"I'm sorry. Valid question." Dylan makes a noise that is a coo on the verge of a cry and his poop-covered sock juts up in the air. Tate jumps back like someone has just pointed a gun at him and I giggle again, which makes him blush. Blush! So freaking adorable. "Sorry again. Okay, no time for goggles let's just get to work. Start undoing his clothes."
Tate follows each and every one of my instructions and by the time Tenley comes to tell us the bath is ready, we’ve got Dylan down to his birthday suit and wiped up as best as possible. Tate is still holding him, dangling at arms-length, as we walk into the bathroom. I test the water and the temp is perfect so I tell Tate to lower Dylan in and he does.
“Stay by the tub at all times,” I warn him. “Keep your eyes on him always. Babies can drown in an inch of water.”
I slide his bath seat into the water and Tate instinctively lifts him into it and reaches for the baby soap on the side of the tub. Tenley and I lean against the counter and watch Tate and Dylan bond. It’s actually finally happening! Dylan loves baths and he happily lets Tate clean him as he splashes. And once the washing up is done Tate grabs one of the bath toys and continues to play with Dylan.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is the cutest thing ever,” Tenley whispers to me in awe. “I never thought Tate would be good at this, honestly.”
“I knew he would be. Eventually,” I whisper back, my eyes never leaving the father and son.
Eventually, I coax Tate into getting Dylan out of the water before it gets cold. Of course, Dylan whines about it because he loves water and now he's also overtired. When he starts to cry Tate's face falls and he looks at me with desperation. "It's not you, it's him. Just dry him off and get him into a onesie and we'll put him down for a nap."
In the bedroom, I hand Tate a pale blue onesie and Tenley jumps in to help him dress the little guy, not because he needs help but because she wants to be involved. A few minutes later, Dylan’s dead to the world and we’re all sneaking back downstairs. Tenley announces she’s going to head back to West Hollywood. “Gotta beat the rush hour traffic.”
“It’s only two,” I note.
“Rush hour in Los Angeles starts at three and goes until eight,” Tate explains, shocking me. “Ten, do I have to beg you again to keep this to yourself? Don’t even tell Liv.”
Liv is their cousin and she also attends UCLA and is one of Tenley’s roommates. Tenley gives her brother an annoyed stare. “I am a vault, Tater Tot. Stop worrying. Besides I hardly ever see Liv during the school year. She’s always studying. The nerd.”
I smile as Tenley rolls her eyes. She hugs me and then she hugs her brother. "You are doing great, bro. When it's time to tell Mom and Dad and everyone, I will be there for you. Hopefully, Mallory will be too."
With that, she disappears out the front door and Tate and I are left alone to stare at each other and come to terms with what happened before Dylan's poop explosion.
The feeling of his lips against mine, the need and the desire with which he explored my mouth, come flooding back to me. I take in a sharp breath and look away. “Tate, I think we need ground rules.”
"Okay," Tate replies easily and steps closer. I can see his left foot next to the plank of hardwood I'm laser-focused on instead of looking at him. "How about you stay and nanny Dylan for six months. I'll pay you whatever Diana paid you plus twenty-five percent because L.A. isn't cheap. Also, we'll move. So both you and Dylan can have your own rooms."
Now I have to look up. Is he serious about giving up this place? When Tate bought this place he was so proud he sent Diana and me a video tour of it. He loves this townhouse. But there's no flicker of humor or hesitation as he speaks. “Even if I don’t have a live-in nanny one day, Dylan needs a proper, safe yard and a quieter, larger space than this.”
He's right and I love that he figured that out on his own. That he's putting his son's needs above his own wants without being asked. "You're a good dad."
“I’m working on it,” he replies and then he steps closer still. Now we’re chest to chest, almost touching. I stare at the small space between our feet until his left hand comes up and he presses his thumb to the underside of my chin and tilts my head up, forcing my eyes to land on his. “Now let’s talk about the fun ground rules.”
“Fun rules?” I repeat. He smiles. It’s deep and intimate and it warms me in ways I know is dangerous. “What are fun rules?”
"Fun rules are things like what happened on the patio earlier," Tate replies and his thumb under my chin slides lightly against my jaw. "It's letting it happen again if we want it. It's letting more happen if we want to. If we need it. Do you need it, Mal?"
“Need to kiss you?” I whisper.
His smile deepens. “Need to kiss someone. Need to touch someone. Need to be touched by someone. Need to orgasm. All of those things. Why don’t we make a rule that we help each other out that way too?”
Is he serious? I stare at him in complete shock. "That kiss was a slip-up. Our emotions were running high."
“Like that last time?” Tate counters and I nod. “But what about the first time?”
“Alcohol.”
"So right now," Tate says as he pins me with those smoldering eyes of his, "I'm calm, you're calm. Light-hearted even after that poop escapade. I haven't had a drop of alcohol in over a week. Are you tipsy right now? Drunk?”
“Stone cold sober,” I admit.
His hand has moved from my chin and jaw to the back of my neck. He cups it gently but also possessively and I like it. A lot. Tate tilts his head so our foreheads touch. “So right now then, completely sober and void of big emotion, you don’t want me to kiss you?”
I open my mouth and say absolutely nothing. Because I just can’t bring myself to lie. He smiles again. I feel a tremor of desire and a shiver of need ripple through me. Also, though, there’s a rattle of fear. “If we give into this, aren’t we just inviting trouble into an already troublesome situation?”
“Maybe we’re just giving each other a break from the trouble,” he replies, and Tate sounds so confident that I almost believe him.
