[Bad Motherpuckers 02.0] Sexy Motherpucker

by Lili Valente

  But wishes won’t get you far in the real world, and that, unfortunately, is where I live, right at the intersection of Tough Truth Street and Not Meant to Be Boulevard.

  Resigned to reality and its shittiness, I head for Laura’s office to collect my daughter and beg for a favor I have no right to ask. But I’ll ask anyway, because I’ll do anything for Chloe, even cross lines I swore I would never step near again.

  Chapter Two

  Laura

  If there’s one thing I learned from years of babysitting as a teen, it’s that it’s a rare girl who can resist a makeup party. Tomboys, princesses, Star Wars nerds, dollhouse geeks, girls who rock out on drums, or girls who prefer quality time with books, they’re all helpless against the temptation of an open cosmetic bag and an invitation to experiment on the canvas of the human face.

  Chloe, who is already an accomplished artist, far more adept with pens, paints, and pastels at seven then I’ll ever be at any age, is especially susceptible to the lure of powders, creams, and anything with sparkles in it.

  “Oh, yes, Laura,” she murmurs, a wicked grin curving her pink lips. “You’re going to love this. You’re really going to love it, I promise.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to me.” I return her smile, though I have no doubt she’s doing something awful to my face.

  Chloe is going through a dark period in her artistic journey. A combination of tension with the teachers at her new school, nannies and babysitters who keep bailing without notice, and a disastrous trip to the waterfront to feed what turned out to be ninja attack seagulls has clouded her formerly cheery outlook on life. Gone are the cartoons of dragon princesses and happy frogs she used to love to draw—any excuse to use green and pink, her favorite colors, together—and in their place are disturbing portraits of murderous seagulls, goblins squatting beneath bridges, and a hissing cartoon creature of Chloe’s own creation that she calls the Angry Garfbark.

  It doesn’t take a psych degree to figure out the child is not in her happy place.

  If she were my kid, I would have pulled her out of that snotty private school the first week and told them to go fuck themselves if they aren’t capable of seeing that Chloe is an incredible person worth taking the time to meet halfway. Not every child is going to respond to the same teaching style. Chloe needs time to daydream, draw, and be alone with her thoughts. Forcing her to engage with a group of twenty other kids all day long is exhausting for a serious introvert.

  The past few times I’ve watched her for Brendan—after yet another nanny or babysitter called in sick at the last minute—Chloe has barely spoken a word for the first hour. She simply slouches in the overstuffed chair in the corner of my office, listlessly drawing the same cartoon animals over and over again.

  She’s exhausted from being shoved into a mold where she doesn’t fit, and damn if I don’t feel for the kid.

  But I know better than to try to talk to Brendan again about my concerns. He appreciates my help with Chloe, but he’s convinced the posh school is what’s best for his daughter and that my opinion isn’t worth listening to.

  After all, I’m just a friend he fucked one weekend, not someone who matters…

  “Don’t move your face.” Chloe presses a tiny finger between my eyebrows, rubbing back and forth until I relax the furrow there. “You’re going to make me mess up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I take a deep breath and force Chloe’s dad from my thoughts.

  I’ve been doing my best to keep my relationship with her separate from my often-strained relationship with Brendan, but it’s not easy. Especially when I spend hours looking into sparkly blue eyes that are a mirror of her father’s. She’s a beautiful kid, as well as clever, sweet, and every bit as stubborn as her old man.

  “How’s your week going so far?” I ask, moving my lips as little as possible, in an effort to keep Chloe’s canvas calm. “Pierce giving you any more trouble?”

  “Yes!” Chloe’s eyes suddenly go wide. “He’s the worst! He showed everyone his butt yesterday!”

  “What? Why did he do that?”

  “He didn’t want the girls to play soccer with the boys, so he pulled down his pants and showed his butt. It’s called mooning, Seraphina said.”

  I nod sympathetically. “It is. But I didn’t realize first graders were big into mooning each other.”

