Her All Along Page 19

  “I’m sure she’d love it,” I replied. “She’ll go nuts for the colors and moving objects.”

  “True. See, I knew coming to you for advice would help. This is awesome.” After she finished making the last notes, she closed her pad and set it on the table. “You wanna watch a movie?”

  Hold up. Was she serious? That was it? I wasn’t getting my own day with her?

  I quickly went from worrying about such a day to feeling fucking insulted for not getting one.

  “Sure.” I took a sip from my coffee, utterly disgruntled, while Pipsqueak walked over to my entertainment center to inspect my DVD collection. Ethan and I were the ones people came to borrow movies from.

  I couldn’t believe I wasn’t getting my own day with her. She was going to live out of state for two fucking years. Had I not earned more than being Grace’s plus-one?

  Sure, sure, I was supposed to draw a line and not be as close to her, but she didn’t know that.

  Besides. How did I set up boundaries for a girl who’d always played without rules? The various restrictions I’d put on other women, or in my treatment of them, had never applied to Pipsqueak. Back when I was telling Taylor I had no interest in taking her out to dinner and tagging along for shopping sprees, I was doing exactly that with Pipsqueak, because she was different. She’d always been different. She was in a league of her own.

  “Ooh, this one.” She held up Contagion, a decent movie Darius had told me to get. It was about a fast-spreading virus and society’s attempts at stopping it, and he’d called it a prediction of the future because that was how he was. “Do you wanna watch it here or upstairs?”

  Jesus Christ. I clenched my jaw in an attempt to compose my face, and I set down the coffee mug. On the inside, a war began. She knew very well that the only other TV I had was in my bedroom, which led me to believe she was up to something. Who could forget that she’d asked me how to seduce a man? And God…why was I tempted to see how far she’d take things? Just because I was one sorry, deprived son of a bitch didn’t mean I should take advantage. Even if it was offered.

  “I just thought, um,” she stammered, “in case you’re tired and fall asleep. Then you’d be comfortable at the beginning of the movie.”

  Fucking hell, she was adorable. And she absolutely sucked at seduction. The problem was, it made her all the more appealing.

  The fact that she wouldn’t make eye contact was a big sign. It was the first thing to disappear when she was remotely uncomfortable. She’d find another spot to fix her gaze, such as the floor or one’s shoulder.

  “Upstairs sounds good,” was definitely not what I was supposed to say, but that didn’t stop the words from flying out of my motherfucking mouth. What was wrong with me? Pipsqueak seemed as surprised as I was to hear me agree, though she quickly plastered a casual expression on her face.

  Fuck, this was bad.

  Not only because I was taunting my own desire for—no, I refused to go there. I refused to admit I desired her. I couldn’t. But either way, I was practically toying with her feelings, and that made me the biggest piece of shit in town.

  Yet, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t reconsider. I grabbed my coffee and followed her up the stairs, to my bedroom, where I slept, where I’d spent the past several years getting off to faceless women or porn. How the hell would I stop myself from putting a face to that body now? How would I stop myself from crystallizing that body into one I’d gawked at when we were on the beach the other day?

  I guess I was going to stop jerking off.

  Sick.

  While Pipsqueak turned on the TV and inserted the disc in the DVD player, I poked my head into Grace’s room. She was fast asleep and wouldn’t wake me up with her demanding hollering until around five.

  “I think you’re the only man I know who actually makes his bed every morning,” Pipsqueak noted.

  I lifted a brow at her as I made my way over to the bed. How many men’s bedrooms had she seen?

  I didn’t want the answer.

  I really didn’t want the answer, judging by the foul stab of jealousy I felt in my chest. Christ, talk about losing it. This wasn’t me.

  After folding down the duvet, I returned to the hallway up here and adjusted the thermostat. It was a little too warm for my liking, and there was no way I’d lose any clothes. Sweats and a beater would have to do. Presumably all night, because I couldn’t foresee Pipsqueak going home.

  And…I didn’t fucking want her to.

  To say I was conflicted would be the understatement of the century.

