Chapter 5
I pace by the front door, the same as I did last night. Shayla’s car is parked in her driveway, but she’s almost fifteen minutes late coming over, and we’re out of milk. Grayson ate more in four hours than he did all day yesterday, which is a good thing, but it also meant that we quickly ran through the stash of breast milk she gave us this morning. He’s still refusing to drink his formula, even with the new bottles he seems to tolerate, and he’s on the verge of bursting into tears.
I check my phone to see if she sent a text about being late or if she changed her mind. Oh shit, what if all my creepy staring scared her off? I’ll kick my own ass if I’ve made her so uncomfortable that she’s blocked my number and refuses to come back over.
She’s eighteen minutes late now, and I peek through the blinds to check the front for what seems like the hundredth time, hoping to see her crossing the street…and there she is, my angel, dressed in a long-sleeve pink sweater and sexy denim jeans that look painted on her body, with her daughter, Lainey, dressed head to toe in pink ruffles on her hip. She has a mountain of stuff she’s struggling to haul as well.
By the time I have the door open, ready to take the heavy load from her, she’s already stepping onto the front porch. She smiles first at Grayson, then at me as she drops her things down with a grunt just inside the door.
“Hi, James. Sorry, I’m late.”
“It’s no problem,” I lie so she won’t know how I was starting to panic as Grayson grew fussier. I don’t blame him since I was getting fussy too. “Just glad you’re here.” Understatement of the century.
Shayla bounces Lainey on her hip and holds up her hand to make her wave. “Lainey, say ‘Hi’ to Mr. James.”
Her mini-me blows out a wet raspberry, and I laugh for the first time in nearly a week, which in turn makes my angel laugh. It’s the sweetest sound, and I can’t help staring at Shayla like she’s the air I need to breathe, which has become my modus operandi. I trace every feature of her face, how cute she looks when her nose scrunches and her cheeks round when she smiles wide, revealing an adorable, slightly crooked front tooth.
“Trade ya,” she says, and my smile drops when she holds Lainey out for me to take with my free hand and lifts Grayson from the cradle of my other.
Grayson was the first baby I ever held back when I visited my sister in the hospital shortly after she gave birth to my nephew, then again when I came to see her after she initially got her diagnosis. Lainey, though, is a whole different ball game. She’s all squirming limbs, and she yanks at my hair, then giggles.
She really is a near-replica of her mother, and I imagine this is what Shayla must have looked like as a baby. Chubby cheeks, big doe eyes, and a teeny-tiny, nearly white blonde ponytail sticking straight up on top of her head. She claps her hands after tugging on my hair again, and just like that, I’m smitten with the little girl.
After I get Lainey to giggle a few more times by blowing raspberries against her cheek, I tell Shayla, “Grayson is out of milk and—” My words die in my throat when I look up after Grayson goes quiet.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the shock of seeing her nurse him, though I try to school my features so I don’t make her uncomfortable like I’m sure I did last night and this morning. I did some research on what is called “wet nursing” while Grayson was napping and found out it’s not an uncommon practice in other parts of the world. My American brain, however, still short-circuits at seeing it done in person.
It also short-circuits at the way Shayla seemingly has no reservations about baring her mouth-watering tits in my presence. It’s the stuff of fantasies, though I wish we were alone, that she was baring them for me instead of just in front of me.
Shayla moves to sit on the couch, leaning back to get comfortable. “I know it’s kind of weird.” Her cheeks blush nearly the same shade as her sweater that she’s pulled up, and she doesn’t make eye contact.
I snort and try to cover it up with a cough, agreeing with her but wanting to put her mind at ease. “Hey, whatever works–works, right?”
“Right…as long as you’re okay with it. I did start pumping for longer than usual at school, so I should be able to build up a bigger supply soon and fill your freezer with a stash that will tide him over when you don’t need me. Then we can wean him onto bottles full-time.”
That thought makes my stomach dip for some odd reason. Grayson seems so content, but it’s probably for the best. It might be weird to us, but to others…well, they might not be as understanding.
Lainey squirms and holds her arms out toward her mother. I bounce her as we cross to the couch, then take a seat next to Shayla. When the mini-angel twists and reaches for her again, Shayla pulls her daughter onto her lap. I avert my eyes and make up an excuse to leave, even though I just sat down, when she maneuvers Lainey and pulls up the other side of her sweater so she can nurse her alongside Grayson, which I didn’t know was possible.
Staring openly in shock the first few times she’s fed Grayson feels completely different than watching her with Lainey, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by intruding on their privacy. Well, more than I’ve done so already.
When I stumble over her bags left by the front door, I ask over my shoulder, “Anything you need me to do?”
“There’s a bag with the pumped milk that needs to go in the fridge. And can you set up the travel crib with Lainey’s toys?”
I nod and put the fresh milk away first, grateful for something to do to keep my mind occupied. I attempt to open and set up the travel crib, but I’m left scratching my head when the sides of the crib keep collapsing. I pull out my phone to look up directions.
Shayla laughs softly and then walks me through it. “Don’t worry, you’ll be a pro in no time.”
I smile at the thought, hoping she’s right. Shayla is a godsend as she gives me a crash course on other things I need to know as the evening progresses—best evening ever, by the way—such as how to bathe Grayson safely when he’s slippery with soap—something I thought would be obvious, but isn’t, at least not to me.
By the time it’s fully dark outside, and Grayson is asleep in his nursery, Shayla’s stomach rumbles loudly enough for me to hear. She winces and starts packing up Lainey’s toys. “We should get going.”
