“London!” Kensley’s eyes are wide. “That’s not polite.”
Her mini-me glares over her shoulder at her, obviously not sure how it’s an impolite question. “But mama—”
“It’s okay,” I chuckle.
“Well, no…”
“But you’re an adult? Like mama?” London continues. I’m impressed by her enunciation and words, and her ability to turn a question that quickly.
I nod. “I am.”
“Lon-in!” Sawyer cuts in, banging on the table.
Through with her questioning, London starts to talk to Sawyer. She’s livelier now; like whatever it was that hurt her four-year-old feelings, were long gone.
I smile at Kensley.
This is right.
I wonder if she feels how right it is, too?
Before I can find a way to ask, Jana comes back with crayons and beverages, and Kensley and I laugh over not having looked at the menu yet.
Food first.
Talk later.
Chapter Seven
Kensley
When London and I made it to the table before, it hit me with how well Sawyer took to Liam.
When Sawyer refused to let go of him, I was hit with how well Liam was with the girls.
And after London was through with her questioning, and it was just the girls talking, I was hit with how normal this felt—a guy and a girl, and two kids taking up the sound space.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Mark couldn’t be bothered with our daughters, but here Liam is, hanging out and acting like a natural.
Then, when our food arrived to the table Sawyer was reluctant to sit beside Liam—she wanted to be held—it…
Bothered me?
Made me sad?
Made me happy?
I’m not quite sure. Maybe a mix of it all.
Bothered, because Sawyer attached herself so easily to him, when I couldn’t even tell you if this was a one and done event, or if there would indeed be that next time Liam eluded to.
Made me sad, because she never had this with Mark. I think Mark held her maybe three times, for longer than it took to pass her off from her crib to me, or from his mother to me.
Made me happy, because…
Well, it’s way too soon to start looking at those feelings.
All I know is this scene is nothing like one my girls have experienced before.
When Sawyer finally settled on the bench beside Liam, she didn’t stop dancing her shoulders from side to side. She’s having a good time.
Both my girls are, especially when Liam tosses a tater tot in the air and catches it with his mouth. Which, of course, led to practice.
…there were a lot of tater tots on the ground after the girls gave it a try.
Liam helped cut Sawyer’s grilled cheese into smaller triangles, as if it was something he was supposed to do.
He pretended to not notice London swipe a French fry from his plate—but laughed when she sputtered because the fries were garlic ones, and she hadn’t been expecting the added spice.
Now...
Now, I sit next to him at the table as we face the play area, completely comfortable and at ease with him.
The girls are running around, through the train, on their knees, around and around they go.
When Sawyer picks up a handful of sand, I warn, “Don’t throw that,” not even moving from my lean back into the table. For once, I feel…
Relaxed.
Like the entire world isn’t resting on my shoulders.
Funny how a stranger is able to give me this.
“They’re good girls,” Liam says a few beats later.
I nod. “They are.” I tip my head away from him, not taking my eyes off my daughters. “I’m sorry for London.” I don’t move my head much, but I do move my eyes to try and catch his reaction.
He just shakes his head. “She’s four. It’s okay. My nephew was the king of temper tantrums for a long time. She was just tired.” He turns his head and looks at me, and as nervous as the thought makes me, I force myself to turn my body, facing him on the bench.
I drop my hands to my calf, resting on the bench between us, as I think about what I walked in on at Sharon’s house.
Do I tell him what London’s tears were about? Can I confide in him?
It’s all too much, too soon…but it’s not like Liam doesn’t know a good bit of my history. I decide to give him some of the truth.
“Mark video-called the girls when they were with Sharon—they’re grandmother, his mom. Right before I picked them up.”
Liam nods, slowly and only once, his eyes locked on mine. “And London didn’t care for that?”
Understatement of the year.
London wanted to know when he was coming home. Why he was still gone. Why they had to move out. What she did to make them move out.
Why didn’t he want her anymore?
Which, of course, he didn’t have appropriate answers.
According to Sharon, she had to stop her son from saying anything nasty to our girls about me, as if this was all my fault.
I let out a breath through my nose, fighting hard to keep eye contact with him, when all I want to do is watch my girls, hold my girls, never let them go.
“Sharon wasn’t expecting the call. And she wouldn’t have taken it with the girls there, but London…” I laugh dryly, “These days, kids know technology like nobody’s business, and she recognized his call on Sharon’s computer.”
Liam slouches some, one leg stretched in front of him, the other foot resting on the ground, and places his hands on his stomach. He looks relaxed, but the way he’s looking at me…
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“Watching you this afternoon, I get the sense he’s not around much.” I open my mouth, but he holds up his hand. “I know you said he’s gone a lot, but when he is here, how much does he do with the girls?”
I drop my head, ashamed of the answer without even giving it.
