My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  He gives me that look as if waiting for me to say I’m joking. Now I’m tempted to say ‘ha ha’ just for him to stop looking at me like that. “Oh, wait, you’re not joking are you?” he concludes by my facial expression.

  I smack his chest. “She’s a very persuasive four-year-old. You wouldn’t believe the things I actually won with her. And if I didn’t have any backbone, this house would be covered in puffy paint. We would own a pony and the backyard would be turned into an ocean floor under the sea in case Ariel ever wanted to have a sleepover!”

  Ian is wearing the biggest grin on his face. “Really?”

  “That kid has skills no four-year-old should have. If we’re smart, we’ll start saving for that Ivy League school she’s going to dominate.”

  His expression softens.

  “What?” I look at him, smiling at me. “What did I say?”

  “You just said ‘we.’ And that makes me happy, knowing you’re still planning on staying with me.”

  Well, duh! Who in their right mind lets a piece of fine ass like this go? Twice? I just honestly spoke what I felt. The thoughts swirling in my head were an image of watching Pippa grow up and making sure she rocked it at a university.

  I’m in deep thought when Ian brings me back down. “Do you not enjoy having social interactions with other people? You sure do a lot of it in your head.” He smirks.

  “I do my best thinking when I am debating with myself, so possibly.” I smile.

  Then, of course, I smack him in the chest.

  “So are you going to address my comment?”

  I look at him. That beautiful face. I move to his handsomely built chest, the thin layer of chest hair that my fingers are now grazing. I move down to his belly button, and then make my way back up to that now so-serious face.

  “I plan on staying. And it’s most definitely going to be with you—”

  That is all I get out before he flips me under him like a tiger that just caught his prey.

  “Say it again.”

  I giggle. “I plan on staying.”

  “Again.”

  “Ian.”

  “Say it,” he insists, grabbing firmly on to my hips. “Ian Whitman, I plan on staying.” I’m laughing now. “And as much as you think you’re winning the golden prize here, I hate to break it to you but you might have a lot of wor—” Again he cuts me off. Not that I’m complaining. Any time he wants to shut me up by locking lips with me, I’m down for it.

  Between some serious French kissing—man, I love that word—I hear him say it. “Thank you.”

  Two words. Simple phrase. Tons of meaning.

  All equate to the same ending.

  Round two.

  “WE NEED TO STOP.” That’s Ian, and he can barely catch his breath.

  “See, I told you I would be too much work for you,” I choke out. I’m also fighting to get air into my lungs.

  “No, I mean we need to get up. Pippa’s going to be home soon.”

  I use all my energy to wave my hand in the air, swatting away his request. “No, we don’t. We’re all good.”

  “And why’s that? I’m not sure it’s a good idea she comes home to find us in this compromising position. As a four-year-old, trust me, she will ask lots of questions.”

  Man, you can say that again. I turn my head, which feels like a hundred-pound bowling ball, in Ian’s direction. “We’re all good. Patti’s keeping her for a sleepover again tonight.”

  He raises one eyebrow. He looks curious, then impressed. “You sure did plan all this, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. I kind of put all my eggs in one basket with you. If you denied me, I was just going to chain myself to your truck and you would have no choice but to talk to me, or drag me in my undergarments across town.”

  He takes a moment to see how serious my plan was, then smacks a wet kiss to my lips. He pulls away. “Change of plans,” he says and sits up, jumping off me. In his gloriously nude state, he grabs my arm and pulls me to a standing position with him.

  “Why? We have a good thing going on here, and we have all night,” I argue, pulling him back down to the bed.

  “We have longer than that, but right now, I want to go get our girl. And then I want to spend the night making up for all the time I’ve missed with you.”

  And there’s the sigh heard around the world.

  I mean, seriously. How is this guy not already taken? “How are you not tied up in some crazy woman’s basement right now while she makes hair dolls out of your locks?” Sounds way creepy but seriously, if I think about it . . . If he wasn’t into me, I’m sure in due time I’d have taken matters into my own hands.

