Give Me Grace(9)

“Bowls are for girls,” I told him with mock seriousness. “We’re men. That means we can eat it straight from the carton.”

“Casey! You’ll teach him bad habits.”

I chuckled at Quinn as I handed the spoon to Sam. “Hey, I know how to take care of kids. Fill them with the sugar, show ‘em how to jump on the bed, then send them home to puke all over their parents.”

Quinn scowled and set her wine down on the bench. “Maybe this—”

“I’m assuming he has things, right?” She nodded. “So go get them and bring them up so you can go already.” I shifted Sam in my arms so he could reach the ice cream carton, noticing Quinn’s hesitation. “Hey. I got this, okay?”

She shuddered visibly. “Don’t say ‘I got this.’ It makes me nervous. Last time someone said that, my life turned into an episode of The Sopranos.”

“Blame Mac,” Travis called without shifting his eyes from the screen. “Everyone has a catchphrase. That’s hers.”

“Oh yeah?” Quinn dug through her bag for the car keys. “What’s mine then?”

Travis paused for a moment before saying, “Baby, you’re so big.” He smirked at her before licking his lips in a way that would give me nightmares for weeks.

Quinn rolled her eyes as she walked out the door. “Be right back.”

“Take your time!” Travis shouted after her.

By the time she returned, the three of us were on the couch, Sam sitting on my lap as we watched the football.

“Look who I found downstairs just about to ring the bell,” Quinn called out.

All eyes shifted to the doorway and tension rose swiftly in the air, thick enough to choke on.

Ah shit.

I lost my voice for a moment, and not in a good way. Morgan was standing beside Quinn, and I’d seen Band-Aids bigger than her outfit. The way she ran her eyes over me would make a porn star blush. I shifted Sam in my lap, feeling the urge to cover his eyes.

Stupid sonofabitch. I had no business being set loose in a bar, drunk. The evidence of that stood right there, waiting for me to say something. I was left with two options. One: I could pretend I didn’t know her from a bar of soap—unlikely to work—or two: I could introduce her to the room and face the wrath of my business partners. Where was door number three when you needed it?

I re-introduced Morgan to the room. Then I handed over Sam, took Morgan by the hand, and with an, “excuse us for a minute,” I led her down the back of the loft for privacy.

“You didn’t return my calls,” she began.

“Sorry. I got caught up with uh, work.”

Morgan took in my filthy, dishevelled appearance with sympathy. “Tough case, huh?”

I thought back to our paintball expedition and the fact that Mac had somehow overcome all odds to come out the winner. “You could say that,” I hedged.

“I know exactly what will make you feel better.”

The gleam in her eyes left no doubt. “I bet, but I’m babysitting Travis and Quinn’s little boy tonight. Maybe we could try this again another night?”

She shrugged and stepped a little closer, not seeming to mind the smell of sweat wafting off me in waves. “I can help. I’m good with kids. Want me to stay?”

Jesus. Morgan was persistent, I’d give her that. I glanced over to the living room to find all eyes on us. I shifted uncomfortably and smothered the heavy sigh. I really wouldn’t mind getting laid. All that naked and willing flesh on display was making my cock sit up with interest. “Sam’s not good with strangers.”

Ten minutes later I managed to get her out the door. Then I turned to face Travis with his flat, knowing eyes and folded arms. “We need to talk.”

I made a point of looking at the large clock on the wall in the kitchen. “Oh is that the time? You guys are gonna be late.”

“Tomorrow,” he warned me. “You and I are going to have a chat.”

On that ominous note, they left, Quinn shooting me a look of sympathy before she disappeared out the door. I went back to the fridge for another beer and then changed it to a juice, getting one for Sam while I was there. I didn’t like drinking around little kids when they were in my care. I’d experienced firsthand the damage alcohol could do to an angry parent around a child. I wasn’t my father. When it came to kids, I knew the importance of responsibility.





“Tilt your chin up a little and look at me.”

Like a good little soldier, I tilted my chin and faced John and his camera. With brows drawn, he crouched a little and changed his angle.

“Narrow your eyes more, Grace. I’m supposed to be seeing your inner bitch, but right now you look about as pissed off as a bag of chips.”