“I see. So that’s why you’re here. I seem to recall you said last week you’d never come here again.”
“I was mad. I didn’t mean it.” I did mean it, but my motives for coming tonight have nothing to do with what he’s implying.
“No, I think you did mean it. You just changed your mind when you realized you were going to need money.”
“Dad, that’s not it at all—”
“That’s all we are to you, isn’t it?” His voice is strained. I have a sudden fear he’s going to pull a wooden spoon out of a drawer and spank me like he did when I was a kid. “Just a place to come get money. National Bank of Mom and Dad.”
“No, Dad. You’re not being fair.”
“You just asked me to help you with your school tuition.”
“No, I asked you if you could cosign on a loan. That’s an entirely different thing.” My hands are shaking. I fold them together and put them in my lap. I’m far too aware of Mel and Jeff there at the table, and of Christopher, who might not be old enough to understand, but who is definitely old enough to respond to harsh tones and strained emotions. “If you were to cosign, I’d have a better chance of—”
“No. No, I won’t.”
My mouth clicks shut. Next to Dad, Mom suddenly rises from her chair and starts to whisk away empty dishes. She retreats to the kitchen rather than staying to defend me. I’m not sure why I expected anything else. At least Jeff and Mel are sticking around.
I swallow hard, making sure my voice will stay steady before I say, “Why not?”
“I’m not helping you get a loan so you can abandon your son to be raised by strangers. If you insist on raising him by yourself, the least you can do is be there for him.”
“Insist on—” I stop. I can’t even get those words out of my mouth. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, Dad. Do you want me to go rent a boyfriend? Find some random man on the street to play daddy?”
“You don’t seem to have put much more thought into choosing his actual father.”
I just stare at him for a minute, my mind entirely blank except for a red haze of fury. When I can finally talk again, my words are quiet. “If I take time to date, then I’m abandoning Christopher then, too. I’ve already got a full-time job, and a part-time side business, and a child to raise. I spend my free time with Christopher, not trying to find a date.” There’s a sort of ringing in my ears, and I can’t believe I’m not screaming. Instead I’m calm, although I feel like there are gouts of flames and lava coming out of my eyes. “If I’m going to do something else with my time, it’s going to be educating myself so I can get a better job, not trying to find a man.”
“Your child needs a father.”
“What is this, the sixteenth century?” I can’t believe this bullshit. Actually, I can, which is the saddest part of the entire conversation. “I don’t need a man. Women can live their own lives these days, you know.”
Dad’s eyes narrow. “You do something about the god-awful mess you’ve made of your life, and then I’ll think about cosigning your loan. Not before. Do you understand?”
I clench my teeth. “Sure. I understand just fine.”
Turning away from him, I pick up a napkin and start cleaning off Christopher’s hands. “Poppa mad,” he says.
“Yeah,” I mutter, trying not to cry. “Poppa mad.” My voice is quiet enough I’m pretty sure Dad can’t hear. I give Christopher a sippy cup. “Drink up, honey.”
When I’ve gotten myself mostly back under control, I turn back to my place at the table. The rest of the meal is very quiet, and when it’s over, I leave without saying good-bye.
Chapter 4
Maddy
Fireman Jesse lives in a good part of town—not as high-class as where Mom and Dad live, but I wouldn’t expect that, anyway. In fact, even this place looks out of reach for what I assume a fireman would make. It’s big for a single guy, too. The only issue with it is the lawn. It hasn’t been mowed for a while, and there are an awful lot of weeds. My dad would never stand for that. Then again, my dad pays a shit ton of money for a gardener because he’s just not a normal person.
I take a slow breath, steeling myself. I’m still not sure I made the right decision when I called Jesse last night and told him I could help with the cat. I was just so angry, and I felt so helpless. At least by taking on the work, I feel like I’m doing something to help myself. Sure, I could ask Mel to cosign for me, but I’ve already asked so much from her this year. I can’t bear adding one more burden on her. It’s not fair to her.
I clench my hand on the bag I’m carrying and head up the sidewalk toward the front porch. There’s a light on even though it’s late morning. After another steadying breath, I knock.
Jesse answers the door almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for me. It startles me at first—not just because the door swings open so suddenly. Looking at him again startles me, because somehow I’ve forgotten how handsome he is.
He’s got on a T-shirt and jeans, both of them hugging his body in ways that should probably be illegal. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days—that sexy, scruffy look—and his hair is tousled so perfectly you’d think he’d planned it.
For a second my mouth goes completely dry, and I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to speak. My whole body is responding to him, from my quickening breath to my pattering heartbeat to the wet heat invading the space between my legs.
There’s no point to any of that, though, because there’s no way this guy will ever look twice at me. He’s seen me naked already, after all, and that sure as hell didn’t impress him. No surprise there, with my stretch marks and all the weird aftereffects of having a baby. My body will never be the same again.
“Hi,” he says, just as I’m starting to wish I hadn’t come. “Thanks again for calling me.”
“I probably shouldn’t have taken your number from the appointment log, but I had an opening…” I let that trail off. Of course I had an opening. I don’t really have any clients at all at the moment. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
He waves it off. As he gestures, I can see fresh scratches on his arm next to the ones I noticed yesterday, which are starting to fade. “I’m glad you did. Come on in.”
I follow him into the entryway. I can smell at least part of his problem right away—the cat has obviously not been using his litter pan the way he’s supposed to. As he leads the way into the living room, the damage becomes even more obvious. There are huge sections of ripped-up carpet, and the sofa looks like somebody’s been searching for contraband in the cushions. The upholstery’s shredded, bits of Styrofoam padding scattered over the floor.
He stops a few steps into the room, and his fingers touch the small of my back. God, even that touch makes shivers go all up and down me, makes sparks start to tingle through the core of my spine.
“Welcome to my abode.” His tone is beyond sarcastic. “I’m sure you’d love to stay awhile amid the chaos and destruction.”
I make a face, trying not to make it too judgmental. “Your cat definitely has issues.”
“My cat has issues on top of issues and then some more issues as garnish.” He waves vaguely toward the couch and the recliner next to it, which seems not to have suffered quite as much. “If you can find a place to sit that’s not ripped to shreds, feel free.”
Just being near him makes me self-conscious. I thread a bit of hair back behind my ear and suddenly feel exposed when I notice him watching. What is he thinking? Probably not that he’d like to see me naked again. Still, there’s something about the way he’s looking at me…
Never in a million years, I chastise myself. Thinking about that night just sends my system into overload, alternating between humiliation and arousal. It’s not a good combination. Especially since I know damn well a guy like that would never have any interest whatsoever in a geeky weirdo like me.
I move toward the recliner, my bag bumping against my thigh. Jesse frowns suddenly and points, like he only just noticed it.
“What’s in there?”
“Tools of the trade,” I tell him. I perch on the edge of the recliner and set the bag in my lap. He looms over me and watches as I unzip it and lift the lid. I’m far too aware of his presence. I can smell him when he’s standing this close—soap, fabric softener, a sort of lingering smoky smell, and the musk of maleness. No hint of cologne or anything artificial. It’s all just him. It’s damn near the best smell I’ve ever had inside my nose.
Shaking myself back to the present, I tell him, “Cat toys.” I sift through the bag, displaying a few pieces so he knows what I’m talking about. “A scratching pad, some sprays that help keep your cat out of certain areas. This one eliminates odor when the cat does go potty where he shouldn’t.” He’s started chuckling by now, but I soldier on. “Catnip—”
He cuts in, laughing even harder. “You’re suggesting I get my cat high?”