Guarding Her: A Secret Baby Romance by Lexi Whitlow (32)

Isn’t that what a real romance heroine would do? Make him guess if she’s interested, keep him on his toes.

The reality is much simpler.

I’m here because I want him, I think. Because last night was incredible. Better, far better, than any night I’ve had in years.

“I’m teasing,” he says. “Or am I?” He slings a towel around his waist and watches me as I shake out my hair and run my fingers through it.

“See, I need a brush. At least. Plus, some people’s girlfriends do occasionally go home.” The word makes my stomach drop. Girlfriend. “Even if his fake girlfriend is moving in for—how long?”

He doesn’t answer directly, which makes me grit my teeth in frustration. “Not mine. We need to impress this bitch’s private investigator. Or whoever she sends around the way. You need to live here. Be domestic and shit.”

“How long am I supposed to stay? To keep your kid away from—her grandmother?” I look over to him, and a corner of his mouth raises into a smile.

“A month or so.” He crosses his arms. I’m aware of them, the sinuous muscle. The strength of his fingers. “And I wouldn’t use the word, ‘grandmother.’ Grandmothers bake cookies and play board games. Knit little flowers and shit. My ex’s mom—she just bullies people.”

“Your ex? Not just a fling?” I keep my eyes locked on him. I want to know. I need to know.

“I don’t talk about her. Not to anyone.” His mouth is terse, and the entire presence of his body changes—harder, angrier. “She’s gone. She can’t take care of Brie. And her mom is a piece of shit.”

“Is she okay with Brie? Like, most of the time?” I ask quietly. “I know you said she wasn’t… kind—”

Liam looks over at me, slapping aftershave on his face. Harshly, like his face owes him money. “She tells Brie she’s not smart enough for kindergarten. That she doesn’t have friends because her parents were junkies. That God hates me and her mom.” He stops and swallows hard, pushing back some emotion I can’t quite place. “And she spanks Brie. Hits her. Not enough for a judge to take away custody just like that. No bruises. Just a little girl who’s scared, who cries. She says her stomach hurts when she sees me. Marta doesn’t hurt her enough that I could even document it properly—not in this burrow anyway. The judges are a little old school here. Spare the rod and all that bullshit. But I was hit. And I’m not planning to let anyone hit my daughter.” He cracks his knuckles. “If I can get her back, I won’t let anyone hurt her again. They’ll have to get through me first.”

“I can’t say I understand. I don’t have kids,” I say, carefully. “But I’ll help you. I’ll try.” I don’t realize that the words are coming out of my mouth until I say them, but there it is.

I do want to help. I think again back to my bed, my nightstand. I can get back to that after this, can’t I? It won’t go away. My life, just as it is, will still be there. And nothing will change. It’s what I tell myself, but as I pull on the gray dress again, his eyes sear into me, and I’m not sure if I’m right or wrong.

“Good.” He glances at me. “I’ve been clean for a year, just so you know. I drink some. And I’ve had my fair share of girls here, but that’s no secret.” He runs his fingers through his thick brown hair. “But I’m not a junkie now. Haven’t been in a long time. I keep myself healthy. Tested. Clean. Like I said.”

I shrug, like it’s no big thing. “Okay. You know, I trust you when I hear you say that this is the best place for her. You don’t have to give me every single reason.”

He steps closer to me, pulling me to him by the waist. He takes me and kisses me hard. These are the actions of a lover, more than a casual fling. The way his tongue finds mine again, the way my body melts into his. But I ignore the alarm bells going off in my head, and instead I focus on the aching warmth spreading through my center.

It’s just sex. And all of this—it’s just a favor.

That’s what I keep telling myself. This is all an adventure, and it’s turned into a way to help someone—a little girl. And her dad. It’s not because of his dark, changeable hazel eyes, hooded with lust, the way they look over my body with hunger. It’s not his lips pressed against mine, or his hand pulling at the strap of my dress so that one shoulder is bared. He kisses me there, and I gasp.

“I do need to get back to my apartment,” I murmur. “Then I can come back. We’ll… talk about all of this later.” He brushes aside my hair and grabs my ass, pulling the other strap of my dress away from my body—abruptly, harshly.

“You said you were in, Skye. Are you?”

I nod slightly. “I am.”

For your sake. For the little girl. And maybe that whole virginity thing I’ve been hung up on for so long. Separately, those seem like terrible reasons. Together, they make one adequate reason. And oh—fuck—what am I agreeing to?

Before I can form a more coherent thought, he kisses me again. He presses into my thigh, his cock hard.

“I need to go.” I swallow.

“You’re coming back,” he says.

“Yeah. I am. Tomorrow. I don’t work on Tuesdays so I can stay—maybe—” I sling my purse over my shoulder and walk to the door without saying anything more. If I say anything else, it might all feel too real. Like we’re making a date or planning something for the future, even if it’s for the very near future. There’s something tugging deep inside of me, something that I don’t recognize. I never felt that way with Charlie. Part of me wants to turn around and stay the rest of the weekend. Let him teach me. Train me. Have his way with me.

“The orgasms are guaranteed,” he says. When I turn to look at him again, he’s peeling an apple, the knife moving in a rhythmic circle. He’s skilled—even at this. I think of those hands. His tongue. This is how he is.

“Good. I guess that’s what got me into this mess.”

