Chapter 3
THREE
NATE
“Ryder! Come here, please?” I shout.
I open the closet in the hallway and pull out a fresh set of sheets. They’re mustard yellow with some kind of navy geometric design. Must’ve been on sale. As ugly as they are, they’re all I have since Ryder puked up hot dogs on the other spare set.
My stomach recoils at the memory of the wretchedness.
“Ry! Where’re you at, kid?” I yell, closing the closet door.
My son comes running around the corner, sliding into the wall. He catches himself about a half a second before his face hits the drywall. Then he bursts out laughing.
“You running from something?” I ask, laughing.
He looks up at me, his eyes sparkling. “No.”
“Looked like you were. Was there a monster in the living room?”
“If there was, I would’ve beat it up.” He throws a couple of punches into the air that aren’t half bad. “See? Boom, boom, boom.”
I ruffle his hair as I walk by. “That’s it. No more hanging out with Uncle Dominic.”
“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” he says as we enter the guest room. “But he took me to Percy’s Gym with him last week.”
“He what?”
“Yeah. He said you wouldn’t be thrilled.”
The word thrilled comes out muddled due to his missing front teeth. It would’ve sounded adorable if I wasn’t hung up on the fact that my brother took my kid to the gym.
I toss the sheets on the bed. “Don’t ya think you should’ve told me about this without waiting a week?”
He shrugs as if the idea never occurred to him. Little shit.
“Well, I’m going to have a talk with your uncle. And you are gonna help me make this bed,” I say.
“It’s already made.”
I look at him as I grab one of the pillows. And then, quicker than he can process it, I toss one at him. It smacks him in the side of the arm.
Ryder bursts out laughing. He picks it up and throws it back at me.
I catch it midair and then toss it on a chair by the window.
“Come on,” I say, handing him the other pillow. “Help me. Put that one on top of the other.”
He groans. “Why do we have to do this? I want to finish my show.”
“You can. Once we get this done.”
I strip the blanket off and drape it over the chair. My brain sorts through all of the ways I’ve considered explaining this to Ryder today. I want to keep the explanation as simple as possible.
If there’s one thing I don’t do, that I refuse to do, it’s bring women around my son.
I won’t do it. Flat out. The only exception was a woman named Joy a couple of years ago.
We had a real relationship for a while. When it ended, Ryder was a mess for a week, and I vowed never to get myself or him into that kind of pickle again.
Paige will be here as a friend. I need to make that clear.
“Do you remember Paige?” I ask. “She works for me.”
“Yup. She gives me Sprite, and you get mad.”
“That’s right,” I say, having forgotten all about that. “Well, she needs a place to stay for a little bit, and I told her she could crash here with us. Is that cool?”
“Yeah. That’s cool.”
I strip the sheets and toss them onto the floor. Then I grab the new set.
“Take this corner and put it over the mattress,” I tell Ryder. “Like this. Watch me.”
He does as instructed, and we make quick work of the fitted sheet. Then I grab the flat one.
Ryder wrinkles his nose. “Don’t use that one.”
“Why?”
“Because it just gets all tangled up in your feet, and then it makes a chunk at the bottom. Then when you wake up in the middle of the night, it looks like someone is watching you.”
I laugh. “I’ll let Paige know if she doesn’t like it, she can take it off.”
“She can take it off.” My brain immediately goes to my office earlier today, where Paige had taken it all off. Or most of it, anyway.
The thought of her peach-shaped ass and how it bounced as she moved makes my cock hard.
The lines of that fucking lace stretched over her tanned skin—the fabric almost disappearing between the cheeks—is permanently imprinted in my head.
Even the cellulite on the backs of her thighs somehow made her hotter and more real.
Dammit if I don’t need a cold shower.
“Dad?” Ryder asks, snapping my thoughts back to the guest room. “Are you okay? Your forehead is all sweaty.”
“Yeah, bud. I’m fine.”
I toss the flat sheet down and roughly situate it. Then I grab the blanket.
“You’re acting weird,” he says, curling his lip like Elvis.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m not.”
I make quick work of switching out the pillow cases. “Why are you even in here?” I tease.
“You told me to! I want to watch my show!”
I laugh and walk to the door, pulling him into my side along the way. “I’m just kidding ya.”
“Were you kidding about Paige too?”
I flip off the light. We stop in the hallway. I look down at my son with a concerned look.
“I wasn’t. She really is going to stay here for just a little while. Is that okay with you? If not, you can tell me,” I say.
He hops from one foot to the other like standing still might kill him. I have no idea where this kid gets his energy, but I wish I had some.
“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s sleeping in there, right?”
