Page 42 of Sexy Bad Daddy

No, he’s never been involved in an actual relationship with any of the women he’s slept with. Including this one, I assume, since he didn’t know he’d knocked her up until last year.

So, naturally, whatever is going on between he and I is destined to end, probably badly.

But I already know this. I’m doing a reasonable job of pretending I’m okay with it. That I don’t want more. That I don’t wish I could be the one to break his sleeping around habit, the one who could convince him to settle down. That I don’t want him, me, and Abby to be the perfect little family. Maybe even add to that family someday.

“Why?” I ask while staring at the sweating glass parked on the bar in front of me. “Why did you give her up?”

“He didn’t tell you?” There’s a challenge in her voice, like she’s implying I’m not as close to Garrett as I think I am. I almost want to tell her the rumors are true, just to shove it her in her face. Except whatever I have going on with him will undoubtedly be nothing more than another notch in his headboard eventually, just like she was.

“He told me your lawyer called and said that he had a kid and, if Garrett wanted her, he had to fly down here and claim her. And when he got here, you signed over your rights, gave him full custody, and walked away.”

“That pretty much sums it up.” She watches Abby, who’s trotting her little plastic goat back and forth on the window seat.

“Yeah, but why?”

She tops off my water with the beverage gun, even though I’ve taken only a couple of sips. “I’m an alcoholic. Recovering, I mean. Ninety-three days.”

“Uh…”

She pours a water for herself and sucks it nearly dry before speaking again. “I was in a pretty dark place when I gave her up. Three DUIs in less than a year. My lawyer told me the state would take her if I didn’t give her to her dad.”

Holy shit. A freaking Jamison on the rocks sounds damn perfect right now. Which is a sensation that makes you feel like an ass when you’re around a confessed alcoholic.

“Is it time to go watch Daddy yet?” Abby calls from where she’s seated on the windowsill, trotting Spot Junior in a circle near her hip.

“Just about,” I reply, glancing at Morgan. There’s a small, wistful smile on her lips.

“What I wouldn’t give…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but then again, she doesn’t have to. I know what she means.

My phone vibrates and Abby’s voice shouts, “Daddy’s calling!” I should probably change that ringtone. I pull it out of my purse; Garrett’s biggest rival just shot two under par, which I know isn’t good. Well, it’s really good, actually, which means it isn’t good for Garrett’s ranking in the tournament. He’s going to have to shoot a damn near perfect game.

“We probably need to get down there so Abby can watch him tee off,” I say. What else am I supposed to do? Part of me wants to rush away, to never come back to this place again, while another part wants to invite Morgan over for dinner.

“Yeah, you should probably go.” She’s looking at Abby as she says it.

“Abby, do you want to come over here and say good-bye to, er, your mom?”

Abby slides off the windowsill and rushes over to Morgan, who has stepped out from behind the bar again. Morgan crouches and the little girl throws her arms around the woman’s neck, much like she does when Garrett comes home after having been gone for a week. Morgan buries her face in Abby’s hair. I know she’s crying even before she lifts her head and I see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“I’m a mess,” she says, wiping at the wetness and standing. “I need to go freshen up. I love you, sugar.”

“When will I see you again, Mommy?”

I avert my gaze, but that doesn’t stop my ears from listening to this private, emotional exchange.

“I don’t know, baby. I’ll have to talk to your daddy, okay?”

“Okay.” Abby lifts her plastic goat. “Spot Junior says bye.”

“Bye, Spot Junior.”

I sweep her into my arms so I can escape more quickly. With tears blurring my own vision, I head out to find a place up front to watch him play. Hopefully, the game will distract Abby from wishing she were with her mom, and me from this new knowledge that not only is Morgan still around, she isn’t the horrible ogre I’ve made her out to be in my head.

***

We arrive with plenty of time to spare and manage to elbow our way to the front of the group of people clustered around the thick rope wrapped around the first hole, ensuring overzealous fans don’t get in the way or ruin the turf or whatever it is excited golf spectators might do. A golfer steps up and hits his ball and the crowd cheers and claps. Another golfer, another ball knocked hundreds of yards to land on the slightly different color of green near the hole they’re aiming at, and God, watching paint dry would be more exciting. The only saving grace is that one of the golfers is pretty good-looking, although he’s got nothing on Garrett and his head of thick, dark hair, those glassy blue eyes, and that body that begs a girl to lick it.

And then Garrett steps up with his trusty caddie, Harry, next to him. He lifts one arm in a general wave and smiles from under the bill of his baseball cap, which is pulled low over his eyes. The crowd makes this feminine tittering noise. It’s pretty damn obvious the fairer sex came here to watch him. How many of them even give a shit about golf? Not that I can talk.

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