Page 10 of Playing With Fire
“Shan, it’s just me,” Gregor calls as he comes into view and takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
I stay quiet. I have nothing nice to say.
“Shannon, I’m sorry. I don’t?—”
“Save it, Greg,” I cut him off and pray my voice stays steady. He scrubs a hand down his face and I hear his exhale over the running water. “You treated me no better than you would a paid escort tonight. I am yourwife, not some pawn to be used to make you the envy of those assholes you call colleagues.”
“Christ, I said I’m sorry, Shannon. What’s with the attitude?”
Great, we’ve moved on to gaslighting.
Again, I stay silent, knowing my words won’t help this situation. I finish my shower and slip into pajamas with long pants and long sleeves, not wanting any part of my skin to touch my husband tonight.
I’ve really come to enjoy Serafina and I’s walks at the lake. Besides the sandy area, there are also some gorgeous, easy hiking trails. It’s been nice to get out of the house and the beauty is that she and I are both so exhausted over the whole ordeal that naptime has been easier and she sleeps a little longer, the sun and heat draining us both.
It’s not much, but starting to find a routine with my daughter feels like a major win.
Serafina goes down as soon as she’s horizontal in her crib and I take a moment to just stare at her. A small amount of awe over her perfect features finally hitting me. I run my hand over her head before going back downstairs, choosing to forgo my own nap today.
With Gregor’s advance notice of a surprise—his latest bribe after his shitty behavior at his company dinner a few nights ago—I’d like to catch the delivery guy today. I owe him an apology for my insane behavior over the last couple weeks. The man probably dreads coming to this house and I don’t want that to be the case. I even put on real clothes and a little bit of makeup just to prove that I’m not that crazy person all the time.
Sure enough, shortly after I lay Serafina down, I hear the light rap of knuckles on the glass part of my heavy front door and see his brown uniform through the pane. The color is hideous, but he wears it well.
Opening the door, I watch as he fights with himself to keep his eyes from trailing down my body over the light blue t-shirt and shorts I’m wearing. The shirt is fitted, but not revealing, yet a rush of warmth heats my skin before he subtly shakes his head and his eyes find mine.
Oh my God, his eyes.
I had to have been a complete zombie to have missed his eyes. Amber irises, so golden they should mark the end of a rainbow, stare back at me.
“Do you wear contacts?” I blurt the rude question before I can stop myself.
He flashes a shy smile, but doesn’t take his eyes off mine.
“I do, actually, but they aren’t colored if that’s what you’re wondering.”
My head jerks back in surprise. “Wow…”
When I fail to produce anymore words, he holds up his signature pad.
“Got another one for you,” he says, grinning while his jaw works to chew his gum.
Finally finding words and remembering that I’m a married woman, and this man probably has a family of his own, considering his previous comments about knowing how hard getting babies to sleep can be—I tease, “I assumed this wasn’t a social call.” I shock myself when I even throw in a wink.
The look on his face is priceless.
“Oh, no, that’s not what I—” he says quickly, but I cut him off.
“Relax,” I say, still smiling. “It was a joke. I know based on my behavior the last couple of times you’ve been here, you probably don’t think I’m capable of those, but I’m finally finding a routine with my daughter and am feeling a little more in-touch with reality these days.” The only reason I can thinkof for the need to explain myself is because of the flowers he brought a couple weeks ago.
I owe him. That’s it.
Instead of looking at me like the complete weirdo I’m being, he holds out his hand for me to shake. Something about him feels familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s just the ease with which he carries himself. He engages in every interaction like it’s exactly where he belongs and the more I watch him, the more Iwantto watch him.
Which is dangerous, because he emits those carefree surfer vibes I’m such a sucker for harder than anyone I’ve ever seen...including half the surfers I’ve been with.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re finding solid ground. Hudson Goddorah,” he says, introducing himself. His smile is completely disarming. White teeth set in a tan face. His honey-colored hair is a little shaggy in that devil-may-care kind of way.
“Goddorah?” I ask slowly, pumping his hand twice more before finally letting go. “Like the three-headed monster from Godzilla?”