I nod.
“And she’s making me breakfast?” he asks.
“What? No,” I say, laughing. “Why would you think she’d be making you breakfast?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I like breakfast, and the girls on the shows I watch are the ones making breakfast.”
“You’re watching some messed-up cartoons if the guys never make breakfast. What are you watching? I need to block that.”
Ryder giggles. “I’m not telling you because I like them. But does this mean you’re the one that’s still making my breakfast because, if you are, stop burning my toast. It makes me throw up a little all morning.”
“Dude, I’m not burning your toast.”
“Yes, you are.”
I grin at him. “I’m not even toasting your toast. I’m warming up a piece of bread. I can’t toast your toast because you complain.”
“You toast it too much because it still makes me burp.”
I shake my head because I’m not sure what to say. How do you argue with a seven-year-old over toast making him burp?
Sighing, I wipe a piece of banana off the side of his face.
“Toast aside,” I say, getting serious again. “Paige isn’t here to make anyone food or to play games with you or pick up your toys. She’s our guest, and we’re going to remember that, okay?”
“So don’t ask her to play Minecraft?”
“No.”
“Or check my room—not for monsters,” he says, his eyes going wide. “For … spiders.”
I snort. “Right.”
“And no to breakfast.”
“No to breakfast.” I shake my head. “Just manage not to ask her for anything, okay?”
And I’ll manage not to slip inside her room and eat her like a dessert.
My balls tighten. I have to stop thinking like this.
“Okay.” He licks his lips. “You should take some medicine because you’re sweating again.”
Ugh. “You go … brush your teeth.”
“Dad!”
“And wash your face. You have banana goo all over your mouth.”
He stomps his foot. “Can I finish my show first?”
“Nope, but you can finish it after if you stop giving me lip and just go do what you’re told.”
His eyes meet mine like he’s going to press his luck. This is a new thing with him. He used to be so sweet and easygoing. Now he’s a borderline teenager with a taste for arguing that has me a little worried about the actual teenage years.
He stares me down and waits for me to flinch. Men bigger and meaner than you have tried and failed, kid.
Finally, he sighs. His shoulders slump in a dramatic performance worthy of an Oscar.
“Fine,” he says, stomping toward the bathroom.
“Good decision.”
I wait until I hear the water turn on before I head to the kitchen.
Sure, he might be screwing with me. I could peek into the bathroom and see him standing in front of the sink while the water runs down the drain.
Actually, that’s happened before. Lucky for him, I’m too preoccupied to be that solid of a parent tonight.
“Fuck.” I groan as I face the sink. I grip the counter and bow my head.
The sun is going down, the day coming to a close. The distractions from work—the late delivery of produce, my failure to order straws again, and a water leak in one of the apartments above The Gold Room—kept me busy. It kept my mind occupied.
It kept me from thinking about Paige.
Now that the world has settled and my tasks have either been completed or delayed until tomorrow, I have nothing else to think about. There’s nothing else to focus on. Just this one thing—a frustratingly gorgeous vixen who gets under my skin like no other.
Her moxie is magnetic. She has one of the best senses of humor that I’ve ever known in a woman. Something about her intrigues me because she never gives enough to satisfy my curiosity. She never thoroughly scratches my itch.
Also, there’s that ass.
“I have to get a handle on this,” I mumble to myself.
I make myself a glass of sweet tea. I take a drink and watch Ryder run past the doorway in a full-speed effort to get back to his show.
“I can do this,” I say. “I can handle having her here. I have to. What choice do I have now?”
None.
I take another drink. The cool liquid slides down my throat. It helps me get outside of my head.
Even though it’ll be a challenge to keep things chill between us, it was the right choice to let her stay. She’s not just an employee; she’s a good friend. I couldn’t leave her to the streets.
I blow out a breath.
“You did the right thing,” I tell myself.
It’s interesting that she asked me for a place to stay, though. And the way she keeps playing it? With all of that Daddy shit? It’s a front. One of the few things I know about her for certain is that she hides behind her personality.
Paige doesn’t really want me.
Which is fine because I can’t really want her either.
Ryder’s laughter rings through the house. It makes me pause. And smile.
If I’ve done one thing in life right—one thing that I wouldn’t change given the chance—it’s that little boy in the other room.
He’s the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.
Ryder is the thread that holds my life together.
He’s my son, my blood, my best friend. I’d do anything for that little boy.
If that means holding myself back from the woman who draws me in like a siren, I will. Because if I ever bring another woman into his life, it has to be for keeps.
“I have to be fair to him above all,” I say.
I finish my tea and set the cup in the sink.
This is gonna suck. I know it.