That’s not how it is between us now.
It’s not.
Now, we’re just friends.
Friends with the benefit of having a beautiful baby girl to share.
That’s it.
And that’s fine.
It’s absolutelyfine.
34
Nate
My god,if I have to see her traipsing around in those leggings and T-shirts for one more day, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. And while her T-shirts and leggings aren’t what you’d ordinarily deem “sexy,” they are on her. I mean, how can an oversized T-shirt make my dick that hard? I guess it’s because I remember what lies beneath. Sure, her body has changed since she had Brynn, but that only makes it better. Or I imagine how much better it is. More curves. More soft skin.
“Jesus.” It’s going to be hard to hide my erection in athletic shorts. I’d better head back to my bedroom to change or do something about this. I look down at the front my shorts and wince. Yep, I need to take care of this.
“What’s wrong?”
Fuck. Busted.
I quickly turn around like I’ve forgotten something in my bedroom. “Be right back. Uh, forgot my…” I can’t think of anything, so I practically jog back to my bedroom, shut the door hard, and speed walk into my bathroom. “Shower,” I mutter to myself. In there, I’ll be able to take care of my throbbing dick, and I’ll do it imagining Maggy with me.
For some reason, that saddens me.
It doesn’t change anything south of my border, however.
In the shower I go, again. Two showers in an hour? That’s not weird.
I make relatively quick work of my issue, and I’m back out of the shower, dressed in the same shorts as before, and in the kitchen ready to whip up some breakfast for Maggy. I open the fridge and pull out a block of cheddar cheese, butter, and the eggs. I’m limited with what I can do in the kitchen, so scrambled eggs with cheese it is.
“What was that all about?”
“What?”Play dumb, Nate. Play dumb.
“You muttering, ‘Jesus,’ then running back to take another shower.”
“Oh, um, I’d forgotten to rinse out my conditioner.”
Holy hell, that was genius, Nate. Fucking genius.
“Hm.” She furrows her brows at me. “Weird.”
“Yep. I had my mind on work.”
On her. I had my mind on her. Her ass. Her tits.
Fuck, her tits.
I mean breasts. That sounds better, right?
Call them whatever you want. Maggy Fitzgerald has two that could launch a thousand ships, as they say. I remember that vividly.
“You okay over there?” she asks, cocking her head to one side.
