Page 1 of Accidental Irish Daddy

1

Grant

I screwed up last night.

It’s eight in the morning on the hottest day that Ireland’s ever seen…and she’s still here.

I should have called a car service for her last night after we fucked. I was tired, though.

We’d been up a good portion of the night, and while I’m still spry as fellas my age go, without the extra push I’m used to riding on when I sleep these days, Isleep.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s my work schedule. Maybe I’m still adjusting from living life in the raw, as it were.

Mornings sure are harder when you’re not taking a bump of coke first thing.

“Mmm, that coffee smells good.”

I look over my shoulder as she saunters in.

Still pretty hot in the light of day. Blonde and tan, big, vacant, blue eyes…she’s wearing one of my dress shirts.

I hope it’s one of the dirty ones. I’m still a week off from sending my shirts out.

I turn back to the coffee pot as she approaches my back. She wraps her arms around my waist and breathes in. Smelling the coffee…or me, perhaps.

“You should probably get going,” I tell her. “It’s getting late, and I have to get to work.”

Her arms stiffen for a second, then she takes a step back. “Right. Well, okay. I guess I’ll get dressed. Care to call a car service for me?”

“Sure thing.” My reply is cool, emotionless. I’m well over this encounter.

Once upon a time, before things turned in my life, I might’ve invited her to have breakfast with me. Not anymore. Days of being a wide-eyed doe of a man are over.

She’s served her purpose. Now it’s time for her to leave.

She’s probably the third woman I’ve brought home this month and, so far, the only one to stay this late.

I usually send them away as soon as the deed is done, but, like I said, I was tired last night. It’s my bleeding fault. I let this one slide, and I’m paying the price for it now. I hope I made it clear last night that there’s nothing more here than this.

As I drink my coffee, I sit down at the kitchen table and pull out my phone, ordering a taxi for her. Then I check my messages.

Da’s called four times…with three messages.

I should probably call him back later. Maybe. I’m not quite in the right mood to deal with whatever thing pissed him off this morning.

A female voice comes from my back door. “Knock knock! Good afternoon.”

I look up.

Martha is standing by the door, carrying a basket of muffins. At seventy, she’s looking well, as she does every day.

Her age doesn’t seem to show.

Or maybe I just don’t see it because she’s always been in my life? Always been my father’s dowdy, old secretary who gave me sweets when I was a boy.

Right now, she’s walking right in. She’s got a scarf over her poofy gray hair and is wearing one of her house dresses.

“Morning, Martha.” I stand up slightly to kiss her on the cheek.

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