Page 2 of The Stud Next Door (Frisky Business 3)
“Shit, seriously? Well, what about Beth?” Hayes asks.
Ah, yes. Beth. Part-time mother of my child, full-time med-school student alongside her med-school-student boyfriend.
They certainly don’t have the time to care for a child 24/7. We share joint custody, but a lot has been falling on me lately, not that I’m complaining. I love spending time with Marley, and I want Beth to be able to build her career. She’s a good mom, juggling school, a new relationship, and Marley with relative ease.
“When she finishes her residency next year, she’ll have more time to care for Marley. For now, she and Brett have her two days of the week. Beth wants more, but she can’t quite swing it right now.”
The guys nod, trying to understand this new life I’ve found myself living.
One day at a time . . .
Let’s rewind. Thirteen months ago, I was happily single, living in the city without a care in the world. The only unknown in my life was the familiar and somewhat amusing panic of waking up next to a woman whose name I couldn’t remember. Back then, I was going on a minimum of three dates per week, some of which ended with a satisfying hookup with whichever lucky lady could keep up with me.
My love-for-life dial was cranked up to 100 and locked into place with superglue. Nothing was gonna slow me down.
Of course, all that changed with a phone call from my former friend-with-benefits. Beth was busy becoming a doctor, and neither of us had time for a relationship. But Netflix and chilling became our thing for a couple of months last year, until those two little pink lines changed everything. Beth was carrying my baby, despite the precautions we’d taken.
But even with the massive overhaul of my social life, life is better with Marley, on all counts. She’s given me purpose, a word I thought was only reserved for the kind of people who go on mission trips to Guatemala twice a year.
Nowadays, I’m so much more than just Connor Blake, the bachelor. More than co-owner of Chicago’s number one sex-toy shop.
I’m a dad.
When I come to, I realize I’ve been droning on about day cares for give or take ten minutes. Even Wolfie’s sharp eyes are starting to glaze over.
“In summary,” I mutter, “finding a good day care in this neighborhood is a bitch.”
“Why don’t you just get a nanny?” Caleb says, cracking open his second beer. “I had the best nanny growing up. She still comes to my family’s Christmas party each year.”
“Probably ’cause you still need supervision.” I sneer at him, relishing the opportunity to give him a hard time.
But before Caleb can get a word out, Hayes cuts in.
“Where do you even find a nanny?”
“I’m sure there are databases for nannies,” Wolfie says, ever the pragmatic one.
“I don’t want to pick some random person off the internet, guys. If I get a nanny, they’d be alone in my home for the majority of the day. I’d need to trust them.”
“Do you have anything valuable to steal?”
It’s Caleb’s turn to give me shit, and damn, does it feel like we’re back in the shop. With a sleeping baby on my chest, I can’t smack him upside the head like I normally would. I’ll make up for it by teaching Marley to kick Uncle Caleb in the shins every chance she gets.
Hayes chuckles, shaking his head. “Other than his kid?”
Never too proud for a pissing contest, I’m about to tell him exactly how much I paid for my high-end espresso machine when a small sedan filled with moving boxes rolls to a halt in front of my neighbors’ house. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes have lived in that house for over two decades as happily retired empty nesters. I’ve only met them a couple of times, but the old couple have grown on me.
Hayes, Wolfie, and Caleb must sense my curiosity, because the conversation stills as we wait to see who steps out of the car.
I hear the door slam and the soft padding of feet before I know who they belong to. When the driver comes into view to lift the roll-up door, I can’t help but do a double-take because the girl is unbelievably gorgeous.
She’s young, around our age, with thick brown hair pulled back in a long, unruly ponytail. Wearing sneakers, shorts, and a loose-fitting T-shirt, she looks like any twenty-something on moving day. She opens the trunk and lifts out a hefty suitcase, clearly stronger than she looks, and sets it on the sidewalk.
“Do your neighbors have a hot daughter?” Caleb asks, standing to get a better look.
“Will you sit down?” Wolfie sighs, aging with every second that Caleb does anything immature.
For the first time in a while, I’m kind of with Caleb on this one. I’m curious.