“I mean, you don’t really have to answer that,” he’s quick to rush on, but then he places one of his hands atop of my folded ones and squeezes lightly. “The girls seemed like they had fun this afternoon. After London got over her interrogation.” He says the end with the smallest of chuckles and I can’t help but look up and study this man.
He says the right things at the right time.
He seems genuinely interested in me and the girls, even though he knows…well…that phone call.
It’s not the right place or right time, but Liam would be the best guy, of that I have little doubt.
“I don’t have it in me to start a relationship,” I blurt out, totally not meaning to. My face instantly heats. “Oh, my God.” Quickly, I turn away from him, pulling my hands and leg out from under his hand. “Girls,” I try to call out, but it sounds more like a semi-croak. “Oh, my God,” I mumble under my breath.
Assume much, Kensley?
I mean to round the table to get my purse and return Liam’s things, but he stands and snags my hand. My heart is pounding in my chest and I can’t take a deep breath for the life of me, nor can I manage to look up any further than the middle button of his Henley shirt.
“Kensley.” His voice is low. Soft. Rumbly. Is that a word? Rumbly?
Well, his voice is.
I swallow hard but can’t manage to move my eyes.
“Kens.” If anything, his voice drops even more.
I have no choice but to look up; first, staring at his chin. I think there’s the smallest of dimples in the middle. Super tiny. He has just enough scruff to make you—me—want to run the back of my hand over it, feel the prickliness against my skin. His lips are full.
Up, up, up, I look.
Past his straight nose, then into his blue eyes.
Light green eyes, dark lashes, dark hair.
He’s a gorgeous specimen of male flesh, but it’s not the first time I thought so.
“I wasn’t looking for anything,” he starts, and I can feel my face prickle with heat.
“Oh.”
“Actively. I wasn’t looking actively,” he continues, his eyes not leaving mine. Staring down at me, holding me captive. “I’ve never been as immediately grabbed by a person as I have with you. You calling in was… Hell, I don’t want to say fate, because that makes it sound like you were meant to go through the last few years. And gotta tell you, what I know of Mark? He’s a fucking asshole.” Liam’s eyes leave mine quickly, looking behind me.
To the girls, I realize.
For not the first time this afternoon, I feel like I’m about to cry.
How is this man like this?
How is he so good to the girls? So kind to me?
Why does he worry about my girls, who he’s known for no more than two full hours, when their own father can’t be bothered with a scheduled video chat that’s no more than five minutes?
I swallow past the lump in my throat, hoping that the tears will go away with it.
His eyes fall back down to mine. “I will back off if that’s what you need. What you want. But you should know…” He pauses and squeezes my hand, the hand he’d grabbed before and I didn’t even remember he had. “You should know that I don’t give up easily, not when it’s something that I think is meant to be. Something real. And it just…” He shrugs, and a boyish quality overcomes his face. “This time with you, with London and Sawyer, it just feels right.”
“I’m pregnant.” It was my excuse earlier too, and I feel like it’s the only excuse in the book that I have.
“I’m aware.”
“I can do it on my own.”
He nods. “I figure you’ve been doing it on your own.”
He sees. He sees right through me. He seems to understand me.
“You’re very kind,” I whisper when I have nothing else to come back with.
“I think you probably need some kindness in your life.” He squeezes my hand again and then does the unexpected.
He brushes a kiss to my forehead.
Before I can say anything, do anything, he steps away from me. “Ladies, your mom’s ready to head home.”
There aren’t any groans of disappointment.
No fights to stay a little longer.
None.
Instead, both girls come barreling over and throw themselves at Liam’s leg.
He could grab their hands.
He could pull them off.
But instead, he bends down and scoops them both up, one on either side of him, and gives me a look.
One that says…
One that says he’s in.
The question is, am I?
Chapter Eight
Liam
It’s ten at night; I’ve been up since three this morning, and I should be following Guinness’s example and sleeping, but I’m wide awake.
Staring at the dark ceiling.
Thinking about the afternoon.
After I walked Kensley and her girls to the car, after I watched Kensley buckle them in and close their doors, I stood with her at the trunk, holding both of her hands.
Told her I had a good time and thanked her for coming out.
I’d so badly wanted to kiss her, take her lips with mine, but I recognized her walls.
She wasn’t ready.
And if I was, if I was planning on doing the whole shebang, I was going to have to let her get ready.
If that meant she never was, well, that was something I’d have to come to terms with.
Eventually.
Right now, though?
Right now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
About lunch.
About her girls.
Fuck it.
I blindly reach for my phone on its charging plate and open Facebook. I start typing her name in the search bar, and by the first ‘e’ her name pops up.
Do I friend request her?
Send her a message and hope she sees it?
What’s the correct way to go about this?
