Damn right she will. I have no idea how I’m going to work out this major concern in the case and in my life, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no going back now. Blake Thomas, single FBI agent, no longer exists. Now, I’m Blake Crisp, single father who is lusting after his baby mama something fierce. This job has been my number one priority for two years. But right now? If it comes down to it, protecting my child and her mother is my main concern, my sole purpose.
I just hope that when it all blows up, we’re strong enough to come out on the other side unscathed.
* * *
The pounding on the door wakes me up from a beautiful dream. One where Carly and I were just about to engage in my favorite extracurricular naked activity. My morning wood is practically crawling from my underwear, begging to be released from its cloth prison. Grabbing my jeans up off the chair, I throw them on as I make my way to the front door. Taking a quick glance through the peephole, I realize that I know the woman on the other side. Or at least I know of her.
I release the deadbolt and the lock on the doorknob and flip open the door. The woman’s eyes are so big they look painful as she takes in my shirtless chest and my open jeans. “Mornin’,” I say hoarsely, stepping back to allow her to enter. I give her my best charming smile knowing that it works wonders. I call it the Mother Killer. The woman before me smiles at me, her defenses melting around us.
Works. Like. A. Charm.
“You must be Carly’s sister,” I add, not easing up on the sugar I’m spewing.
“Aren’t you a charming fellow,” she says with a laugh. “I’m Georgia, Carly’s mother,” she adds as she places her hand in mine. I bring it up to my lips and place a gentle kiss on her slightly aging hand just to wrap it all up in a pretty bow.
“You’re much too young to be Carly’s mother,” I say with a wink.
“And you are far too old to be using those tired lines on me, young man,” she says through her laugh. “But I like it anyway. And who might you be?”
“I am Blake,” I start but am interrupted by the sound of Carly coming down the hall.
“Blake, do you want coffee?” she asks as she rounds the corner and stops dead in her tracks. She stares wide-eyed at her mother and me and at the hand I still haven’t released.
“Carly, I do believe you have some explaining to do,” Georgia says with a sweet smile.
Carly groans in response to her mom’s statement. “If I’m going to have this conversation with you while Blake is still here, then I’m going to need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee,” she adds while prepping the coffee pot.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, politely excusing myself to use the bathroom. The moment I realized Carly’s mom was at the door, my hard-on subsided considerably. That still didn’t mean that watching Carly step inside the kitchen wearing that cute as sin short and tank top PJ set with her hair all a mess from sleep, didn’t start to bring it back to life.
I slip into her shower without even asking. We share a kid so we can surely share a shower, right? Though, this isn’t exactly the way I’d prefer to share a shower with Carly. Fortunately, there’s a basic anti-bacterial bar of soap on the shelf, which keeps me from having to use her fancy floral body wash. Although, the idea of smelling Carly on my skin all damn day isn’t so bad either.
Not wanting to rummage through her drawers too much, I open the top one to see if I can spy an extra toothbrush. I hit the jackpot when I open the second drawer, spotting the new brush right there next to the tampons. Shutting the drawer quickly still doesn’t wipe out the image of those tampons staring back at me. I grew up with a brother, and my parents had their own bathroom. I’ve never lived with a woman before either, so I have zero experience with all these little things that make women…well, women.
Even though I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes, I feel ten times better. I’m going on very little sleep so the shower definitely helped wake me up. The only thing to help seal the deal is a large cup of coffee.
Stepping out into the hallway, I hear the ladies talking in the kitchen. Not wanting to interrupt them quite yet, I slip across the hall and peek in on the sleeping baby in the crib. My baby. The words still make my heart rate kick up, but they’re getting easier to say. Or at least, think. Natalia is spread out on her back with her arms up over her head. The blanket is tangled around her legs and her mouth is gaping open. I can’t help the grin that crosses my face when I realize she sleeps just like me.