Page 51 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
“I’m not taking it lightly, Laurel. I know what it means to you.”
I laugh. “No, I don’t think you do. You can’t—you’re not a parent.” I sigh, and smile at him. “But I appreciate that you’re making the effort for me.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not making an effort for you, or for him. I mean, I am, partly, but mostly, I’m doing this for myself.”
I tilt my head to one side, leaning back from my plate—I’ve just about eaten myself into a coma. “How so?”
He grins. “Well, for one, it’s an excuse to play laser tag. Being a kid in a grown man’s body, I’m just excited. Two, I want to show you that I’m serious about this—you, and Nate. I say I’m doing it for myself, because if you understand that I’m for real…” he trails off, shrugging.
I smirk at him, checking to make sure Nate isn’t secretly listening. “Then you get more sex?” I say, in a voice just above a whisper.
“Well, yeah. But also it means you’re more invested in me, and that’s a win on its own.”
I hesitate over the truth. “Ryder…I’m not sure I can get any more invested, at this point.” I gesture at the table. “This? This was a dangerous move, my friend.”
He frowns, puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve been trying to convince myself to take this slowly, to not get in over my head too fast. And then you make breakfast for my son and I?” I shrug. “You’re making it hard to stay objective.”
He laughs. “What if I don’t want you to be objective?”
“Then you’re doing a good job.” I meet his eyes. “Because I’m not. I’m very much in over my head,” I whisper.
Ryder leans across the table and takes my hand. “Laurel…I’m not objective either. I’m in over my head as much as you are.” He pauses. “This whole thing has shifted so fucking fast, you know? Like, before you showed up at Billy Bar, I was like, no way, I can’t do anything serious with her. And now…? All of a sudden we’re having weekends away together and I’m taking your kid out to play laser tag next week. It’s a lot really fast, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know I really like you, and that I’m definitely falling for you.”
I blink hard. “Ryder…”
“Okay! I’m ready!” Nate says, bounding out of his room. He’s wearing blue camouflage pants with a red-and-black checked shirt.
I laugh. “Whoa, there. You may need a little fashion help, buddy.”
“Gotcha covered,” Ryder says, rising. He puts his hand on Nate’s shoulder, guiding him back into his room. “Okay, there’s basically one really important fashion rule. Follow this one rule, and you’ll be fine: Never mix your patterns.”
“What’s that mean?” Nate asks.
“It means if you’re wearing camo pants, wear a plain shirt, like a solid color. If you’re wearing a checkered or flannel shirt, wear jeans or khakis or something.”
“Oh.” I hear the confusion in Nate’s voice. “I thought this looked cool.”
“You know, I think it looks cool, too. But here’s another little secret for you: we don’t dress to look cool for ourselves, we dress to look cool for the people we like.”
“Why?”
“Well, you don’t have to look at yourself all the time, right?”
“Right.”
“Your mom does, and your friends do, and your teacher does. Right?”
“Right.”
“So you pick clothes to look cool for them.”
“But Mom always says that those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter. Or something like that.”
“You got it right. And that’s what I’m saying. You and I may think camo and plaid go together just fine, but your mom doesn’t, and I guarantee you the cool girls at school won’t either.”
“I’m still confused.”
I’m laughing to myself, listening to this. Oh Ryder. So sweet.
“All right, put it this way—if you’re anything like me, you’re never gonna quite get the hang of fashion. So, the simplest and easiest thing to do is just let your mom tell you what looks cool and what doesn’t.”
There you go—Momma knows best.
“But Mom always wants me to dress like a dork.”
Ryder chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, that’s tricky. But here’s the thing to remember—it’s never been cooler to be a nerd, my man. Think about all the superhero comic book movies that are out, right? Nerds are in!”
“Yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna get made fun of for wearing collared shirts and button-downs all the time.”
I wince, because I didn’t realize he was getting made fun of—I make a mental note to let him pick some of his own clothes…with guidance.
“That’s when you remember what your mom told you—if they’re making fun of you, then their opinion doesn’t matter. Screw ’em.” I hear him gulp. “I—I mean. Um. Crap. I just mean…shoot. Don’t tell your mom I said that.”