  Pipsqueak was wearing an oversized USMC tee—Ryan’s, without a doubt—and she kept it on. The same couldn’t be said for her shorts. She pushed them down unceremoniously and got into bed with the remote control, her eyes glued to the DVD menu’s selection. She mumbled no thanks to director’s commentary and pushed play on the regular version.

  If she was nervous or uncomfortable at this point, it didn’t show whatsoever.

  Maybe she wasn’t planning anything, then. Maybe this was the extent of it. She was a horrible actress, so I would’ve liked to believe I’d detect any further plans. I should be relieved, in other words. I should be very relieved.

  I joined her in bed and propped two pillows behind my back, and I stayed over the sheet since she was underneath it. Call it self-preservation, but I knew where I’d end up once I fell asleep. When I was little, I’d always slept wrapped around Finn. When I’d been married, I’d woken up on Angie’s side of the bed more often than not, even after I’d started hating her guts.

  After Grace was born, I’d been terrified to sleep next to her, for fear I’d roll over on her. Then I’d fallen asleep by accident once, only to discover my inner dad radar had everything covered. If Grace moved an inch, I noticed.

  I’d almost crossed that literal line up in Whistler, with half my body over on the side Pipsqueak had used. I was fairly sure Grace’s presence had saved me from going further.

  As I let out a breath, I realized how tense I was. Overthinking and overanalyzing had turned me rigid, and I was a little surprised Pipsqueak hadn’t pointed it out. She was weirdly good at picking up on changes in the atmosphere.

  She took a sip of her coffee-flavored sugar and remained seated with her legs crisscrossed. I made a conscious effort to unclench and focus on the movie, and it helped when she chuckled and said, “Darius should watch this. It’s his dystopian fantasies come true.”

  My mouth twitched. I wouldn’t call it a fantasy of Darius’s, but he did prepare for disasters because he believed they were all likely scenarios. He had dreams of building a house in the middle of the forest and turning it into a homestead where he didn’t need to rely on anyone but himself.

  “He’s the one who told me to get it,” I admitted.

  Pipsqueak snickered and leaned back against the pillows. Then she did something stupid. She kicked off the sheet and pulled up her knees a bit, flashing way too much of her toned legs. I remembered vividly how soft and smooth they felt.

  I was screwed, wasn’t I? I’d never been able to tell her no because, in my eyes, she’d always been my exception. Even back when I’d been a raging dipshit to everyone around me, I hadn’t mustered anything more than fleeting annoyance when she showed up unannounced.

  I drew a deep breath and gave the movie another chance. I’d started watching it once before, but I’d fallen asleep halfway into it.

  I lasted about five minutes. Then my gaze was back to her legs. I pictured my hand sliding up her calf, over her knee, parting them a bit more—

  “May I use you as a pillow, Mister?”

  Fuck me twice.

  “Sure.” I cleared my throat, my heart hammering, and I gave myself a mental kick in the balls for so many reasons. She flashed me a sweet little grin as I extended my arm, and it completely changed the direction of my previous thoughts. Because the second she aligned herself with my body and rested her head on my chest, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. E
motions surged forward within me, strong enough that my eyes actually stung. I hadn’t had another person in my arms since long before my divorce.

  I hadn’t shown anyone any genuine affection in years. Hugging Pipsqueak and Willow was one thing. Being Grace’s personal teddy bear was one thing too. This, sharing my bed, holding a woman, was a whole other. It was foreign. Even more so because Pipsqueak was the first person whose spot in my heart had always been untainted.

  I had no words to describe how good she felt in my arms. Rather than leaving my arm on her pillow, I wrapped it around her, tucking her against my side. I stopped pretending to give a flying fuck about the movie, and I closed my eyes. I concentrated on her—only her. It felt so goddamn right. Letting my hand roam her back in casual little strokes, I indulged when I knew I was supposed to do the opposite. I didn’t care.

  It was a stolen moment. A glimpse into a future I’d likely never have, one where I shared my home and bed with someone, someone I loved and adored. It was ludicrous. I hadn’t played pretend since Finn and I did it as a way to survive. And I’d been a child. I felt utterly ridiculous for fantasizing about lazy mornings in bed, passion, and comfort.

