Page 144 of Mr. Infuriating

Going back to bed alone, knowing only a wall separated us, was torture.

More than once, I considered plucking her from where she was probably tucked in tight and hauling her back to my bed. I even got up once, but as I approached the door leading to the hall, thought better of it. I took a piss instead before going back to bed alone.

Not tomorrow night. Tomorrow she was falling asleep in my arms, and I was going to hold her all night long. If this thing between us had an expiration date, I wasn’t wasting a minute.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Gabe

The chaos the next morning was a far cry from the way I usually started my day—enjoying a quiet cup of coffee in my breakfast nook overlooking the backyard while I scrolled my phone and caught up on scores from the night before.

In addition to making sure Britt was awake on time for school, something I wasn’t accustomed to since she stayed with her mom most school nights, I had to contend with Gretchen rushing around trying to get Jake fed and ready for daycare.

I asked her more than once what I could do to help, but each time she scurried past me, she repeated her mantra, “I got it.”

Finally, I grabbed her by the arm to slow her down for five seconds.

“Let me help you. Do you need your lunch packed? Jake’s diaper bag packed? His diaper changed?”

She eyed me suspiciously, like she expected me to burst out laughing and say, “Just kidding!” Finally, she replied, “If you could make me a sandwich for lunch and double check there are at least ten pull-up diapers in Jake’s diaper bag, I’d appreciate it.”

I released her arm and stepped back.

“On it.”

She offered me a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She headed toward the stairs, and I called after her, “PB and J? Turkey and cheese? Ham and cheese?”

She turned around and declared, “Turkey, cheese, and mayo sounds great.”

I replied with a wink. “You got it.”

A few minutes later, Brittany walked into the kitchen and saw me making Gretchen’s sandwich.

She sat down at the kitchen island and poured herself a bowl of cereal.

“Can you make me something, too?”

I paused my careful distribution of mayonnaise so that the entire slice of bread was covered and looked up at her.

“You don’t eat cafeteria lunch?”

“Ew, no.”

“What do you want?”

She was careful when she poured the milk, so to get just the right amount of milk to cereal ratio. I’d taught her that.

“You know what I like. Surprise me. And Mom always leaves me a little note, too.”

I pulled a slice of mozzarella from the deli bag and shot her a look.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

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