Single Dad on Top: A Baby and Clueless Billionaire Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  They laugh. They have cake. Lily opens a dozen presents, clothes and dolls and stuffed animals.

  When the last little girl finally tearfully waves good-bye, I collapse on the sofa. Lily instantly comes over to sit on my lap.

  “Daddy?” she says.

  “Yes, Lily?”

  “You were a really good clown.”

  I squeeze her shoulders.

  I can remember so clearly the day Lily and I finally connected. After that terrible visit when she was two, when I failed at basic diaper duty, I didn’t talk to Maddie at all for a while. It seemed pointless. I would just send money every month and forget about actually trying to be a part of Lily’s life. I reconciled myself to the fact that Maddie would marry some other guy and that dude would be the father figure. Someone who was around kids more. Somebody more qualified than me.

  Then one day, out of the blue, Maddie sent me a request for a video chat on my phone. I’d never even done one, and I blundered with buttons and how to hold the dang thing.

  And there was Lily, a little over three years old. She’d changed a lot in the year since I’d seen her, the toddler fluff of hair now real black strands. She had a seriousness in her face that seemed to say that she thought about things more than she could have as the walking baby who got so upset over a backward diaper.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  “Hello, Lily.” I probably sounded a little formal, like a CEO starting a meeting. But I had no idea what this was about.

  “Mama says you’re my daddy,” she said flatly.

  I tried not to lose my grip on the phone. “I’ve always been your daddy,” I said. But it hit me, right then, with her looking intently at me in the video, that she hadn’t called me that. She had some words when she was two. Kitty. No. Hungry. Please. Mama.

  But not Daddy.

  She hadn’t really called me anything.

  Lily didn’t say anything for a moment.

  Maddie took the phone so I could see her instead. She looked harried and sad. “Today was her first day of preschool.” She glanced down, I assumed at Lily. “It didn’t go very well.”

  “Did somebody hurt her?” Despite the distance and my lack of actual parenting, anger exploded through me that someone might harm this little girl.

  “No, no,” Maddie said. She reached down and picked up a piece of paper. “She drew this.”

  She held up something, but the feed wouldn’t really zoom in on it. It was just a bunch of faint lines.

  “I can’t tell what it is,” I said.

  She set it down. “The teacher had the kids draw their family.” She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just held the phone out, trying to keep it centered so she could see me.

  “Lily drew me and Aunt Delores in her picture,” Maddie said.

  And light began to dawn.

  “Did the kids tease her?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure. She won’t really say. But the teacher said how nice it was that she had two mommies and I guess…” Maddie trailed off. “I guess the other kids asked a lot of questions. I hadn’t prepared her. She hasn’t been around other kids much.”

  “So she didn’t even know I was her dad?”

  “We’ve told her about you. But…” She looked down again.

  “I know. I’m not there.”

  “We should have taken some pictures when you were here. Something with you and her. I didn’t think about it,” Maddie said.

  The image shook dramatically, and Maddie looked down. “Okay, here you go.”

  Lily filled the screen again.

  “Why are you so far away?” she demanded. Her face was stern, like her aunt’s. She was turning into them already.

  I have to admit that at the time this question pissed me off. I was late to a training session, half-dressed, and here I was being barraged with questions Maddie should have dealt with a long time ago. She was the mother. She lived with Lily. I didn’t appreciate that she was putting me on the spot.

  “I have to live in California,” I said. “It’s where I work.”

  I wanted to end this call. How was I supposed to explain to this kid — and when the hell did she start talking anyway — that her mother hated me, that she hated my life, but that I loved it? That there was no way to fix the problem.

  I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say that wouldn’t have spouted a load of bitterness and rage at the whole situation.

  Lily’s little face hid nothing, crumpled in confusion. “Everybody had mamas and daddies in their picture ’cept me,” she said.

  Finally I sat down and really looked at her. The pink shirt. The dark curling hair. So much Maddie in her. But a lot of me too. My parents would die to see her. I wouldn’t talk to them about it. Mainly I avoided going over to their house anymore. They had never even seen one of my fights.

  And now, there was Lily. “Well, here I am,” I said. “I guess you can draw me in your picture tomorrow.”

  This made her whole face brighten. “I can?”

  “Sure.”

  She stared at me through the screen. “You don’t have much hair.”

  This made me smile, at least. I rubbed my hand across my head, where my hair was buzzed super close. “It’s there. It’s just really short.”

  “You have hair on your face,” she said.

  “It grows better there.”

  She thought about this. “Are you tall or short?”

  “Sort of medium.”

  “Okay.” Suddenly the phone made a thunk sound and all I could see was the ceiling.

  Maddie centered the screen on her again. “I think she just ran off to find some paper.”

  It was hard to look at Maddie. My failure was like a wall between us. But so was her disapproval.

  I thought she’d say something about it, maybe express some regret that I wasn’t part of Lily’s life.

  Then I thought I would try to say it. Tell her I ought to try harder.

  But instead there was an awkward silence, and finally Maddie said good-bye.

  Later that night, though, she sent a snapshot of a picture Lily had drawn showing the three of us, stick figures with giant round heads. Above us, Maddie had neatly printed “Mama, Lily, Daddy.”

