Page 10 of A Merry Penthouse Christmas
“Nanny?” She scrunches her nose before noticing the baby in the bouncer. “Right! This is it, huh? Cute. Naturally,” she adds with a bat of her eyes. “Gotta go, babe. Bye!” She kisses her fingers and offers Arik a wave—and me a quick smile—before hurrying past me toward the front door.
No kiss on the cheek or lips for Arik. No acknowledgement that “it” is actually hisson. Just, well… the tail end of a booty call. Which is fine! Consenting adults can do what they want. I’m not jealous that it’s been half a year since I got any.
And Arik was getting saidanyright above my bed.
“My apologies again,” Arik addresses my slackened jaw. “I should have warned you we might have a guest. I hope this happening on occasion won’t be a problem?”
“Of course not! It’s your house.” He can bring home whatever floozies he wants.
That’s unfair. Casual sex is not a bad thing. I’m sex positive! I’ve just never been in the same house while someone was having sex that didn’t include me. I am aware my parents exist and all my siblings are older, but I prefer tonotthink about that.
It doesn’t have anything to do with the weird little gut wrench I’m experiencing. I’m just jealous of Arik getting some while I’m not and probably won’t be any time soon. I’m not jealous of the knockout.
Definitely not.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Arik says, having poured himself a half cup of black coffee that he downs impressively fast. “Then I can take Bastian off your hands for a while so you can do the same. I’ll be quick so I can help finish feeding him, but don’t make him wait on me.”
“Sure. Yeah! Sounds great.” I’m glad Arik is being proactive about bonding time. It’s important during these early days—or so all the baby books said that I read during the four months when I thought I was about to be a father.
Arik finishes his last gulp of coffee and leaves the mug by the coffee maker, I assume to have more later. When he whirls around to head back upstairs, the flutter of his robe reveals a high-cut flash of thigh again. If his calves are nice, then those thighs are like something from a Greek sculpture.
Again, I’m jealousofArik, not the woman who was between those thighs last night. Given what I’ve seen of Arik so far, he probably has a six-pack to go along with them, all perfect washboard definition with no tan lines. I bet he hits nude beaches on his vacations and just lays it all out in the open.
Living here with everything provided for me—just add it to the grocery list and it’ll be delivered—I’m going to have a Buddha belly by Christmas.
A wail from Bastian reminds me that I am working, not daydreaming, and I hurry over with the bottle. “Sorry, bud.”I pick him up from the bouncer and let him go to town on his breakfast the way his dad just downed that coffee. “I need to focus on you, right? And finish my masters. Although it’s difficult to want to think about future jobs when this is such a nice setup.” But I can’t do this forever. I want to teach. I love teaching. I’ll love it even more once I finally have a class in my specialty all to myself and I’m not living paycheck to paycheck.
I realize I forgot to grab a spit rag and move back into the nursery. With the way the layout of the penthouse is, Arik’s office is above it, the master bath is above my bathroom but extends a little farther, and the master bedroom is above my room and the entirety of the foyer. Only the living room doesn’t have anything above it, which is why it has two-story windows.
Exploring yesterday was humbling. I’d have thought it odd that Arik gave me free reign, but he must trust me if he’s trusting me with his son. Plus, there is no way this place isn’t decked out with cameras. Best to not walk around naked other than in my room, the bathroom, and… yeah, not while walking from one to the other.
Spit rag acquired, I wander into my room while continuing to feed Bastian. Once he’s asleep again, I need to finish unpacking, then it’s back to the grind studying and checking for teaching jobs.
I can catch up on podcasts when my arms are full, and when they’re not, and I’m not reading for school, maybe I can read for pleasure. The books on the shelves in my room boast an impressive collection. Some business related, some classics, most nonfiction. Arik even has a copy of one of the books I’m reading for class:Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts.
I don’t know if he’s read everything in this collection, but he seems like the type who would, especially to be as successful and well off as he is at thirty-five. The library in my room paints thepicture of a well-educated, critical thinking, history and classics nerd who does not shy from loving his books.
I know some consider it sacrilegious to dog ear pages and bend spines, but that’s for fiction. Non-fiction can be used roughly. That’s maybe not the best way to put it, but it’s sort of fun, taking a moment to get a glimpse of the real Arik Anders.
Like the glimpse I caught of him in the kitchen.
Stop. The books are safer to focus on. Like…
“The Art of War? Really?” I say aloud.
“And why not? It should be a staple for the modern businessman.”
ARIK
Beauspinsaroundtoface me with a jump. Still in sleep clothes and an open robe, he paints quite the domestic picture feeding my son. Beau’s curls are in even more disarray than the day we met.
I move into the room, pleased to see that there is still nearly half of Bastian’s bottle left. I think Beau is surprised by my attentiveness. He must not have snooped enough yesterday to find the collection of baby books in my nightstand’s top drawer. Smart of him not to, considering my sex toys are in the second and third drawers.
I am freshened up and dressed, but I left my suit jacket in the sitting room. I still look good in just my trousers, shirt, and a tie, and by the way Beau peruses me, he agrees. I thought I saw somecolor in his cheeks again when he nearly caught me on display before I cinched my robe closed. I’ll have to be more careful.
Or not. The more I doubt how straight he is, the more he has me curious to press my luck, smart as it may be not to.
“It’s a book on warfare,” Beau says.
