Page 12 of Daddy's Little Treat

A sour taste enters my mouth, and I click my tongue. “That was myex-husband,” I clarify. I don’t want to be associated with that thunder cunt any more than I have to be, so I’m always sure to correct people when they have the wrong assumption.

Now it’s his turn to blink. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

I purse my lips, lift my chin, and flip my hair over my shoulder. “No need to be sorry because I’m certainly not. Trust me, it’s awonderfulthing that we’re not together. Haven’t been in a long time.”

He cocks his head and hums a noncommittal sound. His dark-blue eyes assess me in a new, indescribable way that sends a thrill of excitement through me.

With a faint cough, I flick my gaze to the side, praying he can’t see the effect he has on me. “What’s your name again?” I ask. “I’m sure we were introduced at T-ball, but I’m terrible with names.”

“Logan,” he responds, reaching out a hand.

“Right! Logan!” I return the gesture. His palm is warm and almost engulfs my own. “I’m Kelsey. Nice to meet you again, Logan.” After two pumps, I try to pull away, but he keeps his grip firm and steps closer to me.

The scent of cedar and mahogany surrounds me again, causing my heart rate to quicken. Logan’s eyes darken as his eyelids droop. He gives me another easy-going smile, and, with a husky voice, he says, “Pleasure meeting you again too… Kelsey.”

CHAPTER 2

KELSEY

As we walk to Ms. Knight’s classroom and chat about our kids, we discover that Katie and Tommy are good friends. They’ve been to most of the same birthday parties and enjoy a lot of the same activities during recess.

“I didn’t put it together at first, because when I ask Katie about her friends, she just saysheorhim.” I laugh.

Logan chuckles with me. “She’s playing it cool and keeping it vague. I like her style.”

I’m still laughing when I step into the classroom, breaking the silence as almost every head in the room turns to look at me. Clearing my throat, I dip my chin in silent apology and make my way to the open seats I spot in the back row.

When I look up again, I see everyone has ignored me in favor of staring at Logan—the gorgeous man who I thought was right behind me but is, in fact, still standing at the door. Andstaringisn’t the right word; they’re moreoglinghim. Most of the other parents in the classroom are moms, so they straighten up in their seats when they notice fresh meat has entered the arena.

As I glance around, I count that Logan’s only one of three dads, and they aren’t nearly as attractive as he is. So, it makes sense that all of these women are taking notice of a tall, good-looking man who’s involved with his child. He’s every mom’s wet dream.

I expect him to break away from me now that we’ve arrived at our meeting, but surprisingly he sticks close by. When we walk past Ms. Knight—the young, baby-faced teacher who, according to her back-to-school email, is excited about her first year of teaching—we nod and say, “Good evening.”

She smiles politely and greets us back, although I see her eyeing Logan with something more thanpoliteness. I almost want to warn her about not hooking up with someone tied to your workplace, as that shit never turns out well. I shudder as I remember when I slept with a coworker during my first job and how he stuck to me like a barnacle for months afterward, until he eventually found a girlfriend.

Finally, Logan and I slide into two tiny, kid-sized chairs at the back of the crowd. I shift awkwardly in the seat, trying to get my entire ass cheek on the small plastic square. Maybe I could’ve fit when I was twenty-one, but after having a kid and turning thirty-three, it doesn’t seem like my curves are working for me at the moment.

Glancing over at Logan, it appears he’s having a similar problem but with his legs. If he places his feet flat on the ground, his knees knock into the desk, but if he straightens them out all the way, he bumps into the chair in front of him. So he’s stuck with bending his knees at an uncomfortable angle. It must be the atmosphere of the school, but a juvenile giggle erupts from me as I watch his face twist in discomfort.

Upon hearing the sound, his eyes dart over to me, and he relaxes his expression. “You think they could’ve sprung for some actual desks or something for this meeting, right?”

I open my mouth to reply, but I’m cut off by a sharp clap. Ms. Knight stands at the front of the class and says in a high-pitched voice, “It looks like everyone is here now. Welcome, parents, to the first parent-teacher conference of the school year! I’m so excited to meet all of you, and I look forward to discussing . . .”

I prop my head on my hand as I tune out most of Ms. Knight’s speech. After a few minutes, she passes back several sheets of paper. I’m circling important dates as I read when a small object lands on top of my stack. Blinking twice, I look over to see Logan staring intently at the teacher, with his brow furrowed and a hand over his mouth. However, what gives him away is the right corner that’s missing from his top page.

Biting my lip to suppress my smile, I unfold the small square to see a crudely drawn picture of a man with circle glasses, slicked-back hair, and a bushy mustache. Underneath the drawing, the phraseNed Flanders?is printed in long, scratchy handwriting with an arrow pointing up and to the right. Following the direction of the arrow, I see Logan drew a portrait of one of the other dads who, in fact,doeslook like Ned Flanders fromThe Simpsons.

A bark of laughter escapes me, and I attempt to cover it up with a cough. A few people turn around to give me an annoyed look—including Ned Flanders, which makes me laugh harder—but I slap a hand over my mouth, so there isn’t any more sound, just my body shaking in the tiny plastic seat.

I turn to Logan, who’s grinning at me, and give him my best scathing glare even though I know it’s not effective. “Look what you made me do!” I hiss at him.

He shrugs casually and leans back in his chair, shifting his feet under the desk. Unfortunately for him, he’s forgotten how small the desk is because he slams his knee into the top and lets out a loud groan. “Fuck!” he grunts, grabbing his knee.

I snicker at him, considering this his karma. “You know, maybe if you—”

“Is everything alright back there?” Ms. Knight asks loudly. She’s giving both of us a look that screamsshut up or get out. She may be young, but she has theteacherlook down pat. Some of the other parents are amused and smile with raised eyebrows at our childish behavior. However, one mom seems to be glaring at me a tadtoo intensely, and I shift awkwardly in my seat.

Ignoring her, I nod at Ms. Knight and reply, “We’re alright. Sorry about that. Please continue.”

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