Page 9 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
I glance down at myself: a blue Eeyore T-shirt that’s probably adorably too big on Laurel, but on me is more than a little tight around the chest and the hem barely covers my butt. My nipples poke against the fabric, tightening under his scrutiny.
James’s eyes widen, rake upwards and latch onto my breasts one more time. And then he clears his throat gruffly, yanking his gaze away, staring determinedly into his coffee.
“Mornin’, Nova,” he mutters.
“Hi,” I mumble back. “Is it morning? I have no idea.”
Ryder gives me a quick once-over, glances at James, and then at Laurel, not quite hiding a smirk. “It’s eleven thirsty—I mean thirty.”
James gives Ryder a death glare. “You can just shut the fu—the heck up.”
Nate grins widely. “I know what you were going to say. You were gonna say a bad word.”
James rolls his eyes. “Got me there, kiddo.”
“Mama says I shouldn’t repeat pretty much anything any of you guys ever say, because you’re all good guys but terrible potty mouths.”
James snorts. “I’d say your mama is right.” James is studiously avoiding looking at me.
I cross my arms over my chest and take a seat at the table—and, unfortunately for both of us, the only open seat is next to James, between him and Nate.
Laurel is biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Good morning, Nova. Sleep well?”
I nod. “Yes, I did, thank you. I appreciate the hospitality.”
“I’m guessing you wouldn’t turn down coffee and breakfast?”
I shake my head. “I certainly would not.”
“I have grilled cheese and tomato soup, but I can rustle you up some eggs, or a bagel, or something else if you’d rather.” Laurel pours me a cup of coffee into a giant Blackhawks mug.
I accept the coffee and smile at her. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds incredible.”
“You’re gonna have lunch for breakfast?” Nate asks.
I glance at the kid—I’m not much for children, as a rule, but with James’s girls and Laurel’s son, I’m learning to deal with them. “Food is food, kiddo. Steak for breakfast, pancakes for dinner, eggs for lunch, it’s all just food.”
“Mama, can we have steaks for breakfast tomorrow?” Nate asks.
Laurel laughs. “Maybe.”
Nate, being a kid and thus lacking in any concept of social convention, is staring at me. He frowns. “Is that my mom’s shirt?”
I nod, sipping coffee. “Yeah. I stayed the night and needed something to sleep in that weren’t my work clothes.”
He frowns a bit harder, his stare unabashedly curious. “It doesn’t fit you.”
I blink at him, unsure how to respond to that. “I…um. No, I guess not. But when you borrow someone else’s clothes, that happens sometimes.”
“Is it because your no-no’s are so much bigger than Mom’s?”
I choke on coffee, spluttering and coughing.
“Nathaniel Paul Madison!” Laurel snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you? You know better than to talk like that! Especially to a guest.”
Nate’s face falls, and he meets my eyes, abashed. “I’m sorry, Nova.”
James looks like he’s about to bolt, and Ryder is choking back laughter. Laurel, however, is furious.
“It’s fine. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I came down dressed like this.” I stand up, leave the table. “I’ll be right back.”
“I mean, the kid does have a point,” I hear Ryder say.
“Ryder,” Laurel snaps. “Not helping.”
“Sorry, Laurel.”
“I…um—I have to go,” I hear James say. “I’ve got, a, um…I’ve gotta go.”
“You’ve got a…tit-uation?” Ryder says, chuckling.
“RYDER MCCANN!” Laurel shouts. “Not okay.”
“I swear I’ll fire your ass, Ryder, best friend or not,” James says. “Now let’s go. We have work to do. Early lunch is over.”
“I’m still eating, James,” Ryder says, “so chill.”
I don’t hear the rest of James’s response as I enter the bedroom and close the door.
God, I don’t remember the last time I was this embarrassed.
I suck up what’s left of my dignity, change back into my scrubs, head into the bathroom down the hall and find a hairbrush, drag it through my hair, and steal a hair tie from the doorknob. I wash the makeup off my face, dry off, and head back downstairs. Ryder and James are both gone, and Nate is in the living room playing Mario Kart on a console, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, utterly focused. Laurel is at the stove, stirring tomato soup in a pan, and using a spatula to tip a grilled cheese up to check the doneness on the bottom, scoops it onto a paper plate, ladles a full bowl of soup, pours a fresh mug of coffee for herself and warms up mine, and then sits kitty-corner to me as I take the seat at the table where she placed the plate and bowl.
I eat a few bites of each, groaning in pleasure. “God, grilled cheese and tomato soup are my comfort foods. How did you know?”
Laurel laughs. “It’s become a staple in this house. It’s both Nate’s and Ryder’s favorite thing to eat, so I make it for them pretty much every afternoon. James and the guys all work early, usually, but then take an early lunch, and there’s always at least one of the guys here for soup and sandwiches, so I’m always making a lot extra. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jesse or Franco breeze in at some point.”
