“Yeah, you’re coming home with me, buddy.” I stand, grabbing his bag and ushering his hand up.
He pauses, opening both eyes fully for the first time to look at me, perusing my body from my pantyhose covered legs to my pencil skirt, to the sheer blouse that has a hint of tasteful cleavage. My body heats under his stare, and I find myself wanting to arch my back, to give him a better glimpse of my chest and hope he’ll reach out to touch me. And then I remember that he’s sick, and I’m a perv for lusting after a man who can barely hold down water.
He briefly locks eyes with me before his gaze travels back down to my breasts. “Damn, you look good.”
“Are you seriously hitting on me while you’re practically on your deathbed?”
He smiles, using both hands to finally push forward and off the couch, coming to a standing position. He drapes a heavy arm across my shoulders, letting me carry some of his weight. “Have you seen yourself? I’d have to be dead to not notice you.”
Chapter Eleven
“Six, seven, eight. Sorry!” Jackson clenches the yellow pawn in his hand, rearing his arm back before ripping it forward, sending Jim’s red pawn across the living room.
“Argh!” Jim grumbles, calling over his shoulder to me. “I swear I’m not even letting him win, he’s legit beating me.”
I shake my head at them from the stove. “I told you! I have yet to win playing against him in Sorry! Same thing with Battleship. I have never won at Battleship.”
I turn back to cooking the soup. Soup isn’t really a staple meal in the summer but it was a request from both of my sick patients. The last three days have been a constant stream of popsicles, sports drinks, bland foods, and carbs. Thankfully, there were no more episodes of shitting their pants, and both of them stopped throwing up by Saturday morning.
Jim seemed like his usual self by Saturday night, the color is back to his cheeks, and he’s been mostly picking on me and Jackson. But he didn’t ask to be brought back to his place, and I didn’t offer. I won’t admit it out loud, but I love his company.
Not just for me, but for Jax.
There has always been a part of me that worried about the lack of a father figure in Jackson’s life since the moment my sistertold me she was pregnant, and her piece of shit ex-boyfriend disappeared with all of the money in her bank account. I knew she and I would kill it when it came to raising him, and I’m determined to teach him to be strong yet loving, confident yet sweet. I’ll be damned if he grows up to be a self-absorbed asshole.
I firmly believe that a woman can do everything a man can, and better, with less complaining. But I forgot how much I missed having someone else around to help shoulder the burden of parenting.
Being a parent is hard. I’m willing to bet there isn’t a parent on this planet who said it was easy all the time, who only speaks of glitter and sunshine and doesn’t acknowledge that sometimes you just want to pee with a door closed and get a full eight hours of sleep.
It’s just nice to have someone else around. Someone to play games or color while I’m trying to cook dinner. Someone to stand on my side when Jackson tries to get out of eating his vegetables. Someone to tap in when I’m on the verge of losing my cool. It lessens some of the constant guilt I’ve felt once I stepped in as mom.
Acknowledging it’s hard doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth it.
Jim is a natural. He understands when they can be wild and turn my living room into a WWE cage match, and he knows when it’s time to calm down and get to work.
“Soup’s ready,” I call out as I ladle steamy soup into bowls.
He picks Jackson up, swinging him side to side during the walk to the kitchen.
I pull the entire table out from the wall, wondering how I will fit an average size setup in this space once I finally have the money for a kitchen remodel.
“Looks great.” Jim reaches an arm up to rub the space between my shoulder blades, his other hand coming to pull out my chair.
Jackson is already shoveling spoonful after spoonful of chicken noodle soup into his mouth, and I’m so thankful his appetite is back.
“Some bread, bud?” I cut off a chunk of crusty bread and hand a piece to Jackson, then to Jim.
“This is delicious,” Jim says with a full mouth.
“You should come here and have dinner with us every night,” Jackson pipes up.
Jim chuckles. “I think you and your mom would get sick of me if I came over every night, but I promise I’ll be back.”
Jackson’s head moves in my direction. “We’d never get sick of Jim, right mom?”
My heart lurches in my throat. No, I don’t think I would get sick of Jim being around, but it feels too soon to admit that.
Jim reaches over to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, gently wiggling him side to side. “I promise many hangouts in our future, bud. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”