  “They’re not. Just Pierce because he wanted us to run away. And we did, but it didn’t matter. It was already too late. Once you’ve seen someone’s butt, that’s it. It’s stuck in your brain forever.”

  “I hear you,” I mumble. I’ve got my share of butts I would like to forget for various reasons—including her father’s strong, sexy ass and how perfect it looked while he was walking away from me—but at least I didn’t start collecting those mental images until I was a teenager. “So what happened after recess? Did Pierce get in trouble?”

  Chloe shrugs as she exchanges the purple pencil for silver liquid eyeliner with sparkles—at least she’s still into sparkles, giving me hope all is not gloom and doom between her little ears. “I don’t know. He got sent to the counselor’s office, so maybe. But he was back in class by snack time so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  I frown. “Well, if it happens again, tell me, and I’ll mention it to your dad. That’s not the kind of thing that should happen more than once.”

  Chloe clucks her tongue. “Stop frowning. You’re going to make this look crazy.”

  “I think you’re responsible for the crazy. What are you doing to my face?”

  She grins mysteriously. “You’ll see. Now be still.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

  Her grin becomes a giggle. “Yes. Dad. And Aunt Dee. And you. But you’re bossy, too, so you can’t complain.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My fingers dance across her ribs, making her laugh harder. “Is that how it works?”

  “Yes,” she gasps, squirming. “Now be good, Laura, or you’re going to have to go for a time out!”

  “Heck, no, I won’t go!” I shout, giggling with her. A minute later, we’re after each other’s ribs—a mutually ticklish spot—and laughing so hard, we don’t realize we’re being observed until a sharp knock on the doorframe pulls our focus.

  As soon as Chloe sees who’s here, her face lights up. “Daddy!” A second later she’s across the room, leaping into Brendan’s arms.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He hugs her tight, the love that softens his features making my heart twist. There’s just something about seeing this big, tough man melt for his baby. It guts me every time, no matter how well I brace myself for the impact of seeing Brendan vulnerable, the way he was with me for those few short nights.

  I swallow hard, banishing all soft, not-purely-friendly thoughts from my head before it’s too late. I’ve just managed to get my feeling-fest under control when Brendan meets my gaze over Chloe’s shoulder. His expression is pleasant, but guarded now, careful in a way I wish we didn’t have to be careful with each other. “Hey, how was your afternoon?”

  “Good,” I say. “Chloe was an angel. As usual.”

  Chloe giggles wickedly in response, making both Brendan and I laugh. For a moment, his eyes dance into mine, and my heart does another aching, gravity-and-logic-defying flip.

  I break eye contact, clearing my throat as I motion toward the floor near my desk. “Her backpack is right there, but I took her lunchbox down to the break room to wash it out. It’s on the drying rack near the sink.”

  “I had an apple juice spill.” Chloe pats Brendan’s damp hair with a wrinkled nose. “Is this shower or sweat?”

  “Shower, princess.” He crosses the room, setting Chloe down near her bag. “I know how you feel about sweaty hair.”

  “Good.” Chloe grabs her backpack and blows me a kiss. “Bye, Laura. See you next week.”

  “Bye, babes,” I say with a smile. “Have a great long weekend. Eat lots of turkey and sweet potatoes for me.”


  “And pie,” Chloe adds, giving me a thumbs-up as she takes Brendan’s hand. “Come on, Daddy, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too,” Brendan says, not moving. “But I need to talk to Laura. Can you do me a favor and go grab your lunchbox, and I’ll meet you in the break room in five minutes?”

  Chloe hesitates for a moment, gaze narrowing on his face. “You’re not going to talk about me, are you? Because if you are, I want to be here, too.”

  Brendan smiles, but it’s a more strained grin than I’m used to seeing when he’s around his daughter. “No, I’m not going to talk about you. It’s boring grownup stuff. Just give me five, okay? Then we’ll get Thai food on the way home.”

  “Yay, summer rolls and veggie curry!” Chloe cheers before lunging forward to give me a big hug.

