Chapter 19
Shea
We're so fucked, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest as I heard the door slam shut. We had only a few short moments to get dressed.
Brynn slipped off the couch, snatched up her dress and heels, and ran butt-naked for the upstairs.
Cute butt, I thought to myself as I hopped around the room, trying to pull my trousers up. Yeah, I know—bad timing—but I couldn't help but appreciate it.
Chloe and her mom screamed and yelled at each other in the driveway. It might bring some ex-husbands a certain pleasure to see their daughter arguing with their mother, but I hated to see it. That said, this time? Their disagreement, whatever it was about, bought me precious seconds.
Hurrying, I slid my shoes under the couch, fluffed the cushions, and made sure things looked nice and neat and definitely didn't look like Dad was just about to fuck the nanny in the living room.
Chloe banged on the door.
I reached for the deadbolt. Before I unlocked it, I turned around and took one last survey of the room—only to see Brynn's discarded thong lying in a crumpled little ball in the middle of the floor.
“Shit,” I hissed. I ran over, picked it up and stuffed the item into my pocket.
Then I unlocked the door. Chloe stormed in and shoved right past me. She'd obviously been crying.
“Chloe!” I yelled after her. “Hey, what happened?”
“I can't talk to you about this, Dad!” she sobbed. She raced upstairs, heavy feet stomping all the way to her bedroom.
Cynthia's car was still idling in the driveway. She wasn't going anywhere.
I sighed.
I'd gone from being this close to having what would've been the hottest sex of my life … to needing to have a chat with the angry ex-wife instead. Trust me, there was no need for a cold shower.
I stepped outside. The second Cynthia saw me, her window lowered, and I saw the ol' familiar scowl that always managed to lay my heart out on ice.
“What's going on here, Cynthia?”
“That daughter of yours is a wreck,” she said. It never failed to amuse me how Chloe became my daughter when things between them went poorly.
“That's nice, but what happened?”
“She has a toxic tongue. Every word out of her mouth is pure poison—it's like she's hell-bent on punishing me for every mistake I've ever made! I'm sorry, I'm not perfect, but I won't accept that kind of abuse from a teenage girl! We've been arguing for hours—I can't even get any sleep in my own house!” She tutted. “Chloe sure loves staying with you, though—so here you go! You can take her!”
I sighed. Somehow, I doubted I was getting an accurate or unbiased account. “Cynthia, I know it can be hard with Chloe—”
“Oh, I'm sure you do,” she said with a healthy roll of her eyes. “You were always sooo helpful with raising Chloe. Oh, what a fantastic help you were—spending months on the road, or when you actually were in Boston, going out for beers every night with your hockey 'boys.' And now you just pass the parenting duties off to your hot-to-trot nanny, am I right?”
I shook my head. I was never a perfect parent—and neither was she, for that matter—but I'd changed a lot since our divorce. Not that I cared to debate all this old shit with her. Frankly, I thought all these arguments were supposed to come to an end once we got the hell out of each other's lives.
Oh, and I wasn't even going to go anywhere near that hot-to-trot nanny remark.
“Cynthia, my point is, I know it's hard, but you have to let me know before you just show up with Chloe. I can't take her now.”
“I tried to let you know. I called you a hundred times but you never answered.”
I reached into my pocket for my phone. I pulled it out, but something else came with it—Brynn's racy thong. Eyes wide, I stuffed her underwear back into my pocket. Cynthia didn't say anything—so she must've missed it, because she definitely wouldn't let that go without some sort of smart comment.
Close one.
I checked my phone. Cynthia hadn't called a hundred times, no, but she had tried to call me plenty over the past hour. I hadn't noticed.
I frowned. “Sorry. Guess I didn't hear it.”
“Mm,” Cynthia said skeptically.
“Anyway, that doesn't change our problem. It's your weekend to have the kids, Cynthia. The playoffs are about to start and I have to leave for Tampa first thing tomorrow morning.”
“So have your nanny take care of her. That's what you pay her for, isn't it?” She huffed. “Or hm, do you pay her for something else, I wonder?”
My eyes narrowed. “I don't know what you're saying, but I don't like it. I think you better go now, Cynthia.”
“Did you have a good time at the gala?”
Does she have some kind of problem with Brynn?
“Yeah. Sure,” I answered. “Bye now, Cynthia.”
“Bye, Shea. Oh, wait, one last thing before I go?”
I groaned. “What is it?”
“Those ridiculous slut panties in your pocket—do those belong to her? Your new number one fan?”
I grimaced. “… I don't know what you're talking about.”
She cackled as she put her car into gear. “Oh, Shea. You were always a bad liar.”
“And you were always the best.”
“Ha. Good one.” Scorned, Cynthia's window immediately began to roll up. But she left the window cracked open an inch to spew one last remark. “It'd be nice to leave your kids a healthy inheritance, don't you think? Try not to let a gold digger make off with all your cash.”
She threw the car into reverse and sped off into the night.
Number one fan?
Gold digger?
The hell is she even talking about?