He shrugs, looking at me nonchalantly like his tongue wasn’t just deep inside of me. My cheeks grow hot as those hazel eyes land on mine. “This mess. That’s a good word for it.” He pauses. “You know a realtor? Or a property manager or anything? Or anyone who does events?”

“No,” I say cautiously. “I might know someone who knows someone, though. Why?”

He takes a bite of the apple, and the juice runs over his chin. “With you, I might have a chance of getting my daughter back for good. Full custody. The whole nine.” He takes another bite, and I find myself staring at him, not really listening to his words. “But a six-year-old shouldn’t be living in a shitty apartment above her dad’s bar. We need to find somewhere real to live.”

“Hold up. I thought you said we were living here.?”

He doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve said anything. “Just a little upgrade. An apartment outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Very slightly outside. Nothing fancy. Just functional. You can decorate it with some of your shit from Brooklyn. I’m sure it’s nicer than mine. I know a moving company—”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, I am. Get on the stick. We need a place before next Sunday.”

“In New York?”

“No, in fucking Connecticut. Where the fuck do you think we’re going to live? Of course, in New York.” He sounds amused, like he’s given me the easiest task in the world. “It’ll be fun. Like ‘House Hunters.’ Those kinda shows couples watch when they’re buying a house. Except we’re not really a couple, and we’re looking for an apartment that’s not a cesspool.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

Feasible? Reasonable? A good idea?

“It’ll fall into place. We’ll have a bedroom for Brie. And if it doesn’t work out, you can leave like you never knew me. But something about today makes me feel lucky.” He finishes the apple and tosses the core in the trash. “Come to think of it, maybe it’s you. I’ll pay you fifty bucks if we can’t find a place. Come on. It’ll be a challenge.”

I cross my arms. “We can try. But I can guarantee we won’t find anything before next week—”

“Fine. Whatever. As soon as possible.”

“Where does Brie live now? Where’s her school?”

“Marta’s in Queens. But that doesn’t matter. Queens sucks almost as much as Brooklyn these days.”

I turn to leave, but something strikes me. “What’s this about an event planner too?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just need to have our bases covered. Make it all look real.”

“I’ll get an apartment for us in a few days. Give me a few. Three days.”

“Fine. I’ll be thinking about you until then,” he says. His grin is downright lascivious.

I leave, heart pounding, like the conversation we just had was normal in any way whatsoever. It wasn’t.

But I’m still on a high from his touch, and I float back to Brooklyn, just like that.

What would it hurt?

Along with all the excuses from before, it’s this thought that absolutely does me in.

Chapter Seven

Liam

I haven’t seen her in three days. Fuck. I haven’t thought this much about a woman since my first girlfriend in high school. And with her, I was just hoping to get in her pants.

It’s a little different with Skye. We have business, sure. She’s been apartment hunting for my sorry ass.

But there’s more to it than that.

Her quirky half-smile. The way she talks about books. Her hair falling over her face, messy after waking up at my place. The way she sighed in the shower when my hands roamed over her body.

That’s all relationship shit, and I don’t do relationship shit.

Fuck.

For some reason, I’m almost nervous. Not quite nervous. I don’t get nervous, not like that. I know women, and this one is easy to read. We’re casual, a team. In this whole thing for the advantages.

Right now, I’m arranging the barstools, waiting for her to come. She said it would be six, right before we open. And Finn promised me the evening off.

Finn doesn’t especially like my update on the situation. It’s been tough to sell him on his own idea.

Whatever, motherfucker. It was a good damn idea. I’m taking some action for once.

I move the last barstool again, glancing out the window. No sign of Skye yet. I check my phone for a text from her. When I look up, my brother is watching me with the brand of skepticism he reserves for our resident alcoholics who claim they need ‘just one more drink.’

“Tell me again what you said to her. And explain to me why the hell she’s going along with it.” Finn starts polishing the bar, scraping off specks of dried lime and the sticky sweetness of spilled beer. But he keeps his eyes on me.

“I told her we’d need to move in together. It’s not my plan. It’s your plan, but one step further. I made your plan even better, ya dick. If we’re really going after sole custody here, I can’t be living above this shit hole anymore.”

“It’s not a shit hole. You own half the damn bar, Liam.”

“I do. But it’s not the place for a little girl, is it? So, we’re going to look at—”

“You’re a ‘we,’ now?”

I ignore him. “We’re going to look at a few places. Right around here. Just outside of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Sure. Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Even though Brie’s entire life is in Queens,” Finn says, wringing out the towel and wetting it again. “Where the hell are you going to get money for a down payment on an apartment? You’re not making her pay, are you?”

“Fuck no.” I glance down at my phone again and put it in my pocket.

“Then what are you planning to do?”

“I work my ass off here.” I shrug. “I have some saved. Didn’t know what I was saving for, but it could be this. Never figured I’d get a real chance at getting custody of Brie. Now I got one. Her name is Skye.”

“Why not get an apartment on your own? Brie could come there. Skye could still pretend to be your damn girlfriend.”

“It’s the appearance of the thing. If I want Brie overnight—and eventually, full time—I can show off my girlfriend with the regular salary. Judges think women pack all the lunches and do all the mom shit. It’s a pillar of my case. The other judge I saw even mentioned it. Hell, you were making rumblings about a relationship being a good idea. After it’s all done, Skye will go back home to Brooklyn. Everyone will be happy.”

