Chapter Twenty #2
It took less than an hour for the girls to quickly seek out most of the treats he and I hid for them last night.
I’ve memorized the locations of the other snacks, which will satisfy my sweet tooth later.
Can’t be wasting a perfectly good Reese’s Egg.
Gannett claims the Cadbury Creme Eggs are better, but what the hell does he know?
His taste, as evidenced by his infatuation with me, is questionable at best.
It was fuckin’ adorable watching Terra and Tatiana get excited over every egg they found.
Gannett just about decked me when he found out I’d placed a couple of special golden eggs of my own, and the girls became one-hundred dollars richer a piece.
It’s been many years since I’ve played Easter Bunny for Taryn, and I didn’t realize just how much I missed it.
“The fuck are they going to do with all that money?!” he whisper-hissed at me.
I just shrugged. “They wanted bikes for your place.”
“Well, I’m telling them you gave them that. Some fictional rabbit isn’t going to get all the credit for it.”
“Do what you want, you’re the parent…”
Around lunchtime, Taryn and Morgan stopped over and helped me make dinner, since the only thing I can comfortably trust Gannett with is decorating the ham with pineapple slices.
If either of them had anything to say about me and Gannett, they kept their comments to themselves.
Their shared smirks said it all, anyway.
Taryn knows something is up, regardless of whether Morgan told him or not.
I guess Gannett and I haven’t been as subtle as we thought. Hard to be when we’re both making up for a fuckton of lost time we could have had together.
After they left, and while Gannett was washing the dishes, Tati and Terra both approached me with a gift. “These are for you, Mr. Gordy,” Tati said, her dimples proudly on display.
Tears welled in my eyes as I held the box of Easter-themed snack cakes. Knowing they didn’t go to the store and simply buy these themselves, I spared a glance at Gannett. He offered me a tight-lipped smile. “Tatiana told me the significance behind them…”
I could have kissed him right there on the spot, but I held back, because the girls were still right there.
He’ll never truly know how much these stupid little cakes mean to me, but just the thought of him doing this, this little gesture, makes me wonder what the hell I did in my life to deserve a man like Gannett.
His ex-wife may have thought him a thoughtless asshole, but I know differently, and for that, I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
Now, the apartment is mostly picked back up, and the girls are getting their things together to go back to Sarah’s. A knock on the door signals her arrival. On instinct, I make a move to hide so she doesn’t see me.
Gannett scowls. “You don’t have to hide, you know. Please, stay.” On that, he opens the door and ushers her in.
She greets her girls first, then spies me. “Oh… hi, Gordy.”
I tip my chin up as a greeting, matching her lackluster enthusiasm.
“Look what we got!” Terra exclaims, holding up her hundred dollar bill.
Tati flashes her money next. “Yup! These were from Mr. Gordy, not the Easter Bunny. And we got him those cakes his mumma used to get him!”
“You spent… Easter together?” Sarah asks Gannett, as if I’m not in the room.
“Problem with that?” Gannett huffs, a display of annoyance I’ve rarely seen him with. “Believe it or not, Sarah, he’s spent quite a bit of time here lately. He’s helped out with making sure I get them to all their activities when I can’t be in two places at the same time.”
She rolls her eyes. “Must be nice. Never had that kind of help when you were around.”
I butt in. “Can you maybe not do this in front of your kids? I’ve never once heard Gannett bad-mouth you in their presence. Besides, do you not have help now? Certainly Steve must be giving you a hand.”
Her jaw practically scrapes the floor as she scoffs.
“Furthermore,” I add. “I’d like to point out that Terra said she was interested in trying t-ball this year, but she didn’t think they could because they didn’t have enough coaches. Is it going to be problematic for you if I volunteer to coach her t-ball team?”
Her eyes dart over to Gannett, like he’ll back her up for sticking up for myself in front of her like this. He offers her no such reassurance. Instead, Terra cuts in, “Pleaaase, Mumma? I promise I will score you a homerun if I can just play da t-ball.”
See, it was that same kind of pleading that suckered me into volunteering to coach. Gannett’s girls are persuasive as hell. Stubborn, too. Just like him.
“At some point, you can go ahead and admit I was right,” Gannett grumbles. “He’s not a bad guy. I think you're probably just perturbed that he’s being a good friend and we’re making this work. This isn’t a competition, though, to see who can be the better parent, Sarah. It’s cooperation.”
Sarah regards me suspiciously for a beat, but then acquiesces. “Fine,” she sighs before snickering. “Are you sure it’s not copulation?”
Gannett plasters her with a sardonic smile. “Positive, sweetie. You know, I’m starting to prefer doing these handoffs with Steve-o. Is he sure he doesn’t want me to teach him how to play chess?”
“He has no interest in chess, but actually,” she hums, not an ounce of sarcasm dripping from her tone, “he did say he wouldn’t be opposed to having some family game nights and inviting you, oddly enough.”
