Kids raiding my fridge was the least of my concerns. They wouldn’t have found a lot there anyway. The house was still fairly empty.
First things first. I pulled out my phone so I could order us a large pizza.
“You okay with green peppers on a pepperoni pizza?” I asked. “And extra cheese, right?”
He straightened and frowned at me. “What?”
I smirked faintly. “You got a buzz goin’ on. You’ll want the pizza to soak up the alcohol so you’re not hungover in the morning.”
The boy could still be cute as fuck when he blushed. It happened so rarely these days.
He looked away from me again and went back to picking up cups, beer cans, and potato chips off the floor. “Peppers are fine,” he mumbled.
Fucking precious.
How could I stay mad at that face?
I went through the ordering process and added some wings too. And we had hot sauce on the patio…
“How grounded am I?”
I let out a laugh. “Like you wouldn’t fucking believe. But you know what’s worse? Dad had the brilliant idea that you’re also giving up your phone at eight every night for two weeks—andyou and I are gonna talk about this until you’re ready to keel over.”
On that note, I should send Nate an update. Knowing him, he was pacing a hole in the floor at his parents’ house.
“Myphone…? Dad, Ineedthat?—”
“You’re getting off easy, so pick your damn battles, son,” I told him seriously.
He wisely shut his mouth.
Today was a good day. I felt ambitious and shit.
It was best to take advantage, because the depression was bound to pull me under sooner rather than later. Or maybe it wasn’t depression. I was no doctor. I just knew I felt like shit most of the time because of Nathan fucking Riley.
Was he gonna change his name back?
After work, I picked up Mikey and Lily and headed over to Nathan’s. We’d originally planned on spending the day at my brother’s, but Nate was working late tonight, so I’d prepare dinner for the kids by myself.
“I’m hungry, Daddy,” Lily said.
“I bought carrots and Bagel Bites,” I answered. “We’ll get that sorted as soon as we get home.”
“I like Bagel Bites more than carrots,” Mikey chimed in.
“Baby, who doesn’t.” I made the last turn and hummed to the music on the radio.
“You can’t call me baby anymore,” Mikey stated. “I’m not a baby.”
Thanks for tanking my mood, kid.
I eyed him in the rearview. “Since when?”
He shrugged. “I dunno.”
“I call Daddy my baby sometimes,” I lied. I mean, I used to. I’d called him baby all the time. “It’s a term of endearment like sweetheart and champ.”
He just scrunched his nose.
