Page 20 of Destiny

“With what?”

“Bea.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve heard stories about her father. He sounds super over-protective.”

“Well, that’s understandable. I’m sure I’ll seem like a crazy dad when my girls are old enough to date.”

“No, but Mr. Carter is at the next level. Like sit on his porch and wait for you with a shotgun.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve met both of her parents. I did some legal work for them a ways back. Plus, we’re just casual right now.”

“Have the kids met her?”

“They already knew her. She has helped me out with them from time to time.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really are a cliché, huh? A dirty old man is boinking the babysitter.” I know he’s just kidding, but it still stings a little.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Then, he leans closer and says, “So, how is the sex?”

“Okay. I think we’ve taken care of everything we need for this purchase agreement—”

“That good? Nice.”

I continue to avoid answering him because I believe that’s a private matter that is just between her and me, but what I really want to do is scream from the rooftops about how absolutely electrifying our connection is. Every time I touch her, I feel like my hands, my fingertips, everything were made for her skin.

“Does she have any friends you could hook me up with?”

I pictured the friend who often worked at the store with her. He may have a crass mouth, but he’s still a tailored businessman. I can hardly see Justin dating someone with bright red hair and more piercings on her face than I could count.

“I don’t think so.”

“Dang. Well, if you ever come across a fine, eligible woman, please keep me in mind.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“I appreciate it.”

He left my office, and I had a little bit of other work to do. But when it hits lunchtime, I leave and stop at Cleo’s Café to get Bea her favorite sandwich.

“Surprise!” I say from behind her. She’s reaching up high for something, and the small of her back is exposed. I smile, remembering how several little pieces of me needed to be wiped from that very spot after we ran out of protection, and she insisted on doing it in a position that required her to be on all fours. I voiced my concern over the small chance she could still get pregnant—but she assured me she’d get the necessary medication.

“Marco! What are you doing here?” She turns and pulls her shirt down.

“I brought lunch for you.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet.”

I look around the store and see that there aren’t many shoppers inside. “Do you have time for a break?”

“Yeah, sure. Come on back. Micky! I’m going on lunch.”

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