Page 44 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
“Have I mentioned yet that I love the way you think?”
“It may have come up once or twice.”
He sighs, letting me go. “You probably should go now, while I have the resolve to actually let you leave unscathed.”
“Unscathed?” I say, incredulous. “I’m very much scathed, Ryder.”
“Is scathed even a word?” he asks.
I laugh. “I don’t know. If unscathed is a word, then scathed has to be.”
“Oh, right. Like, a scathing remark.”
“Stop distracting me with grammar,” I say.
“I’m trying to diffuse the sexiness of the situation so it’s easier for you to leave.”
“Why, how kind of you, Ryder. You’re so thoughtful!”
He brushes imaginary lint off of his shoulder. “Tis my nature to but think of you before all else, m’lady,” he says in an arch, formal tone.
I kiss him, once, quickly, softly. “Thank you, Ryder.”
“For what?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.
“For making me feel so safe, beautiful, and wanted. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt that way.”
His expression melts. “Laurel, if I did anything, it was to point out the obvious. And as far as you feeling safe, well…I hope that you always feel safe with me. Because you are.”
“I’m still scared of this, Ryder.”
“You and me both, honey.” He takes my hands and kisses the backs of both. “We can be scared together?”
The thump and pitter-patter of my heart is so loud I’m sure he can hear it. “Yeah.”
He juts his chin at my house. “Get, while the gettin’s good.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” I tease.
He groans. “I’m getting turned on, and it’s making my balls hurt.”
“Go home and ice the poor babies.”
He laughs, ever so gingerly patting his crotch. “Gotta get ’em back in fighting shape so we can see if the pattern continues.”
I climb out of the car—it’s so low-slung it’s kind of a struggle. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“You never answered me—when will I see you again?”
“See me again? Or get me naked again?”
He groans a laugh. “Don’t talk about me getting you naked! Oh god, it hurts!”
“Do you think we overdid the sex?” I ask, leaning against the open door.
He immediately goes serious, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You quit that blasphemy, woman.” He reaches for my sleeve. “Hey—do I seriously have to wait all the way until the weekend after next to go out with you?”
I sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know.” I shrug. “We’ll have to figure things out one day at a time.”
He nods. “One day at a time I can do, babe.”
Nate and I are sitting across from each other at our favorite local pizzeria, eating gluten-free pepperoni pizza. He’s chowing down, ravenous after a practice that left him dripping in sweat and breathing hard for several minutes after I picked him up. I can tell something is percolating in his head, though—he always gets a focused look on his face when he’s trying to figure out what to say and how.
When he’s eaten about half his pizza, he finally stops eating and looks at me. “So. Ryder’s definitely not a slimy poophead.”
I nod seriously. “You determined this during the ten-minute car ride from Dad’s to our house and then to school?”
“Yep.” He takes a monster bite and talks around it. “It’s pretty easy to tell. Ryder’s cool.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, my voice quiet.
He picks up on something in my voice. “You like him, huh?”
I smile. “I think he’s pretty cool.”
“So. When are we going paintballing?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve never been paintballing, and I don’t know if Ryder even wants to do that with us.”
“Well, ask him. Paintball is awesome!”
“How do you know? When did you go paintballing?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s shooting people with paint guns, Mom. Of course it’s awesome.”
“Can’t argue with that logic, I suppose.” I steal a piece of his pizza. “I’ll talk to him. But, Nate, I don’t know what’s going on with Ryder and me, so don’t…”
He slows his chewing, sensing the seriousness in my voice. “Don’t what, Mom?”
I shrug. “Don’t get too attached, I guess.”
He frowns. “But if you like him and you’re going out on dates with him, doesn’t that mean you’re getting attached?”
“I mean, yeah, but—”
“So why can’t I get attached? If I like him, why would I pretend I don’t?”
“I don’t mean pretend you don’t like him.” I set my pizza down on my plate and wipe my fingers on a napkin. “Nate, look, it’s…complicated.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “You only ever say that when you don’t want to explain it. To adults, complicated just means something you don’t want to tell a kid.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough. You want the adult version, then?”
“For real?” he asks, his eyes bugging out.
“For real. But I warn you, it is complicated.”
“I’m nine, Mom. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“Mmmm, I see.” I suppress a smirk. “The thing is, I honestly don’t know what is happening with Ryder and me. We like each other and we’re going to go on dates and stuff, but—”
