Page 36 of Don't Call Me Daddy
I don’t even want to think about how much this is going to break my mother’s heart after it’s all said and done. That’s another layer of guilt to add to the weight I already carry on my back and a problem for another day.
Right now, I need to make it through this one.
Honestly, I should be thanking her for her convincing performance, but doing that would only encourage her, and that’s not something anyone is ready for, especially not me.
She’s got this innate ability to push me right to the edge of frustration. For fuck’s sake, I’ve never met someone who could both identify and push my buttons within seconds of meeting me. It’s intriguingandterrifying, the way she’s already seemed to burrow herself into my mind, as if she’s carving out her own little nook to settle into just to torment me anytime she likes.
Images of Ivy dancing, those pretty, pouty lips doing unspeakable things … the way her shapely thighs are little bit fuller at the top and kiss each other, practically begging to be touched … it’s not a detail I should be privy to, and yet thanks to that fucking microscopic excuse for a dress, I am unable to forget. I splash cold water over my face as I stare at my exhausted-looking reflection, urging the images out of my mind.
I feel like such a perverted bastard, but my cock seems to have a mind of its own.
It’s bad enough I have to live with her—way to jump the gun with that idea, Leo—but it seems she’s infiltrated my dreams as well.
I had to jerk off before I went to sleep and again this morning just to get this raging hard-on under control. I don’t think Iwas prepared for how devastatingly gorgeous this woman was. Thankfully, her loud, energetic personality is there to offset it; otherwise, I’d be so screwed right now.
I’m making my way into the kitchen for my first cup of coffee when I find her bent over, digging in the fridge, and of course, she’s wearing only an oversize T-shirt. I stop dead in my tracks before tearing my gaze away and making a beeline straight to the coffee maker.
But it’s too late. The damage is done.
As if I needed any more fuel for my too-old-for-her, perverted guilty conscience, now, I’ll have the image of her perfect, round ass burned into my memory for years to come.
Fucking fantastic.
“Oh, hey, you’re up early,” she says as she closes the refrigerator with her hip, arms full of ingredients.
“I could say the same thing about you. Do you have something against pants?” I wait for the espresso machine to stop sputtering for what feels like hours.
She looks down at her shapely legs. “I don’t like to be restricted when I sleep. I find that wearing pants limits my range of motion. Besides, these are boy shorts; they’re practically shorts themselves.” She moves to the stove as she starts stirring ingredients in a large bowl. “I’m making pancakes. Do you want any?”
Looks like she’s made herself at home.
I sip my espresso, savoring the strong, bitter flavor. I’m not much of a morning person despite my rigorous work schedule, and even I can admit that I’m grumpy before I’ve had my coffee. “No thank you. I’m not big on breakfast. Clean up your mess when you’re finished, please.”
“Didn’t Dr. Stone tell you not to have coffee on an empty stomach?”
She holds up the wooden spoon, and a dollop of pancake batter drips off onto the floor. My gaze locks on the mess, and my eye begins to twitch.
“I have very few vices in life, and my morning espresso is one of them. Why don’t you just worry about yourself, and I’ll worry about me? My health really isn’t your concern.”
I turn to leave, but she grabs my arm to stop me.
“You askedmeto helpyou, remember?” She swipes the coffee cup from my hand and replaces it with something else.
“Hey, what are you—” I sniff the hot liquid and glare daggers at her. “Is this hot lemon water?”
“Drink the lemon water, take your medicine, eat something, andthenyou can have your coffee. That’s the way things are going to go until your ulcer heals.”
She spins around and grabs a long blue rectangle off the counter beside my medicine and shoves it at me.
“I separated your meds for you for the entire week, Grandpa. Now, take your pills and shut up, or tomorrow, you’ll find me in here, topless. Understand?”
I grit my teeth and take the pill container from her, feeling much like the grandpa she loves to compare me to—but at least she didn’t call me daddy again. I hate to admit she’s right; Dr. Stone did say drinking coffee on an empty stomach was among one of the worst things I could do to heal. I swallow down my pills, but I don’t argue as she shoves a plate of pancakes toward me. She used bananas and blueberries to make a frowny face.
She slides onto the barstool next to me with her own plate, and I notice her pancake is happy.
“Hey, why’d you give me the sad one? And why does yours have chocolate chips?”
“Because I don’t walk around scowling at everyone I come in contact with and you only had enough chocolate chips for one.”
