It does sound pretty far-fetched. I lift a shoulder. “He’s very smart for his age.” Or it was accidental and he didn’t even know he’d done it. Which is more likely. “He knows his ABC's backward and forward. And I'll have you know, he's been dressing himself since he was two.” I plant my hands on my hips.
“Mom, look, I’m Spidey!” Crew yells. He comes zipping through the front room with a pair of underwear on his head like a mask. Oh great, it’s my underwear.Doesn’t he know I was trying to make a point here?
“Ha,” I give a tight laugh and look back at Ward.
There is amusement dancing around in those dark eyes, I’m sure of it, but the firm set of his lips refuses to cave.
“Uh huh.”
“Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose,” I say. “But you’re partly to blame. If you hadn’t walked into the locker room declothing yourself, no one would have paid attention to the weird mom and the video wouldn’t have gone viral.”
His lips tug downward. “De…clothing?”
“Yes. It’s a thing. A thing you should never do. In public.” How long can I ramble on before he admits it was all his fault and I’m completely innocent?
“I was in thebathroom.”
“Of a fairly public location.” I have no idea. Do they let random people off the street come pee at the station occasionally to keep it public enough for this excuse to be valid?
He shakes his head, and I can see the annoyance building in his dark eyes and stiff jaw. On a better occasion, I’d like to rub my hand down that jawline to see if it’s as strong as it looks.
Now’s probably not the time.
“How would you like it if the tables were turned?”
I frown. “You mean, if you had posted a video of me taking off my shirt?”
“Yes.” His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “I mean no. You know what I mean. Do you know how I found out about this?”
I purse my lips. “Sheer luck?”
“I was on a date,” he grounds out. “And attacked by preteen girls wanting to see mytattoo.”
He was on a date? That shouldn’t surprise me. It shouldn’t matter at all to me if he dates or doesn’t date. But he sure had seemed upset when his friend insinuated I could be good for him.
Apparently, he only has a problem dating certain kinds of women. Like me.
I should feel bad his date was ruined. I do feel bad. But not bad enough to soothe his ruffled feathers.
“Well, did you show them?” I ask.
“No!” The fire in his eyes could do more harm than good in his line of work.
I take a breath. I was humiliated when I saw it, so I can only imagine how embarrassing it would have been to find out in his situation. “Okay. I’m sorry, I really am. You have every reason to be upset. It was a complete accident, and I will take care of—”
“Accident?” He cuts me off, narrowing his brows. “That’s the word you’re going with?” He takes a daunting step closer. There’s fire in his eyes again, and my whole body is combusting. Cowering. When Rodney looked at me like that, I knew what was coming—the insults, the verbal abuse, the fear his anger would escalate into physical harm.
My heart pounds in my eardrums, a warning that I’m not safe.
“Would you look at that? It’s Crew’s bedtime. Thanks for stopping by.” I hurry to close the door between us. My body sags and I have to rely on cheap wood and fiberglass to keep me up.
“This isn’t over,” Ward practically growls through the door.
I swallow down the remainder of my fear and call out in a shaky voice, “I’ll miss you too.”
Then he really does growl.
What’s with the men in my life growling at me?
