by Lia Lee
“Okay,” she replies, out of breath. “I’m hungry.”
I have to laugh at how kids can change direction in a split-second.
“Shall we make some lunch?” I ask. Rose nods emphatically, and as I turn toward the kitchen I remember there’s not much in the fridge or the cupboards. A trip to McDonald’s crosses my mind when the front doorbell rings. Rose’s eyes light up. I match her pop-eyed look of surprise. “Who could that be?” I can’t imagine who’d be calling on us when we’ve only been here less than twenty-four hours.
I walk to the door balancing Rose on my hip. With no peephole to peer through, I have to take my chances and swing open the solid, wood paneled door to greet our visitor. On the porch stands a stunning blonde woman, holding a wicker tray filled with muffins. They look fresh from the oven, and I can practically smell the raspberries baked into them, but fresh doesn’t begin to describe the lovely creature brandishing the treats.
Her long hair glows in a gold halo from the sunlight overhead. Her sleeveless top reveals slender shoulders and shapely arms. Her pouty, bow-shaped lips are the shade of raspberries too and look just as sweet. Her blue eyes match the desert sky behind her, and my roving gaze passes over her generous mounds of breast and down to the curvy, smooth expanse of thigh below the hem of her shorts.
“Hi, I’m Quinn VanderKemp, I live next door. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Wow. Some welcome! A pretty girl that looks as good to eat as the baked offering in her hands. I’d shut away my appetite for women for so long I’d forgotten what hunger felt like. This vision in shorts had all my taste buds firing.
“Hi!” Rose says, breaking my stupefied silence.
“Hello, Quinn,” I finally say. “That’s so kind of you, thank you. I’m Logan Brenner, and this is my daughter Rose.”
“Pleased to meet you. I saw you moving in yesterday and figured you probably hadn’t gotten a chance to hit the market yet, so I brought these over,” she says with a smile that lights up my porch as well as my neglected privates.
“What kind?” Rose asks, pointing to the tray.
Quinn turns her attention to my little girl with another sweet smile. “They’re raspberry and white chocolate,” she whispers, as though sharing the secret of hidden treasure. I can already tell she has a way with children. Heck, she isn’t much more than a kid herself; maybe twenty, but who knows these days?
Rose looks at me with eyes big as two moons. “Your favorite,” I say. “How did she know?” I glance sideways at our visitor and give her a wink.
“Well, they happen to be my favorite too,” Quinn says.
“Uh, won’t you come in?” I ask, realizing I’ve left her standing on the stoop for nearly a full minute. I step back and lower Rose to the floor.
“Thank you.” Quinn steps in and kneels down to Rose’s level. “Would you like one?” she asks, holding the tray toward her. Rose nods and plucks out the nearest muffin that’s almost too big for her tiny hand.
“What do you say?” I prompt, trying desperately not to focus on the sweet treat of Quinn’s cleavage that’s open to my line of sight as she bends down. God, her tits looked like two delicious melons being served up in the tight cotton wraps of her shirt.
“Thank you,” Rose says, then skips away to sit on one of the many sealed boxes still littering the room to devour her prize. I sigh at the reminder of how much work we still have to do.
“She’s so sweet,” Quinn says, rising to her feet again. “May I put these in your kitchen?” she asks, lifting her tray.
“Oh, let me,” I say, taking the tray from her hands. I feel like all my manners have flown out the window with just one look at this willowy blonde doe. Bambi seemed like the right name for her rather than Quinn. She follows me into the kitchen where I set the goods down on the counter. “Thank you for these. You’re quite right—I haven’t done any shopping yet.”
“I knew the folks who lived here before,” she says. “I can see they repainted a bit since I saw this house last, but I suppose you’ll probably want to put your own stamp on it. Do you need some help unpacking? Awful lot of boxes you’ve got here.”
Hmm. Inquisitive type. Not shy at all. I’m intrigued. “Thank you, but I’ve got most of today and tomorrow off, so I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“That’s nice. What is it that you do?”
