Page 62 of Sweet Distraction

I laugh—but it’s hollow. “Sounds tempting.”

Except it’s not. In fact, it’s the last fucking thing on my mind.

“Sounds tempting because you’re already fucking her and over her, or sounds tempting because it’ll keep you occupied so you don’t fuck her?” Hawkin asks. There’s sarcasm in his tone, but there’s also something else. Curiosity? Speculation? “Which one is it?”

“How about it sounds tempting because it’s none of your fucking business?” I say and flash a smile I’m sure doesn’t reach my eyes.

“They were right,” Vince murmurs.

“Who was right?” Irritation peppers my tone.

“When they brought pizza over the other day for their little party with Poppy, Bristol said the two of you were avoiding each other,” Vince says, referring to when their wives came over two days ago.

“Glad to know they have a pulse on things in my house.”

“Dude, why the fuck are you so uptight?” Gizmo says.

“Because he needs to get laid,” Hawkin whispers.

“She’s not like your usual type,” Vince says out of the blue.

“What the hell does that mean? You’ve never even met her.”

“You’re right. We haven’t because we’ve been giving you space because we’re good like that. We’re waiting for you to invite us over,” Hawkin says.

“And have you harass her like this? No fucking way,” I mutter.

“Well according to Hendrix, Willow’s hot but definitely not your type,” Gizmo says.

“What does that even fucking mean?” I shout. I’m so fed up.

“It means,” Hawkin jumps in, “that she’s not down for a quick fuck and posting a social media picture to brag about who she spent the night with.”

“You guys have never met her so your opinions are moot.”

“Moot?” Giz asks, lifting his eyebrows. “Rock always goes for the thesaurus when he gets defensive. The question is, what are you defensive about?”

“Unless of course, you like her,” Hawkin says. “And it doesn’t take a thesaurus-wielding rocket scientist to know a woman who spends her days taking care of other people’s kids and living in their house isn’t exactly a fuck-her-and-chuck-her woman.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

“And to emphasize Hawke’s point, it’s not like you can just sleep with her and wash your hands of her like you typically do,” Vince says.

“Like we all used to do,” I say. “Just because you’re all married fuckers now doesn’t mean I don’t remember.”

“Look, asshole,” Gizmo says. “They have a point. You sleep with Willow, you ruin that whole situationship. If Willow leaves, then Poppy gets the short end of the stick. Again.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Can we just play? Please?”

“Dude, you have a fucking kid,” Hawkin says and shakes his head. “I mean fucking the nanny is all good and well, but why are we focusing on that instead of Poppy?”

“Because it’s way fucking easier,” I shout. Silence weighs down the studio as they all stare at me. Shocked.

“Talk to us,” Vince says.

“And say what? I’m a horrible father?” My voice cracks, the admission eating me alive inside.

“I refuse to believe that,” Hawkin says. “We all had fucked-up families. Isn’t that partly why we commiserated so well in the beginning? We understood each other and where we were coming from. We all get it. The fear of failing our kids. Of being our parents. Of fucking our kids up more than our parents did us.”