Page 56 of Mister Cowboy
“So, into the technicalities this morning.”
“Sexual frustration.” He let his weight fall on her fully and ground his hardness against her. “It does crazy things to a man.”
Her eyes widened, but she shook her head and then ducked underneath his arm. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you that I don’t have the cure for your problem this morning. Get dressed or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what? It’s Saturday.”
“Mm-hmm, and we have somewhere to be in thirty minutes.”
“Does this have something to do with why you insisted I stay here last night?”
She nodded feverishly, her smile growing wider.
Brecken hopped out of bed and picked his discarded clothes up off the floor. Holding the dress shirt in front of him and eyeing the missing buttons, he grinned before tossing it in his overnight bag. He dressed, watching January as she ran her hands over the skirt of her dress and then reached one hand up to her necklace and then pointed toward the corner of the room. “Can you grab that box in the corner?”
His eyes followed the line of her finger where a cardboard box rested on the floor. He picked it up, the taped top gave no indication of what was inside, but whatever it was, it was heavy.
“I can’t be involved in the burying of a dead, apparently dismembered, body. How did you get this box in here?” he asked, shifting the box to get a better grip on it.
She flexed a bicep and winked. “Come on, Hercules.”
For the first time since he’d been at her apartment, they didn’t take the elevator to the first floor. Instead they stopped on the second. He’d assumed it was more apartments, but when they stepped into the open space, he realized it was all conference rooms. People were already in the large room January was walking toward, and he followed behind her, wondering what he’d got himself into.
“Hi, everyone, sorry we’re late. This is Brecken Blackstone of Blackstone Software. He donated this month’s entire order of books for the kids.”
He was thrown off balance as people came forward, shaking his hand and patting his back, giving their thanks for something he hadn’t done.
He tossed a confused look to January, but she just smiled and hung back, watching the commotion. Brecken nodded and backed away from the crowd. Feeling claustrophobic, he took her by the arm. “Can I see you for a minute?”
“Now? The children are going to be here any second.”
“I didn’t donate to”—he waved his hands around the room—“whatever this is.”
“Yes, you did,” she said quietly and turned back to the crowd. “Here they come, everyone,” January said excitedly and greeted a group of bouncing and screaming children as they exited the elevator.
With every step of their little feet scurrying across the linoleum floor, Brecken backed up farther against the wall. He gulped and wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn’t do kids. He’d been an only child, at least during the formative years. He didn’t have any friends or close coworkers that had them, excluding Martin, who would be moving into the parent column soon. Brecken had zero experience, and the little fuckers terrified him.
January handled them with ease, talking animatedly and corralling them into the room. The box he’d carried down was open on a table that had been pushed against the wall, and colorful books of all sorts were being pulled out. The kids grabbed them eagerly and headed to the front of the room where a large area rug was laid out. January and the other adults sat as well.
He watched, a little intrigued, and a whole lot impressed, as the adults sat with the children and listened to them read, offering occasional assistance with sounding out words or explaining what something meant. At some point, he relaxed, no longer afraid he was going to have to interact with these small humans, and he stepped away from the wall, inching closer to the rug.
January smiled up at him in encouragement as he approached, prodding him to take a seat next to her. Feeling ridiculous as he tried to bend his legs into “crisscross apple sauce” as January called it, he tucked his long legs up against his chest.
A little girl with dark hair pulled back into a long braid read hesitantly to January, looking up for reassurance every few words. January nodded and smiled in encouragement, and his breathing hitched.
She’d never mentioned wanting to have children, but they’d barely even scratched the surface on talking about what they wanted for their futures. Theirseparatefutures that he’d begun to see a lot more intertwined. Could he be a husband and father? Considering his role model, it seemed unlikely. But with January at his side, he wasn’t ruling anything out.
31
January
“You should have seenyour face when that boy asked if you were a member of the Colorado Rockies.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should lie and sign something or crush his hopes and dreams.”
“Honesty. Always honesty,” she teased as they walked to the elevator, the floor empty and oddly quiet after the past hour of children’s giggles and squeals.
He nodded as a solemn expression crossed his face.
