Chapter 20
Ruth
What is wrong with me? Why in the world did I think it would be a good idea to roll around with Tucker Bradshaw?
Actually, I didn’t think it was a good idea. At the moment, I believed it was the best idea. The only idea.
I do have to admit, it wasn't the worst idea. I really needed to burn off some steam, and it turns out Tucker is really good at burning off steam.
But now what?
I scuttle—like the chicken shit I am—into my bedroom, being quiet so I don't wake my daughter because she’ll want a snack or drink or something, and there's no way I'm going back downstairs right now. I can't face him. Not after that.
It's just...
He smelled so good and is such a good kisser and then he told me I did a good job and I sort of went temporarily insane. If temporary insanity results in an orgasm brought on by nothing more than friction and flattery.
I groan in embarrassment. The sound, loud for a second before I remember to stifle it, turns it into more of a growl as I fumble my way through the darkened room toward the attached bathroom.
I stumble in, closing the door before switching on the light, then rip off my clothes and jump into a cold shower.
I am quickly reminded how much cold showers suck, and immediately turn the heat up.
I stand there for who knows how long, letting the scalding hot spray pour over my head as my thoughts swirl inside it.
This was all a terrible idea. I know I need the money, and my options were slim, but this is getting way more complicated than it initially seemed. Instead of simply showing up, smiling pretty, and pretending to be in love, I'm making friends and feeling safe and...
Getting off with my fake boyfriend.
"Ugh." I'm disgusted with myself.
Grabbing my body wash from the ledge, I squeeze a healthy dose of it onto the cloth I'm using and start scrubbing down.
I work the suds over my shoulders, under my arms, and between my boobs before swiping it over the part of me Tucker just played like a fiddle.
It's still a little sensitive and achy, but that's not what makes me gasp as I scrub.
I am embarrassingly slippery down there. Way more happening in that region than I have ever experienced. Probably enough that I soaked through my panties, and possibly even the comfortable, but cute, pants I had on.
Oh God. Does that mean the fly of his jeans might be wet too?
I stop what I'm doing and lean forward, letting my forehead hit the tile wall.
It’s so embarrassing. Everything about this is embarrassing.
If I thought I could get away with packing all my stuff up and sneaking away in the middle of the night, I'd consider it.
But I know Tucker would hear me. The cameras outside would definitely pick up the movement of my vehicle. And…it would hurt his feelings.
And fuck me, I hate the thought of hurting Tucker's feelings.
After quickly finishing up, I switch off the tap, wring out my rag, and dry off. After winding the towel around my wet hair, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before quietly padding out into the bedroom.
While I can't exactly disappear in the middle of the night, I do need to disappear eventually, and the events of the evening were a great reminder of that.
Even though Tucker has a beautiful house and I genuinely enjoy going to work with him and love the sense of safety I feel when he's around, this is a very temporary situation.
And I need to keep that in mind the next time I accidentally end up wrapped around him.
Sliding onto the bed, I grab my laptop from the nightstand and prop it on the mattress in front of me before opening it up. If I'm going to move to Maryland—and I am moving to Maryland—I have a lot to get organized. I've been checking things off my list as I can, but a few tasks remain.
And one of them is a big task.
But before I get to that, I check my email, my stomach doing some weird squishy thing when I see my employer has sent me something.
I've been so excited about this job. The hotel itself is nice, but not huge.
They have a great event space, and a pretty pool outside.
The attached golf course is well-kept and well known.
It's the sort of hotel I've always wanted to run.
And while I won't be coming in as the general manager, my position as assistant manager puts me directly in line to make that happen.
Plus, the pay is good, and the benefits are decent.
But the place looks nothing like McKinley Security Systems. I know it's ridiculous, but the aesthetics of Tucker’s family business are enough to make anyone want to work there.
I don't even fully know what all they do, but it's easy to imagine walking in and swiping my badge at the security desk inside their gorgeous foyer before going to my office.