Because using the phone number I…borrowed…from the station isn’t exactly the way to go about things.
Friend, then message.
Message, then friend?
Which first?
Which should I do?
Friend request.
Nodding, I hit the button, fighting the momentary panic that says, “Cancel, you dumb ass.”
But I don’t.
I let that friend request sit.
The moment I close the app and replace my phone on the plate, the phone jars in notification.
Probably something to do with the station, so I let it sit.
I don’t have to be Liam Hardt, radio personality, until at least Sunday night, prepping for Monday morning.
But then a second notification comes in.
Now I’m just curious.
And a little annoyed I didn’t think to turn off the sound on my phone.
I pick it up again and unlock the screen, but before I can open my notifications bar, another pings through—this one with a Messenger preview.
My eyes immediately focus on the profile picture.
Kensley.
I probably have the sappiest grin on my face right now, and I don’t give a damn.
I open the message and see that all three notifications were from her.
Hey.
Followed by, Sorry. I didn’t mean to send that. Not then anyway. I wanted to thank you again for today. For all of it. Sawyer hasn’t stopped talking about you, and I know she’s talking about you because when I asked who ‘him’ was she got frustrated. Not ‘him’ but ‘Liam’. You’re a natural. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong and then I meet people like you who can do it so easily. Anyway. We go to the park every Saturday at two. Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.
The last message had me laughing, causing Guinness to startle awake and stare at me in the dark. More like, glare...for waking him up. Hey now. Dog knows better than to sleep in my bed but…
It isn’t like I’m enforcing the rule.
Shoot, she wrote. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m so sorry if I woke you up. Three times.
First, my very male thought was she could wake me up as many times as she wanted. But I wasn’t going to tell her that. Not now.
The little green light shows she’s still online though, and I want to tell her something.
The bro-code thing to do is let this sit overnight; respond in the morning at the very earliest.
I’m over the douche bro thing though.
I was still awake but you can wake me up anytime ;) I had a good time. Thank you for agreeing. Guinness and I usually run around that time. I’ll be sure he stays close by tomorrow. Would hate to ruin what little leeway I made with London.
I read it over after sending it, groaning when I see that I indeed did tell her she could wake me up whenever. So much for playing it easy and without innuendos.
Under my message, the ‘sent by Liam’ turns to ‘seen’ with the tiny circle containing Kensley’s picture, moved next to the message. Not much later, the bubbles appear on her side of the screen. I roll to my side, keeping my phone in front of me.
The bubbles stop.
Then her green light goes away.
Oh, hell no.
Shit.
Why didn’t I ask for her number?
I roll to my back and suck my lips in between my teeth.
But I have her number.
I have it, and…
I blow a breath out, puffing my cheeks out to capacity in the process.
Leave it alone, Liam. Leave it…
Maybe one of the girls woke up. Yeah. That could have been the reason.
But to go from typing, to gone?
That sounded more like someone who was going to say something, stopped, and turned it all off to avoid going through with it.
Besides.
Say I did call her.
Who was t
o say she’d pick up? There wasn’t some rule that said she had to.
It was ten at night.
She wouldn’t pick up.
Then what would I do? Leave a message that said, “Yeah, I stole your number from the station.”
I shouldn’t do it.
I shouldn’t.
…It’s only a matter of seconds before the phone is ringing in my ear.
I have zero willpower when it comes to this woman.
I’m staring at the ceiling again, counting the rings.
It’s only the middle of the third that she picks up.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and almost spoken on a whisper.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess.”
“You’re not going to ask how I have your number?” I shouldn’t have said it, but I really don’t want anything between us. That’s how far gone I am with this girl.
“You probably stole it from the radio station.” She sounds like she’s smiling though, so that’s good, right?
“I’m sorry. It’s probably against every radio protocol—”
“I’ll forgive you. This time.”
We’re both quiet for what feels like a minute but probably isn’t that long at all.
“What were you typing?”
“I wasn—”
I grin crookedly. “Don’t lie to me, Kensley.”
She sighs, and I hear movement. Where is she? Is she in bed too?
How does she sleep? With kids, I’m sure she isn’t a nude sleeper—the thought kind of disappoints me—but is she a pants and shirt girl? Nightgown?
I could honestly see her in either.
Her small baby belly protruding against the cotton of her shirt, or the silk of her gown…
I’m getting hard over the thought.
I lift my knee and shift my hips, readjusting myself without my hands.
It’s no use though, because her voice, the soft way she speaks into the phone, is causing all the blood to rush to my cock. “I was going to thank you again.”
“Again? Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who says ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ for everything?” I tease, releasing my knee and stretching my legs out, trying to relieve the tension through my quads.
“No, not for the girls. For me.”
“For lunch? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted to spend the time with you,” I say, a little confused.
Caught in the Act Page 7