Page 80 of Every Little Kiss
The one they’d shared and the one that was yet to come.
He hadn’t heard confirmation yet—she’d said she was going to talk with Carolyn—but that had been three days ago. Oh, they’d shared a few sexts and some pretty steamy calls, even bumped into each other at the market—her basket was full of cupcakes, string cheese, and macaroni and cheese. Boxed. He didn’t have a basket. Just a toothbrush and a box of condoms.
She gave him one of her cupcakes. He gave her a kiss that had her vowing to talk to Carolyn.
Ford was considering asking one of his Wag and Waddlers to sit, but after spending the morning with them, he was looking forward to a quiet afternoon at home.
A hot shower followed by a cold beer and a game on the jumbo flat-screen. Old Man Keller might be old, but the man knew his electronics.
But as he came up on his own driveway and saw a bunch of kids sitting on his lawn, Ford pulled over. Then he swore. These weren’t just any kids. They were giggling, frolicking, female kids dressed in tutus and tiaras.
Then he saw a big blow-up castle in his driveway with Emma bouncing for her life, and Ford got a bad feeling in his chest. He threw his car into park and opened his door.
The moment his foot hit concrete, Emma raced over, squealing, “You’re here! Did Daddy tell you we get to play dress-up? Real dress-up, with makeup and boas and plastic princess heels.”
“Where is Daddy?” he asked, letting Bullseye out of the truck.
“He saw you drive up and went in the house,” Emma explained with a toothy grin. “Can Bullseye play dress-up too? We want him to be our prince.”
“Go on, Bullseye.” Bullseye glanced at the herd of princesses and looked up at Ford as if he’d rather play with a litter of kittens. “You cuddle with a pink lamb—now go.”
With a huff, Bullseye went with Emma. And Ford went to find Harris.
He didn’t have to look long. The fucker was sprawled out on the couch, cold beer in hand, feet on the coffee table—making himself right at home.
Even worse, Ty was in the recliner, the only piece of furniture Ford used in the house besides the bed.
“Nice shirt,” Harris said when Ford approached. “I think Emma has a headband that would match it. You should ask her about it.”
“That better not be my beer.” Neither of them responded. He took in the empty pizza boxes, the cooler filled with soda cans and juice boxes, and pointed to the purple whoops-I-squeezed-too-hard stain on the rug. “What’s that?”
“That, my friend, is me cashing in on the favor you owe me.”
“I said I’d babysit Emma—not her whole dance class.”
“Actually,” Harris said, lifting a piece of pizza to his lips, “you said anything.”
“Food stays in the kitchen,” Ford said, snatching the pizza away and taking a bite. “And how do you know I don’t already have plans?”
The assholes busted up laughing, but it was Ty who spoke. “You handed your leash over to the pretty neighbor, who is busy working on Wagon Days shit with Ty’s wife. So, I’d say your night is open.”
“I didn’t hand over my leash.” Ford said. “And maybe I was going to watch the game and throw back a few beers?”
Ford snatched the fresh beer from Ty’s hand. Twisting off the cap, he sat on the couch and decided there were worse ways to spend the afternoon. It had been a while since he’d hung with his buddies and watched a game.
“No can do,” Harris said. “Chaperones can’t drink. Parenting Party Rule Number Two.”
Ty took the beer back, then put his lips all over it. “And this is the last craft brew. Sorry, bro,” he said, not sorry at all.
Ford leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling and wondered if, as a temporary tenant, he could change the locks.
“Whoops ... Parenting Party Rule Number Three states that a chaperone must be within line of sight at all times,” Harris said. “So you can finish my pizza outside on the porch. The good news is the party only lasts three hours.”
Ford looked at the mess that started by the front door and blasted all the way down the hall to the bathroom. “How long have they been here?”
“Party started at the same time as the game. Four,” Ty said.
“They’ve only been here fifteen minutes?” he asked, and Harris grinned. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a bunch of girls for two hours and forty-five minutes?”
