by Cari Quinn
Michael glanced down at his hand and realized he was clutching the doorframe. Not that he was scared of the baby or anything.
Scratch that. He was terrified.
He took another step into the room and gave in to the urge to kneel beside Axl. Close, but not close enough to disrupt his nap.
Michael had seen him before, of course. He just hadn’t paid any attention. Just like he hadn’t paid much attention to Chloe.
How could that be, when their existence had rapidly begun to take over his world?
Michael must’ve made a noise, because Axl lost his hold on the bottle clamped firmly in his hand and started to whimper. Michael tried to tuck it back into the boy’s hand, but Axl’s eyes popped open and he started to cry. Loudly.
No, he was shrieking too. Okay, this was becoming a pattern.
Michael moved to the door and called down to Lori. “Help, I think I broke him.” He tried to call softly but urgently.
Axl wasn’t mollified by Michael’s attempts to be quiet. He continued to sob.
Instead of Lori coming up a moment later, the one who appeared was Chloe. She was red-faced and winded, and immediately charged over to pick up her son. She then proceeded to shelter him in her arms and glare at Michael as if he’d caused the baby’s distress. Which he had, kind of. Somehow. He’d probably breathed too hard or something. God knew he was panicked enough to be wheezing.
“Why are you here?” Chloe demanded.
“Because you’re my wife,” he said simply. “And I want you and Axl to come live with me.”
Sixteen
He’d been watching Mickey’s Christmas Adventures for two hours.
Actually, two and a half.
Michael didn’t know if he was viewing a television season, a series of movies or experiencing an extended psychedelic trip minus the ‘shrooms.
He hadn’t even been fed yet, though Axl had eaten a sandwich—the innards at least, as he hadn’t seemed overly impressed with the bread—then scarfed down a pudding cup with his fingers, and was now working on another bottle of juice.
The baby was lying on his belly in front of the TV, occasionally eyeing Michael in between slurps on his bottle. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to break the “getting to know you” tension.
Getting schooled by a baby, man. Better and better.
“Oh, you’re still here?” Chloe sounded dismissive.
“I was waiting until you got done shaving or washing your hair or whatever so we could talk.”
“I was cleaning the kitchen and working on my checkbook. No shaving. No washing. It may come as a surprise to you, but women do other things in a day besides ready themselves for a man.”
Axl tried to push himself into a sitting position with his chubby arms. He managed to, but it took him a second. “Nicky?”
Michael inhaled deeply. Right. The baby who didn’t have any interest in him was all about Michael’s stepfather. His kind of stepfather. Cripes, their family relationship was complicated.
“No, Axlsaurus, Nicky can’t come over today. He’s busy.”
Axl pouted and went back to Mickey.
“Nick spends a lot of time here, huh?” He wasn’t going to be jealous about that. He’d barely known Chloe and Axl existed last week. How could he begrudge them spending personal time with her ex-lover?
Except he did. A lot. He wanted to be the one Axl turned to, which was illogical since he couldn’t even figure out how to talk to the kid.
He wasn’t good at the goo-goo gaa-gaa stuff. Just not his bag. Seemed hard to believe it was Nick’s either. The guy wasn’t a coo-er in any shape or form.
“Not that much. He stops by now and then to see how we’re doing. Snake was his best friend.”
“Snake, your ex-fiancé.”
“His name was William, but yeah, you know. Stage name. How come you don’t have one?”
“Because I’m not a persona. I’m just Michael, who happens to play guitar.”
She narrowed her eyes before sitting down beside him on the rug. That was a bit of an overstatement, because she was actually seated closer to Axl. “Juliet is pretty,” she said after a moment.
“Huh?”
“Juliet. Your bandmate. She’s a beautiful woman. Have you…”
“God, no. Are you kidding me? Only an idiot sleeps with someone in their own band.”
She cast a glance at Axl, who appeared blissed out thanks to Mickey and his playhouse. “Is that so? Funny, I know a bunch of people who have.”
“Tell me if those bands are still together in five years, then we’ll talk.”
“Why are you even here?”
Not that again. “You really want me to spell it out? I will, if you like hearing it.” He planted his hands on the carpet and leaned toward her, grinning as she leaned the exact amount of distance he covered in the opposite direction. “You. Are. My. Wife. That means we need to do something about this situation, not just sweep it under—”
“Aha!” Axl giggled in his loud, boisterous—and yes, semi-adorable—way, tipping over on his side.
Michael glanced at the kid. “Is he okay?”
“Those are sounds of enjoyment. Yes, he’s fine.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Have you never been around a child? Like ever?”
“No. My brother is older, and I don’t date chicks who are mothers.”
She reeled back from him as if he’d slapped her. In a way, he had. Fitting, since he wanted to slap himself over the stupid remark. “But marrying one is okay?”
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“So you do date women with children.”
“Not exactly, no. Most of the groupies don’t have kids at home.”
“Are you kidding me? You only date groupies?” Her distaste was palpable. Then her big brown eyes widened. “Oh my God, I need to get tested. So many times. Who knows where you’ve been?”
