Page 45 of Worth the Risk

I blink several times and realize this is a serious detriment to raising a kid on your own. You think you have it handled and then, wham, you realize you neglected a serious part of it.

“Well, just like boys have penises, girls have vaginas.” Let that be enough of a response that it ends this conversation.

“How are they different? What do they do with them? What are they for?” He leans back and looks me dead in the eyes, innocence shrouded in curiosity.

I clear my throat. And lie. “They are different because boys and girls have to have different parts for the different things they need them for later in life.”

Brilliant explanation, Gray.

I could win parent of the year with that comment.

“Like what kind of different things?”

“Just different things.”

“Huh. Cool,” he says as if I made perfect sense. “Is there an innie or an outie?”

Another sputtering cough from me. “What?”

“Like belly buttons. Some kids have an innie and others have an outie. Do penises and vaginas have innies and outies?”

“Yep. Sure do.”

He angles his head and stares at me for a beat. I can see his mind turning this over, and I swear I’ve said the word vagina more times in this five-minute conversation than I have in years. I should be good for another five.

“Cool.” He shrugs and climbs off the bed.

“Cool?”

“Yep. To the Death Star!” he shouts and takes off down the hallway.

That’s the best part about kids. Their curiosity goes just as quickly as it comes, and they are satisfied with half-truths all parents feel relieved getting away with.

My phone alerts me to a text. It sounds off somewhere in the room, and it takes me a moment to find it on the floor in the back pocket of the pants I had on last night.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say as it sounds off again.

And then I sigh.

Sidney: Photo shoot is set up for Tuesday at 3 p.m. Let me know if that doesn’t work for you.

“So, I’ll say yes. Yes. I have no other choice. You win. You fucking took the cake.”

My words come back to me as I look at the address she sends me next.

Of course, that doesn’t work for me. It’s three in the frickin’ afternoon, which is when school gets out. And Luke has baseball practice. Why would Sidney Thorton think of that? That maybe I had plans already that didn’t involve her.

“Christ,” I groan, repeating what seems to be my word of the morning, run a hand through my hair, and drop my phone onto the bed.

It’s hard to be pissed at someone and want them all at the same time. I keep seeing her last night, looking like the sexy librarian in every man’s fantasy. Pencil skirt, high heels, shirt unbuttoned some, and golden hair piled on top of her head, itching for me to take it down.

I can pretend my dick flying at half-mast is simply morning wood, but I know damn well it’s because of the visual of Sidney. It’s because I know how her lips taste. It’s because I know what her body feels like against mine.

This is not good. So not fucking good.

I pick my phone back up, knowing I can get my mom or Dylan to watch Luke for me so I can get this torture over with and leave Sidney far fucking behind.

Me: Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there.