Page 23 of Choices

Choices.

Do I want these men a part of my children's lives?

Honestly, yes.

These men are thoughtful, giving, deep, and loyal. Yeah, as long as they are safe, these are the type of men I want my children around. I want my boys to see them as the type of man to aspire to. And I want Viv to know what a good man looks like.

Because running around on your family, with your secretary, bullying your wife about her weight, and Alan's general ungratefulness is not the gold standard I want her to reach for.

But Rico's compassion and thoughtfulness when it came to the night I smoked with him, and taking a day out of his busy empire to give me back something I didn't know I so desperately needed? Yeah, that was it. Santiago being vulnerable and open to change? That was fucking sexy. Matty being playful and flirtatious. Together, all three of these men were exactly everything a man should be.

A panicked sob tries to bubble its way up my throat before I beat it back down. I won't mentally allow myself to go there.

I admired these men. I was attracted to these men. These men would be a good influence on my children. But I wasn't going to entertain the idea of anything more. I'm still a married woman.

“You don’t exactly fit in with the suburban dad look.” I tease Rico, to distract myself and lighten the mood.

“Would you prefer me in khaki shorts and loafers?”

I let out an unrestrained snort and laugh at the idea. Neck and hand tattoos and all in a pink polo and khaki shorts.

“Youknow the local PTA and desperate-housewives-committee will be talking about this all week, right?” Rico teases me, also noticing the glances.

“Good. Let them talk.” I quip back.

Choices.

Who gives a shit if the bored bitties in the PTA talk about how I showed up to my kids' soccer games with three men in tow?

Rico may look intimidating with his neck and arm tattoos, and Santiago with his neck scar, but was I really going to raise my children to judge a person by their appearance? Was I going to raise my children to cast stereotypes and value a person based on what they wear?

Fuck no.

“Where’s your husband?” Rico asks, feeling out the day.

“Worried someone’s going to come out of the bushes and sucker punch you?” I tease again, trying to keep the conversation light when my chest and my lower abdomen are anything but.

Rico's silence is telling.

“He never comes to sports.” I continue. “It’s honestly better this way. He's always grumpy and miserable and wants to be anywhere but here. He would only point out what the kids did wrong instead of what they do right. Everyone’s happier when he doesn’t come.” The silence hangs in the air between us, saying so many unspoken things.

“Which poked condom is yours?” Rico asks, nodding his head towards the field full of five-year-olds chasing the ball.

I smack on him his shoulder. “Mychildis number 2. That’s my Jack.” I say with pride.

“Good lookin’ kid,” Rico says, after a time. “And he has talent with the ball.”

Just then the coach calls for half-time and Jack comes running over to me instead of his team. I'm about to ask him what's wrong, but he simply pulls a long thread that's come loose from his jersey. I grab my keychain from my pocket, flick out the tiny pocket knife on my keychain, and swipe the loose string before Jack goes running back.

“And what sport did young Rico play?” I ask.

“Football. Or soccer as you Yanks like to call it.”

I smile at the thought of little Rico playing soccer, all carefree and happy.

"And little Matty?" I ask, turning my attention to him.

"Swimming and golf. Swimming for safety in the Hamptons and golf so that I could woo the judges on the golf course."

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