I got back home and found Heather meticulously decorating the dinner table. Delicious fragrances filled my senses as I approached her.

"This looks like it went well," I said, the housekeeper grinning in the background.

Heather sighed and groaned, placing her hands on the edge of the table.

"It didn't. Initially, anyway."

I laughed and took a seat.

"I burned the mac n' cheese."

I laughed harder, then nodded at the seat in front of me.

"I told you, you didn't have to."

She closed her eyes and looked away, then at the housekeeper.

"Help me bring the dishes from the kitchen, Shanaya?"

I watched as the two women brought an army of dishes and my eyes went wide.

"You managed to do all of this? Was this before or after you burned the mac n' cheese?"

"It was after," she said. "And I didn't do any of this. Shanaya recommended the best American restaurant in the neighborhood and all I did was pick it up."

She shook her head, the frustration showing in her eyes.

"You can take the rest of the evening off," I told the housekeeper who I assumed helped Heather take care of Max during the day.

Heather sat across from me and sniffed, lifelessly popping a French fry into her mouth.

"What?" she whined, chewing. "Don't look at me like that. I know I'm a fucking mess."

I rubbed the back of her hand. "Who said so?"

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Look at that kid." I pointed at Max, who was happily playing with the fake stars hanging above his crib. "If you can manage to raise him while being a mess, then being a mess probably isn't such a terrible thing after all."

She smiled at me and lowered the arm that she was using to shield her face.

"Now let's eat," I said.

She brought the remaining appetizers to the dining area and I helped her with the spoons.

"Brad, go sit back down," she said. "This is my treat for you. I'm not accepting any help. And besides, I did lose the challenge."

I raised my arms and turned back around. "Yes, that you most definitely did."

Her lips tightened and she placed a hand on her waist, looking angry.

I shrugged. "You're the one who said it."

"I did, but you didn't have to agree."

I smirked. "Women are complicated."

"That doesn't stop you from sleeping with them."

She cocked a brow at me.

"That's true," I said. "But it does stop me from having relationships with them."

She snapped her eyes shut and silently judged me.

"Here." I placed a spoonful of mushroom soup in front of her lips. "Try it. It's really good."

She did, then began praising the soup that I myself make.

"Just because you're busy and stuff, doesn't mean that I'm going to let you off the hook."

I shrugged. "You know I'd be happy to cook, especially for you."

Okay, I have no idea why I said that last part because it made utter awkwardness pass between us. But I meant it.

Cooking was my passion. It was the reason I'd bought several big restaurants all over the world, but I still treated it like a hobby. I'd always believed that once your hobby becomes your job, you lose interest in it. Maybe it wasn't true for the rest of the world, but that's the story I told myself.

"How did your meetings go with your whiny patients?"

She shrugged and fiddled with the fork on her plate.

"Starting tomorrow," she said. "I've got my first one tomorrow morning and then I'm thinking I'll have Shanaya babysit Max while I go for a long-ass walk. But you know, still stay nearby."

I shook my head. "Stay close by in case something comes up?"

She slowly nodded. "I've never had anyone babysit for me. Like except for Rachel a couple of times. I’ve just always been so on top of everything, you know. So it's all new to me, but I know I have to get used to it if I want to have such a thing called life again."

With that, I couldn't argue. But man, did I admire this woman as a mother. I'd told her that multiple times but didn't see any harm in saying it again.

Her cheeks would blush and a look of gratitude would spread across her face every time I praised her. It was part of the reason I always made sure that I did.

"Hey, Brad," she said. "Can I ask you something?"

I arched my eyebrows and looked back at my food. "What is it?"

"You know, when Rachel and I were talking, or rather, fighting the other day, it really hit me that I didn't know enough about you. I mean, we've been close friends for a while but all we do is talk about me."

"I already told you that my life is not all that interesting."

She waved her arm. "Cut the crap. I don't buy that for a second."

I shook my head. "Fine. Now is your chance. Ask me whatever it is that you want to."

I should have known that saying this would come back to bite me in the ass because her first question was about my childhood.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Well . . ." She shrugged warily as if to look for a way to frame her thoughts in the most diplomatic way possible.

"Why do you hate your dad? I mean, you avoid bringing him up—"

I shook my head and she paused.

"Could you not have thought of any other question instead?”

"It's what I wonder about the most, though.”

I took a sip of my whiskey and placed it back on the table.

"I don't hate my father," I said, clearing my throat. "I loathe him more than words could ever explain."

She narrowed her eyes at me and grabbed my hand. Her touch alone resulted in an erection and I couldn't help but feel like a horny young boy.

Goddammit.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

I sighed. "No. Herman Coleman doesn't deserve the importance that I usually give him by tip-toeing around his name."

