by Fields, MJ
Turned out she was right to warn me about her skills. In the span of minutes she’d hoarded most of the cards.
I frowned at my thin collection of remaining cards and contemplated my odds of turning my fate around. Not favorable.
Right after I played my second to last card, she played a jack and beat me to it (of course). By now we both knew my last card was a jack. I flipped my card over and we slapped it simultaneously.
“Shit,” I muttered, reluctantly accepting the inevitability of my defeat.
“Ha! Magic hands, remember?”
“Oh, I remember. Not something a guy forgets hearing, El.”
War didn’t do me any favors either. It was close at first, but she somehow ended up with three face cards in a row when my last cards were a five, nine, and two.
The fact that Elliot hardly gave it any thought before making a beeline for the bar should’ve been my first clue I wouldn’t like whatever shot she chose.
Carrying a tray with four shot glasses, she carefully navigated her way back to the table a few minutes later.
I stared, putting the pieces together as soon as I caught a whiff of the drinks. “Picklebacks? You’re going to make me drink whiskey and pickle juice? Shit, El, you really do play dirty.”
“Just hear me out…I’m doing one with you, and if you really hate it I’ll let you pick a shot for me to do.”
I lifted a brow, suddenly less resistant to the idea of pickle juice.
“In that case, let’s do this,” I said, picking up Lucifer’s poison in one hand and pickle juice in the other.
“To pluots,” she toasted, making me laugh as we both downed the Jameson.
My first reaction after chasing it was that it wasn’t as bad as I expected. But I didn’t want her to know that.
“Well?”
My eyes stayed glued to her throat, where they’d been since the second her lips touched the shot glass.
“What?” I blinked, peeling my eyes away and refocusing on her face. “Oh, uh, the jury’s still out.”
“All right, well, I’m going to the bathroom while the jury deliberates. Be right back.”
I watched her disappear down the hallway in the back that led to Xander’s office and the bathrooms.
Slow. We’re taking things slow.
Except no matter how many times I repeated the sentiment to myself, my dick refused to listen.
‘Slow’ is subjective, right? Open to varying interpretations?
After a minute, I slid out of the booth and headed to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get the party in my pants under control.
The men’s room was directly across from the women’s, so when we swung the doors open simultaneously, I came face-to-face with El. She froze and slid her eyes up my body, making no effort to move or speak.
I didn’t either.
I was too mesmerized by the subtle rise and fall of her chest. By the roll of her throat as she swallowed slowly. By the tiny flare of her nostrils. By the desire dancing in her eyes. I recognized it because it’s the same hunger I felt down to the marrow of my bones.
I’d beg the highest power who’d listen if it meant they could suspend this moment in time and let me keep her here like this a little longer.
“Bryce.” Her whisper was a question, an answer, and a plea at the same time.
I brought my eyes back up to hers, and we both stepped forward. Before logic could stop me, I reached out at the same time she lunged for me, crashing our bodies together a split-second before our mouths found each other.
Gone was any trace of saint-like Bryce.
Holding her flush against me, I stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door, pressing her up against it while I flipped the lock. El’s arms fused together around my neck while her body melted into mine, and I was torn between wanting to step back to see and explore all of her and never wanting this kiss—this electrifying, desperate, earth-shattering kiss—to end.
As soon as I peeled my lips off El’s, her hips pulsed forward, slowly grinding against me. I groaned into her neck and dug my fingers into the curves of her ass, internally cursing the layers separating me from the heat of her skin.
My lips trailed down until I was buried in the swell of her breasts, kissing every inch of skin along the way.
Her soft moans spurred me on, and her fingers twined through the strands of my hair made me desperate for more.
“God, Elliot. You’re killing me.”
“I want this. So much,” she confessed between pants, slipping one hand down the back of my shirt.