“And I’m sure she’ll go quietly, just like you never lured her into your web, drank her blood, and spit her back out?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finn smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I told you, this one is out of your league. But from the way she looked at you at breakfast yesterday, she doesn’t know that. At least not for sure. All that sob story shit about your kid—”

“That sob story is true.” As is the one about her mother. And her grandmother. And the time I spent away from my baby girl—too long. Years. “And she does want to help me. She’s in it for the sex. She wants to get laid. Have an adventure. Walk on the wild side for once.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Could be part of it. But it’s not everything. When she moves into that apartment with you and starts sleeping in your bed every night. When Brie is allowed overnight visitation… tell me she won’t fall for you. And tell me she won’t fall for that little girl.”

I think of Brie, pushing her on the swing at the park, higher and higher. She squealed with such laughter. It was a year ago, that time. And it seems like minutes.

There’s an uneasy feeling at the pit of my stomach when I think about Skye and Brie in the same space.

“She’ll love Brie,” I say. “Everyone does. That’s kind of universal. But she’s a—what’s that word when someone is real serious about things—”

“A pragmatist?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s a pragmatist. She gets it, like I said. She’s doing me a favor. I’m giving her the time of her life. That’s all. No other strings. After the custody hearing on the twenty-eighth, we can end it easily. I’ll be able to keep my life stable for Brie. And Skye can roll back to Brooklyn. She loves it there—loves her life—doesn’t want to be with someone like me. Not for the long term.”

Finn nods and takes a seat on one of the bar stools. Then he taps his chin like he’s thinking. For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me I’m right. That all of this is a rock-solid plan. After all, it was his plan—not that he really encouraged me to follow it. But he shouldn’t have mentioned it at all if he didn’t want me to consider it. But then I see the look in his eyes.

“You’re full of shit, Liam. You always have been. Especially when it comes to women.”

“We’re opening soon. You don’t have time for this,” I say. One of his speeches again—I can’t fucking stand this shit. Since I got out of prison, it’s been one every other week or so, on average. Sometimes more. I put my head down and start checking the bottles of liquor, seeing if we have enough on hand for our regulars.

“I’m just warning you. This girl—I saw the way she looked at you. I never should have said a damn thing to you about your court case. It was irresponsible. I should have known you would take it too seriously. It was just a joke—”

I look up at him, my big brother. “It was a damn good idea, Finn. Last week this time, I didn’t have a shot in hell. That judge kept getting on me about the lack of stability, the lack of a solid relationship. There wasn’t even a reason to try and find a new place for Brie. Now, I’ve got Skye on it.”

Finn saunters over to the door and flips the sign that tells customers we’re open. “Skye’s ‘on it?’ She got more than she bargained for, didn’t she?” Finn turns to me and crosses his arms. “She’s actually looking for an apartment for you.” He says it as a statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah, she said she would. What’s so bad about that?” I feel my body taking a defensive posture, like it used to when I was in prison. When the guys from the yard would take the same posture. A constant dick-measuring contest for six months. I’m not this person—and especially not with Finn.

And I shouldn’t be with Skye either.

“Nothing.” Finn shrugs. “Sounds normal if you’re in a relationship with someone. Sounds like relationship shit to me. Sounds like it has the potential to blow up in your face.”

“It probably will,” I say. “But she’s smart enough to know that.”

Just then, I see a figure standing outside of Dougherty’s. I can tell from the way her hair falls across her face that it’s Skye. Warmth spreads in my chest, and it feels like there’s something opening inside of me when she pushes on the door and looks inside. “Liam?”

Her voice sounds even huskier than it did three nights ago. Sexier. The image of her, coming for me. My cock stirs, bulge rising against my jeans. I put down the bottle I have in my hand and turn to her, an almost automatic reaction, like I don’t quite know what I’m doing.

Finn holds the door open for her and doesn’t say anything. There’s plenty he could say—to defame me, to encourage her to stay away. He looks for a second like he might say something. I wouldn’t blame him. There’s a little girl at the center of all of this, and she’s a Dougherty too. We’re both trying to protect her, in our way. Skye is part of that plan for me—and she knows it.

Finn doesn’t trust what I’m doing. But he’s uncle, not father. I know best. And when I see Skye after an absence of two days, I know she’s right. She’s good, and honest, and pure. All the things I’m not and never have been. A judge will see that—she’ll make me those things by extension. That’s how good she is.

She looks between Finn and me and tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s shy. “I found a couple of places. We can look at them tomorrow. Or I can choose one—”

I walk over to her, closing the space between us. I take her into my arms and kiss her hard, my tongue finding hers. “I have other plans for tomorrow morning,” I say.

Finn waves and walks to the back room. “Don’t fuck up, Liam. Whatever that means to you.” When he locks it behind him, he looks back at me through the glass and shakes his head. I flick him off while I’m still kissing Skye.

When I pull away, Skye is breathless. “I didn’t think—I didn’t know if it was going to be like this.”

“Like what?” I slip my hands under her shirt and lift her onto one of the bar stools. My fingers are already rising to her bra, unsnapping it, letting her breasts fall free. She gives a little sigh that makes my cock stiffer than it was before.

