Chapter 3 – Sugar Daddy

 

“I’m sorry, Brian.  Not tonight.”

“Come on, we can take the boys to do something fun.  Maybe mini golf,” he keeps insisting.

“They have to get up early to go to this camp Sophia has them enrolled in.  Let’s do lunch next week when I’m not on aunt duty.  This mommy gig is busy and the nights fly.  Before I know it, it’s bedtime,” I explain, exasperated, for the third time. 

I hear him sigh over the other end of the phone as I move through HomeGoods, looking for unusual plates and platters for my photos.  It has to be pretty and different to keep my blog looking fresh. 

“Okay, I’ll call you next week,” he sighs. 

“Did you give in to your sister?  Are you going to go out with her friend she keeps trying to set you up with?” I try to change the subject.  Brian’s sister has been trying to set him up with her friend and I wish he’d go.  Maybe then I could breathe easy about our friendship staying in the friend zone and not the unfriend zone, where I think Brian wants it to be.

“Not yet, I’m thinking about it,” he says, not sounding happy.

I leave the dishes and head to the garden aisle for some inspiration, “I think you should go for it.  Angela wouldn’t screw her brother over.  I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Shit, Paige.  I’ll think about it.  Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asks.

I smile and say, “Of course not.  I just want you to meet someone and be happy.”

“Yeah, happy,” he breathes, sort of frustrated. 

I pick up a wide, but shallow, galvanized bucket.  I multitask, thinking about using them as salad bowls for a picnic, “Yes, happy.  You need to branch out.  Call Angela and let her set up the blind date.  Look, I’ve gotta check out.  My hands are full, I didn’t get a cart.  I’ll talk to you next week, we’ll do lunch.  If you’re smart, you’ll have been on a date with your sister’s hottie friend and you can fill me in.”

“We’ll see,” he says before we say our goodbyes and disconnect. 

I pick up two more buckets, thinking these are perfect and head to the checkout.  I’ve got to pick the kids up in twenty minutes and my mom is coming to Sophia’s this afternoon.  My older brother, Tony, is turning thirty on Monday and she wants my help planning a big family dinner.  I check out with my new bucket salad bowls and head to pick up the kids.

*****

“So why do your parents think you need a cell phone?” I ask Jordy as we dip our leftover chocolate chip cookies in milk.  They’re always better in milk after a day or two when they dry out a bit. 

Jordy called their dad, letting him know we made it back to Sophia’s house.  This time Cara confiscated the phone and I heard her speak paragraphs to her dad about her day.  I’m bound and determined to get her to talk like that by the end of the week. 

Jordy shrugs and says, “I dunno.  Dad wants me to call him after we leave camp.  He wants us to call him whenever we wanna talk to him, so he said I needed my own phone.”

I frown as I take a bite of my soggy cookie.  I still think it’s weird, it’s not like they aren’t with adults all the time that would have a phone for him to use. 

“I have practice tonight,” Jordy informs us.

“What kind of practice?” I ask.

“Baseball,” he says with a mouth full of cookie.  “My dad’s the coach.”

“Huh,” I reply with my own mouthful.

“I play basketball,” Cayden pipes in, not wanting to be left out.

“You’re a baller, I love to watch you play,” I smile at my nephew.

“Daddy says I get to play basketball next year,” Noah adds with milk running down his face.  I grin as I wipe his face with a napkin.

“I take gymnastics,” Cara informs me, albeit quietly.

“You do?” I ask.  “That’s fun.”

“Cara tried to play T-ball, but she didn’t like it,” Jordy says.

I look at Cara and she wrinkles her face shaking her head with a big no, affirming she didn’t like T-ball. 

“Gymnastics is for girls,” Noah says, bumping Cara on the arm with his shoulder. 

“Uh, have you seen the Olympics?  Boys can do gymnastics.  Not to mention, their arms are really, really nice.”  All four kids frown in question, so I say, “Never mind.”

“Dad wanted her to play softball but she didn’t even like T-ball.  He said she could take gymnastics if she promised to try basketball this winter,” Jordy goes on, informing me more about his dad.

I frown and say, “I think gymnastics is great.  Sure, you should try new things, but there’s nothing wrong with sticking with what you love.  My mom made us all take music lessons.  Sophia and I played piano, my other sister Charlotte played the flute and my brother played the drums for a few months.  Of course my parents let him quit because they said he was too busy with basketball, but I think they didn’t want to tell him how bad he was.  They got tired of listening to the drums in the house.”

“Uncle Tony played drums?” Cayden asks, smiling.