I brought a hand up to her side and grazed my thumb over her breast while my other hand fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. She realized my intent and quickly joined in, furiously pulling at buttons until her shirt hung open and revealed a lace-trimmed red bra. My gaze flickered between her face and her breasts, catching the wicked grin she flashed when I realized her bra hooked in the front.
“What do you want, Uno?” I asked, grazing the pad of my index finger under the lace of her bra. Goosebumps sprang to life under my touch, and I followed the trail with my tongue.
She lowered a hand until her palm rested on the unmistakable outline of my cock. “You, Bryce. I want all of you. Right now.”
“Shit, El. Don’t say those words unless you mean them. I’m barely hanging on here.”
“I’d never tease a man about getting lucky.” She slid down my body until her knees met the ground with a quiet thud. “This is how much I mean those words,” she muttered before unzipping my fly.
One layer of cotton and a few inches was all that separated her mouth from my cock.
Too bad my brain chose this moment to think clearly.
“El, wait.” I gripped her shoulders, and she immediately tilted her head back to give me a questioning look. “I don’t have a condom. And you deserve more than a quickie in a bar bathroom. I want to take my time with you.”
“You can worship me later, Bryce. I don’t need a condom for this.”
Before I could blink, much less form any kind of thought about her intention, she pulled my cock out and swirled her tongue around the tip, making me groan and roll my hips forward.
“Oh, fuck,” I hissed as soon as she wrapped her lips around me completely.
In recent weeks, I’d had more than a few fantasies about what this moment would be like.
The reality was so much better.
Until it wasn’t.
Bang. Bang. Bang. “Hello? Someone in there?”
“Just—just a minute,” I barked hoarsely.
“Bryce? That you?”
Elliot pulled back and looked up at me.
“Xander?” I replied, registering the urgency in his voice. “I need a minute.”
“The hell are you doing in there? And why aren’t you answering your phone? Louise is trying to get a hold of you, man. It’s Peyton.”
“Shit. I’ll be right there.” Guilt immediately flooded through me, followed quickly by panic.
Something’s wrong. Really fucking wrong, if she’s calling Xander.
I hurriedly adjusted myself while Elliot scrambled to re-button her shirt.
“I’m so sorry, El—”
“Bryce, don’t. I completely understand. Go,” she said, nodding her head toward the door as she fixed the last button.
I stepped toward her and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
I couldn’t afford to think about the look on her face—a mixture of concern and uncertainty—right now.
All I could think about was the fact that I was the world’s worst parent for silencing my phone so I wouldn’t be distracted with Elliot.
Because of that selfishness, I had no idea what was going on with my little girl.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Seventeen
Elliot
Bryce called me the next day and explained that Peyton had eaten a peanut butter cookie, and it made her sick and lethargic and caused her
tongue to swell up. Fortunately, Louise had already given her some Benadryl earlier in the day, so her symptoms weren’t as bad as they could’ve been. Still, it scared the hell out of them, and Bryce caught a red eye to Seattle straight from the bar.
He’d decided to stay there instead of coming home to see a doctor because the husband of Peyton’s former pediatrician was an allergist and was able to squeeze them in a few days later. After their appointment, the test results came back and confirmed Peyton’s peanut allergy.
I practically felt the guilt emanating from Bryce through the phone when he called to tell me. He blamed himself for not being with her when it happened, for not doing more to introduce her to peanuts before now. All of it. Which was absurd, but parental guilt apparently doesn’t live within the lines of logic.
For the past eight days, since that night at the bar, all of our conversations via phone calls or FaceTime revolved around Peyton or work. I didn’t mind; when I told him I wanted to be someone he could count on, I meant it. I just hoped his guilt didn’t bleed into regret about what happened between us.
Because I didn’t regret it at all.
And the possibility that he might sent tiny little daggers into my heart.
Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
His flight back—with Peyton—was scheduled to land at 8:45 pm. I’d already stopped by Sipology and asked Xander to borrow his copy of Bryce’s house key, knowing Bryce wouldn’t sleep a wink until every last trace of peanuts was out of the place.
