Page 67 of Pucked Up Plans
I sometimes wonder why she chose me to be her mother because she always makes me feel like I’m doing everything right. Even when I lose my shit and have no clue what I’m doing, she has this way of making everything seem better. Before she knew how to talk and could understand what she was doing, on the toughest days, she’d smile up at me, and I knew all would be okay. She was sent to me for a reason. Every day, I send up a prayer of gratitude for making the right decision to become a teenage mom. Aubrey makes every sacrifice worth it.
She isn’t stingy with her love and affection to those people she truly cares for, but today, her sentiments rattle me, rendering me speechless as I place the plate of pretzels in front of her and Lennon.
My emotions are out of whack because of Walsh. As much as I want to have sex with him, I can’t imagine the toll it will have on my mental health.
“Earth to Tate.” Walsh’s voice draws me out of my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Where’d you go?”
“To a place I shouldn’t.”
I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about sex in front of my daughter and her friend. Especially when it’s her friend’s father I’m imagining doling out the orgasms.
Who the hell am I and what have I done with Tate Winchester?
“Mommy, may I please have a glass of milk?”
“Yeah, me too,” Lennon chimes in.
“Squirt, did you hear how politely Aubrey asked for milk? Want to try again?” Walsh chides.
Lennon shoots her father a side-eye but faces me. “Tate, can I please have some milk too?”
“Sure. Good manners.”
Walsh jumps in and grabs two cups from the cabinet. Filling them about halfway with milk, he hands one to Aubrey first, then Lennon. It’s Lennon who thanks him first, followed by Aubrey’s appreciation.
I hand Walsh a plate with a pretzel. He studies it carefully before taking a bite. The minute it hits his mouth, he lets out a groan not appropriate for little ears. I can’t stop the giggle tickling my insides, begging to be set free.
“Oh, that’s good. You made these from scratch?”
“Yep. The recipe is labor-intensive so we don’t make them often, but when Aubrey mentioned we hadn’t made them in a while, I figured it was time. Lucky for you to choose today to come over.”
He swallows the bite in his mouth, my eyes drawn to his neck, fixated on the way it moves with the action.
Jeez, Tate. What’s next?
He doesn’t miss the fact I’m checking him out, and I don’t mind the smirk appearing on his lips. Not one bit. My internal body temperature rises. I’m going to have to learn to keep my body in check when I’m around him and the kids.
“We’ll be in my room,” Aubrey advises as she delivers her plate to the counter by the sink. Lennon barely touched her pretzel but doesn’t hesitate to follow Aubrey from the room.
“Lennon,” Walsh reprimands, causing her to turn around, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Are you going to finish your pretzel?”
A slight pink tinges her cheeks. “Not hungry.” Without further explanation or waiting for further reprimand, she spins and heads off to play.
“She didn’t like it?” I guess.
“The girl has no taste. But, more for me.” He shovels it into his mouth. I force my attention away from him, busying myself on not staring.
“What should we do with our free time?”
So many answers—all of which are inappropriate with the kids down the hall—flood my mind. “We could start a movie now. Give us something to keep our concentration off other things.”
“Probably for the best,” he states with a sigh.
I want to tell him about Friday, but if Wednesday night doesn’t go well, it won’t be a possibility. No need to get his hopes up—or mine—to be dashed.