“I own my own business, Brenner Construction. We build houses, small commercial properties, do a bit of landscaping.”
“Oh, how nice… being your own boss. I hope I can do that too after I graduate. I’m still a student.”
“Oh, where at?” I ask, my mental gears doing the math. As a student, she could be anywhere from eighteen to twenty-three years old. Why do you care, you randy old man?
“I’m at ASU. Just one more year to get my Masters.”
“A Masters? Wow, that’s quite an achievement.” That was a lot of years to be in school. “What are you studying?” Before she can answer, my cell phone goes off. “Excuse me,” I say, grabbing it from my pocket. “Brenner Construction, Logan here,” I answer, knowing full well it’s my foreman Dan Reardon calling. It must be important if he’s interrupting my time off.
He tells me the backhoe has struck some kind of mystery object buried beneath our latest job site. The first-call report hadn’t indicated anything inside the right-of-way, so it must be something ancient that escaped the survey information. I have to be there, but I’ve got Rose. “Are you sure? Has it ruptured, or leaked anything?” I notice Quinn has gone over to sit cross-legged on the floor next to Rose. Rose smiles at her with raspberry smears on her face and a mouth full of muffin. I guess I don’t need to worry about lunch, after all.
“Not exactly, but it’s pretty rusty. Afraid to disturb it anymore—it might just crumble to pieces and who the hell knows what’s inside it,” Dan says.
“Okay, just flag it off and leave it. I’ve got Rose with me, so I can’t get there until I find a sitter. Don’t know if Lila’s off today.” Or if she’s sober. Quinn looks up and waves at me, obviously overhearing my conversation. “I’ll have to call you back, Dan.”
“If you need to leave, I can watch Rose for you. I don’t have classes today, and I’m kinda the resident babysitter on the block. I know every kid within a mile radius, ask anyone,” Quinn says with a reassuring smile.
It’s a tempting offer, but I don’t know anyone on the block, and I only met this girl five minutes ago. I’d be an irresponsible parent leaving my precious Rose with a stranger. I might have been a shitty partner and a spiteful son, but I’m sure as hell planning to be a top-notch father. “That’s kind of you, but I can’t impose. Nothing personal, but I really don’t know you well enough to have you watch my daughter.”
Quinn looks a bit disappointed but nods in understanding. “It’s no trouble at all, really. Would you feel better if I showed you some letters of reference? I have several at home, I’ll run and get them if you’d like?” she says as she moves toward the front door.
“No!” Rose cries, dropping muffin crumbs on the floor as she toddles toward us. “Don’t go ‘way…”
Quinn turns to her. “Nice to meet you, Rose. I’ll come see you another day, okay?”
Rose’s crestfallen look stabs at my heart. Both guilt and anger rise in me at the realization that she’s desperate for motherly attention. God knows her own mother didn’t provide it, abandoning us like she did. Having a grandmother back in the picture is wonderful, but it can’t compare to a real, full-time, loving mom. One who bakes her favorite muffins and has clearly won her affection already.
“Uh, that’s okay. References won’t be necessary,” I interrupt. “Are you sure you want to? I shouldn’t be more than an hour, and I’ll pay you extra for the short notice. Call it rush charges,” I say with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, thank you for putting your trust in me. I’m a great babysitter, honest. I’ll get you those references for nex
t time, just to put your mind at ease.” Quinn reaches for a handshake.
I take her slim, soft hand in my big, callused one. It feels warm and welcoming, and I want to hold it forever, like a rare flower that is blooming just for my daughter and me—even if only for an hour. “You already have. Looks like I picked a great neighborhood.” And neighbors—with benefits.
Chapter Three
Quinn
Too Hot to Handle
“What’s a kingdom?”
