Eight Days a Week

by Amber L. Johnson

Brady glanced between the two of us, wide-eyed, the towel pressed to his wet lips, until Bree came in and took his hand to lead him to his room. Then it was just Gwen and me, squaring off. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and her whole body was rigid.

  I shook my head and sighed as I reached my hand into the towel and yanked down my boxers. I let them hit the floor and then stepped out of them before lifting both hands in a shrug.

  Her eyes flicked to the opening in the towel, and her eyebrows rose an inch.

  Oh, hello, Gwen. Meet Don. You two will be great friends.

  I bent and picked up my clothes. “Now that you’re home, I’m off duty.” I brushed past her but stopped right next to her ear. “Maybe you could leave some instructions next time. Or at least tell me what the hell is going on around here.”

  She looked away, and I let out a disgusted breath.

  “Then I guess we’ll continue to do things my way.”

  “Your way? It looks like you’ve been watching Big Daddy and taking pointers.”

  “At least I’m trying.” I took a step toward her.

  Her breath grew shallow, and she trained her eyes on my lips. We were a hair’s breadth apart, and I could feel the heat rolling off her skin as her chest brushed against mine. “Want me”—I quirked a brow and she stopped breathing—“to go?”

  She blinked and bit her lip. “No.”

  “Okay.” I leaned in closer so I just brushed up against her thigh. “Good night, then.”

  I didn’t hear her exhale before I hit the stairs.

  Manny Log

  Monday:

  Acid trip television: It works, but it scares the shit out of me. Muno is a no go.

  Monkey Joe’s: Win

  Double dude bath time: Fail = pissed off Gwen

  Tuesday:

  Park: Win

  SpongeBob: Win

  Wonder Pets: Half Win. Theme song makes me want to punch kittens.

  Single dude bath time: Fail. Ended up soaking wet from tantrum and back in towel when Gwen got home.

  Wednesday:

  Found DVDs in Brady’s closet: What is a Veggie Tales? Best thing ever. E-mailed “The Hairbrush Song” to Xander.

  Dropped Bree off at ballet and took Brady to the park: Stared at ducks for an hour. (Note—bring bread next time.)

  Gwen performed bath duties without having to get into tub: What the hell?

  Thursday:

  T-ball practice cancelled due to rain.

  Thomas the Tank Engine: Gave me nightmares.

  Dinner with all four of us: Silence and Brady got a pea stuck in his nose. (Note—no more small foods.) Covered in peas and barbecue sauce—left dinner shirtless.

  Friday:

  Verification needed before further viewing: Is Wubbzy a girl? Must do web search on Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!

  Took Brady to lunch with Gwen: She looked smokin’ hot in her suit. Can’t remember anything else.

  Saturday and Sunday:

  I slept like a college freshman. Ate lunch. Slept more.

  Monday:

  Took Brady to playground: Sat on ground and wouldn’t play. Other nannies looked at me like I had stolen him.

  Tried to get Bree to play a board game: She refused and read in the corner until dinner.

  Bath time: Total win—discovered the key, but still ended up in towel when Gwen came home. I think she’s starting to like it.

  Side note: Second grade math is hard.

  Chapter 5

  Cry Baby Cry

  Brady climbed into the bounce house by himself to play with Kate, and I smiled. Things were looking up.

  Marlowe gave me a pat on the back. “Is he talking more?”

  “Not really, but I’m getting him to play with me. He’s laughing.”

  “Laughter is better than words sometimes.” She smiled and cocked her head. “I take it you got the bath under control?”

  “Oh yeah. I did it Baywatch style—put my swim shorts on and sat on the edge of the tub with my legs in the water, like a lifeguard. I even have a whistle. He washes himself, so that makes me feel less creepy. Which is a bonus because his lower half’s under the bubbles.”

  “Good.”

  “I get to take him to T-ball practice tonight.”

  Marlowe shook her head and palmed her face. “Is his sister coming, too?”

