Page 39 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
I hesitate over my answer, stuffing my dirty clothes and heels into my bag. “Ryder, I appreciate the offer, but…”
He sighs. “You’re not ready for me to meet Nate.”
“It’s not that, honestly, it’s not.” I shoulder my bag and take his hand. “It’s more about Paul. I’m not quite ready to answer his questions about who I’m dating. He was acting weird when I dropped Nate off, and if I’m with you when I pick him up, I’m worried it’ll escalate.”
“Weird how?”
I glance at the clock: 3:46. “Shit!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. I hang my head, groaning. “I feel so irresponsible. Even if I left right now, I’d be super late.”
“Call him,” Ryder says. “Explain that you’re running late—not his business why—and that you’ll be there at four thirty.”
“That’s still pushing the schedule, though. Nate has basketball practice at five, and I still have to get him home to change into his practice clothes and then get him to the school.”
Ryder brushes his thumb over my lips, cupping my jaw. “Let me help, Laurel. Please?”
I bite my lip and unexpected tears begin to form. “It’s too soon. For him, for me, for Paul. It’s too soon.”
He wraps me up in his arms. “Laurel, listen.” He pulls back and meets my eyes. “You’re a single mother. I knew that going in. I accept that as part of you. I understand that it’s complicated, and that you have to put Nate first. I get all that. I’m okay with it.”
“I heard what you said just before we fell asleep earlier,” I tell him.
He nods. “What this is, where it’s going to go, what it’ll look like, I don’t know.” He squeezes my hand. “But I’m willing to explore it with you.”
“Me too.” I sniff. “I just…I’m scared. For Nate.” I sigh. “And myself.”
“Hey, I get that too. I can’t say I’m not a little nervous or scared of this whole thing myself. It’s all happening super fast and I wasn’t expecting any of it. But we can just…take it one step at a time, okay?” He grabs my phone out of my purse. “Step one, right here and right now, is to call Paul. Then we’ll go get your kid and take him to basketball. I won’t even get out of the car, okay?”
I sigh. “This isn’t how I planned for you to meet him, much less Paul.”
“How did you have it planned?”
“You and I would take Nate out for a fun afternoon—a movie, or laser tag.” I eye him. “Although Nate was asking for paintball. Either way, it wouldn’t involve my ex, or being late picking up my son.”
Ryder just shrugs. “Yeah, well, in my experience, life rarely goes as planned.”
“No kidding.” I dial Paul, and it rings half a dozen times before he picks up, seconds before voicemail kicks in.
“Laurel, hi.” Paul’s voice is distant, as if I’m on speakerphone. “I hope you’re not calling to tell me you’re early, because we’re just leaving the mall.”
“Actually, no,” I say. “I’m calling because I’m actually running a little late myself.”
A brief silence. “You are? Why?”
I suppress a sigh of irritation. “How often have I questioned you about why you’re running late?” He just mutters something unintelligible, his usual response when I’m right and he hates it. “Exactly.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t get to give me shit for being late if you’re going to be late.”
I can’t restrain the sigh, this time. “Paul, you’re late more often than you’re on time. This is the first time since we started co-parenting that I’ve ever been late. So yeah, unfortunately for you, I do still get to give you shit for being late.”
“Nate is having a panic attack about being late for basketball practice.”
“He’ll be on time.” I gesture at the door, and Ryder and I head for the elevator as I try to wrap this stupid conversation up. “We’ll be there at four thirty.”
Shit.
“We?”
“Paul—”
“Who’s we?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you at four thirty.”
“Laurel, who’s we?” I hear the tinge of suspicion in his voice, the edge of anger—Paul working himself into a jealous rage.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m hanging up now.”
“Laurel, you don’t get to just—”
I cut in. “You lost the right to tell me what I can or can’t do a very long time ago.”
“Laurel—”
“I’m hanging up now, Paul. I’ll see you at four thirty.”
I end the call, toss the phone into my purse, and ignore it as it begins ringing. I manage to hold it together as Ryder checks us out, and then the valet brings Ryder’s car around, and I slide in. Ryder tosses both of our bags into the trunk, and then we’re roaring off, away from the hotel. Within minutes, we’re outside of downtown Chicago and flying down the freeway toward the suburbs.
“Shit.” I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat is too thick and hot to swallow.