  In the form of kidnapping and forced entry. In the naughty way.

  Dude. Too far. Too far.

  Rephrase. “What I mean is how you are still single?”

  He laughs. “Well for starters, I already told you. My heart has a one-track mind.” He tugs me into the bathroom and turns on the shower. “And secondly, I don’t think Amber has a basement; therefore, she hasn’t figured out fully how to hide my body yet,” he says, completely nonchalant.

  Unlike me, who trips and completely chokes at this statement. “Oh, my God! So you do know. RBF is super loco on your ass still.”

  “RBF?” he questions, totally confused.

  “Yeah, her. Resting Bitch Face all over that! You need to be seriously careful. Or I’m gonna find myself in a cohort rescue mission breaking into her house in the middle of the night trying to unchain you from her gothic BDSM bed.”

  He turns and gives me a look like I’m crazy. Then gives me that ‘shit, you’re probably right’ look. He pushes me into the shower and follows. “I’m serious, you have a target on your ass.”

  “Well then, it’s a good thing I have a little minx like you to protect me.”

  Minx Warrior at your service.

  Pippa was happier than a princess being crowned with her first tiara when she saw Ian. She squealed, literally, as she ran and threw her little body into his waiting arms. We called Patti to let her know we’d collect Pippa from school and bring her home. She was just as happy to hear it, knowing that meant my plan worked. Gotta love those hopeless romantics.

  Ian meant business when he said he wanted to make up for lost time. He had us stop at the local grocery store to collect enough food to feed an army. And yes, I said army, because Pippa asked if she could invite all her dolls and Ian kindly obliged. I couldn’t even remember the last time I went grocery shopping. Probably because it was like, a lifetime ago. Since everything I placed into the cart Ian took out, I forfeited the food duties, and climbed in the cart with Pippa for the free ride.

  An hour later, an exhausted Ian, and two happy girls—one who got to pick out a gallon of strawberry milk and one who got to pick out a gallon of Pinot Noir—and we were on our way home.

  Whoever says the women’s duties are in the kitchen needs to take a step back and kick themselves, because seriously, we live in the twenty-first century. And boy does this man know the way to my heart. Two steaks, a lot of moaning, double-mashed potatoes, more moaning and thirteen little plates for the princess and her flock, and we are all in our designated spots on the couch.

  At the moment, Ian is rubbing my belly and I am rubbing Pippa’s. We’ll never learn.

  Portion control, people, portion control.

  The buzzing coming from my butt alerts all participants on the couch of my incoming call.

  “Are you going to get that?” Ian asks as he slumps further into the couch.

  “No, I’m too stuffed to move.”

  He laughs. “Well, it’s been buzzing for quite some time now and as much as I am enjoying the light massage, I think whoever is calling wants to talk to you.”

  I know it’s not Lexi. Her number is set to ring no matter what setting and since I don’t hear “Baby got back” I know she’s not the serial caller. Groaning, I sit up and fish my phone from my back pocket. The phone stops buzzing as I surve
y the three missed calls listed. Just then, B&B Sterling offices highlights my phone once again.

  Shit.

  Can this office have any worse timing for calling?

  “You gonna answer that?”

  His question interrupts my phone stare down. “Oh, um. No. Work stuff. Nothing important.” I give the call the ignore button and then shut down my phone, stuffing it back in my pocket.

  “Shouldn’t you have taken that? Considering they keep calling you.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll call them later.” Much later.

  Ian is eyeing me suspiciously.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just don’t know why you don’t just take the call.”

  Yeah, Chrissy, why won’t you take the call?

  “Shhhhhhh!” Pippa interrupts our bickering. “I can’t hear and Belle is about to sing.”

  I give Ian my ‘we just got scolded’ surprised look and lay back down into the cozy couch.