Not yet, please, I think. I don’t want this night to end. “Stay, stay. I feel bad that I didn’t think to make dinner,” I say, already moving toward the kitchen. “How about I fix us up something quick to thank you for all your help? I might not be the best cook, but after cooking for myself the last ten years, I know how to make a mean pot of spaghetti.”
She looks at Lainey, playing happily with the remainder of her toys, then through the living room window toward her house, and then back at me. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
“Yeah, we can stay. That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”
I blow out a breath of relief and smile to myself as I pull the ingredients I need from the pantry. Shayla holds Lainey in her lap at the kitchen table, which is squeezed into the breakfast nook, while I boil the water for the spaghetti noodles and slice a banana for her daughter to snack on.
Another first—cooking for a woman and her child—which makes my heart thump hard in my chest, thinking of what it would be like to cook for them every night. I finish plating our food once it’s ready and cut up Lainey’s noodles into smaller pieces like Shayla asked me to do, then join them at the table.
We sit in silence, probably both trying to think of what to say now that we have time to relax. I have no clue how to talk to people unless it’s about gaming or work. I’ve always been acutely self-conscious, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. My tendency to hermit myself away hasn’t improved my ability to socialize, especially with the opposite sex.
Now that I work from home, I interact with people even less often than before. The only people I regularly see are my tight-knit RPG group of friends I play with on game nights, though I’m not sure how I’m going to manage hanging out with them now that I have Grayson.
My friend, Mara, who is part of our group, is the only woman—besides Miranda and now Shayla—that I talk to in real life, other than my virtual co-workers and a few phone calls home each year to speak to my mother. Mara has always insisted that our group treat her as “one of the guys”, whatever that means, and over time, I’ve become less and less self-conscious around her. Talking to her while we play, though, is a whole different ball game to holding a conversation with the woman of my dreams. I’m even more afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing that will send my angel running for the hills.
It’s a relief when Shayla breaks the silence and my self-deprecating thoughts halfway through dinner by asking, “So, what do you do for work?”
“I’m a software developer.” I shake my head, knowing she’ll get a kick out of it when I say, “I was so clueless when I took custody of Grayson. Thought I’d be able to get back to work right away since I work remotely from home. Put in my hours while he’s napping or at night after he goes to bed since I read that three-month-olds are supposed to sleep fifteen hours a day. Not a problem, right?”
She snorts and cups a hand over her mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
That makes me snort, and then we’re both laughing until we have tears in our eyes. Even Lainey joins in, though she doesn’t understand what’s so funny. Really, it’s so silly, and I know it’s only because we’re both tired, but it also feels so damn good to let go and laugh again.
“Which is where you come into play,” I say once we finally calm down. “I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.”
She blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lainey yawns, her mouth covered in marinara sauce, and her eyelids start to droop. I hop up to wet a paper towel and walk around the table to wipe her mouth and hands.
Shayla smiles at me from where I’m crouched in front of them, and I don’t know what makes me do it—I rest my hand just above her knee. My fingertips tingle, imagining grazing her bare skin instead of the light blue denim, and my heart races so fast that I feel dizzy.
For a long minute, neither of us says anything as we hold each other’s eyes. When she doesn’t object to the small touch, I splay my hand and flex my fingers, gently squeezing her lower thigh. I don’t understand why she doesn’t shift her leg away or tell me to back off, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
The desire to slide my hand up higher surges inside of me, and my dick jerks in my jeans. I know it’s wrong, with her being so young and me creeping on her like a letch, and I drop my eyes, unable to make eye contact any longer for fear she’ll see just how much I want her, how obsessed I am with her. My pulse pounds while I hold myself still as a statue, fighting back the sudden, acute desire to lay my head on her lap and fall asleep just like this.
We’re snapped out of this weird limbo when Lainey twists on Shayla’s lap and tucks her face into her mother’s shoulder, making the cutest little whimper sound.
Shayla’s voice is low when she says, “It’s late. I should get Lainey home.”
“Right.” I stand, still unable to make eye contact, afraid now of her seeing just how much that short, intense moment of physical contact meant to me. I take our dishes to the sink and wipe down the table while she packs up Lainey’s toys and her bags to take back home.
I check on Grayson, then grab the baby monitor to take with me. I shoulder Shayla’s bags and travel crib so she doesn’t have to carry them along with a now-sleeping Lainey. After locking the front door, I follow her down my walkway and across the street.
She unlocks her front door and takes a small step inside before turning around to whisper, “Goodnight, James. Thank you for dinner.”
I set her things on the floor just inside the door and take a step back. “It was my pleasure.” And I mean that quite literally. “Same time tomorrow?” I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping she’ll say yes, scared shitless she’ll say no because I touched her inappropriately when I shouldn’t have.
“Same time tomorrow,” she confirms quietly.
When I turn to cross back to my house, my smile is so wide that my cheeks ache, anticipating the moment I’ll get to see her again. I check on Grayson once more when I get back home, then fall into bed. Taking care of an infant so young is exhausting, even with Shayla’s help, but I’m not dead on my feet like I had been last night.
I pull up her contact information in my phone and click on her picture that was auto-added when I saved her info. Though it’s small, I can see her sweet smile clearly and can even just make out her crooked front tooth. And that’s all I need to see for my half-hard cock to fully lengthen and pre-cum to bead at the tip.
Between the small picture and the mental image of her bare tits from last night, I cum within a minute of stroking my shaft, thick white ropes landing on my chest and stomach. I have just enough energy left to clean myself up before falling into a deep sleep with my phone still open to her picture.