  Kissing too. I’d never been a fan. Too intimate. Too close. Yet, it was present in the images flowing through my mind right now.

  Fuck it all.

  I released a breath and sank into a sense of absolute bliss.

  I’d expected there to be awkwardness the next morning when we woke up, particularly considering there wasn’t an inch of space between us. Instead, the contentment flowed freely. At some point during the night, she’d turned to me and tucked her head under my chin. It was how I’d roused from sleep, with her fingers drawing mindless patterns along my back, and it didn’t bother me. If anything, I wouldn’t mind if she went under my beater.

  “You’re awake,” she whispered.

  “Mm.” I wished I could stay a while longer, but we weren’t the only ones who were up. Grace was cooing and rambling to herself in her room. “You’ll be here for dinner later, right?”

  Since Ryan and his girlfriend were returning to California in a few days, I’d invited them over for a barbecue. I’d extended the invite to the others as well, but Lias and Evelina had plans, Ethan had a date, and Willow hadn’t warmed up enough to be verbal around Angel yet.

  “Oh yeah,” she yawned and slowly disentangled herself from me. Then she stretched out and groaned and, fuck me, the way she arched her back, perfectly outlining her breasts underneath her tee. It was frustrating how quickly the contentment morphed into want. At least the contentment could be explained. I could blame it on being starved for affection. Yes, it sounded like bullshit to my ears, but whatever. It was still true.

  As Pipsqueak rolled off the bed and stood up, I thought I was going to swallow my tongue when I got a glimpse of her ass. The girl wore a black motherfucking thong. Despite that the tee soon fell down and covered her again, those brief seconds had seared the image into my goddamn retinas. Two perfect fistfuls of soft-looking flesh. Black thong. Probably cotton. She was a cotton-type of girl. On the other hand, I’d never imagined her being a thong-kind of girl. Jesus.

  “Ryan’s dropping Angel and me off at the mall when they open,” she said, stepping into her tiny shorts. “Do you have everything for the barbecue, or do you want me to pick something up?”

  Focus.

  “I gotta get more beer anyway, so I’ll do it.” I got out of bed too and stretched my arms over my head. “Thanks, though.”

  “No problem. Um, could you get something for Angel and me? Or I can ask Ry…”

  I chuckled and stifled a yawn. “It’s fine. Text me a list.” It wouldn’t be the first time I’d bought alcohol for her, nor was I the first one in her family to do so. She always wanted hard lemonade or some other soda that had more sugar than booze in it.

  Grace decided she’d been patient enough and yelled. “Ba-ba-ba, Dada-ba! Dadaaaa!”

  That counted! I locked eyes with Pipsqueak. “That fucking counts,” I told her.

  She beamed at me. “It totally counts.”

  Fuck yes. I hurried out of the room and into the next, and I couldn’t stop the big grin.

  “Dada!” She bounced in her bed and reached for me.

  “That’s right, baby. Dada’s here. I’m Dada.” I walked over to her and picked her up, immediately assaulted by the smell of shit. Wonderful. Whatever. My beautiful, perfect daughter had said her first word, and it was me. No amount of shitty diapers could ruin my morning.

  “Remember to make a note of it in her baby book!” Pipsqueak called on her way down the stairs. “I’ll make her some breakfast.”

  I smiled and Eskimoed Grace. “Dada’s gonna make a note,” I murmured. “Dada’s also a lucky bastard to have Pipsqueak to remind him.”

  Grace babbled happily.

  With Pipsqueak on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum, I could go days without noticing any of her quirks. After all, she was fairly social, eye contact wasn’t the biggest hurdle of hers, and she’d worked hard to face struggles that’d once given her anxiety. But sometimes, of course, she did something that tugged at my chords.

  Clothes were an issue for her. The tag in the neckline could be torn off in a fit of panicked rage if it didn’t happen quickly enough, effectively ruining the whole shirt or dress, and she couldn’t wear anything that might get stuck on a chipped nail or scrape over a bit of broken skin. Satin and silk were a no-go.