  Ian wraps his arms around me and we continue watching the movie. And just while Belle sings about wanting more than a poor provincial life, I can’t stop thinking about why I won’t answer that damn call.

  AT THE SOUND OF the birds chirping, we all fly off the couch. I run after Ian who runs after Pippa who runs into her room to get ready. Ian stopping abruptly sends me slamming into his back.

  Hmph!

  I pull my smashed face out of his back as he turns to address me. “Sorry, babe. Hey, you go shower, I’ll get Pippa ready.”

  “Are you sure? We can knock both tasks out together,” I offer with a wink.

  Smiling widely, he says, “As much as it pains me to turn that idea down, we need to hurry and be on time. I have a few kids that are a bit angry with me over the absence of their beloved new art coach, so I need to make sure I get you there on time.” He finishes while dodging a glass slipper tossed by Pippa, who is oblivious to our conversation.

  “Really? They’ve missed me?” I ask, totally touched.

  “Honey, I’m one step away from a teenage strike over there. So, yes. Go shower. We need to hurry.”

  Well, alrighty then! Can’t disappoint the kids.

  Some would consider it skipping. I call it happily prancing into the center with Ian in tow holding my hand. It kind of reminds me of high school, walking through the lunchroom holding hands, with everyone gawking. When Ian and I became official in high school, it was a bit of a shock. Ian, as I mentioned, was two years older than I was, a popular senior at that point and well on his way to an academic scholarship. It was strictly against high school code for the popular QB to be dating a nobody sophomore. But Ian didn’t care. He didn’t think twice about the whispers and comments behind our backs. He just cared about me and that was that. In time, the whispers disappeared and people accepted that we were actually dating and not another high school prank. I was never truly accepted into his group, but eventually he just stopped hanging out with them. I told him not to give up his life for me, but he didn’t care. His life was me.

  Ahh, high school love. When nothing else matters.

  As we race into the center, we bump into Amber, who seems to be stalking the door. I’m gonna bet my right tit she’s been waiting for her prey to arrive. She notices me attached to Ian’s arm and bye bye happy face. Insert grumpy cat. I tell ya, this chick has a lot of facial expressions. I debate on suggesting a career change to the circus, but she also looks like she’s about to throw one of the two coffees she’s holding at my face.

  I like my face.

  Her piss face wearing thin, she plants on a fake smile and greets Ian as we approach. “Good morning, Ian,” she greets as sweetly as possible. Turning to me, “Christy.” She mispronounces my name as she did in high school.

  Mentally, I pounce on her like a wild tiger, but since I have manners, I simply smile, ear to ear. “Hey, Amber! What’s shakin,’ girlfriend?” I practically sing it.

  Hey, I said manners. I mentioned nothing about maturity.

  I hear Ian muffle a laugh inside his cough. “Morning, Amber, sorry for the lateness. We miss anything so far this morning?” he inquires kindly. The word we of course sends Amber’s expression into overdrive because I can’t pin if she looks like she just swallowed a sour ball or doodoo.

  Taking a few seconds to compose herself, she replies, but I can barely hear what she’s saying over my now obnoxious humming. “Um . . . well, you did miss Mrs. Jenkins’ call in about the donations for the charity being headed in the winter.” She pauses to give me the evil eye. “She was very disappointed to not catch you.”

  More humming I go.

  “She said she will try back later today to schedule a phone conference with both of us.” I can barely stop from breaking into a fit of giggles. I feel Ian squeeze my hand tighter as he catches on to my beat.

  “Excuse me but what is wrong with you? And why are you humming?” she snaps at me.

  “Who, me?” I smile with my shiny white teeth showing. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just in such a good mood today after Ian and I made us official and I’ve decided to stay.” Direct hit. She couldn’t hide her facial expression if she tried. Her fake smile falls right off her ugly fake face as she turns for confirmation from Ian. Of course, his smile confirms her fears.

  Winner!