I stood to fix myself another drink. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Heather commented on my excessive drinking.

"Don't you think you should let that bottle of whiskey rest for some time?" she taunted before I'd even reached for it.

"Here we go," I mumbled.

"What?" she squinted, bitterly watching me pour the liquor.

"Nothing," I groaned. "Anyway, so back to my godforsaken controlling and manipulative father."

Her face softened when I approached Max's crib.

"He's just always made me feel like I wasn't good enough or that I wasn't doing enough. It was always just about them, you know?"

She nodded, though I highly doubted she understood.

"And your mom?"

I chuckled. "They've been married for over thirty years now. Even if she was different all those years ago, he definitely rubbed off on her over time."

"Would you ever be able to put it behind you?"

That was a vague question, and I didn't know how to answer that. I was getting a sense that this was not only about my relationship with my parents, so I asked her point-blank, "What is this really about?"

She twisted to face the other side again.

"It's about that asshole Wayne, isn't it? You’re wondering if he and Max will ever have a healthy relationship?"

She shrugged. "If they have one at all."

"Do you want them to?"

Just when she opened her mouth to give me a seemingly unsure response, Max started getting fussy.

I set my glass down at the table and beat her to it.

"I'll get him."

She smiled and stood next to me as I held her son in my arms.

"You're a natural," she said.

"And you haven't answered my question."

Her face fell again. "This was supposed to be my questions to you."

I arched my brow while holding on to the little guy's hand.

"Sure. But this dinner was supposed to be for me, so there you go."

She chuckled and ran her fingers across the edges of the crib.

"The answer is that I don't know."

"You don't know?" I repeated. I already knew that she was unsure of whether she wanted that coward to be a part of her son's life, but I expected her to lie about it and tell me otherwise.

"Oh, don't judge me."

I shook my head. "I'm not judging you. I'm surprised is all. It's not like—"

I paused when Max started whining and Heather extended her arms to take him from me.

"Come to Mommy," she pouted, then swung side to side while trying to appease him.

"He's sleepy. I'm going to put him to bed."

I nodded and watched her go into the guest room. She'd insisted that we keep Max's toys inside her bedroom instead of in a separate room that we could just as easily turn into a nursery.

But she was right. It would have been too excessive, from her perspective. She was only looking to stay with me for a couple of weeks at the most, and there I was, trying to push it for as long as I could.

Her presence in my condo made the place way less isolated than it had been before she’d arrived. I was sinking deep into my thoughts, wondering if it had anything to do with the amount of time that I'd been fantasizing about her. My fantasies had only become more intense, especially since I glanced over at her damp skin yesterday. It was unlike me to want anything but a physical connection with a woman, and that had worked to my advantage quite well up until now.

But I wasn't close with any of the women I slept with. Hell, I'd been completely off my game lately and only had Heather to blame for it. Her face, those curves, the way she talked, everything. She'd been on my mind the entire time I was at work, and then in the wee hours of the night before I would fall asleep.

I was starting to think that I was obsessed with her, and the fact that she was now sleeping one bedroom away from mine didn't make it any easier on me.

I felt a head buzz when I finished my second drink. It was probably not a great idea to rush into my first one on an empty stomach, but I didn't care at the time.

If I was going to bear the pain of keeping myself away from Heather, then I needed the liquor to help me out with it. At the moment, however, it only made me hornier. The more I thought about her, the more obsessed I became. It was a vicious circle that I needed to break out of.

"Sorry about that," she said, emerging from the room and plopping herself on the couch next to me.

"I'm going to clean all of this up soon."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "You arranged dinner so the least I can do is spare you the cleaning.”

"Well, it's not like I was able to really cook anything. But . . .“

She paused and smiled. “Do you know something, Brad?“

"Know what?"

"You're the sweetest."

I snorted. "You haven't lived with me long enough to know that."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "But I've known you long enough to know that."

Silence.

"Can I get my last question of the night?" she asked and scooted a bit closer. I almost felt like she wasn't sure if she wanted to ask the question.

"Did you really fuck someone last night?"

Looking away, I filled my chest with air and smiled. "Why? Does it matter?"

She shrugged and I observed her closely. "No, it doesn't matter, but . . ."

"Then don't ask me if you don't care."

She closed her eyes, then darted them toward the floor. "I do care."

Her lips were pursed and she stared right at me.

"You do care . . . about what?"

She grimaced. "Don't make me spell it out for you, Brad. You've already answered my question with two of your own."

"Fine. Ask me again."

"Did you sleep with—"

I placed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her into me before she had the chance to finish speaking.

"I didn't fuck her. I couldn't."

Within seconds of drowning into her eyes, I pressed my lips against hers.