Rose’s sleepy voice interrupts my narration of The Frog Prince. So many questions! I know four-year-olds are naturally inquisitive, but Rose seems to take curiosity to a level beyond her years, even when half-asleep. She seemed almost analytic, wanting to know “why” and “what” and not satisfied with trite answers. In a way, she reminds me of me. Perhaps being a doctor’s daughter spurred my thirst for knowledge, and I liked being around others who felt the same. I already knew I liked being around Rose.
“It’s a place where kings and queens rule,” I say, knowing I’m probably just setting myself up for more questions, but curious to know what her next one will be.
“What’s rule?” she asks, her lidded eyes on the verge of closing.
“Mmm, it means to be the boss. Like your daddy is the boss at his work.”
“Where is my daddy?”
“He’ll be back soon,” I say, though I’d expected him back already. “Let’s finish the story, and I’ll bet he’ll be here by then, okay?”
“O-kay…” she says with a yawn. “I like you, Kin.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Kids were so open and honest, unlike adults. If everyone were so straightforward, the world wouldn’t need psychologists. I’d have to pursue another profession.
“I like you too, Rose,” I say, my voice catching. The frog from the story seems to have leaped from the page into my throat. I clear it and keep reading.
“And the frog, free of the spell that had been cast upon him, turned into a handsome prince. He was the most beautiful man the princess had ever seen, and she was sorry that she had been so mean to him. The prince had loved the princess all along, watching her from afar in his home in the pond. He bent down on one knee before her and asked the princess to marry him. She said yes, and her father the King gave his blessing. They were married the next day, and they lived happily ever after. The end.”
I sigh at the cliché storybook ending. Totally unrealistic, but who doesn’t love a fairytale ending? I glance over and see that Rose has finally fallen asleep. I remember my mom reading princess stories to me when I was little too, and a ribbon of sadness whips through me at the thought of her—gone from my life.
It seems that Rose’s mother has gone away too, although I don’t know where or why. Her daddy seems to be her whole world. I look over at her little body curled up on the bed, a stuffed toy clutched to her chest. I hope I’ll have kids someday just like her. And I won’t be an absentee mom, either. I’ll love them with all my heart and soul and be there whenever they need me, like my own dad has done. Like Logan has done for Rose.
I smile and close the book. It’s been nearly two hours since Logan left, and after the first hour, I could see Rose turning grumpy and needing a nap. I’ve been around kids enough to know those signs, and the heat outside only made it worse, so I asked her to show me her room and find a book for me to read to her. Luckily the moving boxes were well-marked, and we quickly found a large hardcover collection of Grimm’s and other fairy tales.
It seems even hotter than yesterday, and it’s just two p.m. Things won’t be cooling off any until well after suppertime, and now I know why the siesta was invented. Who could even think straight in this heat? For a minute, I consider taking a nap myself, to escape the soaring temperature, but that wouldn’t be very responsible of me. And responsibility was something I took very seriously. Especially when trying to impress the new neighbor with my trustworthiness.
Secretly, I hope I’ve impressed him with more than that. I thought he was good-looking when I saw him from my bedroom window, but up close and personal he was nothing short of gorgeous with his acres of hardened, sculpted body and a brilliant, sexy smile gracing his classically handsome face. I figure all that construction work must have contributed to those bulging muscles that are bronzed to perfection. And when he winked at me, I felt a hot blush burn through me that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
I open the window in Rose’s room a little wider, hoping for some breeze from the shaded backyard. I peer down to the lawn below and notice a couple of old folding chairs that must have been left behind by the last owners. They look a little rickety, but perhaps they’re still seaworthy, and I can catch a few minutes in the shade. The window is right above them, so I’ll hear Rose if she wakes up.
I sneak out of the bedroom and walk to the back door through the kitchen, which is still full of crates and boxes. If Logan’s going to be much longer, perhaps I could make myself useful and unpack some of the dishes and silverware. I’m sure he’d appreciate the extra hands even though he said he didn’t need help. But we exchanged phone numbers before he left, so I’m sure he must be on his way back if he hasn’t called to say otherwise by now. He probably just stopped at a supermarket to pick up some essentials. I’m in no hurry anyway, so I kick off my flip flops and step onto the cool grass. It feels great between my toes.
