She shakes the box filled with a set of multicolored blocks. For a baby. And now it’s her turn to look back and forth between us.
“I got you a present,” PJ mumbles uncomfortably, which makes it impossible for me to hide a small giggle that comes out of my mouth.
He glares at me, and that just makes me smile even harder.
“Anastasia, this is . . . um, my friend, PJ. PJ, this is my daughter, Anastasia,” I say, wondering if this makes me the world’s worst mother.
In all the baby/toddler/children/teenager parenting books I’ve read over the years, I’m pretty sure they never included a chapter about the right time to introduce to your child a man you’ve made out with, who you aren’t dating but who you would like to see naked in the near future.
“I’m sorry about the blocks. I thought you were younger. I’m really not a weird pervert or anything,” PJ tells her with a frustrated sigh, stepping into the doorway until he’s pressed up against me and lowering his mouth to my ear to whisper, “Seriously, how in the hell do you have a teenager? You called her your baby girl last night!”
He sounds annoyed, and with the way he keeps glancing over at Anastasia all wide eyed, I can only assume it’s because everyone loves babies; no one loves teenagers. Even though she can be trying at times, she’s my entire world and I don’t care how good looking he is or how great a kisser he is, if he doesn’t like teenagers, especially my teenager, he can kiss my ass.
“Because she is my baby girl! It’s a term of endearment,” I whisper back angrily.
“I’ve heard about dudes with gross fetishes. Nina told me about this guy on YouTube who likes feet and—” Anastasia says before I cut her off.
“Okay, I think it’s time to go. Or, maybe it’s time for PJ to go,” I stop her before PJ’s head explodes and before I punch him in the jaw for the teenager comment.
Is he mad that I have a teenage daughter? Does he not understand how marriage and pregnancy work? Why do I care if he’s mad? I mean, he employs an entire club full of mothers, why is this such a shock? Maybe he hates kids. Clearly he hates kids, which will make it so much easier to put him back in the “annoying” category and out of the “I want all the sex with him” one. But that doesn’t really explain why he showed up here with a present for her, albeit, one that’s about ten years too young for her, but still. He probably just hates teenagers. You and the entire universe, buddy, get in line. But he was so sweet about bringing her a gift.
This is all so confusing. I shouldn’t be allowed to have any type of adult interaction without Ariel present.
“Uh, are you forgetting something?” Anastasia asks, pulling my gaze away from PJ to look at her quizzically. “You were supposed to take me to the mall to meet Kelsey?”
I have a vague recollection of Anastasia sending me a text last night while she was at a sleepover but . . . wine.
“Shit. Was that today? Shit, fuck, damn,” I mutter, which makes my daughter look at me with wide eyes. “I swear like a truck driver now. Let’s not make a big deal out of this.”
PJ steps into the doorway and clears his throat.
“Actually, that’s where I planned on taking your mom today. I figured it was time she updates her wardrobe. As long as it wouldn’t be cramping your style, you can just go with us,” he says with a shrug.
“Cool. That works for me,” Anastasia says before I can interject and tell him this is a very bad idea.
PJ moves aside to let her out of the house, shaking the box of blocks she still carries and smirking at him as she goes. While I’m busy coming up with all the reasons why this is a bad idea and how exactly I should tell PJ off for the teenager comment, he turns back around and smiles at me.
That damn smile.
“Just so you know, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I’m just . . . a little surprised.”
He moves in closer, and since I don’t want to look like his nearness has any effect on me whatsoever, I refuse to move, even as he reaches up and tucks a wayward strand of hair that’s fallen over my eyes behind my ear. “You don’t look anywhere near old enough to have a teenager. At all.”
His words are kind, but the way his eyes trail over me from head-to-toe is anything but kind. It’s naughty. So, so naughty.
This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date. . . .