Which is hilarious, because I doubt they’re interested in my business management degree. I’m sure they have that part more than handled.
Still, the excitement I initially felt at finally finding a job is slightly tempered as I open their email and confirm I will in fact be starting at our originally scheduled date.
They've also attached a few forms I need to find out, so I spend half an hour doing that.
Then I begin the task that's been the most difficult from the beginning.
Finding a place for me and Birdie to live.
To be fair, the last time I looked for an apartment for us, my funds were much more limited than they are now.
I knew I'd struggle to pay the first and last month's rent—plus the deposit—on anything over a certain price point, even though that price point will be more than manageable on a monthly basis once my paychecks start coming in.
Now—thanks to Tucker—I can broaden my scope a little bit.
And that little bit actually makes a pretty dramatic difference.
The places I can afford with the money he's giving me are markedly nicer.
Instead of open, fight-for-a-spot parking, I can have a covered, assigned spot.
In place of small windows and crumbling cabinets, I can have a light-filled space with new appliances.
Instead of a thirty minute commute, I can be ten minutes from work.
And yet...
I'm still struggling to get excited, still having a hard time anticipating this new life I've worked so hard to obtain.
Even though I'm not thrilled, I email a few of the properties I like best, asking if they have immediate availability, then close up shop and slide under the covers.
Normally, I struggle to fall asleep, listening for any unexpected noise while my brain runs a mile a minute.
That's not a problem I've had since Tucker moved me into his house.
I'm going to assume it's because no one can find me here, and even if they do, they’ll have to go through Tucker to get to me. Then they’d have to go through me to get to my daughter.
And that's only if no one else on the property discovers something's going on. Because I've got a feeling the number of people who would line up to keep Birdie safe is pretty high. A fact that is exceedingly easy to fall asleep to.
“Mumumumum.” Birdie’s voice warns me she’s awake a second before her little hand slaps me in the face. “Snack.”
I groan, rolling away from her assault. “Why are you up so early?” I don’t know what time it is, but it doesn’t feel like morning.
At least not the part of morning I prefer to get out of bed at. The day my daughter started sleeping past five AM was the best day of my life.
I knew I shouldn’t have put her to bed so early last night, but she was so tired after being entertained by Tucker’s whole family. I really hoped that would also translate into her sleeping until it was time to get up for work.
I snort. Work. All I do is putter around while Tucker works. It’s nice, but now that I’ve cleaned and rearranged his whole office, it’s going to get boring fast.
It’s still better than hanging around here waiting for Deidre to hunt me down.
Yawning, I wiggle my way out from beneath the covers, padding to the bathroom to do my business and brush my teeth. After changing Birdie into a fresh diaper, I quietly open the door of our room. I don’t want to wake Tucker up. There’s no reason for both of us to suffer.
But Tucker’s not sleeping. He’s actually quietly coming out of one of the other rooms.
Like he’s sneaking too.
We both stop and stare at each other, like neither of us knows quite what to do after last night. Just thinking about it has my cheeks flushing. My lady parts join the party with an encouraging throb. Like they can convince me to rub myself against him again.
Sadly, they probably could.
I force on a smile, grateful for the darkness hiding my reaction. “Morning.”
Tucker tips his head in an acknowledging nod. “Morning.” His eyes drift to where Birdie is tucked in my arms, rubbing one fist against her eye. “I can take her downstairs if you want to go back to bed.”
It’s the sort of offer single mother’s dreams are made of.
Someone willing to carry a little of the burden, even if it’s just for a short while.
But guilt makes me struggle to agree. Tucker is already doing so much for me—for us—asking him to entertain my frequently cranky toddler while I curl back up under the covers seems like a jerk move.
As I’m debating—fighting myself—Tucker comes toward us, each step making my heart rate kick up. As soon as he’s within reach, Birdie leans, putting all her weight into the move. It’s an unexpected shift and I lose my grip, gasping as I flail to catch her before she hits the ground.
