Page 15 of Penthouse Prince
Following closely behind him, I step into a house that is shockingly put together for someone who’s only lived here a few days. Sure, there are still quite a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corners, and Grier’s toys are spread all across the living room rug, but the crisp, clean design he’s going for is already emerging.
I trail my fingers along the back of a pale ivory-colored couch. Bold choice for a man with a toddler. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.
“Okay, love bug, let’s pick out a toy to play with while the grownups are talking.”
Grier squeals as he scoops her up and carries her over to the center of the living room. “Bat.”
At first, I think maybe Grier is super into baseball or something, but then Grier jabs one finger toward a stuffed bat that looks more like a Halloween decoration than a toy.
“Bat, it is.” Lexington laughs, grabbing the bat and smirking in my direction. “My weird kid, right?”
I smile back, watching as he makes the stuffed bat flap its wings, earning giddy applause from Grier.
It’s crazy to see him like this. This big, muscular man, being so soft and gentle with his beautiful little girl. It almost makes me forget how awkward this whole situation is.
Until yesterday, I hadn’t spoken to him since he broke my heart a full decade ago. Now I’m standing in his house, watching him play with his daughter, who I just found out existed. Strange doesn’t even begin to cover it.
With Grier all settled, Lexington pushes to his feet, sweeping one hand toward the kitchen. “Shall we?”
Lord, let the espresso give me strength.6* * *LEXINGTONI show Corrigan into the breakfast nook that connects the kitchen and living room, where I can keep an eye on Grier playing while we talk. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a sec. Do you, uh, want any cream or sugar or anything?”
She just shakes her head.
“You sure? This new machine has a milk frother. It’s pretty crazy . . . heh.” Shut up, you idiot. I might actually be dying here.
My chest aches when I look at her but I can’t tell her that. Can’t tell her how many times I’ve regretted what I did and wanted to beg for her back. But back then, I did what I had to do.
“Nah, black is fine,” she says. A beat passes before she adds, “But thanks for offering.”
I let the noise of the espresso maker cover my total lack of intelligent things to say. Holy shit, this is awkward. The other half of the best relationship I’ve ever had is in my house, looking even more beautiful than I remember—which is saying a lot—and is clearly still furious with me.
I keep glancing at her, and then get paranoid I’m being too obvious and drop my gaze again. But I can’t help it.
And if I’m not mistaken, ever since we met at the park yesterday, she’s also been sneaking the occasional peek at me too. I’m so aware of how close she is, how emotionally charged the air between us feels, and I can’t stop myself overthinking what it means every time I feel her gaze on me.
Just breathe, dude.
I pour and serve the coffee, then sit down across the small table from her. For a minute, we just sip our drinks, only Grier’s happy babbling breaking the silence.
Finally, Corrigan quietly murmurs, “This is good.”
I nod. “I’m glad.”
She sets down her empty demitasse cup with a harsh clink and raises her eyebrows in impatient prodding. “So . . .”
Come on, Lex. You asked her here for a reason. Get your shit together.
I clear my throat. “Right. I guess I should start by telling you why I’m here.” I take a deep breath. “Mom’s health has gotten pretty bad.” I hesitate, then decide to bite the bullet. “She’s dying.”
Corrigan’s eyes grow wide. “What? When? What’s wrong?”
“Pancreatic cancer. The kind that’s on the rare side. The early symptoms are subtle, so by the time they caught it . . . well, I got her the best treatment I could, but . . .” I realize I’m clenching my hands and force them open. “She’s only got a few months left.” Every time I say the words, it becomes more real.
“Oh God. Lexington,” Corrigan says softly. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Poor Bonnie. I always liked your mom.”
I look away under the pretext of checking on Grier. She’s chewing on G.I. Joe’s leg while crashing Flapflap repeatedly into a pile of blocks. “Anyway, I decided we needed to be closer, to be with her. We should have come a long time ago, honestly, but I screwed up.”
“What about . . . after? Will you move back to New York?” Corrigan asks, one eyebrow cocked.
I wonder whether she’d prefer a yes or a no. “I figured we’d stay. I can’t keep uprooting Grier, and besides, this seems like a better place to raise a child.”