  After that, Lily called me pretty often, asking my favorite color, what games I liked to play, filling out things for her preschool work. And in that way, I got to know her.

  I knew months ago that I needed to fly there to see her, but I couldn’t figure out a way with my schedule and always watching money fly away to expenses. I couldn’t get ahead. Then her birthday came up, and I knew this time I had to make it happen.

  So I did.

  Maddie comes into the living room, drying her hands on a towel. “Looks like the birthday girl conked out,” she says.

  I glance down. Sure enough, Lily is asleep, her cheek flattened against the polka-dot clown suit over my chest.

  “It’s kind of early, isn’t it?” I whisper.

  Maddie glances at the clock. “A little. But she was up before dawn, so excited.” She holds out her arms. “Should I take her?”

  “I’ll carry her.”

  She’s still so light and small. I haven’t missed everything. I curl her into me and stand up. Lily rolls into my chest, her hand tucked under her chin. I’m flooded with that feeling again, the one I got in the airport. This is what it feels like to be a dad. I get it now.

  I follow Maddie down the hall to Lily’s room. It’s a pink explosion with stuffed animals piled in every corner. I lay Lily on her bed, and Maddie pulls off her shoes.

  It’s such a normal moment, one a million other parents get every night. But I’ve never done it myself. It’s cozy and comfortable and gets to me.

  Maddie must feel it too, because she takes my hand. We stand there a second, as if we were ordinary parents, watching the serenity of a sleeping child.

  And not two people who split apart after a
disastrous night.

  With one of us currently wearing a clown suit.

  I don’t really want this moment to end, but Maddie tugs me out of the room. It’s not even dark out, but the shade is drawn, so when the light goes out, shadows take over.

  Delores is in the hall. She frowns at our joined hands, and Maddie lets me go.

  “I was about to head to the store to pick up some things. We are out of milk after the party.” She presses her lips together in a tight line, like maybe she’s rethinking leaving us alone.

  “That’s great,” Maddie says. “Since tomorrow’s her actual birthday, I thought we could make her favorite lunch and just have a little family thing.”

  Delores flicks her eyes at me at the word “family.”

  Yeah, lady, I get it. You don’t count me in that.

  Her nose twitches. “We have what we need for grilled cheese.”

  “But not the tomato soup,” Maddie counters.

  Delores nods. “Fine.” She turns away, then back again. “I won’t be gone long.” She emphasizes the long.

  “It doesn’t take long,” I whisper. Maddie punches my chest, a motion so familiar that it’s like we never left each other.

  This is the best day of my life.

  We wait for the back door to close, signaling Delores is gone. It feels like high school and waiting for parents to leave.

  My heart is hammering ninety to nothing. Despite the hand-holding and the joke, I know better than to think we’re getting anywhere. But this is the second time I’ve felt some hope that this chasm can be crossed. That we could be some sort of family.

  Maddie turns to me. “I suppose you want me to get that paint off your face.”

  “I don’t know. I think it might be a good look for me.”

  She smiles, and my heart turns over.

  “Come on, fighter boy. Let’s return you to your big bad self.”

  We walk back to her bedroom. I know it’s stupid, but I still try to calculate how far it might be to a store and how long Delores will spend there.

  I pull apart the Velcro at the back of the suit, but it’s caught in the wig.

  “Here, let me,” Maddie says. She works with the tabs. The wig comes off, and my head immediately feels cool and light.

  “That’s a relief,” I say.

  She pulls at the rest of the Velcro, opening the back. My throat tightens each time her fingers brush against my skin. I’m not wearing anything but boxers beneath the jumper.

  I shrug, and the suit falls down to my ankles. It feels like she’s undressing me, and as soon as I turn around, she won’t help but be able to notice how I’m reacting to that. The boxers don’t quite contain it.

  Maddie stays behind me as I kick off the clown shoes and step out of the suit, trying to clamp it all down. The last thing I want to do is scare her off when we’ve just started talking again.

  She heads to her makeup table, and I wad the clown suit into a ball. My jeans are on the other side of the bed. I’m about to walk toward them, then I realize Maddie isn’t moving. She’s watching me in the mirror. She wants to look at me.

  So I take a risk and face it so she can see the effect she has always had on me.

  I know the instant she sees, because she inhales sharply, like a gasp.

  “Some things don’t change,” I say.

  She turns around, her eyes all over me. More of her hair has loosened from the knot during the day. The ruffled shirt clings to her. I want to touch her more than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.

  She holds out a bottle and a round sponge. “To get the color off your face.”

  “You do it,” I say.

  Her hand with the bottle is shaking. “I shouldn’t.”

  “I want you to.” I take another step toward her.

  She looks up at me, then back at my chest. “You have more tattoos than before,” she says.

  I’m close enough to place my hands on her waist again. She’s trembling. I wonder who she’s dated in the years since we were together. What they’ve done to her. If there’s anyone in her life right now. I want to make her forget them. All of them.

  “You said you were going to take this makeup off,” I say.

  She presses the sponge to the bottle and tilts it to get it wet. She seems uncertain as she lifts it to my face.