“Like this. Like you being happy to see me,” she says, blushing. When she speaks, there’s a little moan in her voice.

Her hand finds my cock, long fingers stroking it through my jeans.

“Let’s take this upstairs,” I say. She looks around, eyes hooded with lust, looking to see if anyone is passing by on the street. If anyone can see that my hands are all over her body, that her bra is falling free, and the strap of her shirt is hanging from one shoulder.

I grab her hand, and we run upstairs to my rickety old apartment. We’re both laughing—it’s a feeling I haven’t had in years. Like we’re teenagers, hoping not to get caught. But there’s no one waiting to catch us. And she’s all mine.

I push the bad things away from my mind—the losses and failures, all the women who came before.

I pull her clothes off, and they land on the floor in a silky puddle. Her body is timid, a bit shy, and a blush rises over her chest and cheeks, turning her body the perfect shade of pink. Pulling her close, I bring my mouth to her shoulder, kissing her there. She looks up at me, and I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her chaste, white panties.

“These really need to come off.”

“You’re not going to—we’re not—are we—”

“You mean—” I pull down her panties, and they fall to her feet. She shivers and bites her lip nervously. “Am I going to fuck you? I don’t know. Do you want me to?”

“I think maybe—I do.” She swallows hard, like she’s nervous again. My cock strains against my jeans, almost painfully. “But after that—” She stops.

“After that what?” I bring my hand to my jeans and unbuckle myself. The thought of fucking her, taking her virginity, right here, right now—it creates a nearly painful tightness in my center.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

I pull my shirt off and bring her naked body to mine. “Tell me,” I say. “This won’t work if you keep shit from me.”

Even though there’s plenty I’m still keeping from you.

She gives me a sharp laugh. “Okay—wait—like you not telling me I’m supposed to be your fake girlfriend or find you an apartment?”

“That’s not the same,” I answer quickly. “I was planning to reveal that information when the time came.” I brush her hair aside. “So, you need to tell me what it is you think is happening here. Why you’re scared.”

“I told you,” she says defensively. “My ex—he made me feel like shit. Being with you is…” Her voice drifts off, and I bury my face in her hair. I haven’t done that in a long time. The scent of her is vaguely tropical, like flowers and coconut. I let her rest her head against my chest, even though my desire pulses through me in ever-increasing waves.

“It’s scary,” she says finally. “After actually fucking, we’re done, right? Or do I need to keep coming around for appearances?”

That idea hangs in the air between us. “No,” I reply. “I need you to be here, to live with me. For real. For the courts. The judge. All that.”

It’s a shitty, lame response, and she knows it. She’s quiet, her head nestled against my shoulder. God help me, it feels right, like we ought to be here, right now, in this mess together.

“Okay. That’s what you said before. It makes sense. It all does.”

I tilt her face towards mine and kiss her lips softly. That mere action makes my cock harder than steel—the soft, pillow-sweetness of her lips, her eyes dewy with emotion. In this moment, I want her as much as I’ve ever wanted anything. I want to own her, destroy her, make her mine.

I want to tell her these things, but the words don’t come. They’re stuck, somehow. It seems like a vast, echoing expanse of time since I felt like that about someone. And when I did feel that way, it was only fleeting. With Tabitha, we were high a lot of the time in the beginning. After Brie was born, we were clean for the years of her early childhood, but we were always fighting. Tabitha was always leaving, disappearing for days, and I was learning to be a dad in the ultimate trial by fire. The only happy times were in the very beginning, and that all exists in my memory in a cloud of cocaine dust and crushed pills, and needles, later on. Our love was a tainted one.

Standing here, looking down into this sweet girl’s face, I know that I can’t let go and tell her these things, even if it’s what she wants to hear.

I can give her sex, and she can help me build a safe harbor for my daughter. If she’s looking for something more than that, she should wait for someone better. Someone more equipped to do all the normal things she needs.

I can give her adventure, maybe. Pleasure. Beyond that, I only have capacity to care for Brie. And I’ll have to dedicate myself to that.

Instead of saying anything, I kiss her again and carry her to the bedroom, slipping out of my jeans.

“We can see the rentals tomorrow,” I say. “There’s plenty of time.”

She nods, still looking at me with her head cocked to one side, eyes wary and searching. “Yeah. I think that’s fine.”

“I’m not getting rid of you, Skye,” I say. “If this is too much for you—” I let my words trail off because the truth is that I need her here. I might have succeeded on my own, but she makes the whole thing seem more real—and she makes me feel like I might have a chance to be a real father again.

“It’s not.” She puts out her hand and catches mine in hers, and she pulls me towards her.

When I fall onto the bed next to her, she pulls at the waist of my boxers. I grab her hand and shake my head. “What I can do is make your first time planned. Make it special. Like you deserve.”

“And tonight?” She bites her lower lip again.

“I can make you come. Make sure you fall asleep with your legs shaking. Make sure you wake up sore.”

She smiles at that, and I lie down next to her, running my hand over the planes and curves of her delicate body. I spread her legs apart on the bed and explore her wetness with my hand, observing her jolts and sighs. My fingers slip inside of her with ease, and my thumb finds her clit, circling it. Her body tenses and releases as she draws closer to the edge. I bring my mouth to her nipples, one after the other.

