Page 70 of Pucked Up Plans
When their time is up, Lennon begs for more. When Walsh denies her request, she goes to complain but stops with his “don’t ask again” look. Why does he have to be so damn sexy even when he’s reprimanding his daughter?
“We’ll see you tomorrow at the party. Don’t forget my mashed potatoes.” Lennon in his arms, his left eye winks.
As much as I was anticipating hanging out with him at the party, it doesn’t bode well I can’t get enough of him.
CHAPTER 17
WALSH
Tate and I are the only two adults here at Friendsgiving under the age of thirty. I tried mingling with the other parents, participating in their conversations, but I have nothing in common with any of them. And no one wants to hear about the essay I’m procrastinating writing about the history of sports.
Tate seems to be just as much out of her element. With the connection we share, it’s hard to hide the fact I want to touch her. To hold her hand. To kiss the fuck out of her. So I’ve mostly ignored her. She’s holding her own with a few of the moms because my eyes never stray far from her for too long. I may not be in her physical presence, but I’m keeping tabs on her.
The kids are having a grand ole time. The parents set up games and snacks in the finished basement, but most of the kids are enjoying the two bounce houses set up. In the house. There’s even a high school girl making sure the kids don’t overcrowd them. I lost Lennon the minute we arrived. The last I checked, she was behaving.
We downsized our house when Dad lost his job, and I thought our former house was massive. What it must be like tohave this kind of money, to have the biggest house on the block, to havetwobounce houses in your basement.
For the potluck meal, everyone was supposed to bring something. Either I missed the memo on the invite or I was supposed to know. Don’t ask me how. Tate, gotta love her, showed up with mashed potatoes and homemade cookies, which she handed over to me when we arrived at the same time. Stunned by her actions, I barely said thank you. One more thing I’ll have to “make up for” when I get her alone.
At this rate, it’s going to be never. The odds are not in our favor for even going out on a date. I’d totally offer Mom to babysit Aubrey, but I’ve already overstepped a lot, so I’m trying to wait this one out.
The twenty kids sit at a long table set up in the dining room. After we plated food for them, we were instructed to disperse, so the adults scatter throughout the first floor of the house, sitting or standing anywhere they choose. I end up next to Tate on the couch in the living room.
Being so close to her and having to behave proves to be difficult. It’s not so much I’d throw her down and kiss her in front of all these people, but we can’t even pretend to know each other beyond being parents of our kids. Truthfully, I don’t give a shit what other parents would think. Neither of us is married, not that it’s any of their business. But I get the sense Tate feels differently. Or maybe it’s because of the kids.
Hmm. I guess I should ask her one of these days. Perhaps on the date we can’t ever seem to schedule.
After sitting in silence, hearing bits and pieces of other people’s conversation, I can’t take it any longer. “These mashed potatoes are delicious. I should give people my recipe.” My eyes catch her lips as they quirk up into a gorgeous smile.
Tate scoops some on her spoon, holding it out in front of me. “This right here is from theonepotato you peeled.” Shoveling itin her mouth, her eyes shut, and I swear she moans, the sound putting my dick on full alert. “Yum. So good.”
“Don’t make those noises, Tate,” I whisper-hiss. “It’s unbecoming of a lady. Especially with other people around.”
“You must be confusing me with some other lady,” she retorts sassily, a smirk on her lips I’d love to kiss off.
Damn. Why does she have to be so incredibly alluring?
Will I ever get enough of her?
The gathering lasts another forty-five minutes after food is served. Tate’s cookies are delicious, and I’m not ashamed to admit I grab a few to go. They’ve got cranberries, white chocolate, and some kind of nuts. Perfect for this time of year.
Lennon sticks to chocolate chip cookies, and poor Aubrey examines the dessert table and practically gags as she walks away. Her mood doesn’t change, nor does she throw any type of tantrum about not having dessert. My heart pinches at her uniqueness.
“Keeley, what’s on our agenda this evening?” Lennon asks as we depart the party, having said our goodbyes and gratitude to the hosts. I lost track of Tate and Aubrey when I took Lennon to pee. Kinda bummed we didn’t get to say goodbye.
“I was thinking, if you aren’t too tired, we might go to the rink for a little while.”
I barely finish the idea before she squeals.
“I’m not tired. Nope. Not me. I can skate.” She shakes her head to punctuate her point.
“Great. Nordic rink?”
“If it’s the only one available, it will do.” I swear she lets out an exasperated sigh along with her comment. And mostlikely, it’s not my imagination. The girl isn’t afraid to preach her opinions.
“Beggars can’t be choosers. You want to skate, it’s Nordic.”
Her eyes go wide at the prospect of not getting to skate. “I want to skate.”
