Page 35 of Pucked Up Plans
“Hey, Keeley,” she pants. “What’s up?” Her hands are raised above her head, her feet planted on the floor, spread widely.
For the first time, I don’t want to laugh at her response, wondering what she’s got up her sleeve.
“What’s going on?” His voice is almost back to normal, the threadiness waning.
“Playing. Is it time to go? ’Cause I’m not ready yet. How about, hmmm…five more minutes? Maybe ten.” She seeks out my daughter. Aubrey’s fascinated by the scene playing out, the hint of a smile toying on her mouth. But as usual, she’s on the sidelines, watching and not partaking in whatever Lennon’s doing.
“I think we’ve worn out our welcome. And by we, I meanyou, Squirt. It’s like I can’t take you anywhere.” His jovial tone contradicts his words.
Lennon looks over at me. “It’s up to you, since it’s your house.”
“Seriously, kid. Keep pushing buttons, why don’t you?” A new emotion peppers his tone: humiliation.
I don’t dare peep at Walsh for fear I’ll crack up. But I suggest, “Why don’t we go for a walk outside? The autumn colors are so pretty.”
Lennon thinks it over a minute, the wheels turning in her adorable little head. I don’t know what’s going to come out of her mouth when she finally decides.
“Sure, okay. I think that’s a fine idea.”
“How are you only five?” Walsh asks rhetorically.
“‘Cause I had five birthdays,” she sasses back, picking up the pillows from the floor.
“Right. Let’s get our shoes on and head out, shall we?”
We walk around the complex twice, the preschoolers slow as molasses but chatting away as if they’ve known each other all their lives. It’s so sweet to see Aubrey coming out of her shell andinteracting with another child. As brusque as Lennon can be, she has this wisdom about her to back down with Aubrey, inspiring her to take more leaps, be more daring. At least in the figurative sense. My girl won’t be scaling playscapes anytime soon.
Walsh and I trail behind. The heat from our time in the kitchen has simmered, but if given a match, we’d be up in flames in no time, the spark very much alive. I don’t want to bring the kiss back up, not when we can’t do anything about it, nor finish what he started. But damn, do I want to.
Back at the condo, Walsh insists it’s time to leave and with a pointed glower in Lennon’s direction, she doesn’t argue. She hugs Aubrey goodbye, then follows it up with one for me.
“Thanks for bringing lunch.” I start for my bag. “What do I owe you?”
“Not a thing. It’s on me. You’ll get next time.” He flashes a smile. If it made me a little weak before, it’s nothing compared to now. I have to steady myself—discreetly of course—on the wall.
I could argue with him, demand he accept the money, but I choose to focus on the “next time.” It may not be soon, but there will be a “next time.” I’ll pay then.
Walsh gathers their things as Lennon politely intones, “Bye, Tate. Thanks for having us.”
“Anytime.”
At the door, Lennon lights up with enthusiasm, but soon her expression falters. “I’m at Momma’s tomorrow, aren’t I?”
“Indeed you are. Maybe next week.” Walsh opens the door, their conversation continuing, secrets we aren’t privy to.
My awareness draws to his backside again, his ass in the sweatpants causing all kinds of dirty ideas to emerge, sending messages to other parts of my body. Ones still turned on by the almost kiss.
Maybe it’s better we didn’t kiss. It’s not like there could or would ever be something between us. Other than as a parentof my girl’s friend. So lost in my thoughts of Walsh and the prospect of not acting on any feelings I have for him, I don’t realize I’ve missed half of what Aubrey said.
“What?”
“I said, that was so fun. The show was great. Can I watch another episode after dinner and bath?” Despite the way I’ve ignored her, she sounds the least bit irritated with me. Although it doesn’t go completely unnoticed. “How about in your bed?”
The idea she proposes doesn’t sound half bad. “Yes, let’s do that. What do you want for dinner?”
I take full advantage of Aubrey being in school all day on Friday. I pound out my work, leaving the last hour and a half before dismissal free. Needing a little time to decompress after the long week, I draw a bath, my Kindle oasis accompanying me. Which seems like a great idea until I get to the sexy part of the latest romance novel I’m reading. And instead of focusing on the actual words on the screen, my mind drifts to Walsh, the thoughts in no way pure.
It feels like it’s been forever—roughly about six years—since I’ve thought about a man sexually. Which is even laughable to call Damon aman. Glorified boychild is more like it. So the opposite of Walsh, who’s all man. It hasn’t slipped my notice how his biceps pop in his shirts. The wall of steel of his chest. The thick thighs from hours and hours on the ice.