  There was a reason she preferred cotton. There was also a reason she loved her brothers’ T-shirts. And mine, lately. She was a known thief of our boxer shorts too. They made perfect pajama shorts for her, she claimed.

  It was one area in which she was identical to Willow, and once they found something in a store they liked, they bought it all. Three years ago, Willow had found a pair of loose cargo pants with side pockets that she really liked, and so she’d bought approximately ten pairs.

  Today, Pipsqueak came over to my house right after her shopping spree with Angel, and her sheepish grin was more telling than her excited rambling about this cute summer dress she’d found. Because it meant she’d bought more than one.

  “How many?” I asked with a knowing smirk.

  She flushed and laughed. “Um, maybe three in every color?”

  I chuckled and set aside the steaks I’d just marinated. “How many colors?”

  She mumbled “Four” under her breath.

  She was too fucking adorable.

  “That must be one special dress,” I mused.

  “It really is! And it was only nine dollars. I think it’s supposed to be a beach dress, but if you add leggings, you can totally wear it wherever you want. Look.” She dug through her bags and held up an army-green version of the dress.

  Was that a dress? It looked exactly like a regular tank, with the exception that it was a little longer, and it had drawstrings below the chest.

  “Looks like you could’ve just borrowed one of my beaters and tied a belt around it.”

  She offered a flat expression in return. “Does not. It’s freaking flawless.”

  I was glad she thought so, because she now had twelve of them.

  She sighed heavily. “I can see you’re not convinced, but just wait. I’ll put it on—” She cocked her head and glanced out of the kitchen. “Where’s Grace?”

  “Your mother just picked her up,” I chuckled. “She also hinted, not discreetly at all, that we might as well refer to her as Nana.”

  “Ha! I was waiting for that,” she laughed. “She told me since she’s too old to adopt more children, she’s just going to adopt grandchildren.”

  I certainly didn’t mind.

  While Pipsqueak went to change into one of her twelve new dresses—and, evidently, to put on music in the living room—I started chopping baby potatoes into halves. Pipsqueak had given me a fryer for my birthday this year, and it was possible I used it for all kinds of shit. Fries, wedges, chicken, zucchini, chees
e, et cetera. It was a gadget I hadn’t known I needed.

  Barely any prep was required. Nor any skills.

  Bobbing my head to the music, I dumped the potatoes into a large bowl, presumably one Pipsqueak had brought over. At this point, all my cupboards were full of things I hadn’t bought. She’d taken over, and I kinda loved it. Once in a blue moon when I wanted to try something new, or something that required a tool I didn’t have, I could just text her. She’d tell me in which drawer or cupboard I’d find it. For instance, when I’d started making baby food for Grace. Apparently, we had a hand mixer in the house.

  I didn’t know why she’d need a hand mixer for making chocolate treats, but by all means. I wasn’t going to question her.

  “Ta-da!” Pipsqueak appeared in the doorway and extended her arms with a dramatic flair. “Isn’t it cute?”

  Cute? No.

  I was, however, sure she’d just turned tanks into an indecent creation. Fucking hell. My jaw ticked with tension. The drawstring right below her breasts was the worst touch.

  “It’s so fucking comfy,” she said, trailing barefoot into the kitchen. Those slender legs were going to be the death of me. Hell, her entire body was perfection, and the so-called dress did nothing to hide it. It was way too short, the fabric hanging loosely off the curve of her sweet ass. “I’m gonna wear it for the rest of the summer.”

  Well, that wasn’t good.

  “I guess it looks comfortable,” I managed to say.

  She was not wearing a bra. Fucking nipples again.

  Twenty-One

  It didn’t come as a surprise when Darius took off shortly after dinner. We shook hands, and I told him to be safe in case I didn’t see him before he left for his next work trip. Pipsqueak was going to meet up with him tomorrow for a day at the shooting range, and if anybody needed to blow off some steam, it was him.

  That left four. While Ryan and I cleared the table and changed the music to good ol’-fashioned rock, Elise and Angel prepared snacks and drinks. I asked Ry what their plans were for the rest of their stay as we took our seats on the patio again.