Page 124 of Who's Your Daddy?

I don’t need a fancy place, but now I also have other things to consider. My son needs a good home, and I need Peter’s buy-in, otherwise, he’ll never let me take Ambrose. It sounds a little ridiculous that I need his approval before I can let my son live with me, but he has just as much say as I do. He cares just as much as me about Ambrose’s well-being. So, this is something we both have to agree on.

I need to approach this cautiously because he was right when he told Scott and Dylan that I can’t afford a decent lawyer. I can’t, so I’m going to do everything I can to avoid the legal route because that could turn ugly. I could end up losing my son.

I swallow the last bite of my sandwich before I hop off the stool and go to the fridge to get a bottle of water. It’s at that moment that Peter walks into the kitchen.

29. Peter

The fact that the lightwas on should’ve been my first clue that she was in the kitchen, yet somehow, my brain still jolts with shock when I see her standing in front of the fridge. It’s not her presence that surprises me. It’s usually what she’s wearing that catches me off guard.

I know she’s not trying to seduce me, and it’s not her intention to mess with my head, but surely, she has some sort of self-awareness. Surely, she knows she can’t just traipse around in skimpy pajamas and sexy dresses and expect it not to affect me. She has to know the effect she has on me, right? I even told her today that she’s driving me insane...because she is.

Being around her and not being able to touch her is a fate worse than death. It’s the reason I’m awake at two in the morning. I can’t sleep. My inner conflict won’t let me rest for a second. I’m constantly fighting urges of every kind on every level, and I’m not sure which ones are harder to fight off.

The physical urges have reached the point of being painful. I am literally feverish with lust. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, craving her so desperately that I want to march down the hall, drag her back to my bedroom, and fuck her until her body is limp and sweaty and clinging to me.

But I can’t have what I want now, can I? No. Because she’s a manipulative, pathological liar. How she managed to reach that level of skillful deceit at the tender age of twenty-one is beyond me. And there lies another internal conflict. I’m having these thoughts about a twenty-one-year-old. It’s not a huge age gap, but it’s big enough to bother me. I’m trying to see her as her actual age, but I just can’t. My brain created a perception of her, which can’t be undone.

And if that’s not bad enough, I also have to deal with the emotional urges. It’s a continuous battle to keep my guard up around her. I’ve always loved talking to her, spending time with her, and it’s so easy for her to get me twisted into a knot. I want to keep my distance. I want to shut her out. But more and more often, I’ll slip and indulge her in a conversation. We’ll joke and laugh and then I’ll immediately reel it back in when I remind myself that she can’t be trusted.

And the thing is, I have to keep my guard up because I’m the only one emotionally invested here. Her level of stoicism is off the charts. I thought she was closed off before. She is utterly indifferent now. She’ll talk and she’ll joke, but that’s on the surface. Beneath it, there’s nothing. I see it play out in real-time. If I make one comment, she shuts off instantly. She just brushes it off like it doesn’t matter. I don’t say things to hurt her or get a reaction, but the fact that there’snoreaction proves that I’m the only one taking any emotional strain here.

There was a time when I thought I’d made a breakthrough. She stopped being so withdrawn. She showed me her vulnerability. Hell, she even cried in front of me a few times. But that’s not who she is now. She’s back to being emotionless, so I don’t know if that other side was just a result of the pregnancy hormones, or if it was all a façade. I don’t trust her. I don’t trust a single word that comes out of her mouth.

The conversation we had this afternoon has been playing on my mind ever since she left for the wedding earlier.

You don’t have to forgive me, but at least believe me when I say that...he’s my son, my whole world. I never would’ve named him that if what we had wasn’t real.

That’s what she said to me, and I’ve been stewing in it ever since. If what we had was real, she wouldn’t have gone back to that asshole. She wouldn’t have stayed with him for four fucking months. She claims Ambrose is her whole world, but if that were true, she wouldn’t have dumped him on my doorstep to go back to a man who didn’t want him.

Maybe she was desperate. Maybe I left her with no choice. But I just can’t wrap my head around that. In my mind, no excuse is ever going to be an adequate justification for her doing something like that.

She must sense my hostility because she becomes nervous as soon as I enter the kitchen. “Hi,” she greets softly, shutting the fridge.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.” She glances at the empty plate and scattered pieces of paper on the counter. “I’ll get out of your way.”

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