Page 30 of Just A Little Fling

“Well, there’s this one guy, but he’s really skittish, and it’s awkward between us right now, but I’m hoping we can figure our shit out.”

Nico’s smirked at my declaration and his more typical gleam returned. “I hope you figure your shit too, Babbo.”

CHAPTERSEVEN

NICO

I was not dead. This was not my bed. Last night hadn’t been an awful, terrible nightmare.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

I really had shown up at Levi’s house, and I really had made an ass of myself. Oh god, he was never going to want to speak to me again, even though he was super nice last night and let me in the house after I threw a tantrum on his porch. Shit.

The trouble with Levi’s guest bedroom was that it was ridiculously comfortable. The mattress had one of those toppers that made you feel like you were sleeping on a cloud and the duvet cover was super fluffy. The walls were painted a pale blue and had a chair rail with a dark patterned blue wallpaper underneath it. It was calm and soothing, and there was no question that Owen had helped decorate Levi’s house. Every space was bright, light, and beautiful.

My only consolation this morning was this room was a gorgeous place to die. Would I expire of embarrassment this morning because, apparently, and unfortunately, I hadn’t last night? Now that I was fully awake, the horrifying realization of what happened hit me.

Showing up drunk on Babbo’s doorstep wasn’t the worst part. The actual worst part was crying in the restroom of a club to a stranger. All around me were the sounds of people doing things in restroom stalls or peeing in the urinal, and there I’d sat on the countertop, bawling my eyes out to a stranger in hot pants and a leather harness.

What had I been thinking?

I should never have drunk that much. And wasn’t the point of drinking that much that you wouldn’t remember what you did in the morning? How was I the most unlucky bastard in the world to be shit-faced drunk and remember every excruciating detail, including the one where I trampled on my Babbo’s flowers? The pretty pink ones he’d mentioned when I’d walked inside my bungalow the other day. Ugh, he loved his yard. I’d seen him cutting the grass with a ruler. He. Loved. It.

I had two choices at this point. Option one was to sneak out the front door and go to my house in his backyard, move out, and never speak to him again. Or I could go downstairs, admit I was an idiot, and ask him not to kick me out of the bungalow. Between the two, option one sounded like the better deal. If I went that way, I’d never have to face him again.

There’d be no reason for Babbo to come into Gabe’s office. His house was already gorgeous. The backyard bungalow was already done, so he wouldn’t be renovating anything out there. Nobody knew we’d been hooking up. Well, had been hooking up. We weren’t even hooking up anymore, and that was all on me too.

It was fine. It would be fine. Everything was fine. Before I could sneak out of bed, a firm knock sounded on the door, followed immediately by a turned knob. All I could do was watch helplessly as option one slipped through my fingers.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Babbo’s obnoxiously happy voice interrupted the doom scrolling through my brain.

“Good morning?”

“It is a good morning. It’s time to get up though. Do you want coffee or orange juice for breakfast? I think I might have apple juice, too, but I’m not sure about that.” I didn’t clearly understand what was happening right now. “I do have a mix if you want chocolate milk. Mom used to say, ‘Rise and shine. Daylight’s wasting.’”

“Babbo, what’s going on?”

“I’m trying to get you out of bed so we can have breakfast. What else would be going on?”

“You want to have breakfast with me? I was an ass last night.”

“Language, and we all are occasionally. But we can talk about it later because right now I want pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”

“I love pancakes.”

“Then get your lazy bones out of bed, come downstairs, and have some with me,” he said with a bright, toothy smile. “You’ve got five minutes, or I’m coming back upstairs. I don’t think you’ll like how I’ll get you out of bed.” The last part included an intriguing wink.

Uh, sir, I just might.After those somewhat ominous words, Babbo shut the door. I heard the sound of his footsteps retreating down the staircase.

I didn’t even know what to think of this. Shouldn’t he be mad? I’d shown up at his door drunk, insulted him, slept over, and now he wanted to make me pancakes with a five-minute deadline? I didn’t even know what was going on, but I did know pancakes sounded good and I was hungry.

There was nothing left to do except get on with this embarrassment of a morning. I shoved the blanket off, pulled on the sweats I’d tossed haphazardly on the floor last night and made my way downstairs. I got halfway down before I turned around and went back to check the bathroom. Huzzah! The toothbrush Babbo gave me last night was still by the sink, along with the travel-size toothpaste.

While I was there, I took a quick minute to wash my face. It wasn’t helpful. I still looked like hell. My eyes had bags. My skin looked terrible, and I desperately needed moisturizer. I was no one’s idea of sexy, which was just as well because I’d never be able to flirt with Babbo again anyway.

* * *

Finding him wasn’t hard. All I had to do was follow the off-key sounds of his singing as he clanked his way around the kitchen. Since Babbo hadn’t noticed me, it gave me a chance to watch him. He was moving his hips, not in rhythm, to the song while he sang, not on key, with it. But given the gusto he threw himself into it with, it wouldn’t have mattered if he was on key or on beat because he was happy.

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