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I know, right! Isn’t it great?” I beam. “And if that didn’t make your day, Amber, Ian’s offered me the art counselor spot permanently!” I boast so brightly I think I might have electrocuted her since she literally twitches with each word leaving my mouth.

  She turns to Ian. “What? What about Holly? We can’t just give away her position when she’s out on leave.”

  “I spoke to Holly last week, and she doesn’t think she’ll be coming back. Plus, she said if she did it would only be a few hours a week. This way Chrissy can run the program and if Holly does return, she can assist Chris wherever she can.” He lifts our entwined hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles and smiles.

  KO, girlfriend! As they say, you mess with the bull, you get the horns. At that final blow, Amber adjusts her posture to back straight. Deciding this fight is over, she pushes the extra cup of coffee at Ian, and he grabs it before it splashes down his shirt.

  “Well, we’ll have to run your references and background check. We simply cannot just hire you on faith. The center is very important and—”

  Her useless rant is cut short by Greg, who comes running into the hallway bouncing his basketball.

  “Awesome! Yo, Ms. C. You’re back!” He reaches us and wraps his arms around my waist, giving me a huge bear hug.

  “Whoa. Hey, Greg. Thanks. I’m glad to be back,” I say with a genuine smile.

  “You came back just in time. The dance is in a few weeks and we need your help with the decorations,” he bursts out.

  “Dance?” I ask, confused. “What dance?”

  Amber jumps in. “Oh, it’s nothing. Greg, I will be taking care of—”

  “The end of summer dance, Ms. C. We need you to help us with all the decorations. The art class has been working on them all week.” He pauses to fumble through his back pocket and hands me a folded piece of paper.

  I unfold an invitation to the center’s End of Summer Dance.

  “So, since you’re back, you think you’d be my date to the dance?”

  I feel my heart grow as I look from the invitation to this wonderful kid learning how to grow up on the right path. “I would love—”

  “Greg, buddy,” Ian steps in, “actually she’s going to be my date for the evening.” He’s staking his claim. “But how about I promise to step aside and she can save a dance just for you?”

  At that, Greg smiles and nods. “You got it, Mr. W. I’m down with that. See you at class, Ms. C.” He bounces his ball once, winks at Ian, and then takes off toward the art room.

  Ian finishes laughing at Greg’s antics. “Well, let’s not let the day get away from us.” He turns and lays a we
t kiss on my smiling lips. “Have a good day, dear.” His smile covers his whole face. Before he has the chance to turn, I grab the coffee he’s holding. “I will, dear.” I wink and turn to Amber. “And thanks for the coffee, Amber. I really need the caffeine jolt. Long night.”

  Then I wink.

  I turn and walk away singing my previous tune.

  Which happens to be the lyrics to Hall and Oats’ “She’s a Maneater.”

  THE REMAINDER OF THE week goes off without any surprise calls from daycare or unwanted guests. Amber’s been pretty quiet, I assume licking her wounds before she comes back for another round. I mean, who really wants to mess with someone who’s constantly walking around with that I’m-in-love glow beaming all over the damn place. I bet it hurts just getting in close proximity to me. I practically have cartoon birds flying around my head singing. For now, you can refer to me as Snow White. That’s how chirpy I am. But do be advised, I will most definitely not accept any perishable gifts coming from the wicked witch, Amber.

  The decorations for the dance are the bomb. As in, the theme is James Bond and there are cardboard stand-ups of bombs and gadgets all around the gym. Ian wasn’t too sold at first on the idea, but once I was on board, siding with the kids, he gave in. All the girls fawned over dressing up as the exotic Bond girls, while the boys bragged about how smooth and slick they all would be looking in their tuxes. Amber had about two seconds of airtime bashing the idea. Her argument stood up for about three minutes. None of the kids had the money or the resources to find clothing to fit this theme. Blah blah blah. And then it took me five minutes to jump on my phone and find the local dress shop and pay for a night of costume rentals.

  “Holy bananas, Ms. C, this is so amazing!” That’s Hillary.