“Are you kidding me? You think I fu—”
She made a shrill noise that made him pop his finger in his ear to save his eardrum.
“B-a-b-y,” she spelled out. “Keep your filthy language to yourself.”
“B-a-b-whyyyy,” Axl mimicked, making himself laugh so hard he had to clutch his stomach.
In spite of himself, Michael chuckled. “Guess you must spell that out a lot.”
“I have guests other than you who forget to watch what they say.”
“Oh, do you now? What kind of guests?”
“If you’re asking if I date groupies, no. I gave them up for Lent.”
“It’s not Lent yet. Besides, your particular weakness is rockstars, isn’t it? You’re up to three now. And you know what they say about three.”
She pursed her lips so hard that they went white around the edges. “How—it wasn’t really three. It was only one. Snake was the one who counted. The others were wild weekends.”
The pang that struck him made him catch his breath.
She was right. So right that he had no reason to even be there. He should’ve taken Lila up on her offer to make it all go away.
He didn’t belong in a situation like this. He’d said it himself. He “dated” groupies. The last time he’d had an actual girlfriend had been so long ago he didn’t remember.
Common theme with you, pal.
“It only counts as a wild weekend if both parties remember every last detail.” He circled his finger on the rug and tilted his head. “We should work on that, don’t you think?”
“No.” Her breathing sped up audibly. “Why? What does it matter?”
“We can figure out what happened and what went wrong. You know, for next time. In my case, for the next time I see a woman in the audience and get so turned on by her that I have to marry her.”
A faint smile played around her lips. “You didn’t marry me because you were turned on. If we really are even married. I have my doubts it’s all real.”
Of course she did, because she hadn’t seen the marriage license yet. Instead of show
ing it to her and probably ruining her night, he scooted across the rug and reached for her left hand.
She gasped as if he’d gone for a tit grab. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking at the ring I bought my wife. My prerogative, I think.” Belatedly, he realized he couldn’t look at what she wasn’t wearing.
He should’ve checked out her hand before, surreptitiously. Then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten yet another short-armed punch to the chest at holding her hand and finding it bare.
So what if he still had his on? He just was the chump who’d forgotten to take it off. That was all.
“Never mind.” He let her hand drop. “Guess I’m too late.”
“I don’t wear it. Why should I? It wasn’t a real marriage.” She darted a glance at his hand and made a soft noise in her throat before lifting her gaze to his. “Why? Why are you still wearing it?”
He went with the easiest reason, since trying to decipher the truth was a lot harder. “Getting married to you is the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”
Her throat worked before she shifted her focus to her now sleeping son. He’d flopped over facedown and had his bottle tucked under his arm. “I have to put him down.”
“Looks like he already did that for himself.”
“He should be in bed, since Lori said he didn’t get much of a nap this afternoon.”
It was probably starvation and sex deprivation—if he couldn’t remember doing it, it was almost as if he hadn’t—that made him open his mouth. “I can do it. Probably. Where’s his room?”
“Hold up. You can’t put my son to sleep.”
“He already is. See, exhibit A.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, carting him down the hall and tucking him in and reading him a story—”
“Which is his favorite?”
“Right now, The Spider and The Fly, but it changes every week. That’s beside the point. We aren’t playing house, Michael.”
“True, since you won’t move in with me, although we’re virtual prisoners in here now.” He jerked a thumb toward the curtains she’d made sure were drawn tightly the moment they’d entered the apartment.
“Right. Like it’s not the same at The Pussy Palace.”
“I don’t have groupies in my home.”
Of course that begged the question how he could have ever consumed enough to give Tabitha a key, but he’d also thought marriage was a fine idea while he was inebriated. Guess nothing was off the table when he started tossing them back.
Nope, he was never drinking again.
“Handy, since you want to move in me and my son,” Chloe muttered.
“No, I mean they’ve never been in my home.” Loosely, he grasped her wrist when she started to turn away. “I’ve never had a woman spend the night at my place.”
He’d played it off to Lila that it didn’t make sense he’d mess up a hotel room when he was in town, but that had been a misdirection. He didn’t bring women to his apartment. Ever.
Except now he wanted to move a woman in. The woman. Somehow Chloe had already climbed several levels in status past any woman who had come before.
She shook off his hold. “And I suppose you always use a condom too.”
“Always.” That was sterling truth. “I won’t have sex without one.”
“Am I supposed to believe you?”
He tapped the heavy gold ring on his finger. “I took a vow. That means I can’t lie to you.”
Her lips trembled before she firmed them. “So a wedding ring is like truth serum?”
“Suppose so.” He shrugged and glanced toward Axl, who’d brought his chubby hand up to his mouth in sleep. “Let me put him to bed while you keep an eye out for your dad.”
“You mean so I can usher him inside in a hurry? They’re relentless out there.”
“If you moved in with me—”
“I’d have to deal with the same thing and I wouldn’t have Lori to help with Axl when I’m at work.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t want to. Work, I mean. Being my wife accords you certain privileges.”
“Oh, really. Next you’re going to say you want me naked, barefoot and pregnant.” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, I forgot. You’re against chicks with babies.”
“Never said I was against them, just that I didn’t date them. I know my limitations.”