My mouth trails over her smooth skin to the slick cleft between her legs, darting my tongue in and out, tasting her. Soon, my fingers and mouth are working in tandem as she writhes beneath me.

“Liam,” she moans. She repeats my name like it’s a mantra, a prayer. With each utterance, I grow harder. I swirl my tongue over her clit and then down to her slick folds, where I remove my fingers. Slipping my tongue inside of her, I take in her essence, sharp and sweet. Skye’s body shudders beneath me, and I can tell she’s close to letting go. Her fingers find my hair, pulling it hard. She cries out, and I bring my tongue back to her clit, sucking it into my mouth, pulling gently. Her legs shake and she lets out a deep, animal groan as she comes for me, saying my name still, over, and over. I don’t pull away until she comes again, quickly on the heels of the first orgasm.

When I move next to her on the bed, her eyes are still filled with need.

“Can’t we—” Her gaze communicates exactly what she wants.

“No, not tonight,” I say. “But soon.”

Very soon, I think. She nestles in beside me and drifts off to sleep. Why am I holding out? I’ve never held on like this. But there’s something about Skye that makes me want to make this moment last, keep it going until the bitter end.

It’s a shame that we’re running against the clock, that there’s an end in sight.

This is one thing I can stretch out.

And there’s lots of ways to make sure the time in between is really fucking good.

 

Chapter Eight

Skye

The next morning, it’s crisp outside, my favorite type of weather at the beginning of spring. But I feel a pervasive anxiety as we start leaving the apartment, walking down the rickety old stairs.

There’s something I neglected to mention to Liam last night. And he’s not going to like it.

After talking on my own to Finn, I made a modification to the apartment search.

Liam grabs my ass as we walk to the front door of the bar. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“My ass or the apartments?”

He shrugs. “Little bit of this. Little bit of that.”

I clear my throat as we wait for our Lyft to show up. “Well, you may not love the location.”

“Lower East Side? I can live with that.”

“No.”

“Tell me it’s not in Brooklyn. That’s you. That ain’t me.”

The Lyft pulls up, and we get in the back seat. The floor is a little worn and dirty, and the driver looks like a college kid down on his luck. “It’s in Queens,” I say. “Finn said that’s where Brie lives now. So that’s where her friends are. Her school. Her life for the past two years.”

“It’s in Queens,” he repeats. The sound in his voice is not good when he says it. “I live in Manhattan. I’ve always lived in Manhattan. Why the hell did you go listening to Finn?”

I give him a look, and the Lyft driver looks in his rear-view mirror between the two of us. The driver, thankfully, doesn’t add his opinion on Queens.

“Finn said the commute from here to Queens is forty-five minutes on a bad day. You want her to do that every day she goes to school?” My stomach knots up as I say it. I’m basically telling him what to do with his life, how to live it. But shit, he asked me to find a place. I figured I’d make sure it was a place that would look good for the damn judge.

“Wouldn’t be that long,” he says curtly. But he sighs right after he says it. “Maybe forty minutes. I could drive her there.”

“You have a car? Why the hell do you have a car? No one in Manhattan has a car.”

“I do. It works most of the time. I used to drive it out to the mountains in the fall.” His voice is haughty, defensive. But there’s the slightest hint of doubt there, too.

“You cannot drive your daughter around New York in a car that works ‘most of the time.’” I roll my eyes and look out of the window, cheeks hot. This was a bad idea.

“It works,” he says. “Well enough that we don’t have to live in Queens. Queens is almost as bad as Brooklyn.”

The Lyft driver rolls his eyes, and I’m glad Liam doesn’t see it.

“Liam,” I say, turning my body towards his. I try not to think about the way his hands feel on me, the way he can look at me and convince me to do just about anything. If I want to help him, this is one thing he has to understand. “If you want the court to actually take you seriously, you need to move somewhere that Brie knows. I’m not a social worker, but Rhiannon is, and she gave me the run down on what the courts are looking for. And Finn gave me her address. Her school’s name and location. These apartments are just blocks away from there. I’m looking out for you. Judges are looking for a good faith effort on the parent’s part, especially if that parent did some time.”

His hazel eyes shift and change, green to brown. Brown to green. He looks away. “Yeah,” he says. There’s a long pause. “Who says I want her at that school? Public school system was good enough for me.”

“She’s not at a public school right now, and it’s the middle of the year. If she’s going to live with you, she needs an easy transition. Like I said, a good faith effort. That’s what Rhiannon called it.” I think for a second, looking over at Liam. His long, muscular body stretches out over the seat of the car, his knees hitting the back of the passenger side seat. “You’re making an effort. They’ll see that.”

“I should have done it before,” he says, looking out of the window. “Gotten a place that Marta could actually bring Brie. By the way—” he stops and looks over at me.

“What else?” My stomach drops. “I don’t like your ‘by the way.’”

“We’re meeting with the lawyer after this, and then you get to meet Brie. I thought it would be next weekend, but fucking Marta says she needs to bring her along to see the lawyers. Before she’ll even consider letting Brie see us again.”

“Christ on a bike, Liam. Why in the hell didn’t you tell me?” I groan and throw my head back against the seat. “Jesus. Give me a little time to prep for these things.”

