forbid he take a weekend off to spend time with his kids.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Either way, you can’t just show up here unannounced.”
“I called and texted,” he says. “You didn’t answer.”
Shit! Where the hell is my phone?
“Regardless…”
“Is that syrup on you?” Richard asks, cutting me off. “Why do you have syrup all over your neck?” His face contorts into a look of confusion. “And your hair looks like a rat’s nest…” Before I can think of an excuse, he steps closer and sniffs me. “And you smell like…” His eyes widen and then dart down the hall. “Do you have someone over?” he accuses.
“What?” I splutter.
“You smell like syrup and sex,” he hisses.
Oh my God! How the fuck does he know that?
“Umm… I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I lie. “But even if I did, it’s not your damn business,” I hiss, wrapping my robe around me tighter.
“It is my business if the guy you’re fucking is going to be around my kids.”
I bark out a laugh. “Your kids?” I snort. “Well, it’s your weekend, which means, instead of bringing your kids home because you don’t want to deal with your son, you should be handling whatever problems arise at your place.”
“Hunter insisted I bring him home.”
“He’s twelve,” I point out. “He doesn’t get to decide that.”
“Samantha wasn’t comfortable watching the kids with Hunter acting like that, so I agreed to bring him home.” He glances back down the hallway. “It’s not like you were doing anything anyway, right?” He arches a brow, daring me to argue.
Fucker.
“Next time you work it out at your house,” I repeat as he walks out the door.
Once he’s gone, I haul ass back to my room, only to find Landon is gone. The sheets are in the hamper, the tray and plates have been picked up and are on the dresser, and my phone is on the center of my bare bed. Picking my phone up, I swipe up—it doesn’t have a password since Ella is always using it to watch videos—and find several text messages.
A few are from Richard, telling me he’s on his way to bring the kids home. A couple from Bridget asking how the date went and then telling me if she doesn’t hear from me in twenty minutes, she’s calling the police. I glance at the time she sent it and see it’s been fifteen minutes. I send her a quick text back that I’m alive and we have a lot to talk about, but the kids came home early. She responds that we should make it a pool day. Since I’m the one with a pool, I tell her they can come over anytime.
The last text message is from Landon. I do a double take. He must’ve input his contact info into my phone before he texted me.
Landon: This is my number.
I glance around and see my curtains have been moved. He must’ve gone through the window. I read his text over and over again. Four simple words—giving nothing away. Did he hear Richard and me talking? Did it make him run scared? I mean, he did climb out a damn window. Maybe he texted me his number before he heard what was said and now he’s regretting it. I wouldn’t blame him. He’s a single guy with zero baggage, while my baggage is enough that if I brought it all to the airport, they would charge me extra.