  “I pick her up in an hour. I don’t spend as much time with Bree, because she’s so independent. I don’t have to do much for her. But”—I smiled wider—“she waits for me to walk her to her bus in the morning. And she watches for me out the window when the bus comes back. Maybe I’m getting through to her, too.”

  Marlowe tilted her head. “Still no answers? There’s got to be something there to make them both behave the way they do. No seven-year-old takes the mom role without cause.”

  “She reminds me of my sister. She’s a little adult.”

  She patted my knee. “Then it’s your job to remind her that she’s a kid. You’re good for that kind of thing, I’m sure.” She turned her ear to the bounce house and put a finger to her lips. “No good can come of two quiet kids.” We both jumped up at the same time and ran over to the tent. “Kate! Put your pants back on!”

  My jaw dropped, and Marlowe scowled. “Come over here and tell Brady to put his pants on, too, Andrew.”

  “Brady, you can’t show that off to just anyone. Pull your pants up.” He did as I said and slid out of the flaps, looking embarrassed. I had to stifle a smile and a high five, but managed to keep a straight face as I sent him to grab his shoes.

  Kate pulled on Marlowe’s hand. “I want ice cream,” she whined.

  “No. You have to eat dinner.”

  “I want ice cream!” The scream was so loud I had to cover my ears.

  Marlowe looked at me with pursed lips. “You just wait, buddy. I drink a bottle of wine a night to unwind after this one goes to bed.”

  Kate was still screaming, and the other three people in the play center were giving us dirty looks. I grabbed Brady’s hand and pulled him to my side.

  “Hey, speaking of drinks, a few of us are going to my best friend’s bar on Saturday night. You’re more than welcome to come.”

  Marlowe nodded. “Call me. I’ll get more details.” She grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her out the doors to her car, where the little girl fell to the ground, flailing and kicking at the pavement.

  Ian raised his eyebrows as I approached the desk.

  “You should come on over tomorrow, around eight thirty, if you want,” I said. “It’s the kids’ weekend with their grandma. Xander’s coming over, and we’ll have the house to ourselves. My boss is never home anyway. I doubt she’ll be around.”

  Ian agreed, and the three of us were going to hang out in my man cave and get drunk.

  I couldn’t wait.

  I loaded Brady up in the Never-Gonna-See-Tits-Again Mobile and drove to pick up Bree from school. She climbed into the front seat and buckled her seat belt.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s go to T-ball practice.” I gave her a reassuring smile, and she scrunched her face up right before Brady let out a wail. I swerved and corrected before pulling over at a gas station. “What? Why is he screaming?”

  Bree held her hands over her ears and yelled, “Brady hates T-ball! It makes him cry!”

  I jumped out of the car, jerked his door open, and yanked at his restraints to set him free so I could pull him onto my lap. He curled into my chest and clawed at my shirt, his screams dying down while he clutched his fists into the material. I patted his back and waited for it to pass, wondering what I was supposed to do.

  “Shh.” I tried to remember what my mom and dad used to do for me, so I went with my gut and rocked him a little, holding his head to my chest. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re not going, all right? We’ll find something else to do. Like soccer. Would you like soccer or something?” He nodded and wiped his face back and forth, covering my T-shirt with snot.

  I looked to Bree for help, but
she wasn’t in any position to give advice.

  “How long has he hated it?”

  She shrugged.

  “Who made him start playing in the first place?”

  Her chin quivered, and she turned back around in her seat to face the windshield. She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead, silent.

  “Fine, I’ll ask your mom,” I mumbled.

  Bree dropped her face into her hands and started to whimper, and soon the car was filled with sobs that seemed to echo around the small space and take on a life of their own, getting louder and softer without rhyme or reason.

  I carried Brady to Bree’s door and pulled her out of the car, then sat on the concrete with both of them in my lap as they cried over something no one would talk about.

