Chapter 22 #2
“What’s crawled up your ass?”
Her snarky voice eats at my already frayed temper, and I whirl as quickly as I can without upending my son. “What’s crawled up my ass is your little prank back there. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Bad word, Papi!” Diego cries, patting my chin as I glare down at the fiery redhead blinking up at me with wide, ocean blue eyes.
I didn’t think it was possible to want to strangle someone as often as I want to kiss them, but here she is, looking like some angelic summertime vision, proving me wrong.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath for four and exhale through my nose for four.
If it wasn’t for Diego, I would be dragging her into the nearest bush, caveman style, to teach her a lesson.
Unfortunately, when I open my eyes, I see that the seconds I’ve taken to calm down she’s used to whip herself into a frenzy.
“That kid back there has been bullying Diego for—” Her tempestuous eyes flash, and after a brief glance above my head, she lowers her voice.
“For not having a mom.” My veins turn to ice, every muscle in my body locking as she folds her arms stubbornly across her chest. The pale skin of her tits threatens to spill out of her dress.
“Which you would know, if you weren’t so busy forcing him to try and make friends with the boy! ”
Something strange is happening inside. I’m being torn in half.
One part of me is tempted to march back up to that party and give that snot-nosed kid a good shove into the lake.
The other is completely sidetracked by the zealous way she’s sticking up for my son.
Protecting him. One thing that all of me agrees upon, however, is that neither my lake-shoving, nor her passive aggressive gift giving is the right way to deal with it.
Sighing, I lift Diego off my shoulders and settle him on the ground. Crouching in front of him, I cup his little cheek in one hand. “Is this true?”
He nibbles his lower lip and nods. My jaw sets and a fierce burn rages in my chest. I can give my son everything in the world, except this. Money, education, love, opportunity. But no amount of money or power can make Sandra care for him the way a mother should.
“Listen to me,” I urge, tipping his chin up. “Sometimes people have two parents and other times they have one. It does not make you any less. I love you enough to be both mother and father. Understand?”
His warm chocolate eyes mist and he sniffs before nodding his head dully.
He’s so young. Too young to understand this heavy shit fully.
But I know he feels it inside, the gap she leaves in his life.
I’ll have this conversation with him as many times as he needs over the coming years.
My jaw sets and I pull him in for a hug, tucking his head into my chest. My eyes slide sideways to see Chloe looking at me with a softness I’ve never seen before.
She clears her throat, casting her eyes away and blinking her long caramel lashes rapidly.
“Come on, little one. Let’s get you home.” I release my son and take his hand. He reaches over with his other hand and pushes his fingers through Chloe’s without hesitation. She smiles down at him, helping him settle in and get a good grip.
We walk like that, the three of us hand in hand to the park exit, looking for all outward purposes like a little family unit, I’m sure.
The thought lodges uncomfortably at the back of my throat.
When we walk through the black wrought iron gates, I remember why I was mad at her to begin with.
The lights on my Aston Martin pulse and I glance across to see her holding the key fob up with a sheepish smile on her face.
“About that, care to explain why the SUV wasn’t appropriate?” I growl quietly, leading Diego around to the passenger's side.
“You mean…” She trails off, her brow furrowed as her gaze skates over the car. “This isn’t the Volvo?”
“Very funny,” I snap as I help Diego into his seat and clip him in. “Keys,” I demand as I shut his door, rounding the bumper and extending my palm.
She grins, shifting her weight on her feet so one curvy hip sticks out. “Come onnnn, let me drive home.”
“Do you know how much this car costs?” I ask her incredulously, attempting to pluck the key fob from her hand.
She dances backward, holding the key in the air.
I tip one brow before pointedly looking at the key.
It’s level with my head, even though she’s holding it skyward, so it’s not exactly hard for me to reach.
She lets out a muffled curse and promptly stuffs the fob into her cleavage.
“Oh, like I won’t go in there and get it?
” I scoff, taking a half step toward her.
“Okay, okay!” She scowls as she retrieves it and places it into my palm.
I’m just about to give her my best shit-eating grin when I remember the tequila.
Fuck it all to hell. I’ll be over the limit.
I had told Bates to go back to the apartment, thinking I would be traveling back in the Volvo with Chloe and Diego.
The Volvo that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands and has enough room in the back for all six feet and five inches of me.
“Fuck’s sake,” I groan, running a hand through my hair.
“What now?” Chloe tilts her chin at me in that defiant little way that makes me want to bend her over and hike that dress up to see what’s beneath.
“There’s a chance I'm over the limit, so you’ll have to drive,” I grumble, tossing the key her way and deciding to get this over with.
Ignoring her delighted cackle, I pull the driver's seat forward and proceed to shimmy myself into the back in the most uncomfortable fucking way. It takes me a couple of attempts, but by the time I’m in, I’m wearing my knees as earrings and my chin is almost hitting my chest. Chloe slides into the driver's seat and twists to look at me stuffed into the back like a crumpled up old sock.
She rolls her lips in and claps a hand over her mouth, just as a very undignified snort slips out.
This seems to do nothing but make her laugh harder, leaning back in her seat and slapping the steering wheel.
Diego joins in, staring at her like she invented the wheel.
“You look silly, Papi.” He giggles. How did my life come to this?
“Yes, very funny. Let’s go,” I grumble, trying to push myself further back in the seat to alleviate the ache in my cramped legs.
It doesn’t even give an inch. She presses the button that starts the car with a low hum.
Shifting into reverse, her foot edges the pedal and the engine snarls loudly.
Groaning, I attempt to twist my head to look out of the back window for oncoming traffic, but it’s wedged too tightly to the roof.
“You know, you really should sit up straight, Zeke. It’s simply terrible for your posture.” She gasps, still struggling to contain herself.