She rose to her feet, faintly trembling with frustration. Or anger. He was never quite sure where he stood with her, which was one of the reasons he found her so intriguing. “Yet you want to put my son to sleep.”
“Look at me, trying to take things to the next level.” He rose as well, and enjoyed the way her eyes flashed as he loomed over her. “C’mon, Chloe. Help a guy succeed. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem.”
“You know what? Fine. Go ahead.” She crossed her arms. “His room is second door on the left upstairs. Right next to the powder room.”
Okay, so now he was going to have to put the baby to bed. That was great. Awesome.
He scooped up Axl and shifted him in his arms as the kid predictably started to whimper. Anytime Michael even approached him, he went into reactive mode. Chloe moved forward, but Michael held up a hand. “We’ll be fine.”
She clasped her hands in front of herself. “Just be glad he doesn’t need a bath tonight.”
Michael shot her a horrified glance and hustled out of the room before Axl’s tears could really take root.
He knuckled his eyes on the way upstairs though, and nearly lost his hold on his bottle. “Want Mama. Mama. Want Mama.”
“She’s right behind us, pal. Probably will install a baby cam in your room if she doesn’t have one in there already.”
“Already have one,” she said from the bottom of the stairs.
Michael sighed and stared down into Axl’s streaming brown eyes. “Slugger, she’s still here with us. Just taking you upstairs so you can sleep. You’re tired, right? Zzz.”
The baby took one long, probing look at him as Michael turned on the landing to go up the next flight. And started to howl.
“Shh. There, there. Nice baby. Good baby.” Michael patted Axl’s back and felt his little body vibrate from the force of his tears. Mucus seemed to come out of several of his orifices at once.
That couldn’t be good.
Chloe’s feet thundered up the stairs behind them, but Michael resolutely carried Axl into his bedroom. Carefully, he set him on the mattress in his sweet blue and yellow room, with the lighted mobile above his race car big boy bed. “There you go. See?” He pulled up the little yellow blanket over Axl’s squirming body. “All nice and safe and tucked in.”
Axl hiccupped and wheezed, immediately shooting out his chubby little arms upon sighting Chloe. “Mama. Mama!”
But for some reason, she hung back. She remained in Axl’s view, still in the room, but she gave Michael space.
So he heaved out a breath, brushed Axl’s sweat-and-tear-sticky curls off his forehead and rose to look for the book she’d mentioned he liked in the tiny yellow bookcase.
He found it on the top shelf, tucked in the first slot. His fingers shook more than a little as he pulled it out before dragging over the little rocking chair barely big enough for his bony ass. Fingers still unsteady, he flipped to page one and started to read. Axl continued to sob and flop from side to side in his bed, banging his arms for emphasis.
And Michael read aloud.
By the third or fourth page, he was into it. The illustrations were really incredible and the story was cute. Toward the end, he was turning the pages as fast as he could for himself almost as much as Axl.
When he read the words “The End”, he was both relieved and disappointed. Then he glanced up and glimpsed Axl gnawing on his knuckle in his sleep and did a mental fist pump.
“I did it,” he said, stunned.
“Never fails,” Chloe murmured from the doorway. “By the last page, he’s alwa
ys unconscious. It’s a magical book.”
“Sure, take away my accomplishment.” But Michael grinned as he glanced at her over his shoulder. Her hair had partially come out of its ponytail and was curling around her cheeks. Her eyes were so big and dark, filled with shadows and secrets he wanted nothing more than to discover.
Every part of this woman fascinated him, not the least of which how she could be such a good mother and so devoted to her home life, yet still be the woman who’d entranced him so effortlessly while he was onstage. She had a million different sides, every one of them more intriguing than the last.
He rose and returned the book and chair to their spots. After looking at Axl one last time, he walked to the door and cupped her shoulders. As expected, she stiffened.
“You may think I’m a thoughtless horndog, but even I wouldn’t seduce a woman in the doorway of a child’s bedroom,” he said, voice low so he wouldn’t wake Axl.
“You won’t be seducing me anywhere.”
Before he could dispute that assertion, she vanished down the hall and down the stairs.
Seventeen
Michael found Chloe sitting on the couch in the living room. She was chewing on her thumbnail and worrying so hard that she had grooves in her forehead.
He didn’t like knowing he was contributing to her discomfort, but he was pretty uncomfortable too. In a lot of very pressing ways.
“You hungry? Because I am, extremely.”
And he was only partially referring to pussy. Her pussy, in all its likely sunset glory.
“I’ll eat after you go.”
“Tsk, tsk, trying to shoo out a guest, and after I’ve been so helpful.” He sat down beside her on the couch and slid his arm along the back to toy with the ends of her hair. “Something has been bothering me since you took off.”
“What’s that?” She not so subtly moved her head away from his wandering hand and he suppressed a smile.
“I started wondering if maybe you hadn’t forgotten everything about that night after all.”
“Of course I didn’t forget everything. That isn’t how drinking works. You remember stuff until you get really loaded, then your memories get muddled. But the last time I got drunk before this weekend was a very long time ago, so my tolerance was down.”