Page 29 of Bred By the Minotaur
Once we’ve secured the pizza, I spread it out on the table and we help ourselves. Phoebe eats almost all the breadsticks by herself. When we’re finished, she starts hastily cleaning up our plates.
“I’ll take care of it later, don’t worry,” I say, and she pauses mid-collection.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
She lets out a heavy sigh, and I can’t tell if it’s despondence or relief.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as Milo bounces to the living room to set up Monster Masher.
“Oh, it’s just...” Phoebe massages her temples. “My sister. Everything in her house has to be just so. Use a plate, put it in the dishwasher right away or get scolded. Don’t leave out your snack. Make sure everything goes back where it belongs the moment you use it.”
Now I understand. “That sounds rough. Constantly walking on eggshells.”
“It’s so tiring! Sometimes you just want to put a plate in the sink and deal with it later, you know?”
I laugh. “I know. I usually wait to do all the chores until Milo’s asleep.”
A small smile crosses Phoebe’s mouth. “He’s cute,” she says in a much quieter voice. “He has so much energy.”
“All the time, all day, every day,” I say with a groan, and she giggles. It’s fucking adorable, her giggle, and oh how I want to make her giggle again.
“He kicked a lot.” Phoebe looks thoughtful. “I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Dad!” Milo calls from the other room. “I’m picking my character!”
“Don’t take Cerberus,” I call back. “You know that’s mine.”
“Aw! But who will Phoebe play?”
I glance at her, not sure if she’s prepared to stay any longer. “You’re welcome to go whenever you need,” I tell her so he can’t hear. “It’s not a problem.”
She rapidly shakes her head. “No, I’m having fun. Let’s go play the game.”
I can’t help a dumb grin as she makes her way into the living room after Milo. Maybe this could go better than I expected.
Phoebe
Milo is beyond “cute.” He’s precious and adorable and quick as a whip for being only five. He talks like he’s much older. When he wins a game, he jumps to his feet and spins around in a circle, which he calls his “purra-purra victory dance,” whatever that means. He utterly destroys me at the fighting game, even when I pick the supposedly “strongest” character to play. I can tell that Hank lets him win when they square off, but puts up a reasonable fight so Milo thinks he’s earned it.
And Hank. He smells so utterly fantastic, just like in the breeding room. He gives his son such soft, sweet smiles when otherwise he’s rather reserved, and it makes my chest squeeze tight.
It’s not long, though, before Milo starts dozing off. While Hank and I are playing a round of Monster Masher together, Milo passes out cold on the couch, leaning against Hank’s arm.
“I guess it’s time for bed,” Hank says quietly, then scoops up the little minotaur in his muscular arms. God, he’s ripped. Strong and built like a truck, and the flexing of his pectorals and biceps under his tank top make me squirm in my seat.
I let him go upstairs alone, and play a few rounds against a computer opponent while I wait for him to come back. I really should leave now, but I’m not ready to go home and face Sandra, not yet. This was such a welcome break from the stress of the fire that I want to stay in this protective bubble as long as possible.
That spare room... I can’t help thinking how welcoming it looked, how comfortable it would be to stay somewhere I have my own space, where I’m not constantly being watched and judged. I could sleep past six, maybe, and use the little desk in the corner to work and be left alone. And it’s just down the block, so I could easily scoot over to Sandra’s to cook meals and take care of her like I always do.
I can’t believe I’m thinking like this. Hank is a complete unknown to me. It would make no sense to move in with him. I’ve only just met Milo. And even if I did live here, could I really expect nothing untoward to happen? Hank and I have a history. He’s the father of the baby I’m carrying. My whole body sizzles at the idea of having something more with him, and that in itself frightens me.
It all sounds too reasonable, and I can’t fall in love with Hank Pittsfield. Aside from my responsibilities to Sandra, what would we tell Milo? How could I possibly admit to that little boy who I really am?
I’m not his mother. I may have carried him and given birth to him, but he’s not mine. That opens a whole other can of worms.
When Hank comes back, he sits beside me on the couch and picks up the controller. “Another round?”