He doesn’t answer me directly—again. An irritating fucking habit if you ask me. Instead, he looks out of the window as we cross over into Queens. “I fucking hate Brooklyn. And I hate Queens too. It’s the new Brooklyn. Fucking hipsters.”

I groan. “I’m going along with all of this and I don’t know why—and then you spring this newest shit on me like I’m some idiot who’s going to do whatever you say.”

Liam looks at me and grins. “You know why you’re going along with all of this. It’s pretty fucking clear you want this magic—” Liam looks at the Lyft driver and then leans into me. “Cock,” he whispers.

My cheeks color, and warmth spreads through my body. “I don’t know for sure if it’s magic. You haven’t seen fit to test it on me yet.”

“I’m going to,” he says. “And it definitely is.”

When he says it, there’s laughter in his voice, like there was when I first met him. I liked that sound. The goofy sense of humor that goes along with his New York accent and his inexplicable hatred of all things trendy.

He brings his hand to touch my leg, resting just below the hemline of my skirt. It’s not an apology, not exactly. Liam Dougherty hasn’t apologized to me for any of this. It doesn’t seem like that’s the kind of guy he is.

I add to my mental checklist for a long-term life partner. Must be able to apologize.

His hand inches higher, and a thrill runs through me. We’re pulling into the neighborhood my friend found—cheaper than just about anywhere in Manhattan and close enough to Brie’s school to get her there and back in ten minutes. Not so far away from the bar that he couldn’t get there by subway in an hour.

This is a sacrifice he can make for his kid. It isn’t even a sacrifice at all. Fucking asshole. He should be bowing down and thanking me—

His hand is warm. Hot. It stays, pressed against my thigh, like a reminder that he’s in this with me. That I’m here, with him, for a reason. A favor. Something that will stick in my memory forever. I’m venturing out of my comfort zone. This is for me as much as it is for him.

“This is it,” the driver says, pulling up to a tiny townhouse. The bottom floor was converted to an apartment with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a little family room just big enough for a sofa and a chair. Cute. Homey. Comfortable. The countertops might still be Formica, and the floor might slope to one side, but it’s safe and warm and far better for someone with a kid.

When I see it—really look at it—as we pull up, I realize I picked somewhere I might want to live. Even though I won’t be living here. Not really.

I look over at Liam as the car parks. He opens the door slowly, his hand falling away from my thigh. He grabs my hand and pulls me out with him, looking back at me for a second. The impression I get of him in that moment is one of curiosity, interest, maybe even excitement. The expression on his face doesn’t match his rumblings from before. It signals something hidden deeper inside of him.

Maybe.

The driver pulls away, and we’re left standing there together. I realize we’re holding hands, like a real couple. That thought makes me woozy.

Being with him goes from being infuriating to tantalizing in a matter of moments.

He walks to the stone steps, still holding my hand. “Where’s the realtor?”

“She said she couldn’t make it. Told me the combo to get in. She’s a friend of Rhiannon’s so—” I fumble with the lock on the door, entering the code twice before it pops open and delivers a worn looking key. The door sticks when I try it, so I jiggle the handle. When it opens, there’s a change in the air. It’s warmer, quieter, inviting. “So, we can look at it ourselves.”

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as I walk inside.

Behind me, the door closes and locks. Liam is silent, walking over the slightly crooked, worn hardwoods, over to the kitchen with its old gas burners. The Formica is stained very slightly from years of use. There are some scratches in the kitchen tile, and some cracks in the walls. But it feels nice, like a place we could live.

A place he could live. After this is all over.

He turns to me and smiles. “This is good. I gotta hand it to you.”

“Even though it’s in Queens—”

“Don’t mention that. You’ll ruin the moment.” He takes me in his arms and lifts me onto the kitchen countertop. There’s a window behind me that looks out into a tiny backyard. “And besides, I think I could pretend I’m somewhere else in here.”

“Like where?”

“Like not in Queens.” He kisses me, slowly, movements languid, like we’ve got all the time in the world.

“Hey, I thought we needed to meet with the lawyer.”

“Not until one,” he mumbles. His lips trail over my neck, hands searching beneath my shirt. His fingers unhook my bra. “I’d like to take this opportunity…” He lifts a hand to my breast and pinches one nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Before I can say anything, he’s lifting my shirt over my shoulders and throws it to the floor, along with my bra. “To show you more about my magic cock.”

“Come on,” I whisper. “That’s not a good idea. We don’t live here. I mean—this isn’t our place. The realtor does have a key too. She’s not in the area, but you never know for sure. Shit. What if someone else—”

“No one else lives here,” he replies. “Not yet. And besides, it’s ours. We’ll sign a lease today. After the lawyer.”

“I have two other places to look at. One in Brooklyn—”

“Fuck no,” he says, lifting my skirt and tugging at my panties. “No fucking Brooklyn. This is the place. This is the one that’s closest to Brie’s school? Close to Marta’s. And my Ma’s old church, I think. We’ll sign the lease today.”

“You mean you will.”

“You should too. Sign the lease. Make sure I can’t kick you out.”

I balk at that, putting my hands on top of his. “It’s twenty-seven hundred a month. Are you just doing all of this to get me to pay?”

He laughs and moves his hands away from mine, pulling my panties off and tossing them on the floor. “The bar isn’t just a fake job. I work my ass off. I’ve been putting money away for two years. And more before—” He stops, moving his fingers to my aching sex. “I have plenty. For as long as you’re here, I’m paying for you.” He kisses me in the hollow of my neck. “For your rent. Your meals. Like a real couple.”

