Page 77 of Love Is Ale You Need

The click of a seat belt draws my attention and I glance over my shoulder. Abby pushes herself to the front of her booster seat and pulls the lever of the door handle. A sliver of light fills the backseat before her gaze flits to mine.

“You forgot the safety locks.”

“It’s usually not something I have to worry about.” Note to self: figure out the safety locks. In fact, it’s not something I’ve had to use since college when I gave my dorm neighbor a ride home from the bar and at every stoplight he would yell “red light shuffle”, jump out and run around the car before the light turned green. Generally, the prank consists of everyone doing it, but he’s the only one who ever played. After the tenth time, the locks were put into place.

Abby jumps out and slams the door behind her. Quickly, I’m following suit. When we reach the edge of the playground where the railroad ties hold in the rubber pellets, Abby veers right to a picnic table instead of toward the jungle gym. She climbs over the bench seat and takes a seat on the top, crosses her legs, and faces the playground. I cautiously sit next to her.

The cheerful chirping of birds blends with the joyful laughter of the other children playing. It’s the perfect day to be at the park, yet we’re sitting on a picnic table. I peer down at Abby, and her eyes stay fixed on the swings where a guy about my age pushes a little boy. The boy’s cheerful laughter grows louder as he yells, “Higher daddy, higher.”

While I don’t have the slightest idea on what could be going through a six-year old girl’s mind, if I had to guess judging by her trying to burn a hole through the swing with her intense staring, it might have something to do with her own dad. And that’s a conversation I don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Needing to break the silence, I clear my throat and ask, “Didn’t you want to come down here to play on the playground?”

She shrugs a shoulder but doesn’t offer any more than that.

Good talk. Two of us can be moody six-year-olds.

I mimic her posture and stare off into the distance.

“Are you and my mom going to get married?”

My foot slides off the edge of the bench as I nearly tumble off the picnic table. Shit. Why did she ask that? Did Rylee mention something? Or did she overhear a conversation? Kids are born with supersonic hearing. I found that out when I was having a conversation with Seth about a new beer I tried, and I called it swamp piss. From the other room, Maddox screamed swamp piss. For the next year and a half everything he drank was called swamp piss. Seth wasn’t thrilled about that, but it made me chuckle.

I half cough, half choke and I spit out, “Oh. Um. Why do you ask?”

“My mom said she got married to my dad after she got pregnant with me.”

“Oh.” Shit. What do I say? How do normal people answer this question? I run my palms down my jean covered thighs. “Well, me and your mom… see… we’re just taking it one day at a time.” Those were her words, not mine.

“Do you love her?”

What the fuck? Life did not prepare me for being interrogated by a six-year-old. Who taught this kid about relationships and love? What do I say? Love… that’s a tough one. I’ve tossed around the words in my head, and they don’t make me hurl. I’ve even written them down and oddly enough, I wrote them with a steady hand. But to say them out loud? I love getting naked with her, but I can’t tell her that. Is she doing recon for Rylee? Get the kid to ask questions so I spill everything? Fuck. I scrub my hands over my face and turn to Abby who’s staring up at me. She hasn't blinked even once. “I care about your mom. A lot.” I hope that’ll appease her questioning appetite.

“Okay.” She shrugs.

Shit. That was easy. I got this. I sit up and puff out my chest.

“Will you push me on the swings?”

“Absolutely.”

She jumps off the picnic table and runs full speed to the swings and I trail a few steps behind.

Once she’s on the swing, I stand behind and push as she pumps her legs, going higher and higher with each pass. A smile tugs on my lips as she tells me to push her higher. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. It’s a client I’ve been busting my ass for the past month to find the perfect piece of property for. I wouldn’t put much effort into it, but it’s a forty-thousand-dollar commission check if I can convince him to sign. That would buy a lot of diapers. I push her with one hand as the phone vibrates again.

Shit. “Abby, I have a really important phone call to take. I’ll be right back. Keep pumping those legs.”

As I spin around, I press the talk button. “William. I’m so happy for your phone call today. I take it you’ve made your decision.”

“Well Trey, you certainly know how to convince a man to buy something he doesn’t need.”

I give myself a fist pump. All my hard work on this sale has finally paid off. Normally, I don’t deal with the sales, but this is for an old friend. I peer over my shoulder and Abby is still on the swing, slowly kicking her legs back and forth. Giving William my full attention again, I say, “How about we meet at my office on Monday, and we can sign some paperwork?”

“I’m in meetings all day on Monday. Let’s make it Wednesday. Two o’clock.”

“Wednesday is perfect. I’ll see you then.” I press end and shove my phone into my pocket. Holy shit. A wide grin spreads across my face. This is almost as exciting as the time I lost my virginity. Almost. I spin around and my smile plummets to the ground. All the air escapes my lungs. Oh shit. The swing sways back and forth, except Abby isn’t there.

TWENTY-SEVEN

PORN STARS NAMED BUNNY

---