Page 14 of A Biker's Tiny Present

Shit! Tiny!

Not moving, I look all around the room and don’t see him. Where did he go? He couldn’t have left, his phone is still here,and his shirt is hooked over the edge of the mirror on my dresser. Seems he was even less concerned about where his clothes ended up than I did last night.

Speaking of last night, in my head at least, holy guacamole and Christ on a cracker. From his steamy, innuendo filled flirting, I knew it was going to be amazing, but I had no idea a mattress mambo with a biker could be so life altering. I pray to whatever deity will listen first, thank you for creating that man! Amen!

Kicking back the tangled sheet and blanket, there’s no fixing this mess without changing the bedding, and find myself stark naked. I never sleep naked. I’ve never lived alone, so whether it be another nineteen year old roommate who occasionally sleepwalked, or an infant down the hall the hall who likes to randomly wake up at three a.m., screaming loud and wild enough to wake the dead, I can’t sleep in my birthday suit.

Shit . . . again!

Nicky! Tossing on a pair of leggings and hoodie sweatshirt I pluck from the top of the clean but not folded laundry basket, I hustle down the hall to his bedroom.

Well, shoot. There’s a sight for sore, tired eyes. I found Tiny. He’s shirtless, did his tattoos multiply overnight? I swear he didn’t have that many when I was admiring, and touching, his fine form just a couple hours ago. Both boys are passed out cold, Tiny holding Nicky to his chest with one forearm under his tiny tush, and Nicky gripping a fist full of Tiny’s beard. That can’t be comfortable.

I don’t want to wake either of them, but Nicky is going to need to be fed soon, which means a diaper change first, so I need to untangle them.

Brushing one finger to the back of Nicky’s hand, in an attempt of getting him to drop his hold on his father’s beard, I accidentally graze Tiny’s chest. I’m jolted forward, pulled down into his lap, and smushed against his chest. I land witha harumph and shift a bit so my hip isn’t digging into Tiny’s stomach, not that he can feel it due to his rock solid abs, but I’d be more comfortable not half laying-half sprawled out in his lap.

“Good morning,” Tiny’s voices seems to rumble from his chest. “How’d you sleep?”

I try to scoot forward and get up, but the arm around my stomach pulls me in tighter. I quit trying to move, knowing I won’t win unless he’s distracted. “Good. You?”

“Better than I have in a long time.” Tiny presses a kiss to my temple.

“Me too,” I have to agree, “But I can’t lie, I was a little worried when I woke up alone.” I look down at my pink toenails, trying not to sound desperate or needy for validation that what happened last night was as great as I thought it was.

“I heard the little man makin’ noises and didn’t want him to wake you up.” Tiny bounces the knee my behind is parked on. “Hey, look at me.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Nicky’s eyelashes start fluttering, so I want to wrap up this conversation and get moving to what is bound to be an interesting day for both of us.

“Yes, I did. It’s about time I start pullin’ my own weight.” Damn stubborn man loves to pick a fight, even when I’m trying to make his life easier. “Nicky is my son. I want to, need to, help you, Riley. Why are you pushin’ me on this? We talked about this last night and I thought you had agreed to lettin’ me be a part of his and your lives.”

“We did.” He’s not wrong, I just seem to have an issue with self-sabotage and keep trying to push him away before he opens his eyes one day and realize that I’m not all that great.

“Good,” Tiny grunts he’s approval, jostling Nicky a bit. His eyes are open a sliver and his attention is locked on Tiny like he’s a puzzle with one last missing piece that you can’t figure out.

I use the distraction of the eye lock these two have on each other and wiggle myself free and stand. “I suppose we can work out a schedule.”

“I’m gonna ignore the dismissal in that comment and move on with our day.” Tiny stands up too and heads straight for the changing table. He lays Nicky down but doesn’t move the hand that is covering his son’s entire torso.

Nicky really starts squirming, because he knows what time of day it is, but has zero patience for his dad to have a brain fart.

I grab a diaper from the basket, and what is a hopefully jokingly way, hip check Tiny out of the way. He takes a couple steps to the left, but just like last night before bed, he watches every move I make. Once Nicky is dry and changed, I prop his little behind on my hip and head for the kitchen to shake up some breakfast.

“Want to learn how to make a bottle?” I ask while I grab the canister of formula from the cupboard, along with the bottle.

Tiny unscrews the top and sets both parts on the counter. “Now what?” he asks, ready for the next move.

I walk him through the powder measuring, water adding, shaking vigorously, warming, and testing the temperature process. Without spilling one drop, the bottle is made in no time flat. He’s getting this dad thing down so fast and I can’t help but smile.

“Can I feed him?” Tiny reaches for Nicky, but I shoo him to the sink.

“Sure. But wash your hands first, please and thank you.”

After he’s done drying his hands, I pass the bottle to Tiny and point him toward the living room at the front of the house.

“What next?”

“Sit in the recliner. He likes watching the ceiling fan while he eats.”

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