I’d like to tell him how that makes me feel—warm inside but also deeply anxious.

Seconds ago, he was giving me shit for making him even go to Queens. Now he’s ripping my clothes off and feeling me up on a kitchen counter.

It’s troubling, this thing growing between us. If it’s not real, then what is it?

Two fingers slide inside of me, making a beckoning motion against my g-spot. Lightning strikes through my veins, smoldering heat licking over my thighs. My focus is growing blurry around the edges. My anger is fading from a deep, furious red to light pink. And then to nothing, as heat sings through me.

“I shouldn’t sign it,” I say, a little moan in my voice. His palm rests against my clit, his fingers drenched in wetness. “We’re not a real couple.”

“Real enough,” he says. “I’m starting to know what you like, anyway. My little librarian. Pure and innocent. But she secretly—” He leans in, the base of his palm resting against my clit now, my legs spread over the kitchen counter. “She wants to fuck.”

“I’m a writer. Not a librarian. I’m not even a writer. Just an assistant.” I laugh as I say it, and I throw my arms and legs around him. It feels good to be wanted like this, to know that his cock is pressing against my thigh, that he could fuck me at any moment. The woman who was heretofore unfuckable.

“I know what you are. I don’t get that shit confused.” He shifts his hand and lets his thumb work against my clit. White hot flame rises in me, focused on the spots his fingers find, the places he touches me, where no man has ever touched me before. I moan softly, leaning into his shoulder.

“Liam, come on. I can make an appearance when and where I need to—” I stop, panting, moaning. He has me close and he knows it. “Fuck. Just listen to me—Are you going to fuck me?” I almost blush when I say it, but we’ve been building to this. He’s teased me, taunted me, made me want it more than I imagined I would.

It strikes me. I’m invested now. How much deeper will I go when we start sleeping together?

Still, there’s nothing I’m going to do to stop it now. It’s clear to me—I’m in this. And I’ll see it through to the end, whenever that is.

“Not today,” he growls. He brings me to the edge with his fingers, kissing my neck, his mouth moving down to one nipple, his other hand holding me up as the sensation builds in my body. Everything grows tighter and tighter until it feels like I’m about to snap.

“Please.” I hear myself saying the word. It wasn’t a conscious decision—to want this, to beg for it. The need is so deep that the words come out anyway, unexpected.

“Please what?” His voice is gruff.

“Please… make it today. I want you to fuck me today. Here.” My head swims as I’m saying it. This isn’t our apartment—and shit, wouldn’t we get arrested or something if the realtor caught us? If the landlord came by? The heat builds, pooling between my legs, centered on his fingers.

My orgasm explodes through me, the wave so strong that my brain goes blank for a second. I hear myself calling out Liam’s name, and I’m babbling like a madwoman. My muscles pulse against his fingers, and I whimper as the pleasure crescendos and slowly fades away. “I want more,” I say without even thinking about it. “Make me come again. Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he says. He leans in and nips at my neck.

He takes his hand away, leaving me panting and exposed. “Come on,” I whimper. The thrumming in my body is maddening, taking me to heights I never experienced with Charlie. I want it again. Already. I didn’t experience much of anything at all with him—just sleepless nights when I’d get off by myself. Each experience unsatisfying.

Here, with Liam, this one moment is better than a thousand nights with Charlie. Liam’s touch trumps all the chaste kisses and promises of a future together.

He pulls me from the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist, carrying me to the back bedroom. “We haven’t seen the master bedroom yet, little miss.” He kisses me on my neck as he carries me. “Don’t worry—we’ll break it in when we do.”

I think of him, his hips thrusting between my legs. His cock, filling me to the hilt. I want it, want him bare, coming inside of me. I’ve never had these thoughts before. The images, fast and intense, frighten me.

“You mean you’ll fuck me, right? Today?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he carries me into the room and puts me down on my knees. The gray carpet is new and soft. The light filters into the windows, illuminating both of our bodies. If someone came and looked through the blinds, they’d see Liam unbuckling himself, releasing his cock and stroking himself in front of me.

“Pull your skirt up for me, sweetheart. Let me see your pussy.” I turn red, but I do as he says. I always do. It’s become a habit. It’s become my reality.

I kneel before him, totally exposed, skirt lifted around my hips.

“And? What do I do now?” I look up at him. If anyone had asked me a year ago if I imagined myself here, my mouth watering at the sight of this man’s cock. An ex-con, a bad boy. A man with tattoos and reckless mistakes and insane passion in his history.

I would have told them no. I’d be married to Charlie, trying to make a baby. Maybe writing a book. A boring one. One with no experience behind it.

But those are all dreams that didn’t happen—and what’s more, they’re dreams that are far less exciting than my reality now, at this very moment.

“Now? I’ll teach you how to suck my cock.” He strokes himself again, tugging his pants down to the floor and stepping forward. I haven’t seen it in the light of day—it’s huge. I swallow hard, anxiety and excitement swirling together in the pit of my stomach. “It’s a skill every good girl should know. And you’re a good girl, aren’t you? Good for your man?”

I nod. He places his cock against my lips, and I open my mouth, pressing my tongue to his hot skin and wrapping my lips around the head.