  I hug her back, wondering if the hugs of a small person you adore ever get old—I’m thinking not. A second later, she’s out the door, her pink high-tops slapping on the tile as she hurries toward the break room.

  And then the Brendan-and-Laura-alone awkwardness descends with a heavy thud, the way it has since that weekend four months ago when I hinted that I wouldn’t mind having feelings for Brendan if he would let me.

  God, if only I could go back in time and suck those words back into my mouth, maybe I wouldn’t feel so humiliated every time I’m alone with this man.

  Chapter Three

  Laura

  I roll my eyes with a laugh, breaking the strained silence. “For a kid, that girl has an unnatural love of vegetables.”

  “She does. She keeps me healthy.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, bringing my attention to the way his bicep bunches beneath his tight, navy sweater.

  Don’t, Laura.

  Do not think about how good that arm felt wrapped around your waist. Do not think about how nice he smells or how pretty his eyes are or how much you would enjoy biting into him in about half a dozen places.

  “So, anyway…” Brendan’s gaze shifts to the wall behind me, where my cuckoo clock ticks softly. “Do you have a few minutes? I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “No. Nowhere to be.” I rise from my comfy chair to stand in front of him, feeling less vulnerable now that I only have to look up a few inches to meet his gaze—one of the advantages of being five foot nine. “What’s up?”

  “I have kind of a big favor to ask.” He rubs the side of his neck, his thick fingers digging into the place where it meets his shoulder. “I normally wouldn’t even consider bothering you with something like this, but it’s for Chloe and—”

  “You’re not bothering me,” I assure him. “I’m happy to watch her when you’re in a bind. She’s a great kid, and I have no problems getting my work done when she’s here. She colors, I answer emails and make phone calls, and then we play.” I shrug. “It’s fun, actually. I enjoy her. She makes me laugh.”

  He nods, his lips curving softly. “Me, too.” He sighs, his smile fading as his arm falls to his side. “But my favor isn’t about watching her. Since school started, her grandparents have been riding my ass pretty hard about all the traveling I have to do and the effect it has on Chloe. And then, last week, they mentioned the possibility of Chloe moving in with them.”

  “What?” I blink faster. “Why?”

  “They live in a small town near Mount Hood, with a great elementary school right down the street. And they’re both retired, so they think they can provide a more stable home life for Chloe during the school year than I can, since I’m always traveling for games and practicing at weird hours and I can’t seem to find a nanny who isn’t a complete flake.”

  My brow furrows. “Dude. Your parents are pretty hardcore.”

  “Not my parents, Maryanne’s. My mom and dad are still on Vancouver Island. Chloe only sees them a few times a year, but she talks to Steve and Angie all the time. They know she’s been having a hard time adjusting to her new school, and they’re worried about that. Among other things…” He props his hands low on his hips, his fingertips going white as they dig into the leather of his belt. “The other things are why I’m here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”

  His breath rushes out. “They think raising a kid isn’t something a father can do alone—or at least, not do the way it’s supposed to be done. Angie and Steve aren’t happy that I haven’t met someone, or at least started dating. They think three years is too long, and that I’m depriving Chloe of a female influence in her life.”

  I rock back on my heels. “Wow. That’s heavy. And weird, at least from where I’m standing. I mean, Chloe’s mom was their daughter. Isn’t it kind of strange that they’re in such a hurry for you to find a replacement?”

  “It’s not about that. It’s about Chloe. She’s all they care about.” He paces toward my desk, shoulders creeping closer to his ears. “It’s like they transferred all the love they had for Mary to Chloe and now they’re obsessed with making sure she has the perfect childhood. Or as perfect as it can be considering her mother died when she was three years old.”

  I blink and then blink again, but I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around this.

  If I died and left my husband and daughter alone, I would want him to move on and find love again, but I’m pretty sure my mother and father would be quite happy for my bereaved mate to remain a widower for the rest of his life. When it comes to my sister and me, my parents are blind to our failings. They only see the good stuff. I can’t imagine them accepting a stepmom figure into their grandchild’s life without a significant amount of pushback.