After meeting clients for a cake tasting, I rushed over to Bryce’s house and was a few blocks away when my phone rang. Sophia and Carleigh were supposed to be getting dinner together, so I was surprised to see my sister’s name.
“What’s up, Soph? I’m kinda in a hurry. My meeting at the bakery went long, and Bryce will probably be home in an hour.”
“El, check your email. I forwarded you a message Helen just sent me.”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, and I pressed my tongue against my teeth in an effort to keep from clenching my jaw. Deep breaths. You agreed to hear her out.
“I’m driving; can you give me the CliffsNotes version?”
“She wants to meet us. As soon as possible.”
“Meet us? Why? I mean…I thought we agreed to wait, we aren’t ready to meet her yet.”
“I know,” she said with a heavy sigh. “She just said it was urgent, and to please seriously consider it.”
I slowed to a stop at the curb in front of Bryce’s, killed the engine, and released a breath. “I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for her—for you yet. Just…don’t reply until we can sit down and talk about this, okay?”
“Okay.”
A silence filled with her unspoken questions and my underlying fears dragged on for what felt like minutes. I looked up and caught the last traces of daylight slip past the trees as the streetlights flickered on in unison.
I’d never jumped on the pumpkin spice bandwagon, but this time of year was my favorite. Temperatures dropped (some days), work slowed down a little, and my love of scary movies became seasonally appropriate. Plus, October meant Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and that was my favorite holiday.
“…Home after my class? El? Are you there?” Sophia called in that way that told me she’d been talking for a while, and I’d totally spaced out.
“Uh, yeah. Listen, I have to go if I’m going to make Bryce’s house nut-free before he gets here. Talk later?”
“FYI, I don’t need to ever hear the words ‘Bryce’s’ and ‘nut’ that close together again. Some things can’t be unheard.”
“Oh, please, smarts, you know what I meant.” Smarts was the nickname we’d used for each other since we were little and got in trouble for trying to casually slip ‘smart ass’ into our vocabulary. Nana was not a fan.
“Wait, didn’t you say you were just at a bakery? Aren’t those places like nut city?”
“Crap! Yes, I was, and yes they are full of nuts.” I glanced at the clock and groaned. Definitely not enough time to go home and shower. “Uh, okay, I’ll figure something out. I gotta go,” I said and hung up without waiting for a response.
I let myself into the house, ran back to Bryce’s bedroom, and took a lightning-quick shower.
I knew I was probably being dramatic, but I figured it was better to err on the side of caution since I had no idea how severe her allergy was or what the protocol was for potential peanut contamination.
After upside-down towel-drying my hair and throwing on one of Bryce’s shirts, I got to work in the kitchen. I started by surveying and weeding out the obvious suspects: peanut butter, trail mix, store-bought cookies, granola. I found a package of Reese’s cups and instantly lamented the fact that Peyton would never get to enjoy those little cups of heaven. Or Snickers. Or peanut butter M&Ms. At least she wouldn’t have to be deprived of Starbursts.
Scanning a few ingredient lists of various snacks and condiments, I realized peanuts are sneaky little bastards that apparently work their way into all kinds of foods. I never knew so many things were made with peanut oil or in facilities with peanuts. Apparently I’ve taken my nut tolerance for granted all these years.
“Well…I hope he wasn’t planning on eating a full meal any time soon,” I muttered to myself before grabbing a bag of egg rolls out of the freezer. Between the produce that had spoiled since he left and the high-peanut-risk foods now sitting in a garbage bag, Bryce barely had anything edible left in his house.
In a panic, I grabbed my purse and scurried to the door to make a quick trip to the grocery store around the corner. I couldn’t just leave them stranded without something to have for breakfast. Right before my hand reached the knob, the door creaked open and scared the bejesus out of me. I leapt back as something between a gasp and a squeal tore from my throat, startling Bryce in turn. He jerked back, and for a split-second I worried he’d stumble and drop Peyton. But he didn’t. His quiet gasp was enough to make Peyton stir in his arms, but not enough to wake her.
