Page 9 of Spring Break With a Baby Daddy
“You don’t know how to change a diaper?”
“Should I?”
“Ah, um.” I’m sure there’s a trap here…
“Just because I’ve got boobs doesn’t mean I know how to take care of a baby any more than you and your penis do.”
Fuck.
Daddy rolling off her lips is one thing, but hearing her say penis does things to mypenisnot appropriate for the situation.
Dead fish. I need to think about dead, smelly fish.
“What are you doing?”
My eyes pop open. When did I close them? “Ah…”
“C’mon, he’s probably getting hungry too and we need to work out how to make him a bottle.”
She turns away and I breathe a sigh of relief. That is until I get a look at her ass encased in the tight jeans she wore for our date.
Motherfuckingfucker.
My dick is hard as stone now.
I’m going to need to get a handle—or a hand—on myself, or Vivi moving in is going to be as painful as it is helpful.
Vivi
I can’t stop a smile curling my lips as Easton fights to get a diaper on the baby’s tiny bottom. It was simple enough to get the soiled one off, and we followed the instructions we found and covered the little guy’s ‘fire hose’.
We had to use paper towels because apparently a bachelor doesn’t own face cloths. Thankfully, neither of us got hosed. But now, Easton is having trouble getting a clean diaper on our little charge.
“Want me to replay the video?”
“No.” He gently rolls the little guy to the side. “Why are the tapes on backward?”
“What do you mean?” I lean in and instantly see the problem. Laughing, I say, “The tapes aren’t on backward. You’ve got the diaper the wrong side up.”
“Huh?”
“This.” I put my hand on the front section. “Is actually the back.”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know, but I bet it’s easier to secure it when it’s the other way round.”
“Fucking hell,” Easton mutters as he pulls the diaper out from under the baby to start over. It isn’t even clear of the little guy’s butt when our success at keeping dry is ruined.
“Shit!”
“Eek!”
Both of us lurch back then immediately lunge forward, our hands landing on the baby, mine on the boy’s belly and Easton’s on his groin, the diaper still in his hand soaking up whatever the little guy has left to offer.
“Fuck.” Easton’s gaze meets mine. “That was close.”
I look at the front of his shirt. “Ah, I’d say it was a direct hit.”