  “It’s getting so bad, I’m not sure they’re going to be happy just riding my ass for much longer.” He turns back to me, a haunted look in his eyes. “I think they’re considering talking to a lawyer.”

  My jaw drops. “No way! They wouldn’t! How could they even consider something like that? You’re her father, and a damned good one.”

  “Thanks. But I’m not sure I’m good enough and I…” His lips press together, forming a pale seam at the bottom of his face before he continues in a softer voice, “I’m afraid I might lose her. That a judge could decide Steve and Angie are right and she’s better off with them, and I just…” He clears his throat as he shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  I shouldn’t touch him—that’s not the nature of our relationship, and I promised myself I would keep my distance and preserve what’s left of my pride—but I can’t stop myself from stepping in and taking his stricken face in my hands. “You aren’t going to lose her,” I promise, heart breaking as I get an up close and personal look at the pain and worry in his eyes. “You aren’t! No judge in his or her right mind would make that kind of call.”

  “And what if I get one that isn’t in his or her right mind?”

  I start to reassure him again but stop myself. As much as I would like to believe that any judge in Oregon would side with Brendan, I know that isn’t true. Judges are just people—some of them are great at their job, some phone it in, some actively suck for one reason or another, and some are flat-out crazy.

  The number of crazy people holding down jobs is a truly scary thing, and one of the reasons I hate to fly. Or go to the emergency room. Or eat sushi at an unfamiliar-to-me restaurant. Crazy people mopping the floors at the arena is one thing. Crazy strangers holding your life in their hands is quite another.

  “So, what do you want me to do?” I brush my thumb softly back and forth across his stubble-rough cheek. “Talk to them? Promise to be a feminine influence in Chloe’s life until you find a girlfriend?”

  It’s not a happy thought—I don’t like to think about Brendan with another woman—but I’ll do whatever it takes to take his pain away. Because that’s what you do when you love someone, even if they don’t love you back.

  And Brendan would do the same for me if I had a friendly problem that needed solving, instead of a se
cret I-can’t-get-over-our-fling-and-still-think-about-kissing-you-way-too-often problem. He has been infinitely more cooperative about PR opportunities since we burned our underwear together on the beach, and he spent an entire Sunday afternoon helping Justin—his teammate and our mutual friend—move my things into my new place a few weeks ago.

  I can talk to his in-laws for him if that’s what he needs. I’m already brainstorming all of the positive things I can say about his parenting, in fact, when he puts his hand over mine and says—

  “I was hoping you would pretend to be my girlfriend. Just long enough to convince them that I’m sincerely looking for something real.”

  My thoughts go into stutter mode all over again, like a record catching on a scratch in a groove.

  He’s got to be fucking kidding me.

  “I know.” He takes my hands in his, curling his fingers around mine, drawing my knuckles down to rest against his chest. “It’s a big favor, but you are my only friend who’s also a woman and not already married. Which means you’re my one shot at pulling this off. Steve and Angie know me, and if I bring a woman home for Thanksgiving who I don’t have some sort of real relationship with, they’ll know something’s wrong.”

  My eyes open even wider. “You want me to go to your former in-laws with you for Thanksgiving Day?”

  He winces, but that doesn’t stop him from saying, “For the entire weekend, actually. Chloe and I usually stay four nights, since it’s one of the few times a year when I know I won’t have a game or practice.”

  “Four nights,” I echo, laughing hysterically. “Oh my God. No! No, Brendan. I can’t.” I try to pull my hands from his, but he tightens his grip, sending a zing of awareness shooting up my arms.

  “Please, Laura,” he says, eyes burning into mine. “Please, say yes. If you do, I’ll participate in every PR event from now until I retire. And I’ll redo that nightmare bathroom in your new place so you don’t have to wait for Justin to get around to helping you. I’m better with plumbing and laying tile, anyway.”