She blinks. My fingers ghost the underside of her bare breast. I glance down to see her hard nipples against the thin fabric and then catch her eye again. “I would scratch your itch and you can scratch mine.”
My mouth is close to hers. So close. And I want to kiss her so bad I feel the urge in every nerve-ending in my entire body. It’s a pulse. A beat like my heart, only stronger.
“What were you thinking about… while you fucked your hand?”
Mallory’s crass words ratchet up the desire in my veins. “You.”
She tips her head up and presses her mouth to mine. She grabs my shoulders, pulling me closer until her back is pressed to the wall and her front is flush with mine. And when she parts her lips and slips her tongue into my mouth my hand cups her perfect left tit and my fingers pinch that rock hard nipple. She moans into my mouth and I kiss the sound away.
And then Dylan wails.
We jump apart like someone drops a bucket of ice water on us. Mallory pushes past me and flings open the door to the bedroom. I count to ten and think of baseball to get my dick to deflate again. After the ten count, I’m ready to head out there.
Mallory is standing at the foot of the bed, rocking Dylan in her arms. He is screaming like he’s been lit on fire. I stand there feeling useless. “I’d offer to take him but he just screams louder when I’m holding him,” I mutter.
“He’ll get over that,” she promises. “Can you heat up some milk on the stove? Not too hot, just lukewarm. Put it in his bottle?”
I nod and head downstairs. When I return almost fifteen minutes later his wailing has dulled to gentle sobs. His face is beet red and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. I hand her the bottle but she shakes her head. “Sit.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, near the headboard. She gently shifts Dylan in her arms, cooing sweet words to him as she does, and then she places him in my arms. He blinks up at me, stunned, and then his face starts to twist up like he’s prepping to release one hell of a scream. “Give him the milk.”
I softly shove the bottle toward him and both his fat hands grab it and he pulls it to his mouth. A few sips and his whole body relaxes in my lap. He wiggles a little, snuggling himself into the crook of my arm as I sit up against the headboard. He makes a few little almost-cry sounds but he settles. I stare at him in awe. My son.
Mallory walks around the bed and crawls up beside me. She sits there watching silently over my shoulder for a few minutes and then she slides down and lies on the bed next to me. I give her a quick smile and she returns it with a sleepy one.
I turn back to study Dylan. I think this is the first tranquil moment we’ve shared. He stares up at me with eyes that I swear he stole from my mom and wet cheeks and that dimple, like mine and my dad’s, in his chin and the stubborn clench of his jaw, that reminds me of my sister. “You gotta work with me, Dylan. I promise I’ll take care of you if you let me. Just relax and give me a chance lil bear. I’ve never been a daddy before but I’ll do my best for you.”
He keeps sucking on his bottle, eyes getting heavy, and I hope he gives my words some consideration before he drops back off into sleep. I run a hand over his hair and just stare at him. I made this. This perfect little person. Without even knowing or trying. It scares the hell out of me, but I’m also so fucking amazed. And in love. I love this kid. How? Fucked if I know but I do.
"I love him," I tell Mallory. I look over for her reaction, but her eyes are closed her mouth is slightly open and she's drooling on the pillow beside me.
Dylan’s eyes close before he can finish the milk, so I gently take it from his pudgy hands and put it on the night table. I sit there with him asleep, propped up on my lap, cradled in my arm for about half an hour. Then, when I’m sure he’s sleeping well, I walk over and carefully lay him out in his sleeping pod. I cover him with a loose blanket and take his giraffe stuffie and place it near his left arm.
He doesn’t blink or stir so I leave him and walk over to Mallory. She’s also out cold. I walk to her closet and pull down a velour throw blanket with the Quake crest on it. They always give us random merch. I unfold it and lay it on top of Mallory because she fell asleep on top of the covers and I don’t want her to wake up cold.
I force myself to walk out of the room and close the door behind me. As much as I want to pick up where we left off, the moment has passed. Maybe it’s the universe stepping in and saving me from making a complicated situation even worse. After all, Mallory is only here for Dylan. She’s said it time and time again. And I can’t give her the end-game she wants. I’m not ready for that.
So I go back to my room, drop into bed, and force myself into a restless, unsatisfied sleep.
Chapter8
Mallory
Iwake up as the sun rises at five-thirty in the morning, under a blanket I don’t recognize. The memories of the night before flood my brain and I spend an hour googling flights to Maine and almost booking one. Then finally I fall back into a humiliated sleep, tossing and turning. When my eyes flutter open again, the room is empty and bright. And the clock says nine-thirty and Dylan is not in his bed. But I can hear him screaming.
My heart rate takes off like a Red Bull car on an F1 track. My body does the same. I leap out of bed, fling open the door and rush down the stairs before my legs are actually aware I'm awake. I start to stumble, grab the railing, and bump into the wall and pain explodes in my side. "Ouch! Fuck!"
“Mallory?” Tate appears at the bottom of the stairs as I right myself, hand gripping my side, vision blurry with pain. “What happened?”
Dylan is in his arms, every inch of his skin that isn’t covered in his onesie is blotchy red. He twists and reaches for me as soon as his watery eyes see me.
“I’m fine,” I lie and lift my arms to the traumatized kiddo. “How long has he been awake?”
“About an hour,” Tate says and lets me take him. “He’s been fussy the whole damn time. Even while eating the spinach omelet you said he loves.”
“He does love it.” I hold Dylan’s squirmy body up and sniff him mid-torso. “You just scooped him out of bed and fed him?”
"Yeah." Tate looks defensive. "I could hear him and you were dead asleep. I thought I needed to start handling this so no time like the present."
