But it was too late. She was fucking gorgeous and of all the names on my black book, she was absolutely the best, blowing those thin bitches out of the water like a tsunami hitting the coast. And seeing Mandy like that, her curvy form the answer to my dreams, literally the stuff of fantasies was too much temptation. She was mine. She belonged to me, and the sooner she knew it, the better. Like I said, I’m a mean motherfucker, and I come, I see, I conquer … especially when it comes to women.
So when the brunette’s footsteps sounded on the stairwell, I turned, ready to claim what was mine. And oh fuck, but Mandy was gorgeous with her hair still wet, ringlets framing her face, that sweet pink pout lush and tantalizing, cheeks flushing when she met my eye.
“Hey,” she said softly, sitting on a stool across the kitchen island. “How are you Pete?”
And never one to lose my cool, I pushed a mug towards her.
“Good,” I rasped, clearing my throat. “Tea?” Oh fuck, how did the brunette do this to me? I was supposed to be a man in control and yet during the last half hour I’d fought with myself multiple times to stay calm, hand steady on the wheel instead of completely losing it.
And the girl just smiled at me sweetly, as if she could sense the battle raging within.
“Sure thanks,” she murmured, eyes twinkling as she reached for the mug. “How’d you know I like tea?”
I knew because I’d talked about it with my daughter. Mandy is one of Violet’s favorite topics of conversations, and the little girl chattered on and on, wanting to be just like her babysitter. But I didn’t want the brunette to know that we’d been talking about her, so I passed it off.
“Just a guess,” I lied casually. “We always keep a stash of tea in the cabinet, and there were always a couple packets gone after you babysat.”
The girl colored.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, a little alarmed. “I drink a lot of tea, I probably went through boxes and boxes over the years.”
That was the least of my concerns. Who the fuck cared about tea? She could dump it in the trash by the gallon if she wanted. But I kept my expression calm and neutral.
“No worries, we buy it from Costco,” I said smoothly. “How was Violet tonight?”
And the girl colored before beginning to speak. Because oh yeah, that’s why she was here allegedly. To watch over my daughter.
“Vi was good,” she said slowly, “We had dinner together, roasted veggies and a little chicken, and then I got her into the bath. She went to sleep afterwards, but yeah, I had to read her a couple stories.”
I grinned wryly.
“You mean Goodnight Moon five times in a row?” I rumbled. I swear, I hate that book, I could recite it line for line, cover to cover, that damned little rabbit and his mittens.
But Mandy shook her head.
“No, not that one, The Hungry Caterpillar,” she said with a smile. “Vi likes sticking her fingers into all the holes.”
And I shook my head. That was another one of my daughter’s favorites, and just like Goodnight Moon, I’d come to hate the book with a passion. But Amanda’s goodness, her patience, was clear.
“How many times?” I asked wryly, “Five? Six?”
And she bit her lip before nodding.
“Seven,” she confessed. “I had to. Vi wouldn’t let me stop, she’d start crying whenever I got to the end.”
That sounded all too familiar.
“Yeah, she’s got some attachment issues what with her mom leaving and all,” I rumbled again. “But she’ll be okay soon enough, kids forget easy.” God, that sounded awful and Mandy was silent for a moment, the kitchen space empty yet loud at once. So I spoke again, more to keep the conversation going than anything. “My ex was a bitch, this is all for the better.”
And the brunette flushed, nodding, but chose not to speak. I admit that I admired her for it, her tact, her decision to hold back. Because this was the perfect opening to ask about my divorce, sate her curiosity on all the dirty details of the separation. But the teen had the good sense to mind her own business, not to go where the footing might be slippery, and it was the right thing to do. God, Mandy was so different from when I was her age, about ten times more mature and with a real, functioning brain, whereas I’d been a giant penis, my dick my only guide.
“So,” I rumbled. “What’s next?”
And Mandy bit her lip then. But the little girl didn’t play games, didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about.
“Well Mr. Parker,” she began slowly. “I’d like to see you again.”
I nodded. I had to see her again, had to get into that body asap. But there was no reason to lay out all the cards now. So I nodded sagely.