Page 63 of Mister Mom

“Mommy!” Payne bangs on the door.

“Just one second, honey,” Layla says and he stops his pounding. “Go downstairs and turn on the television, I’ll be down in a second with Via.”

“Okay.”

We both wait until we can no longer hear his footsteps walking down the hall.

I slide my hands through the robe, spreading the silky fabric in the front wide and bringing her naked front to my body. “I really enjoyed last night.”

“Me, too.”

I kiss her forehead. “What are you doing tonight?”

Her eyebrows scrunch and she puts on her best thinking hard expression. “I don’t have anything. I have shooting first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh.” My head falls forward so that our foreheads meet. “My last week as the manny.”

She pushes up on her tiptoes and places a sweet kiss on my lips. “You can play manny anytime you want.”

A wail of a cry rings out from the video monitor. To make matters worse, Payne’s stomping footsteps up the stairs can probably be heard in the house next door.

“One, two,” I say.

Bang. Bang.

“Mommy, the TV doesn’t work.”

“Okay, give me a second.” Layla’s head falls to my shoulder.

“I wish I could help you this morning, but I feel like a teenage boy who’s about to be caught by his girlfriend’s dad after he felt her up on the couch in the basement.”

She muffles her giggle into my shoulder. “Nah.” She stands straight. “It’s better this way.”

I place my hands on either side of her face and kiss her, hoping like hell it conveys how much I’m going to miss her company today.

“Talk to you later?” I ask when I pull away.

“Of course. Thanks for a great night.” She heads toward the door and I walk toward the bathroom.

“Ditto,” I say and sneak through the door, shutting it behind me.

A second later I hear Layla talking to Payne and through the monitor, I hear her talking to Via as she changes her diaper and her clothes before taking her downstairs.

I stand there listening to their morning routine and think about what a great mother she is and how until her, I didn’t know how attractive a quality it would be.

* * *

I gotta give it to Layla, she’s good at stealth maneuvers. She had the kids in the kitchen eating breakfast in record time as I shot down the stairs and out the front door as quickly and as quietly as I could.

It wasn’t until I reached the car that I realized something was off.

I’ve slept with my fair share of girls, most of whom I didn’t do the sleepover thing with. But the odd time I did spend the night, it was like I had poison oak from the way my body itched around them until the time that I was safe and secure in my car. With Layla though, it’s different. I want to be back in that house. I want to be making pancakes with her for the kids. I want to sit on the couch and read the paper, drinking coffee, and feasting my greedy gaze on her whenever I want.

What the hell is happening to me? I’m not good with kids. I’m not a family man. I’ll only end up hurting them all, and after what Carver did—Layla hasn’t said much on that front, but I’m not an idiot, I can read between the lines (and, okay, the gossip mags)—they don’t need me adding gasoline to their lives.

Regardless of the speech I’m giving myself, my car has a mind of its own and heads north when it should go south and a few minutes later I find myself in front of the donut place. Even worse, I walk in and order a dozen donuts, two coffees, and two chocolate milks. Then somehow, I end up outside Layla’s house again.

Walking up the walkway, I realize that I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I have to tell Layla how I sabotaged her career.

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