But Birdie doesn’t even come close to the floor. Her trajectory was calculated. Fully planned and perfectly executed, landing her directly in Tucker’s ready arms.
I’m not even mad that she’d rather be in his than mine. After spending just a little bit of time there, I can definitely see the appeal.
“Are you hungry, Little Bird?” Tucker bounces her in his arm once, signing the word hungry with his free hand.
Birdie agrees, her chubby little fingers rubbing up and down her chest.
Tucker turns to me, lifting his brows in question. “Are you going back to bed?”
It’s so tempting. Even if I just lay there and scroll on my phone for an hour, enjoying no one needing me.
As soon as I move, these opportunities will dry up like the Sahara.
The only people who will take care of my daughter are people I pay, and that will be limited to my working hours, so every minute at home will be monopolized.
I don’t mind, but knowing that makes it very difficult to turn down his offer.
So even though I do still feel a little bad about it, I nod. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
Tucker grins, giving me a wink. “Of course it’s okay.” He turns to my daughter, smile holding. “We’re best buddies, aren’t we?”
Instead of agreeing, Birdie says one of her favorite words. “Snack.”
“I know, I know.” Tucker moves for the stairs. “My only use is to provide applesauce and scrambled eggs.”
I mean… That’s not his only use. I could think of at least five or six things I’d be happy to use him for. And that’s just off the top of my head.
Not a single one of them involves applesauce or scrambled eggs.
Ducking into my room as Tucker and my daughter make their way downstairs, I flop face first onto the bed, groaning into the pillows at my dumbassery. I should not be lusting after a man who is nice enough to help me. I sure as hell shouldn’t be lusting after Tucker Bradshaw.
Unfortunately, he’s proving himself to be very lustworthy.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling. There’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep. Probably not going to be able to doom scroll either. Not when my brain is preoccupied by so many other things.
Tucker Bradshaw shaped things.
Pinching my lower lip between my teeth, I can’t help but wonder about at least one Tucker Bradshaw shaped thing.
No. Bad brain. No thinking about Tucker’s dick.
Groaning again, I manage to get myself off the mattress and stumble to where my clothes are still mostly packed.
Digging through my options, I finally pull out a pair of striped, elastic waist, wide leg pants and a coordinating short-sleeved shirt.
I get dressed, put a few quick curls into my hair, and slide on a pair of loafers before going downstairs.
The first time I went to work with Tucker, I dressed like he did, sporting jeans and a sweater.
Then I met Brooke and ended up feeling woefully underdressed.
Now, I try to be at least a little bit professional looking.
I don’t have a ton of options—hotels usually provide uniforms for all the public-facing staff—but I have a few cute outfits I can bust out.
And this morning I’m kinda feeling myself. My hair looks good, my outfit is flattering, and the perfume I spritzed on smells extra yummy for some reason.
My good mood definitely has nothing to do with the accidental orgasm I experienced last night. Absolutely not.
After collecting what Birdie will need while we’re at the office, I head downstairs, as ready as I’m going to be to start the day.
And to face Tucker.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, my face is hot, but I ignore it. This is fine. Everything is fine.
Until I reach the kitchen and nearly fall over my own feet.
Tucker is sitting at the island, his tablet set up in front of him on the counter, playing a familiar cartoon I haven’t seen in years. Birdie is perched on one of his knees, opening her mouth for another bite as he talks to her softly.
“This is what I watched when I was a kid.” He scoops up a bit of scrambled egg and carefully puts it in her mouth. “I don’t remember it being quite this annoying though.”
Four Australian guys in brightly colored shirts are rolling down a hill, singing a song that’s going to be stuck in my head all freaking day.
Along with the sight of Tucker and my daughter sitting together like two peas in a pod, eating breakfast and singing along with a tune about cows mooing.
Who would have thought that’s what would lead to my ovaries exploding?
Definitely not me.