Page 14 of The Enemy Face Off

My only excuse is that I'd just been told I wasstillin fatherhood limbo.

This whole paternity testing slash adoption process has been dragging on for three months now, and it's starting to take a toll on me.

I may not have known I was a father until recently, but now that I do, every day I don't spend with my daughter—and potentially my son—feels like an eternity.

Josie, who's five, and Jonah, who's two and a half, are currently living with their maternal grandparents in LA, so at least I know they're safe, well cared for, and loved. They're not bouncing around the system from foster home to foster home the way I did.

But still…they should be with me.

I go to run my fingers through my hair, only to be met with felted wool. I yank the stupid beret off my head and go to shove it into my back pocket, only to remember I'm not wearing pants but ridiculously tight tights because I left ordering my costume to the last minute—other things on my mind lately—and this was the last available outfit in my size.

Okay. Just relax, man.

I take a long, calming breath and tell myself that while whoever is behind the wheel may not have the best driving skills, they could be hurt. Although I doubt that. They barely nudged my rental.

It's probably someone on their phone, driving distracted.

I approach the car, and the window rolls down.

My jaw drops. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?"

The door opens, and Beth struggles to get out of the car.

I want to help her out since her outfit looks as restrictive as it does incredible, but she may not be receptive to offers of help from me at the moment.

I cast my eyes down and notice she's only wearing one shoe.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, when she's finally standing in front of me, and then, because I can't help myself, add, "Or wait, am I not allowed to ask that since chivalry is supposedly dead?"

"What crawled up your butt tonight?" She swats me across the chest with the shoe she's not wearing. "You're even crankier than usual."

I'm taken aback.

Not that she hit me with her shoe—I barely felt it—but that she's paid enough attention to me to realize I'm more cranky tonight than my usual cranky.

Could that be a good thing? A sign that maybe she likes me?

Of course not, you moron. It's a sign that she's mad at you and thinks you're a grouch like everyone does.

The smart thing to do would be for me to shut up. Actually, an even smarter thing to do would be to apologize firstthenshut up.

So of course, my mouth does the exact opposite and baits her. "I suppose you're going to say this is my fault, too?"

The passenger side door suddenly swings open, startling me.

A woman dressed as a Greek goddess gets out. I recognize her from karaoke night. Amanda? Emilia?

I may not remember her name but that doesn't stop me from asking, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She glances towards Beth. "Listen, since no one is hurt, I'm going to leave you two…"

She trails off, and Beth tilts her head to the side. "How will you get home, Amiel?"

Headlights flash across Beth's face as an SUV pulls up on the other side of the road.

"I ordered a ride."

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