Gannett shrugs. “Sure. See? I have no problem with your man.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you insinuating that Gordy is yours?”
“No,” he and I both quickly blurt out in unison.
Two lines form between her brows, and her lips press into a thin line as her eyes flick between Gannett and I. “Right,” she quips, after a punctuated pause. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get the girls home.”
“Our other home,” Tati clarifies. “Daddy’s house is our home too,” she adds, matter-of-factly.
Sarah sighs, resigned. “That’s correct. My apologies. I’ll see you Tuesday after swim, Gannett?”
He nods. “You know it.” The girls give him kisses and hugs, and he watches them right up until Sarah pulls out of the general store parking lot below. He puffs out a frustrated breath, propping his hip on the kitchen island. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re not responsible for other people’s opinions of me.”
“I know, but I just wish that everyone saw what I see.”
“And what’s that?” I quirk an eyebrow up at him.
“You’re not the asshole everyone thinks you are.”
“I really haven’t given anyone a reason to think otherwise.”
His lips twitch. “I will say, it is kind of nice to have this side of you all to myself.”
“Good, because I have no desire to open myself up to anyone as much as I have you.”
“I know”—he pauses, hesitantly—“we don’t really kiss or anything outside of the sexual stuff, but, fuck, I’ve really wanted to all damn day.”
“But you’re too scared to, because you think you’ll spook me?”
He nods, taking a corner of his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I get it,” I reassure him. “And I appreciate your honesty and your patience with me, Gannett, I really do. I know that there have been times, over these last few weeks, where you’ve questioned my comfortability with all this, but you haven’t pushed it.
Like, at all. You have no idea how much that fuckin’ means to me. ”
He reaches up, cupping my jaw, raking his fingers through my beard. “I’m happy to take things at your pace. We can take all the time you need. I mean it.”
“I don’t deserve someone like you.”
He grins, stepping into me, feathering his lips on mine. “That’s too fuckin’ bad, because I’m here. You can fight me on it if you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” I murmur on his lips.
“Kay,” he sighs. Closing his eyes and pressing in, he devours my lips in a scorching kiss. He tilts his head, groaning when our tongues clash, slipping and dancing together. My arm snakes around his back, tugging his body flush against mine.
“Fuck, it’s so hot when you get all possessive and shit,” he hisses, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.
“You want to be mine?” I ask, nipping that spot just below his jaw that I know makes him shudder.
“Yes,” he moans, rutting his erection into my hip.
“You want me to own you?” I drawl, my palm curling around his throat. Using the pad of my thumb, I tip his chin up, allowing me better access to nip and suck my way down his neck.
“Ungh, yes,” he whimpers through clenched teeth, grinding into me more.
“You want to be my dirty fuckin’ whore?”
“You know I do,” he groans, giving into the pleasure and resting his forehead on my shoulder. His blunt fingertips dig into my hips, holding me in place while he seeks out friction, his bulge rubbing against mine through our sweats.
Bringing his lips back to mine, I slip the hand I had on his back lower, carefully dipping it below the waistband of his pants and boxers.
My middle finger glides down his crease until I’m lightly teasing his hole.
He gasps in my mouth, and like the feral, greedy bastard that I am, I swallow it with pride.
“Is this okay? Do you want me… here?” I check in with him, drawing a circle around his puckered rim.
“J-just your fingers?” he stammers nervously.
I nod. “Neither of us are ready for more.”
“Y-yet? I mean, we’ll get there eventually, r-right?”
I huff out a little laugh. “You were the one that said things would move at the pace we’re comfortable with.”
“Mhm, right.” He bites his lip, peering up at me. “I have no lube,” he admits.
My gaze flicks around the kitchen. God, doesn’t it make me wince to think about having to use olive oil for this, but…
fuck, I’m so desperate to watch him get off again.
To know that I hold the key to his pleasure, right at my fingertips.
I spin us around, reaching as far back as I can until I snag the bottle.
“Is that… safe?” he asks, his brows knitting.
“You got any better ideas?”
“Don’t get all snippy with me,” he chuffs. “I’m just looking out for Georgia.”
I rear back, blinking at him. Shaking my head in disbelief, I already know what the answer will be when I ask, “You didn’t name your ass Georgia, did you?”
“I did. Georgia, because—”
“Peaches,” I grunt, finishing his thought. “Listen, it’s either the olive oil, or we just call this a lost cause. Which is it?”
He scowls, thrusting the bottle at my chest. I smirk.
Pissing him off is way more sexy than it has any right to being.
He quickly changed his aggrieved tune, however, when I slickened up my fingers and scissored them around in him enough to find his p-spot.
He was singing an entirely different song then—one where the lyrics went a little something like this: “shit,” “fuck,” “oh my god,” “sweet baby Jesus,” and finally, my personal favorite, “Gordy!”