I pick the sturdiest of the two chairs and sit down carefully, in case the seat canvas might rip. It doesn’t, and I lean back to enjoy the delicious respite from the glaring sun. I lift the mane of my blonde hair off my neck to let what little air movement there is waft across it. It’s quiet aside from the birds, insects and occasional street noises. I couldn’t bear wearing a confining bra this morning while baking the muffins, and I feel the sweat trickle down between my breasts again. I undo a few buttons on my blouse and loosen the material in hopes of catching the same small breeze.
It helps, but the outdoor space is still far from refreshing despite the shade of the house and trees. I see shrubs and plants all around that are in need of attention since the place has been vacant all summer. They’re dry and overgrown, and I notice my previous neighbors have left an old garden hose coiled up and still attached to the outside tap. Perhaps that’s another way I can help out this handsome single dad; water his yard for him. You don’t know he’s single, I catch myself. Smarten up and do your homework, grad school girl.
Nevertheless, I wonder what else I can do for him. He’s no horny college boy, though, looking for a quickie in the school locker room like most I’ve met. Would Logan Brenner like things slow and sweet? Or would he like it fast and hot, our bodies slithering against each other under the shower?
A cold shower would feel so good right now. I swallow uncomfortably, my throat dry. If my panties weren’t already melting from the heat, Logan’s long stare as I stood on the porch surely would have done so. I pictured us under a waterfall on some tropical island, naked and fondling each other. The buzz of arousal stirs in my crotch, but I can hardly do anything about it here in my neighbor’s yard.
On a whim I reach over and turn the valve on the outdoor tap; it’s rusty but finally gives with a metallic squeak and allows the water through. I wait until the stale, warm liquid flows cool, then grab a few sips right from the hose. My parents never discouraged me from doing that as a kid. “It all comes from the same pipe,” they’d say, but I suspect it had more to do with saving my mom endless trips to the kitchen to get me a drink.
The water drips down my chin and onto my chest. Even my scalp is sweating beneath my thick hair, and since I’ll probably dry in less than two minutes in this heat anyway, I turn the hose on myself. First I run it over my head until I feel rivulets coursing between the strands of hair and stream off the ends. I splash a bit onto my shoulders and collarbone. The blessed liquid traces through the valley between my tits and soaks my loosened shirt, but I don’t care. My science brain affirms that the evaporation will cool my skin.
Suddenly I hear the screen door slam behind me. I whirl an about-face, flicking the hose in a wild arc, its stream of water nearly hitting the figure standing on the back porch.
Logan.
He flinches on reflex to avoid being splashed, but his eyes stay fixed on me and darken like those of a trapped animal. Even as my insides are shriveling with embarrassment, textbook quotes flash in my brain about reading body language and facial expressions. I don’t need any research to understand Logan’s look. I’ve seen it too many times on the faces of my arrogant, Alpha-type male classmates, and it’s not fear.
It’s pure, undisguised lust, and it’s the last thing I intended. I wanted to impress him but not this way. Not behaving like a floozy in a car wash commercial, soaking wet and fondling my own half-exposed tits. God, what must he think of me now? I’ve made an impression alright, and it’s completely the wrong one. As I drop the hose and turn off the tap, I have a feeling I won’t be babysitting Rose Brenner again. Ever.
Chapter Four
Logan
Wet Dreams
“Sorry!” I mumble, the sound more like a growl than an apology as I abruptly turn away from the unexpected, and unexpectedly arousing, scene in my backyard. “I’ll get you a towel.”
I step inside, willing my swelling cock to stand down; ignore what I’ve just seen. But I can’t unsee it, no matter how many orders I issue to my treacherous body. The buxom blonde babysitter, all wet and glistening… Fondling her own gorgeous mounds through her shirt, her dark nipples clearly visible beneath the soaked cloth…