Niall
“Have you kissed her yet?” Sophie purses her lips and glances up with a knowing look.
When the hell did this kid turn into an adult? And when did she pay enough attention to know that Laken wasn’t just one of the regular playdates I dragged her to?
“No, and it’s none of your business.” I try to fix the mess I’ve made of her hair before school. Dragging a brush through the rat’s nest, I again attempt what should be pigtails, but ends up looking like one cheesed off donkey humping another.
Completely ignoring me, she winces as I pull the elastic bands tighter and give up. “Are you gonna kiss her?”
That’s the million-dollar question. When I kissed her at Turtle Pond, something changed between us. Now, three weeks later, we’ve seen each other almost every weekend, spending time with the kids at Central Park Zoo, a day trip to Coney Island, the Children’s Museum…hell, almost anythingbutspending time alone. Not that she hasn’t been giving me some serious signals. With purposeful touches, lingering caresses, and her outfits getting skimpier and skimpier, something needs to give. At the end of the day, I’m still just a man.
Plus, I’m starting to get callouses from jerking off all the time, and I’m going to go broke paying my water bill from all the cold showers.
We’ve learned the basics about each other, enough to not look like feckin’ liars if someone questions our union, but Laken’s still holding back. It’s almost as if she’s afraid to let me see the real her—like there’s something she doesn’t want me to know. It irritates me, because I’ve let her into my world more than I’ve allowed any other woman since Sophie’s mother wrecked my trust.
“No. Yes. I don’t know, Soph. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because you like her.”
That’s beside the point.
Dropping the brush, I chuckle and scratch my head with my index finger. “When did you become an expert in anything but Oprah and being mad at the world?”
“I like Preston,” she says with a blank expression.
Sophie has always been a master at schooling her emotions. It freaks adults out, and as abrasive as she is, I used to think I was doing something wrong. Eventually, I realized it’s just in her genes. She’s one of a kind and marches to the beat of her own drummer. Kind of like her dad.
I raise an eyebrow. “You do?”
“Well, not in the beginning,” she admits. “But he’s not so bad. I like Laken too. You should marry her.”
“You think so, huh?”
Chewing her thumbnail, she thinks for a moment. “Tomorrow works for me. I’ll wear a dress, but no shiny shoes. I like sneakers.”
“Nobody is getting married, Soph.”
A hint of a smile crosses her lips. “That’s what you think.” Bounding down the hallway of our small apartment, she stops at her bedroom door and turns over her shoulder with a wink. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got this under control.” With a maniacal laugh, she throws her head back and disappears into her room while slamming the door.
Oh, feckin’ hell, this can’t be good.
Sophie has never been what you’d call a conventional child. Spirited and unique is what her teachers tend to call her. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to translate to, but I’m thinking they probably get together, down a few shots of tequila, and draw straws to see who ends up with the Mackay kid the following year.
Is that horrible to say about your own child?
However, Sophie is right about one thing. Idowant to kiss Laken again. If I close my eyes, I can still smell her jasmine perfume and hear her throaty laughter from the pond. The way she looked dripping wet, with her clothes stuck to every curve, warms my skin just thinking about it. Her body is amazing, and the more we’re together, the more I imagine what it would feel like underneath me all slick and wet as I thrust into it. Would she scream my name or moan softly in my ear as she came?
This definitely isn’t good.
Reaching down to adjust my inconvenient erection, I try to think of anything but Laken. I’m not supposed to want her, but the fact that this is just a business arrangement of convenience makes me crave her even more. Maybe it’s that whole forbidden fruit thing. Maybe wanting what I can’t have makes her seem way more enticing than she is?
Then I remember the heat in her eyes when I tried to pull her out of the water. This is completely new territory for me. I’ve never had to work so hard for a woman’s attention. Normally, they throw themselves at me and I have my choice of which one I want for the night. The fact that it has taken so long for Laken to warm up to me pisses me off and entices me at the same time. What kind of mental bullshite is that?
It’s clear to me that I won’t be able to get over her until I’m balls deep inside her.
That settles it. I’m fucking Laken Cavanaugh.
I stare at my cell phone sitting innocently on the coffee table. I’d put it off, but the simple arrangement I thought I had under control has turned out way more complicated than I imagined. I’ve kept this whole charade to myself for weeks, but maybe enlisting some help isn’t such a bad idea.