  When we got home, I raised my eyebrows when I saw Gwen’s car already parked in the garage.

  The kids climbed out, exhausted and emotionally spent. I urged them to go up to their rooms and get ready for dinner, and Bree took Brady’s hand and led him to his room in silence.

  Gwen popped her head around the kitchen door, and she smiled.

  I did not return it.

  It pissed me off.

  Walking with purpose, I made it to her in three seconds flat. “What is wrong with your kids?”

  She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “That’s rude. Did they misbehave?”

  “No,” I said through gritted teeth, my nerves shot and my patience waning. “They’re perfect, like little robots or pod people. But they freak out about shit I have no concept of.” I took another step and towered over her. “So what’s wrong with them?”

  She pushed me with force and raised a spatula in front of my face. “Learn to respect personal space, Dee. I can’t talk to you about it while they’re here. I’ll explain this weekend while they’re at my mom’s.”

  “No.”

  A bright blush crept up her neck and across her cheeks, settling in her ears. “This weekend. Take it or leave it.”

  I turned and walked down the stairs to my apartment, too overwhelmed to face her and too shaken up to be as pissed as I wanted to be. I paced my room, muttering and tugging at my hair in frustration. When I felt someone’s eyes watching me, I spun around, my whole body on alert. Gwen descended the stairs and stood small and nervous next to the wall, waiting for me to acknowledge her.

  “What?” I said, unable to keep the venom out of my tone.

  She bit her lip and looked down, then swallowed hard and raised her hands in surrender. “I . . . I—”

  “You what?” I snapped, ready to use her new vulnerability as leverage.

  She pressed her back into the wall and lifted her chin as I strode over and stopped, with less than a foot between us. The past two weeks of staring at her legs and chest, lips and chest . . . ass and chest . . . her chest . . . was overriding any good judgment at the moment. It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed her staring, too. Or the arm touching.

  “I left work early to make dinner so I could meet you at Brady’s T-ball practice,” she said.

  My jaw flexed. “The T-ball practice that sent him into a nuclear meltdown?”

  “It did?” she asked, staring at my mouth.

  “He hates it.”

  “I didn’t know. No one told me. My mom takes him.” Her eyes glistened. “They’re more open with you than they are with me. I think they trust you.”

  I leaned closer, and she lifted her eyes to mine. “Maybe you should ask them. They’re more than happy to answer any of my questions. Except what the hell has happened to them. No one will tell me that.”

  Something flashed behind her eyes, and she leaned toward me the slightest bit.

  I maintained my position. “You owe me an explanation, Gwen.”

  “I know. Just not while they’re here, okay?” Her tongue flicked out and ran across her bottom lip, moistening the skin and making it gleam in the light. “They need someone like you,” she whispered.

  “Yeah?” I asked, my voice barely registering.

  She nodded.

  “What about you?” I asked, my gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth.

  She shifted, her lips so close to mine I could almost taste her. She let out a small sigh just before our lips met.

  “Dee?”

  Gwen’s head jerked back. She gasped for air and her head slammed into the wall. Her eyes were dazed, her cheeks red and hot. “Dee’s busy, Bree. We were just having an adult conversation. I’ll be right up,” she called in a shaky voice.

  “Brady needs you.” Bree sighed as she closed the door again.

  We stared at one another, our bodies touching. Bree couldn’t have seen anything, but the fear in Gwen’s eyes told me she wasn’t sure.

  “I should go,” she said in a tiny voice, and I responded by shifting my dick against her, making her gasp. “Do you want me to come back later?”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling away and adjusting myself without shame.

  Her breathing sped up and her eyes flicked down to my crotch and up to my face again. “Okay.”

  I expected she’d return after the kids had gone to sleep, but she didn’t show. I was left alone in bed, listening to the silence above my head as confirmation she had no intention of coming back.

  Chapter 6

  A Taste of Honey

  “Marlowe?’

