Page 49 of The New Guy
He shakes his head. “Like that’s even an option for you.”
I see what he means when Jordyn comes tearing back out of a bedroom carrying a toy hockey stick and a puck made out of foam. “Let’s play!” she announces, dropping the puck on the floor. “Teach me tricks.”
“Cool. See if you can shoot the puck between the legs of that dining chair.”
She shoots and misses by a mile. “Almost!” she says happily.
I bury a smile. “Let’s improve your grip on the stick…”
The next ten minutes are spent with me coaching her a little. But mostly we’re just goofing around.
I’ve always been a little intimidated by younger kids. They cry a lot, and I don’t really know how to talk to them. But Jordyn isn’t a baby, and she’s got a sunny energy that I admire. She’s here for the experience, and she’s not too hung up on details.
There’s something bouncy about her that reminds me of Gavin.
“Dinner,” he says, interrupting a game whereby I try to catch the flying foam puck in a butterfly net that Jordyn had in her room. “Honey, let Hudson drink his beer, and please set the table?”
Jordyn drops the game without too much of a fuss, and goes to the silverware drawer. “Spoons and forks?”
“Chopsticks, too, Ducky,” Gavin says. He grabs a glass out of a cabinet and fills it with milk from the fridge.
I help Gavin carry wide, steaming bowls of soup from the kitchen to the family’s dining table. “It’s just the three of us tonight,” he says. “Reggie is out at a rehearsal.”
“What does she do?” I ask, easing myself into my chair.
“She plays the bass in a band.” Gavin frowns. “Why are you moving like that? Like your hip is stiff?”
“I got a little banged up in last night’s game, but it’s not a big deal. Just a little tenderness.” I probe the muscle just inside my hip, and it’s sore, but not in a dangerous way.
“Hmm,” he says as he takes his seat. “I could work on it later.”
Yes, please.
No, wait. That’s a terrible idea. I’m very good at maintaining a professional distance when we’re both at work. But I shouldn’t let this man put his hands on me in private. I don’t have that kind of willpower.
So I gaze into my bowl instead of his eyes. “This smells amazing.” My soup has shreds of chicken, carrots, fresh mushrooms, spinach and green onions in addition to the curly noodles. Oh, and a fried egg floating on the top. “The way you serve this, it’s not very far off my diet.”
“Daddy made itfancythis time,” Jordyn says, poking the chicken in her bowl.
I swear Gavin blushes. “Ramen is one of those meals that I can dress up or down. Sometimes I throw it together in a hurry, and sometimes I go all out. And, uh, I know Hudson likes his veggies.”
“Daddy put an egg in yours,” Jordyn says, wrinkling up her nose. “It’s weird, but he likes it.”
“I like it, too,” I admit. And Gavin ducks his head, like he’s a little embarrassed.
He and I tuck into the food with chopsticks, although Jordyn uses a fork. God, the soup is so good. “Where do you get the broth?” I wonder. Because I could almost put this together myself.
“It’s homemade in my instant pot,” he says, slurping a noodle. “I make a big batch of stock and freeze it.”
“Youarefancy,” I say with a flirty smile that he returns.
I ought to cut that out. But I don’t want to. Nobody ever feeds me home-cooked meals. I’m just a guest, but I feel cared for—the same way I feel when he works on my sore muscles.
Although that’s hisjob, for fuck’s sake.
Shake it off, Newgate, I remind myself. “How’s school going, Jordyn? Any better?”
“A little?” she slurps her soup. “I got invited to a birthday party at a skating rink.”