“Elliot?!” he blurted. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he continued, “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”
Instead of replying right away, I just stared at him. At her. At the two of them.
Peyton was dressed in a white shirt with a blue floral print and jeggings, a sliver of her diaper peeking out in the gap between the two. On her feet were the cutest, tiniest pair of glittery pink Toms I’d ever seen. Two bronze-colored pigtails pointed to the ceiling atop the sides of her head, and from this angle I had a profile view of her sweet face where it rested against Bryce’s chest. Long, dark lashes fanned out, grazing the tops of her cheekbones. Her tiny mouth was open with her lips forming a little ‘o’ and vibrating with each steady breath she took.
Then there was Bryce.
One arm was hooked under Peyton and held her in place, making his bicep flex and those unreasonably sexy veins ripple across his forearm. His other hand was pressed to Peyton’s back with his fingers lightly patting her in that soothing, comforting gesture I assumed came naturally to all parents. Well, most parents. His hair was a disheveled mess, and he was wearing those glasses that did stupid things to my body. A layer of scruff covered his jaw, cloaking the sharp angles I loved to admire. While his mouth curved into a smile, his eyes gave away his exhaustion. They were heavily lidded and lined with dark circles.
“I, uh, got the key from Xander. I thought I’d help you purge the house of all things peanuts. Then I got carried away and sort of threw out half your food. Sorry. But you didn’t really have much to begin with. I was about to go get you guys something to have for breakfast.”
Bryce’s eyes scanned over my body, and through the heavy fog of exhaustion I saw them spark to life when they reached the hem of my (his) shirt and he fully registered my appearance.
“Without pants?” he asked, pointedly staring at my bare legs before slowly lifting his gaze. “Or a bra?”
I looked down and realized
my nipples were hard and highly visible through the fabric of Bryce’s shirt. I scrambled to fold my arms over my chest. Not that it did any good at this point; they were practically a neon sign, broadcasting how much the sight of Bryce in his dad element turned me on.
Huh. Good to know.
I was prepared for the sight of Bryce with Peyton to make me smile and maybe give me that same warm, tingly feeling in my heart that I got from seeing photos of them. Call me an idiot, but I was not prepared for the sight to make my ovaries sing and dance. Or for it to make my thighs clench together.
“Um, there’s actually a really great explanation for this,” I started, waving my hands up and down my body.
He glided past me and headed toward the hallway that lead to the bedrooms. “Oh, I’m sure there is. You can tell me all about it after I put her down,” he whispered over his shoulder.
They disappeared into Peyton’s room; I knew because I’d taken a quick peek into it after my shower. I hadn’t really thought about her room or what I'd expected it to look like, but it was perfect. The walls were a soft gray with framed photos of wild animals all around. Her crib was painted white and had pink and white polka dotted sheets. A changing table-slash-dresser sat on the wall adjacent to her crib, with a gray glider in the corner. Toys in buckets and books lined a bookshelf on the opposite wall. I could easily picture Bryce rocking Peyton to sleep or sprawled out on the carpet playing with her.
In the minute that Bryce was in there, my mind ran wild. I had no business picturing the images that my brain conjured up. It was one thing to imagine what their life looked like from the outside, the two of them playing and laughing together. It was another thing to imagine what being a part of that life would be like.
For the first time in, well, ever, the idea of parenthood didn’t send my heart rate soaring through the roof.
For the first time, the image of my own mother wasn’t tethered to the notion of parenthood.
For the first time, I didn’t rip out the seed of hope the word planted in my heart. Instead, I let it take root.
And yet…this persistent voice in my head continuously pointed out that whatever Bryce and I were doing was a far cry from making me a part of this life—their life.