She tucks her hair behind her ear, standing sideways in front of the mirror as she studies her midsection, sucking in and releasing to see the difference. “It’s a son of his friend,” she amends, and even then, I cannot think of a single guy. Still, I love Goldie, but I want to spend time with Beau. Getting her out of the house to double-date with my parents? I’ll take it.
“Your dad texted me,” she says, retrieving her phone and purse off of her bed. “He wants me to bring Jett.”
Goldie closes her bedroom door, and we walk to the front door. “Beau wants to see him. I know Jett may be asleep but… still, he had a bad day and I really think seeing Jett would cheer him up.”
Her face softens, her lips dipping down in a classic “aww” expression. She kisses Jett’s cheek.
“Bo!” he shouts, pointing to the door.
“Soon,” I tell him.
Goldie sighs. “I didn’t know it was serious with you two. I’m glad because I was totally your first fan, but it’s only been three months.”
Wanting to avoid getting defensive, I choose my words carefully. “Almost four. I was with Dustin for eight years, and never once did he ever seem like seeing me would make him feel better. But every time I talk to Beau, he doesn’t tell me how good I make him feel. He just… makes me feel it.” I lift Jett in my arms and brush our noses together.
“You’re right,” Goldie says, her face surprisingly serious when I meet her eyes. “Time doesn’t matter. It’s how you feel. How you feel should be honored over everything else. I agree.” Her voice is so stern, eyes so steadfast on me that I wonder if whatever happened in the city with her PR job and the baseball manager isn’t playing into her response.
“Hey,” I say, stopping her as she turns for the front door. “If you wanna–”
She holds up a hand, a pink and white manicure on her nails. “I don’t want to talk. Love you, have fun, see you later.”
“Text me when you’re heading home, you know, in case.”
She twists in the doorframe. “In case you’redoing it,” she teases with a giggle.
I really hope we’re doing it. “Just… text me,” I smile, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks. “And have fun with my dad’s friend’s son.”
She laughs as she leaps down the porch steps. “I intend to!”
* * *
When I’m feedingJett before bed, I often get sleepy, too. There’s something so relaxing about the gentle lull of a rocking recliner, the soft snores of a baby, and the warm buzz that moves between our connected bodies.
It’s in the chair that I open my eyes to find Beau standing over us; his head turned to align with Jett’s. His lips are curled in an adoring smile, and my heart nearly incinerates when he lowers himself to us, pressing a kiss to Jett’s head, smoothing his hair back.
“He couldn’t make it,” I whisper.
“You almost didn’t either,” he whispers back with a wink. “Can I?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds two hands above Jett’s body. He wants to take him and put him in his crib for bed.
My eyes bounce between his, memorizing this moment because it may just be lowering a snoring little body into a tiny bed, but to me, it’s so much more. And I really hope it is to him, too.
I nod.
I tug at my crumpled, sweaty shirt when Beau lifts Jett off of me and realize my boob is still on full display. When I look at Beau, he’s only focused on Jett. I put myself away and stand but stay near the chair as the two of them cross the small room to the crib.
Beau is whispering things–I can’t make out the words; I can only feel the deep timbre of his voice bouncing around the space, making my body vibrate.
A hot, young, fit, sexy masculine guy is a turn-on. But hand him your baby and watch as he adores him? There’s gotta be a bigger phrase thanturn-on.He doesn’t just turn me on. He takes me from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds, watching them together.
Jett can be transferred from person to person, car seat to person, floor to car seat. One thing that is hit or miss is lying him down in his bed when he’s already been asleep. Half the time, he wakes; the remaining time he squawks and complains.
My simmering desire for Beau is put on pause as I hold my breath in suspense, watching him lower Jett down into the crib.
Snorts. Snuffles. A toot. And then–
“Crap,” I murmur to myself as Jett lets loose one singular, wild scream.
Steady and certain, Beau leans over the crib, his big hand rubbing a calming path down Jett’s chest and belly. “Hey, wild one, go back to sleep. You need your rest.”