“Not really,” I say.  “He made a lot of really bad noises.  It was a blessing they let him quit.  He was awful.  But my mom made us girls take lessons for years.  It really wasn’t fair.”

A knock on the door breaks into our extracurricular activities discussion.  I look to the clock and frown, thinking “Just Cam” isn’t supposed to be here for a couple hours. 

“Eat your cookies.  I’ll be right back,” I say to all the kids. 

I head to the door and when I open it, Cam Montgomery is standing there, but today all I see is his profile.  He’s facing the side of the porch with his arms crossed and even from the side, I see his jaw is set hard. 

“You’re early,” I say.

His body stays where it is, but he turns to me scowling, “Is that your car?”

“What?” I ask, poking my head out the door to see what he’s looking at.

Still not moving, he looks back to the driveway, jutting his chin, “The Lexus.”

“Oh.  Yeah, that’s my car,” I say with zero enthusiasm. 

“You’re well taken care of,” he mutters.  Finally turning to me, he says, “Tell the kids it’s time to go.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“I said tell the kids it’s time to go.  I came early, but I’ve gotta get back to work for a couple hours.  They can come with me,” he frowns.

“No,” I frown right back.  “I heard the part about the kids.  What did you mean when you said I was ‘well taken care of’?”

“Just sayin’, you must have landed yourself a good one to set you up like that so young,” he drawls.

Oh, he did not just say that.

“Landed myself a good one?” I repeat just to make sure he’s saying what I think he’s saying. 

“Yeah,” he confirms.

“Are you inferring that the only reason I could have a car like that is because a man is taking care of me?” I seethe. 

“You?” he starts.  “I bet they’re lined up to take care of you.”

“They?” I ask, barely hearing myself this time, not believing this conversation.

“You know who I mean,” he answers, glaring.

“I cannot believe you,” I start.  I mean, really.  Who does he think he is making assumptions like that about other people?  Shaking my head in disbelief, I put one hand to my hip and flip out the other ranting, “Yeah, you’re right.  I’ve landed myself a Sugar Daddy.  I pretty much do anything he wants or needs, and in return, he provides me with a vehicle.  He also dresses me.  See my fancy clothes?  I think I picked this little thing up at Neiman’s the last time my Sugar Daddy took me to the big city for a shopping spree.  Oh wait, this top is from…hang on, I forgot,” I yank the neck of my t-shirt to the side so I can crane my head around and read my tag.  “This is from the Gap.  I really don’t feel like taking my shorts off for you, since you’re not my Sugar Daddy and all, but I’m pretty sure I picked these up at Target.”

Cam drops his head a bit and puts a palm out to me saying, “I get it.”

“Are you sure?  Because I don’t mind going into more detail about our arrangements.  He’s very generous.  You missed it today—I’m usually dripping in diamonds.  And since I’m so young, I’m hoping he’ll kick the bucket soon so I can make like the Steve Miller Band and Take the Money and Run,” I keep on.

“I said, I get it,” he bites back.

“Oh my, does that mean you’re…wait...sorry?” I ask with big eyes.

He doesn’t answer and absolutely does not offer a real apology.  He does narrow his eyes before turning his head back toward my car.

“You have Grumpy Bear Syndrome,” I declare.  “And now it’s worn off on me.  Before you showed up I was happy, eating cookies and milk, talking to the kids.  But thank you, now I have Grumpy Bear Syndrome, too.”

“Grumpy Bear Syndrome?” he asks.

“Yeah.  When a bear wakes up from his long winter nap and he gets up hungry and irritable.  However with you, it’s not so much a syndrome as it is a life threatening disease.   You're always grumpy,” I rant.

He shakes his head again, which I’m finding he does all the time, and says, “You’re a piece of work.”

“I’m a piece of work?” I repeat.  “You started this.  It really doesn’t matter how hot you are, or how much hotter you are being a dad.  You’re an asshole.”

He tips his head, “You think I’m a hot dad?”

I flip my hand out in front of me, “You have the potential, but because of the Grumpy Bear, asshole wins.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters. 

I sigh, tired of this and not understanding why he’s such a Negative Nelly with me, “You didn’t need to come early.  I don’t mind keeping Jordy and Cara in the afternoons.  Especially if you have to take them back to work with you.  I like them.”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer because my mom drives up in her brand new Hybrid Lexus and Cam turns toward the driveway.  She gets out of her car with two huge tote bags and yells as she moves to us, “Hi Cam!  I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Lizzie,” he greets my loud mother.  Then, unlike the Grumpy Bear Asshole he’s proven to be, he reaches for her bags and says, “Let me get those for you.”

