Page 2 of For The Weekend
Not exactly the best time to be picturing this stranger underneath me, but it’s been a long damn time, and she is everything I love about the fairer sex, thick and all natural.
“Daddy!” Mazie squeals, drop-kicking me into reality. “I want chicken fingers! They have chicken fingers! Can I get them?”
“Sure.”
The laugh the woman lets out next to me is pure delight. “Got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”
“Number 871,” a worker calls out at the food counter, and the woman next to me steps forward, glancing over her shoulder in my direction, offering me one last look that I know I’ll be using in the future.
Especially when she waves. “See you,Daddy.”
My mouth goes dry, and she accepts her food with a thanksthen pivots away to pay for it, and I stare at her swaying ass until she’s out of sight.
I blink back over to my kid and remember why I’m back home in the first place.
Which is definitely not to fall all over myself in the middle of Wawa because of a flirtatious smile and a well-timedDaddy.
It’s to be the best father I can be.
“Can I get this pink drink? It has whipped cream and it’s pink. My favorite! Can I get it?”
“Sure.” I scrub my hand over my face. We have to get out of here.
It’s time to go home.
Chapter 2
Roman
“Steve! Steve! Where are youuuuuu?”
I roll my eyes and slump against the counter. All I wanted was a few minutes of quiet with a cup of coffee before I did possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
Butof coursefucking Steve has to go and ruin it.
My daughter races into the kitchen, the pounding of her feet echoing off the hardwood. No wonder why Steve always hides. He’s a skittish son of a bitch, and she’s basically a wild pony disguised as a little girl.
“Daddy!” She pants as if she’s run a marathon. “I looked all over, and I can’t find Steve!”
I swallow down a gulp of my coffee, watching her in silence. This game we play always makes her giggle. Her informing me of her latest mystery—she can’t find her Elsa Crocs, lost the TV remote, missing her hairbrush—and me staring at her until she confesses that she didn’treallylook.
“I checked under the couch!”
I sipmy coffee.
“And under my bed.”
With a sigh, I set down my mug. There’s no way around it. I gotta get on all fours to find this floppy-eared motherfucker.
Mazie crawls next to me, doing her best to appear as if she’s searching for him, but she’s merely laughing at me. I check all his favorite hiding spots. In the closet, which is why it needs to stay closed; behind the television stand, which is why I set up the stupid wired gate around it; and in my bedroom, beats the hell out of me why that fur ball likes to hang out in there.
The house is a ranch, so there aren’t many places he can hide. And yet it takes me ten minutes to locate him. Behind the toilet, up on his hind legs, cleaning himself by licking his paws and running them down his long ears, tugging them toward his face.
Fucking adorable.
I slowly reach out my hand, holding my breath.
He freezes in profile, studying me with one beady eyeball, nose scrunching up and down.
