Page 96 of Role Play
Rina
It’s in Jersey. You’d just need a sitter for the night. From the sound of it, it’ll be quick. She’s only after one thing.
Reality comes crashing back. All I feel is guilt. How can I agree to sleep with another woman with Sora this close?
Me
I’ll pass.
Rina
Hawkins, you’ve turned down the last three gigs. What gives? Did the money tree you planted finally sprout?
Me
I wish.
Rina
Then get back to work. I know you’re going through a lot. If you need a good nanny, I can make some calls. But if you keep turning down jobs, I’m going to stop offering.
Me
Fine. I hear you. I’ll book the next one, promise.
I put the phone away, my good mood dampened. When I look up, Sora is standing in the doorway, watching me.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just a work thing.”
She nods, not pressing for details, which only makes me feel worse about keeping secrets. I know she understands what I do for a living—she’s hired me herself, after all—but we haven’t discussed how this will work now that we’re living together. With Dakota around, the conversation becomes even more complicated.
As if on cue, Dakota bounds up behind Sora, already in the princess dress she insisted on changing into after lunch.
“Daddy, Sora said we can have ice cream after dinner!”
“Did she now?” I raise an eyebrow at Sora, who has the grace to look slightly sheepish.
“I may have mentioned I have some cookie dough in the freezer,” she admits. “But I said only if it’s okay with your dad.”
“Please, Daddy? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
How am I supposed to say no to that face? “We’ll see,” I say, the universal parent code for “probably yes, but I’m not committing yet.”
Dakota seems to accept this, spinning away to continue her exploration of the house. Sora lingers in the doorway, a slight furrow between her brows.
“I should have asked first,” she says. “About the ice cream.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “Really. I’m not that strict about desserts.”
“I just don’t want to step on your toes. I know how you get with rogue cookies.” She waggles her brows at me. “I want to be respectful. I’m new to living with a child, especially when decisions aren’t mine to make. Was her room too much?”
“Not at all. You’re doing great,” I tell her, and I mean it. “Dakota already adores you.”
The furrow between her brows eases, replaced by a pleased smile. “She’s pretty easy to adore back.”
“Yeah, she is,” I agree, feeling a familiar surge of love and pride.