I frown at his chivalrous act as my mom goes on, “You’re sweet, thanks.  I brought dinner for you and the kids, Paige.  I didn’t know if you’re getting overwhelmed with the kids and work.  And I made breakfast for tomorrow, Noah loves my applesauce muffins.  Your dad came home early to stay with Isabella.  How are you Cam?  The kids?”

Then, like he turned on his hot guy switch, he smiles big at my mom, “We’re good, Lizzie.  You?”

“All’s good in my world.  I’m going to be a grandmother again and I’m thrilled.  My son, Tony, and his new wife announced she’s expecting.  Even though they basically eloped and robbed me of my right to see them wed, I couldn’t be happier.  Tony turns thirty next week, that’s why I’m here.  Paige and I are going to plan his birthday dinner.  Hey, why don’t you and the kids come?  We’d love to have you, it’s Monday at six,” my mother, who doesn’t know how not to be social, invites him to our family affair.

“Mom, I’m sure he’s busy – ” I start.

But Cam interrupts me, “Thanks, I’ll look at the calendar.”

“Terrific,” she smiles.  Moving around me, she starts into the house, but stops and turns quickly, “Don’t let me forget, I have the title to your car.  Your dad already signed it and I have the paperwork to gift it to you.  I can’t tell you how happy I am you aren’t driving that little old car anymore.  It was always breaking down, not to mention it wasn’t safe.”  She turns to Cam and imparts her wisdom, “You never stop worrying about your kids.  Remember that.”

Cam Montgomery slowly turns his hot smile, framed in his lush goatee, to me.  His blue eyes shine bright, when he says to my mom while looking straight at me, “No, ma’am.  I reckon you don’t.” 

And, as if I got caught toilet papering the mean girl’s house, I feel my blood boil and go straight to my face.  Luckily my mom was already headed into the house yelling, “Kids!  Grandma’s here!” and missed my blush.

I close my eyes and pull in a breath, it’s not like I can run off.  I try to calm myself and open my eyes to find Cam still smiling big. 

I don’t know what to say so I bite my bottom lip when Cam switches both bags to one hand and places the other high on the door jamb, leaning in.  Then he leans closer and I try hard to hold my ground when he says in a low voice so no one else will hear, “This Sugar Daddy of yours, that you handed me shit about, isn’t really a Sugar Daddy.  He’s just your daddy.”

“Cam – ”

“No, no,” he narrows his eyes on me.  “I want to get this straight.  Your parents gave you that car and you made me eat shit.”

“No, I made you eat shit because you inferred that I was ‘well taken care of’ and you know what you inferred,” I defend myself.

“Darlin’, you’re still well taken care of,” he replies.

“They didn’t give me a choice.  My other car was a piece of junk and it was still in their name from high school and college.  I just started a business.  I don’t need a car loan right now, so I took the car, all right?  I took a luxury mom-car that I look ridiculous driving from my parents.  There.  Are you happy?” I finish on a huff.

He hesitates, letting his eyes drag over me again, making me shift to my other foot.  Okay, it’s a fidget, but whatever.  He finally says, “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“I’m thrilled,” I spout before turning toward the house and call, “kids, time to go.”

I turn back and he’s still leaning into the door jamb, but he’s smiling this time, looking downright delicious. 

Damn. 

I do my best to look uninterested until I hear the kids come running because I know I’m going to be tortured by having to see Cam with his kids, just like last night.  Today, he torments me by leaning down and kissing Cara’s head, followed up by a manly fist bump with Jordy.  This is all after I hear “Hey Dad,” and “Daddy!” followed up with “Hey, bud,” and “Missed you, baby,” from Cam.  It’s almost worse today because seeing him transform from asshole, to hot, to hot dad is too much for my system. 

I do my best to ignore all this and focus on the kids, “See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Paige,” Jordy yells as he runs out the door.

“Bye,” Cara sings as she skips out, following her brother.

But Cam stands there, not saying a thing.  I raise my eyebrows in question, wondering why he’s still here.  He leans in closer, lowering his eyes almost to mine and says in a low sexy voice, “See ya’ tomorrow, darlin’.”

I narrow my eyes and don’t say a word.  Instead I reach out to grab my mother’s bags and step back into the house, slamming the door in his face. 

My mom yells, “What was that?”

I sigh and call back, “Nothing.”

Shit, it’s only Tuesday.  This is going to be a long week.