She takes it from me. “You have a nice singing voice.”
“You heard. Of course you did. You probably also heard Bell’s tantrum all the way from Jersey.” I scratch under my jaw. “She has me by the fucking balls, that kid.”
Amelia takes a drag. “You’re leaving?”
I remove the cigarette from her hand, drop it, and step on it before stepping into her. She looks even more delicious with a smear of raspberry sauce on her cheek. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a sloppy eater?”
“Well, it has worked in my favor in the past . . .”
“You did it on purpose,” I say, impressed. “You want a kiss.”
“I want to be tasted.”
She doesn’t have to ask twice. I lean down to suck the sweetness off her face, then shift an inch to her lips. She feels good. Warm. I don’t want to go. I don’t need to spend the night here, but I do think I’ve earned a few hours of not being Dad of the Year. Haven’t I? After what everyone’s been trying to tell me about my relationship with Bell, I’m beginning to question the kind of parent I’ve been.
Amelia pulls back first, looking me in the eye. “You’re not here with me.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t. I can tell.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “But I’d like you to be. Can’t you stay a little longer? I promise to get you back before the sun comes up.”
I frown. It isn’t like Amelia to ask for more. If I could articulate the past seven years in a few sentences to get to her understand, I would. “I’m sorry. I wish I could.”
With a simple tick of her eyebrow, I can tell she doesn’t like my answer. She steps back. Her red dress is scorching, tight in the all the right places, but still covered enough to make my imagination work. It would take an idiot to walk away from her. But that’s what Bell has turned me in to—an idiot. And hard as I try, as good as Amelia looks, I can’t get Bell’s choking sobs out my ears. “Bell . . . she has a hard time,” I explain. “When her mom left—”
“It’s not really my business.” Amelia turns, walks back into the room, and doesn’t bother holding the door for me.
I catch it right before it slams. “Are you mad?” I ask.
“If you remember, I didn’t want to come back up here,” she says, removing an earring and setting it on the nightstand. “I didn’t want to be blindfolded. I didn’t even want a second night. But you were persistent. You promised it’d be worth it. Now you’re leaving?”
My instinct is to defend myself with my normal response—Bell’s my daughter and she comes first. But Amelia’s right: it isn’t her business. Amelia and I aren’t about anything outside this room. “I didn’t anticipate this,” I say. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
I can’t think too hard about the naughty ways I’d like to get back on her good side, or I won’t be able to walk out the door. “I just need to figure out what to do with Bell. Then I’ll come back to the city, any night you want.”
She shakes her head. “Not good enough.”
Jesus. If Bell’s got me by the balls, Amelia likes to bust them. “What do you mean?”
She sits on the edge of the bed. “Look, I’m not saying anything we don’t already know. This has been fun, but—”
“How are you breaking up with me if we aren’t even together?”
“I put myself out there for you tonight. In more ways than one. I put you before my work, Andrew—I don’t do that for anyone.”
“What do you suggest I do?” I ask, nearly gaping. “Make my child cry herself to sleep?”
“What good is it going to do for you to go home now? You won’t get there until after midnight. I don’t know much about kids—”
“No, you don’t.”
“But the first time you and I met, you told me you weren’t raising a spoiled brat. Sounds like you’ve changed your mind about that. She has to learn, and maybe you do too.”
“Learn what?” I ask, reeling back.
“In the words of the Stones—you can’t always get what you want.”
Amelia has no idea she’s speaking a language Bell would understand—kid loves The Rolling Stones—and it puts me somewhere between pissed off and impressed. I have no doubt I would’ve walked out of the room already if I hadn’t been hearing the exact same thing from all the women in my life. “Look,” I say, “I already told her I’d come home, and if I don’t, it’ll just make everything worse. I’ll call you tomorrow to reschedule. We can—”
“Don’t call me,” she says. “In fact, lose my number.”
My jaw tingles. She’s not kidding. “No.”
“Yes. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come up here, and I knew that, but I did anyway.”
“We had fun earlier,” I point out.
“Then let’s leave it at that. Fun. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but . . .” I shouldn’t be arguing. This is what I do—sleep with women who are easy to walk away from. With each taste of Amelia, though, I want another bite. Even if it’s against the rules. “It’s not that I want to leave, Amelia. Let me make it up to you another time.”
She crosses her arms.
That one gesture is enough to ignite an ember of guilt in me. I nearly forced her to open up and trust me earlier, and now I’m leaving her out in the cold. I can feel her closing again, and to my surprise, it bothers me. In her eyes, I’m currently sitting in the same camp as her ex. I want to help rebuild Amelia’s faith in men, not reinforce her disappointment in us. Either way, I’m abandoning one of them, messing with their trust issues. But my loyalty can only be to one of them in the end.
I get my things and go home.
FIFTEEN
Flora greets me at my front door. “Bell’s asleep,” she says before I even empty my pockets. “I’m sorry, Andrew.”
“It’s okay. I thought she would be.” I run a hand through my hair. My fingers stink like cigarette smoke. “Where’s Pico?”
“Took off earlier. He couldn’t hack it.”
I try to muster a smile, but it’s forced. I thought once I left the hotel and got on the train, I’d feel better about coming home. I don’t. Amelia would’ve looked edible splayed on the hotel’s king-size bed for my hands and mouth. During the ride home, I couldn’t decide if coming back was the right choice, but being a good dad is never the wrong one.
I pay Flora. She refuses to accept the way she normally does, and I insist like I normally do until we finally come to our regular agreement—she’ll accept if she can have Bell and me over for dinner one night next week.
Once I’ve locked up the house, I peek into Bell’s bedroom. She’s on her back, her legs and arms open like a starfish. The kid can sleep in any position.
I slip into the room and look down at her. Her eyes are pink and puffy, her breathing even. I might resent Shana, but I can never completely hate her. She gave me Bell, and Bell gives me a reason to wake up in a good mood every morning. So what if I spoil her? So what if I’d sacrifice anything for her happiness? I’m a father before I’m a man.
Her eyes fly open. She blinks a couple times, taking in her surroundings. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
I smile. Stubborn every waking—or sleeping—moment. “I know.” I sit on the edge of her bed. “What’d you do with Flora tonight?”
“She showed me some cursive.”
“Yeah? You don’t learn that until next year.”
She shrugs. “I wanted to try. Flora says they might not teach it anymore and that’s a tragedy.”
“A travesty,” I correct with a smile. “So you had fun?”
“No.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Did you have fun?” she asks.
I pull back a little at the unexpected question. She’s getting older and more perceptive, but how much does she understand? If I say no, I’d be lying. “Yes,” I say. “Aunt Sadie and Uncle Nathan say hi.”