Page 81 of Mister Mom

I turn around and all the breath in my lungs rushes out. She’s wearing a cute flower dress with a jean jacket and a pair of flats, her legs long and tanned. I hate the fact that Carver is getting to see her looking so amazing, too.

“You sure about that? Guess it’s my mistake.” Carver laughs and sits down on the couch, grabbing his beer like the lights just flickered and it’s time for the show to start.

And from Layla’s confused face, I know it’s going to be a show.

“Hey, can we talk?” I whisper, reaching out for her hand.

She eyes me suspiciously and then glances at Carver, but her gaze travels back to me.

“You sure you’re good with the kids?” she asks him.

Payne is sitting on the couch playing with the iPad.

“Yeah, Olivia’s down for the count for the night and me and this guy are gonna watch the fight.” Carver uses his foot to get Payne’s attention, but Payne never looks up from the iPad.

“Call me if you need me.” She moves over to the chair and kisses Payne on the top of the head. “Be good for Daddy, okay?”

Payne nods.

“Nice seeing you again, Carver.” I hold my hand out to Carver and he shakes it, his smug look still in place.

“You too, Stone.” He winks.

Layla bunches up her forehead and turns to look at her son. “Payne, baby, do me a favor and go upstairs.”

Payne ignores her.

“Layla, let’s go talk,” I say.

She shakes her head. “Payne!” For the first time since I’ve known her she raises her voice to him.

It works as intended, garnering his attention.

“Upstairs, now.” She points to the stairs.

“What did I do?” He looks between his mom and dad, then lastly my way.

“Nothing. I’m sorry for yelling. We just need a little adult time.”

Payne stands and she kisses the top of his head again before he runs upstairs with the iPad.

“Layla, let’s go.” The last thing I want is to have this conversation with her shitty ex taking notes from the sideline.

She stares up toward the stairs. Payne’s door shuts and her head slowly swivels toward me, her eyes firing cannonballs in my direction.

“Why is Carver calling you Stone?”

Carver laughs.

“Quit it, Carver.” Her head snaps back and forth between the two of us.

“Can we talk about this alone?” I ask.

She crosses her arms, inhales a deep breath, and then storms into the kitchen.

“Good luck, man. There’s a reason we’re getting divorced,” Carver says.

I flip up my middle finger as I walk into the next room.

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