Page 36 of My Song for You
“Mommy! Jared read to us.”
I climbed onto the bed with them, with Logan sandwiched between us on the twin bed. “What is he reading?” I already knew. It was one of Logan’s favorite books.
“It’sStorm Is Coming!”
“Logan’s been teaching me the signs for the different animals.” Jared demonstrated his new skill, signing “cow,” “sheep,” “duck,” “dog,” and “cat.”
“That’s really good,” I said and signed. All the while, my ovaries were screaming,Daddy material alert!Damn ovaries. They must not have read the memo.
Jared read the book again, and I did my best to look at the pictures and not sneak sidelong glances at him. Did my best not to wonder if Logan would look even more like his father when he was older. I was doomed if he did. I was just surprised Jared hadn’t noticed the similarities.
Jared finished the story and I tucked Logan in.
“Did you have fun today?” I asked.
Logan nodded. “Jared play guitar and I get lots of money.”
“You did? Jared paid you to watch him?”
“No. When Mason say ‘fuckin’.’ ” He smiled, proud of his newfound income.
Jared had the decency to at least look sheepish. “Sorry ’bout that. Mason isn’t used to being around kids. If it makes you feel better, he mostly swore while Logan couldn’t hear him, but Kirk still made him cough up the money because it was the principle of it that mattered.”
There were so many choice words on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to rein them in. “Just because an adult swears,” I said to Logan instead, “it doesn’t mean you’re allowed to. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you had fun today.”
Jared and I said goodnight to him. After I removed his audio processor and put it in the drying box, we left his room.
“Do you want me to leave or do you want to hang out for a bit?” Jared asked in the hallway.
I had assignments due soon, not to mention I had a few projects clients were waiting for, but all I had the energy to do was to watch TV.
I grabbed us some drinks, and Jared and I settled on the couch. I curled up at one end. He sat in the middle. At one point during the show, he lifted my feet onto his lap and removed my socks.
“What are you doing?” I asked, relieved I had at least bothered to redo my nail polish last night. Not that I’d expected anyone—least of all Jared—to see my red toenails.
“You worked twelve hours, so I bet your feet are sore.”
My feet. My shoulders. My entire body.
“So I’m going to massage them,” he explained.
“And I’m guessing you’re a pro at that?”
He smiled, and as usual his dimples almost did me in.
At his expert touch, my feet turned to liquid—not to mention a few other body parts. Each nerve fiber came alive, which said a lot after how dead my feet had been since midway through my shift. If Jared ever gave up playing the guitar and creating songs, he could make a great living giving foot massages, with me as his number one customer.
“Are your feet the only parts that are sore?” he asked, after finishing with my now very happy feet.
“Weresore. Past tense. You cured them.”
“Good to hear. Anywhere else?”
“My shoulders and back are sore,” I said without hesitation.
