Page 62 of Bad & Bossy

Would Dana still want me if I slipped?

I swallowed down the worry. With Dana by my side, I’d be solid. She’d come through like a knight in shining fucking armor for me last time. The better I got, the less she’d have to be there, picking up and piecing the shattered remains back together. I could handle it as long as she was there.

I slipped my phone from my pocket, scrolling through my contacts until the resort manager’s name popped up.

————

The nerves flitting about in my gut didn’t seem to want to let up. I raked the pomade through my hair, pushing it back and out of my face. It was nearing seven in the evening, and Dana and Drew would be up here any second.

I took the five minutes I had remaining to triple-check that my buttons were in the right holes and that the living room of my penthouse suite looked suitable. An elaborate dinner had been brought up, and although they’d offered to bring up each course individually, I’d declined. I didn’t want anyone else here. Just Dana, Drew, and me.

The glass dining table had been laid out perfectly—plates, cutlery, glasses, and a bottle of sparkling juice on ice. I’d laughed when they’d brought it in under special orders from me that nothing contained alcohol. I imagined maybe they’d bring sparkling water or an array of local specialties, but no, juice it was.

A knock sounded on my door.

Drew’s little grin hit me first when I opened it, but quickly and overwhelmingly, I took in every inch of Dana. The dark green dress she wore split halfway down her thigh, hanging just below her knees and hugging every goddamn curve. Her hair, swept over to one side, was perfectly coiled in loose waves despite Drew’s little fist gripping onto it.

And those fucking lips.

Deep red, crisp, and begging to be used.

“Are you going to let us in or just stare at me?” she laughed, adjusting Drew’s weight on her hip. A hint of a blush settled across her cheeks.

“I think I might keep staring.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and took a step toward me, almost daring me to step aside, but I didn’t want to move. I wanted to memorialize her just like this, dressed up entirely for me, with a baby on her hip and a smirk on her lips. I leaned forward, pressing the lightest little kiss on her cheek, and finally relented.

I took Drew from her as she stepped through, allowing myself to fully take her in from behind as well. Drew cooed in my arms, his lips and gums gnawing down on his little plastic giraffe.

I couldn’t stop looking at her fucking ass.

God, I didn’t deserve her.

“Smells good,” she said, the lilt in her voice telling me all that I needed to know.

“There’s backup food in case you don’t like it,” I chuckled, stepping around her and pulling out the resort-issued high chair for Drew so he could join us at the table. Dana let out a sigh of relief.

“When you say backup food?—”

“It’s not dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“There is nothing wrong with dino-nuggets.” She shot a playful glare at me. “They’re delicious and nutritious and frankly, if you ask me, better tasting than regular-shaped nuggets.”

I laughed as I set Drew into his high chair, his feet kicking out as he giggled. “I wasn’t shitting on dino-nuggets, Dana.”

She plucked a single cocktail shrimp from the rim of one of the martini glasses and popped it in her mouth as she sat down. “You better not be unless you want to be blue-balled.”

“Oh no, not the scary, fictitious disease teenage boys use to guilt trip girls into fucking them. I’m quaking in my boots.” I pushed Drew’s high chair closer to the table before realizing how easily he could reach out and knock over literally anything before deciding that some distance would be better. “Honestly, baby, I thought you’d have outgrown your belief in that by twenty-eight.”

Her little smirk made me want to spread her out on the glass table and enjoy a different meal instead.

I slotted into my seat, watching her carefully across the array of food. “I tried to make sure everything was at least a little bland.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed. “I don’t hate flavor.”

“Sure you don’t, baby. Either way, they brought up all of the least scary dishes they had,” I grinned, expanding the cloth napkin with a flick of my wrist before laying it out over my suit slacks. There were plates of oysters, martini glasses of cocktail shrimp that she’d already got her hands on, an array of different types of rice and beans, various salads, different glazed meats, fried plantains and potatoes cooked in every way possible, anything I could think of on the menu that might work well for her.

But hidden in the fridge was a jar of spaghetti sauce and a stash of fresh noodles. Just in case.

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