Page 104 of The Single Dads Club
Stay here with me.
But before I can get the invitation out, Corrigan says, “I should probably go. If I’m around in the morning, Grier might ask questions that are hard to answer.”
Unable to argue with that, I mutter, “Whatever you want.”
I help her find all her clothes, watch her cover up the gorgeous body I just worshiped, and walk her downstairs.
She opens the door, then says, “Well ... good night,” with a smile I never want to stop looking at.
Then she gives me a kiss, soft and lingering, and before I know it, she’s gone.
And me? I go back to bed alone.
• • •
I wake up to something yanking my hair. Hard. Still half asleep, I let out a grunt of discomfort and confusion.
“Hi, Daddy,” Grier says cheerfully, then starts tugging at my cheek as if she’s trying to stretch taffy.
“Good morning to you too.” I pry off her tiny, surprisingly strong hand and sit up to look at her. Even after attacking me, she’s cute as hell, grinning and bright-eyed with her pale hair all mussed and sticking up in crazy directions. “I’m guessing you want breakfast.”
Bobbing her head, she says, “Hungwy.”
“Then let’s get you something to eat.” I stand up reluctantly, still able to smell Corrigan on my sheets. But that’s only a small consolation for my empty bed, the cold spot where she should be.
Last night was mind blowing, and I hate that she had to sneak out instead of sleeping over. I wish we could have woken up in each other’s arms and cooked breakfast together, fed Grier, played with her—shared the closeness of all the little things that make up a life. But that’s not how it worked out, and today I’ll be doing all those things by myself. As usual. And I’m trying not to feel bitter about that.
On autopilot, I heat up sausages, butter toast, wash grapes, and get Grier set up in her high chair, my head filled with nothing but Corrigan. What’s she doing today? How does she feel about last night? How soon can I see her again?
There’s an easy way to find out the answers to all these questions, idiot. Grow some balls and ask her.
“Daddy, icky!” Grier yells.
I look up from my plate, which I notice is half-empty, even though I don’t remember eating anything. “What’s wrong?”
“Icky!” She flings her toast away. Naturally, it lands butter-side down. At least the floor is tile in here.
“We don’t throw food on the floor,” I say, then realize that I gave her buttered toast when I know damn well that she hates butter, which is, of course, insane. Butter is amazing.
“Sorry, love bug. Daddy was distracted and made a mistake. I’ll fix it. But you should still use your words and be patient instead of throwing stuff, okay?”
I give her fresh toast, her favorite jelly-topped version, and we finish breakfast without further incident.
After Grier is dressed and absorbed in playing, I reach for my phone—then put it down, instinctively thinking,No, I shouldn’t act too clingy.Then I think,Fuck playing games, and pick it up again, but sit there frozen for a minute trying to figure out what to say.
Finally, I just hitcalland hope the right words come on their own.
Corrigan picks up after a few rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Lex.”
“I know. Your number’s saved in my contacts.” Her voice sounds amused and ...happyis the most fitting descriptor I can think of.
“Right. Um, how are you?” I ask.
“I’m fantastic.”
“I agree,” I say, chuckling. “So you ... about last night, you don’t ...”
