Page 88 of Booked for the Holidays
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I think I botched things up last night. I didn’t know what to do or say. I wasn’t… I forget that’s something she’ll have to experience and there’s not…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “There’s no woman in her life to talk about these things. I know my daughter. She would never ask my mom. She barely told me. I heard her crying in the bathroom at midnight and asked what was going on.”
“Theo,” Bridget says softly. “She’s not upset with you. She’s embarrassed and confused. Having to learn this part of life is overwhelming. It means she’s not a kid anymore. Being a woman sucks, like, 83% of the time. Between periods, birth control, having to wear a bra, underwear that goes up your ass, catcalls and taunts from men who don’t understand whatnomeans, and having your heart broken when you least expect it, some days are bleak as hell. I told her it only gets easier from here, because being a woman is also totally badass.”
“You said all that stuff to her? And she listened?”
“Yeah, she did. She’s a great kid, Theo. You’ve done really well.”
It’s the highest compliment a parent can receive. I’ve heard it before from Mac’s teachers, the parents on the soccer team. From Bridget, it’s a different caliber. It’s authentic and honest. Candid and pure, tired eyes blinking open and closed while her focus fluctuates between me and the nap I pulled her from.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “That means a lot.”
“Sorry we came into your room. She said the TV in here is way nicer and it’s true. I got a heating pad hooked up for her, too.”
“Make all the jokes you want about my age, but the heating pad is a game changer. I’m going to put her to bed. Meet me in the kitchen?”
“Sure,” she agrees.
I walk to the opposite side of the bed and scoop Mac into my arms. She’s gotten older, but she still feels like the baby I held almost thirteen years ago. I smile as I carry her to her room and pull the covers up to her chin. Ziggy jumps onto the bed, circling up and taking a spot at Mac’s feet. A quick kiss on her forehead and I pull the door half-closed, making my way back to the kitchen.
“I hope she wasn’t too clingy,” I say. “Also, your dog loves her.”
“She’s Ziggy’s new best friend,” Bridget smiles.
Neither of us says anything else. It’s eerily silent in the space between us. I’m not ushering her out the door. She’s making no effort to leave. With her here, I’d be content with the quiet forever, I think.
“I, um, also stole another one of your outfits. My shirt had paint on it and my jeans weren’t conducive to getting comfortable and watching a movie. Sorry. I can—”
“Turn around,” I say. My voice sounds unfamiliar, a rough demand instead of a gentle ask.
Bridget swallows and I follow the bob of her throat. I watch her chest rise and fall twice before she nods. A slow spin awards me a view of her back, my name written across her shoulder blades. Like she’smine. She looks at me over her shoulder, lip stuck between her teeth.
Possessiveness like never before consumes me.
I grin greedily at the sight.
I can keep my hands to myself.
I know how to look and not touch.
But not this time.
This time, I know what I want, and I’m going to get it.
I wanther.
Fuck it.
I stalk toward her and her eyes widen, surprised. Excited. There’s a hint of a smugfinally, you assholelook on her face, too.
I twirl her, chest grazing against mine. Gripping her cheek, I tilt her chin to meet my gaze.
“Took you long enough,” she breathes out, an exhale of a laugh I feel against my neck. “Guess I need to walk around in your shirt more often to get your attention.”
“This smart mouth.” My thumb traces her lips. “Will you stay for a little? Have a drink with me?”
“Yeah.” She nods. Her hands trail down my back, stopping at the base of my spine before falling away. “I will.”
“Let’s go out back. We won’t have to whisper.”