  “Yes?” she said, her amused voice amplified over my speakerphone while I picked up some clothes off the floor before Ian and Xander showed up.

  “Don’t sound so patronizing. It’s not even about the kids. It’s about tomorrow. We’ll be at the Black Hole around nine. Do you have a boyfriend? You can bring him.”

  “I’ll see.” She paused and then let out a sigh. “You could have sent that in a text. But you called, so can I assume there’s something else?”

  Transparent. That was me. “Fine. I need to ask you what to do with Bree. She was up in her room packing for the weekend, and she was dancing in her mirror. Hair brush as a microphone, full-on Beyonce-ass-shaking and singing.”

  “And you’re worried?”

  “No. I want to figure out how to get her involved in something where she can use it.”

  “Get her to join choir.”

  “I meant something that would still let her have dates in high school.”

  “You’re a complete ass. Choir girls can be cute, too.”

  I chuckled.

  “You know what?” she said. “You’re on your own with this one. Figure things out by yourself. I have faith in you.”

  “Oh, so the momma chicken is pushing her baby chick out of the coop?”

  Silence.

  “I mean . . . you’re not a chicken.”

  Nothing.

  “You are not a farm animal.”

  “Drop it before I come over and kill you with a tire iron.”

  We disconnected just before there was a sharp knock on my door. Xander was peering through the screen and holding a bag full of beer.

  It could only have been better if it’d been Gwen in a nightie standing out there. With the beer, of course.

  Before I could close the door behind Xander, Ian was pushing his way in with three large pizzas in his hand. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s your pizza?”

  Xander and I stared at him, and he laughed.

  “Just kidding. I’m not a beast.”

  Twenty minutes into The Hangover III and I was on my fifth beer. Xander was pacing himself, claiming he had plans later after he left.

  “You do?” I raised my eyebrows. “Like what, a date? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

  Ian looked over at him, a wide smile on his face.

  Xander shook his head and took another pull off his beer. “You never asked.”

  “What’s her name? Do I know her?” I paused the movie, a shit-eating grin plastered on my face.

  He looked away and pursed his lips. “I really don’t think you do know her.”

  I swiveled my
head toward Ian. “Have you seen her at the bar?”

  He nodded. “She comes in sometimes. Cute girl.”

  “I need to meet her. How long have you been hooking up?” I ran my hand over my chest in thought. “Did you—”

  “We’ve been seeing each other off and on for about a year. Thanks for tuning in.”

  I whistled and opened another beer. “A year. That’s big.”

  The following silence was awkward, and I rolled my eyes. Everyone was always talking about how I didn’t take a vested interest in anyone, and now that I was curious about Xander’s life, he was acting like I’d called his mom a whore.

  Without another word, I pressed play and let the movie roll.

  When it was over, Xander dipped out first, still acting like he was on the rag, leaving me with Ian.

  Ian surveyed the living room, and his eyebrows shot up when he spotted my guitar case against the wall. “Do you play?”

  I nodded. “Since I was fourteen.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled.

  I waited.

  He waited.

  I caved. “Do you want to play it?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes.”

  I walked over, picked it up off the floor, and handed it to him, then got my other one out of my room. It was old and worse for wear, but it was the one thing from my childhood I’d kept with me.

  He handled the guitar almost reverently, a wistful look on his face. “This is nicer than mine.” He began to strum and then picked up a melody, and I settled my old guitar in my lap.

  I tapped my foot in time, and we played for a while. He was better than I’d anticipated, and it had been a long time since I’d had anyone to jam with. When Ian’s strumming faltered, I looked up. He smiled in the direction of the door, and I turned to see Gwen standing at the bottom of the stairs. I blinked the fuzziness out of my eyes and frowned.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  I wondered if she was sorry for the blue balls, too.

  “Did we disturb you? I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

  She shook her head and took a step forward. “I came down here to talk to you, but I heard music. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her eyes were trained on Ian with each advancing step.