Page 6 of Can't Text This

I glance to the paper towel sitting on my bedside table.

It’s the same one she shoved into my hand, the one that has her number hurriedly scrawled across it.

I haven’t done anything with it. Based on her quick departure, I’m not sure I should, though this multiple-day bout of blue balls is telling me something different.

I can’t stop thinking about her, can’t get the image of her—head thrown back, long hair a crumpled mess, coming apart on my fingers—out of my head.

My dick twitches at the thought, and I reach under my sheet to adjust myself.

Think about something else, Robbie. Anything else.

The last thing I need is—

“Daaaaaaaad!”

That.

That’s the last thing I need right now.

My seven-year-old son bursts through my door and I quickly throw a pillow over my junk.

“Dude, what’d I tell you about knocking?”

His shoulders slump. “Oh crudders. I forgot.”

He backs out of the room and shuts the door. It’s not even three seconds later when I hear his knuckles rapping against the door.

“Who is it?” I say, playing his smartass game right back.

“Xavie. Your son. I’m hungry.”

“Come in.”

He throws the door open once again and beelines for my bed, crawling up into the heap of blankets I threw off in the middle of the night and making himself comfortable.

“I want food.”

I roll to my side and stare at my mini-me. Some days it still amazes me that I’m a father.Me.

I didn’t plan on that happening until a lot later in life, a good ten to twelve years from now when I was ready to settle down—not at nineteen before I was even legally able to drink, before I’d hit that decade of my life that was supposed to be reserved for partying and fun, not changing diapers and three AM wake-ups.

I guess that’s what happens when you decide to throw caution to the wind and not wrap your dick up. You get girls pregnant and then your entire life changes in a flash.

I’m not going to pretend I wouldn’t go back in time and change things, do them differently, be smart, because I would. I know many others who’ve found themselves in my same situation would too, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love Xavier—or Xavie, as I like to call him—with my whole heart. He’s my everything and I’m thankful he came into my life, no matter how unplanned he was.

“Oh, you want to eat?” He nods. “No one ever said I had to feed you.”

He furrows his brows. “Toys, love,andfood—those are things dads give their kids.”

I chuckle. “Is that so?”

“Yep. Momma said so.”

“Did she throw the toys in there or did you?”

He grins and shrugs before scurrying off my bed. “She did. Now come on—I’m not getting any younger.”

Xavie runs out of the room, his curly hair bouncing the entire way.

---