Chapter 2
Two
Zach
Her hand is still on my dick.
I can feel the heat of her palm through my jeans, through my boxer briefs. Fuck, don’t think about it, don’t get hard. Think about boogers, baby vomit, doing taxes, anything else.
My face pulls into a scowl as I concentrate on not getting an erection, though it’s nearly impossible with how close this petite thing is pressed up against me.
And that hand. Christ. Yep, still there.
Bailey giggles from behind me, bringing me back to the present. Shit, I forgot they all followed me over from our place next door.
“You said the F word,” she giggles, and then the woman’s eyes widen in mortification. Big, wide, beautiful green eyes that are framed with the longest brown lashes I’ve ever seen.
Abigail, ever the charmer with her twelve-going-on twenty-two-attitude, mumbles sourly, “Like Dad doesn’t say it all the time, too.”
Chloe sniffles, and I remember why I was coming over to talk to our new neighbor in the first place. Chloe leans around the back of my leg, her hand still clutching a fistful of the back of my shirt, and asks, “Are you a princess?”
Finally—dammit—her hands pull away from my body, releasing the grip on my dick that has definitely gotten excited over the attention it got, and I can’t help the heavy exhale that escapes me. How long has it been since a woman touched me there?
For the first time, I notice what she’s wearing, and the myriad of flowers stuck into the impossibly long blonde braid that has fallen over her shoulder. What the Disney hell is this?
Scarlet tinges her cheeks as she licks her lips, and my focus drops to her mouth. Big, full, rose-pink lips, and all I’m able to think about—because my dick is doing the thinking at this point—are those lips wrapped around—
“Umm, yeah, kinda,” she stammers weakly, breaking that train of thought before it gets any further down the tracks. She barely looks legal, you pervert.
She backs away, which means I have to release the grip I still have on her upper arms, and my fingers tingle from the contact. She glances down at our feet then drops to her knees to pick up the two bags she’d dropped. From there, she raises her eyes to mine and I’m fairly certain I black out.
Goddamn, don’t look up at me like that. From where I’m staring down at her, with her face upturned, throat arched, mouth parted… Yep. I’m hard. Fuuuck.
Color drains from her face, and she scrambles to pick up her belongings as I kneel down in front of her, clasping her hands between my own. She raises those wide green eyes to me, and I rasp out, “Breathe. They’ve heard worse, trust me.”
She laughs, the husky, nervous sound going straight to my dick, making it harder to concentrate if that is even possible, and she licks her lips again. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry for—for—”
The muscle in my cheek twitches as I fight the smile that threatens to curve up my mouth at the words she can’t bring herself to vocalize. “No apologies necessary.”
“Dad, did you ask her yet?” Chloe prods from behind me, her little finger poking into my back.
Those big green eyes bounce from my youngest’s face to mine, her delicate brows arching over those eyes in confusion.
I shake my head, speaking over my shoulder, “No, Chlo, not yet.”
I stand, offering my hand to her to help her to her feet, which she stares at for a long time before putting her hand in mine. The softness of her hand, the warmth, tingles all the way up my arm.
Well shit.
She straightens and places her bag over her shoulder, peering at me, then at each of the girls in turn.
Shoving my hands in my front pockets and doing my best to hide the fact that I’m sporting a chubby behind the fly of my jeans, I roll my shoulders in and mumble, “It’s Chloe’s birthday tomorrow and their mom—” I stop, glancing down at my littlest blonde, before turning my attention back to Miss Disney Fucking Princess, “—she’s not going to make it for her birthday like she’d said.
I made the promise that I would bake a cake, but I forgot about vegetable oil.
You wouldn’t by chance have a cup of oil I can borrow? ”
A dimple in each cheek appears when she smiles, making her look impossibly younger. She ducks down in front of Chloe and winks, earning a timid smile from my youngest. “I’ve got something better than vegetable oil. Come with me.”
Holding her hand out to Chloe, I watch as my normally shy almost six-year-old places her hand in this stranger’s and follows her inside the cabin.
I glance down at Bailey, then back at Abigail, who just stands on the stone pathway with her arms crossed over her chest. Bailey rushes inside, so I follow, too.
All the A-Frame cabins on property seem to be designed the same from the outside, and stepping inside, it’s clear that I was correct in that assumption.
This one is much smaller than ours next door, but the floor plan and interior design appear to be almost identical.
Beige carpet in the living room that’s the same color as ours, the same faux wood flooring in the small entryway and kitchen.
Wooden stairway that leads to an open loft, which I’d guess is where the only bedroom in the place is.
Bathroom and closet sized laundry room down the minuscule hallway.
Same light countertops in the kitchen, all the same appliances.
Everything has that ‘landlord special’ feel to it.
It was the best I could find—and afford on my own—after Britt left.
