Page 5 of Cross Check Daddies
I watch myself in the mirror—eyes glazed, mouth open, wrecked—and hate how much I missed this. Him. The way he knows exactly how to pull every gasp, every cry, every filthy sound out of me like he’s tuning an instrument he never forgot how to play.
He drives into me faster, rougher, and when I start to fall apart again, crying out, "King, King," he groans, thrusts harder, chasing the end.
I come again, loud and messy, thighs shaking. He finishes with a low growl, biting down on my shoulder just enough to mark me before pulling out, breath ragged.
The bathroom is too quiet. The air too thick. I step away from him, legs wobbling, mind short-circuiting. His hand catches my wrist.
“Give me your number, Brooke.”
I don’t answer. I yank my dress down and scoop up my purse. My fingers fumble the lock. I bolt, heels clicking against tile, legs on autopilot as I burst through the restaurant and onto the street. I don’t look back.
Just then, a taxi rounds the corner, headlights slicing through the dark. I step off the curb and raise my hand. It slows, brakes hissing as it pulls up. The driver barely glances at me when I give him the address.
I slump into the back seat and stare out the window, ignoring the ache between my legs, the sting on my shoulder, the taste ofhim still clinging to my tongue. My thighs are damp. My pulse won’t settle. The scent of his skin is still on me, burned into every breath.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I close my eyes, but all I see is him.
The apartment is quiet when I slip inside. Dim lighting spills in from the kitchen, just enough to see the babysitter curled up on the couch, half-covered by the throw blanket I keep folded over the armrest. Her mouth is slack, her phone dangling loosely in her hand. I toe off my heels and pad toward her.
She stirs when I gently touch her shoulder. “Oh,” she mumbles, blinking blearily. “He went down without a fight. Out like a light.”
I thank her, hand her the cash I’d set aside earlier, and see her out with a quiet goodnight. The door clicks shut behind her, and I exhale, leaning against it for a second like I need something solid to hold me upright. My purse drops to the console table with a soft thud. The silence in here is heavier than usual.
I make my way to the bathroom, stripping out of my dress like it’s coated in regret. The water heats quickly. Steam fogs up the mirror as I step in and tilt my face up into the spray. I scrub my skin raw, trying to erase the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice dragging out that old nickname like no time had passed.
“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, forehead pressed to the cool tile.
By the time I towel off and pull on an oversized tee, the buzz of him has dulled into something heavier. Stickier. I creep into Jackson’s room, careful not to wake him. His nightlight glows softly, throwing a warm pool of light over the bed.
He’s curled up in a tight little ball, one arm slung over Buddy, our old bulldog. Buddy snorts once in his sleep, legs twitching like he’s chasing something in a dream. I crouch beside them,brushing a curl from Jackson’s forehead. His lips are parted, breath even. Such a beautiful boy. Strong jaw. Long lashes. His father’s dimple, but all mine in every way that counts.
This. Him. Us. This is what matters.
Not whatever the hell that was tonight. Not Cam and his rough hands and dirty mouth. Not the way he said my name like it still belonged to him.
I lean in and press a kiss to Jackson’s cheek, staying there for a second longer than I should. I whisper I love you, barely breathing the words, then push myself up and head for the kitchen.
I pour a glass of water and lean on the counter, drinking it slowly, trying not to let the memory unravel me. I’ve worked too hard for this peace. For the company. The stability. The way my son sleeps without fear. I’m the one who makes all of it run. I’m the center. The constant. There's no time for distractions. Or mistakes.
And that’s all tonight was. A mistake.
Sex with Cam is not a beginning. It isn’t hope. It’s not some long-lost spark reigniting. It’s a fluke. A collision between memory and weakness. Nothing more.
We had sex. So what. People do stupid things when they’re bored or frustrated or, I don’t even know—horny in a damn restaurant bathroom.
That’s all it was.
I never have to see him again. He doesn’t live in my world. He’s part of some past I outgrew. That’s the truth I need to sit with.
This is good.
This is very, very good.
CHAPTER THREE
Cam