  I hold her gaze as she presses the sponge to my skin and begins to stroke first one side, then the other. I’m not going to stop myself. I already know this. My hands go to her hips and I pull her body to mine until we connect. She sucks in another quick breath.

  God, I want her. I take the bottle and sponge from her and set them on the table.

  She hasn’t moved. I grasp her wrists, then slide my hands up the silky sleeves of the shirt. I cross her shoulders and let my fingers trace her collarbone. Then I cup her chin.

  Maddie is still looking into my face. I’m not going to let up, not as long as she’s right here, her body pressed against me. I bend down and flutter a soft kiss against her lips, just to test the waters.

  She relents, and the moment I feel her relax, I take no prisoners. My mouth captures her, and my hands move to the back of her head, pushing her against me.

  Maddie groans against me. In the next instant, I figure either she’s had a long dry spell, or whatever those other guys were doing wasn’t enough, because she ignites. I remember this so well, this sudden firestorm. Her hands are on my back, in my waistband. She gives as good as she gets, our mouths clashing, hot, tasting each other. She’s wild, and sinuous, her hips pressing hard against me, rotating, moving in ways that test my every limit.

  God. I have to have her.

  I take a step back and sit on the bed, dragging her onto my lap. Her legs part and she straddles me, knees on either side. My hands slide inside her shirt and release the bra. Her soft breasts in my hands after all this time are a miracle, warm and hard-nubbed, the nipples taut beneath my thumbs.

  I want to tear her clothes off, get them the hell out of the way. I yank at the shirt, pushing it to her neck, out of my way. I don’t have the access I want, so I twist her to the bed, flat on her back.

  Her body is exposed to me as a swath of belly, her ribs, and now, those amazing breasts. I hover over her, drinking this vision in, then take a nipple in my mouth. Maddie arches against me, clutching my shoulders.

  I’ve got her, I keep thinking. She’s mine. We’re back. We can do this.

  She makes little throaty sounds, familiar and crashing back like a desperate memory. I move up her body to kiss her again and tug at the snap of her jeans, yanking them open.

  Her hips thrust up to my hand, and I smile against her mouth. I know her. I know exactly what to do. My palm flattens against her belly and my fingers slip down inside her panties. She’s so hot, and wet. Her legs open for me, and I dive inside, deep in her, fluttering my fingertips.

  Her body is already pulsing, ready for it, desperate. I feel like I’m on fire for her. I withdraw to get the jeans out of the way. I’m going to do the worst things to her. She will remember exactly how we used to be together. She will feel everything.

  Then we hear it.

  The door.

  I look up. Already?

  Maddie snatches at her shirt and jerks it down. In an instant, she’s standing, fighting her bra and snapping her jeans.

  “Get dressed,” she hisses and dashes out of the room, slamming the door.

  Shit.

  SHIT.

  Chapter Ten

  Back at my motel, I don’t even know what to do. Maddie acted like I wasn’t even there once Delores returned. That woman must have broken some land-speed record for grabbing milk and soup and getting back home.

  After standing in the doorway of the kitchen for ten minutes, only to be completely and utterly ignored, I eventually just left. I walked the half mile to the motel to burn off steam.

  But now it’s worse.

  I don’t know anybody here. New York doesn’t allow official M
MA, so everything is underground. I can’t even go watch a fight. I have no idea how to find one.

  I want to go back to Maddie and finish what we started. I know we can fix this thing. All the attraction is still there. It’s what’s supposed to happen. We’re supposed to be together.

  Damn it.

  I slam my hands against the wall. I have to get out of here.

  The night air helps. I walk the opposite direction, away from Maddie’s, along a street with closed-up shops and hole-in-the-wall restaurants with a few straggler patrons.

  I come across a bar and decide that’s a great idea. The inside is dark, TV screens lining one wall. There’s some basketball on, some NASCAR. Then toward the back, a small crowd of tables is watching a cage fight in Vegas.

  That’s more like it.

  I head that way and sit at the end of the bar. I don’t know either of the fighters personally, but I’ve seen one of them, Crazy Hound, in a live match in LA. He slams the other guy to the mat and they hold for what seems like forever. The bartender comes over and I order a beer, and Crazy Hound is still on the guy.

  “Pound his face and call the damn match,” I bellow, and some of the other guys turn to look at me.

  “Hell, yeah,” one says. “Let’s see something happen or get these pussies off the mat.”

  I’m feeling better, back in my element. I know damn well how hard a hold like that is to maintain. The guy on bottom is not just lying there, but struggling with everything he’s got, and trying to find any toehold to make progress toward breaking free. But these guys are just fans. I can tell by their beer bellies and the tables strewn with bar food and empties.

  Then one says, “Ain’t exactly easy getting out of a butterfly guard.”

  My head snaps around to look at him. This guy is different, heavy but muscular. He knows his game.

  The men cheer when the ref calls the match.

  “Finally,” one shouts.

  The bartender brings my drink, and I toss some bills on the bar. I know better than to have more than one. I’m about to be training harder than ever, especially if Colt’s in charge, to make sure I am in good shape to impress people on this side of the leagues.