So, we make do. It also doesn’t hurt that the rent is cheap, and I’ve been stashing into my savings for a year like a fiend.
Eventually… when the time is right, I’ll use it as a downpayment on something bigger. But, for now, it works for us.
Princess’s cabin is still surprisingly bare; boxes stacked in one corner as tall as she is, a random coffee cup and a lonely coffee maker the only items out on her counter.
Looking around, I suddenly doubt this little thing even has groceries yet, let alone fucking vegetable oil.
Stopping at the refrigerator, she opens it, then pulls out a small Tupperware container with a domed top.
She turns and sets it on the counter, then carefully removes the lid.
Inside sits a small, frosted cake with tiny pink flowers piped all over it.
Chloe and Bailey ooh and ahh over the pretty cake.
I glance around and see Abigail lurking in the entrance of the kitchen, just out of sight.
“I don’t actually have any oil,” she says sheepishly, but then smiles brightly.
“However, my birthday happened to have been yesterday, and I haven’t even had the chance to share this cake with anyone yet.
My sister made it for me,” she rattles on, showing it to the girls, then glances up at me through those impossibly thick lashes.
“And she makes the best desserts. I have to work all afternoon and into the evening, but this cake deserves to be enjoyed.”
Snapping the lid back shut, she offers it to me with outstretched hands, and I shake my head. “We can’t take your birthday cake. I can run to the store to get oil.”
“I insist,” Princess says earnestly, shoving the cake at me.
She nods slightly toward the girls, who are staring at us wide eyed.
“I know how much it sucks to have a parent miss a birthday. Please, this is the least I can do since I don’t have any oil.
I just moved in and haven’t gone shopping yet. ”
Shit. Now I feel like a prick. Taking her damn birthday cake away from her.
“Oh please, Dad!” Chloe begs, glancing between me and the cake, which is still held aloft in Princess’ hands. “It’s so pretty!”
“Yeah, Dad, it’s so pretty! And I’m sure it would taste better than yours!” eight-year-old Bailey crows, and I very seriously consider smothering her with a pillow. Princess smiles knowingly up at me and winks again. That wink makes my mind go blank for just a second.
“I’ll accept this on one condition; you have to come over and share it with us,” I hear myself say while my brain isn’t functioning properly.
What the fuck? Sure, why not. I’ll take ‘Bad Idea’s for 1,000, Alex’.
“Ooooh yeah!” Chloe pleads, turning those big blue eyes that I’m fucking powerless against on the woman. “Please come eat cake with us!”
She smiles and leans down to say gently, “I would love to. But I work tonight, and I’m not even sure what time I’ll get home.”
“How about tomorrow?” Bailey asks, taking hold of Chloe’s shoulders, urging her to the front. Little con artists at work.
“I wouldn’t want to impose on Miss Chloe’s special birthday,” she says softly, though she glances at me again from under those lashes.
“It’s no imposition,” I hear myself say.
She nods slowly, one side of her mouth tilting up just the slightest, and when she does, a little dimple appears at the corner of her mouth. It’s quite possibly the cutest and most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I want to put my tongue there.
Oh hell. Please say no.
I’ve never had much luck, though, so of course she shrugs and says a simple, “Okay. Sure.”
She extends her hands again, holding the cake out to me. Reaching out, I take it from her, our fingers brushing on the underside of the Tupperware container. I resolutely ignore the flash of electricity that zings up my arm at the contact.
We all trudge back toward the front door, and I’m not at all surprised to find Abigail already outside, arms crossed and eyes shooting lasers at myself and the new neighbor.
Oh boy. Bailey and Chloe race ahead, running in circles in the lawn that stretches between the two cabins as she pulls the door closed behind us all as we exit.
I juggle the cake in my left hand as I turn toward her.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice coming out gruffer than I intend. I clear my throat and hold up the cake. “I hate that you’re giving your birthday cake away.”
Princess smiles up at me again, then shrugs her shoulders. “It’s no big deal. I told my sister no cake this year, but as you can see, she didn’t listen. I’d hate to see it go to waste. And if it makes a little girl not so sad on her birthday, I’m happy to share.”
I extend my right hand toward her, and she places her hand in mine, shaking it gently. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sure she will have a wonderful birthday.” She glances over toward the driveway and then says softly, “Umm, I should probably get going. I don’t want to be late.”
“Right.” I clear my throat again, then step down onto the paved walkway. “Well, thank you again.”
I make my way across the lawn, calling to the girls to follow me inside.
I refuse to let myself turn around to watch her get into her vehicle, but my ears don’t miss the slam of the car door or the engine as it turns over, nor do I allow myself to watch her drive away.
I barricade myself on the inside of the door.
Make a point to not look out the window as I hear her car tires on the gravel of the driveway.
It isn’t until I set the cake down on the kitchen counter and grab a beer from the fridge that I realize I hadn’t even gotten Princess’s real name.