“But your man was never good to you, was he?” Liam brings his hand to my head and brushes his fingers through my hair. It sends shivers down my spine, my body lit on fire from the inside. “I will be. I might be cocky. I might hate this fucking neighborhood. I might drive you crazy.” He thrusts forward, making my mouth open wider. I taste him, salty and sharp. A groan escapes from his lips, deep and throaty and rich. “I might be an arrogant asshole.” He shudders. “But I treat my women good. Especially if they’ve got a mouth as pretty as yours.”

I swirl my tongue over his cock, and I close my eyes. This is a visceral, deep pleasure—taking him, letting him thrust into the back of my mouth as he holds my hair, pulling it. I moan against his cock, and he grunts in response. My eyes are watering, tears streaming down my cheeks as he hits the back of my throat. But I find I like this particular brand of discomfort—my nipples stiffen in the chilled air of the room, and my sex aches for him. I feel myself getting even wetter than I was before. My body is hot, ready, anticipating.

I bring my hand to the cleft between my legs, finding my clit. I let my fingers flick over it, heightening my own pleasure as I suck his cock. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, chills running up and down my spine. I start to come, sensation overtaking me, waves of release hitting me so hard I feel like I might temporarily go insane.

“You like that? Sucking my cock? Coming for me while you taste me?”

I can only moan and mumble against his skin, and he groans at the vibrations.

“God, I’m close,” he says, his cock moving faster now. I bring my hand to the base of his cock, stroking it tentatively as he fucks my mouth. “That’s perfect. You’re doing so good. So fucking sweet.”

I taste him then, stronger. Sharp and musky. He moans, fingers tangled in my hair, pulling it hard. The mascara I put on earlier is ruined, running down my cheeks. I don’t care—I have no capacity now for modesty. All I want is for him to come, to fill my mouth, my throat. To give him the pleasure I’ve been dreaming about since I met him. He thrusts hard, once more, and his essence fills my mouth.

“Swallow it,” he groans. “I want to feel you swallow.” I obey, and he groans again, a shiver running through him. “That’s my good girl. You like being a little fuck toy, don’t you?”

A tremor of uncertainty hits me. Do I? Is this what I am? Secretly? Who I am? Did I stay here today instead of bolting because this is exactly what I want?

He pulls away, and I lick my lips, still hungry for his taste. I look up at him, and slowly, I nod.

Liam falls to the floor beside me, pulling me into his arms. His taste is heavy on my lips. And to my surprise, I like it. A sensual secret, a brief sign of what took place in this room with him.

I keep it close, a memory for when we’re done. When our time wears thin. He’s told me it will—he’s not a man who stays.

Chapter Nine

Liam

Skye’s face is flushed when we leave the apartment.

“So, this is really what you want? You don’t want to look at the other ones?”

I turn to her and take her by the shoulders. “Yeah, really. I like this place.” I smile. “Besides, it’s where you gave your first blow job.” My cock throbs at the thought of it, at the messiness of her hair, her pink cheeks.

She bites her lip hard and shushes me. “Come on, someone might hear you.”

“What? We’re wholesome. A couple moving into an apartment in fucking Queens of all places. We haven’t even fucked. Can’t get more wholesome than that.”

“We should fix that,” she whispers. A shiver runs through my body and reaches the base of my spine. “You have to tell me when.”

I take her in my arms and kiss her, pulling her close. “We should. When the time is right. Besides, I like making you wait. Something sexy about that. Keep the virgin waiting.”

“Look at you with all this romantic stuff,” she says. “Someone might say you like me.” She looks at me, horrified when she says it, like she’s said something wrong. Something tightens deep in my chest, causing me an almost physical pain. “Sorry,” she adds.

“I do like you. We’re friends, aren’t we?” I give her a grin and pull her in close as we walk down to the subway. “More than that. You’re helping me. And I know you were in this for a casual thing, but—”

We stop in front of the stairs that lead down to the trains. “Don’t say anything else,” she says. “Casual is good. Romantic—not so much, right?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. There’s so much more I want to say. I want to put my hands on her body, push her against the wall by the stairs. Tell her I don’t know anyone like her, that she’s different. And different is good. So good.

If she were anyone else, I would have fucked her by now. But she’s not anyone else. I don’t know why I’m hesitating, why I’m standing here, just looking at her. I like the tension. The wanting. The thought that waiting might make her stay longer, might make her more invested.

“Come on, Liam.” Skye grabs me by the hand and pulls me down into the pit of the subway. The ride is a quiet one, with many things left unsaid. But when we arrive back in Hell’s Kitchen, she takes me by the hand and doesn’t let go until we’re in the lawyer’s waiting room.

“This is it,” I whisper. “My lawyer—Mickey Donnelly—he’s meeting with Marta’s lawyer to put custody back on the table. Overnight visits at the very least. I don’t have hard evidence against Marta—” I crack my knuckles, thinking of my little girl’s stories. Her anxiety. The stomach pain she complains each time she comes back from her grandmother’s.

“Rhiannon says you probably have a good case. We’ll see.”

The lawyer’s office always reminds me of the dentist—cold and clean with its anonymous white walls. There are law degrees and shitty paintings and a sad beta fish in a bowl with a plant in it. But nothing makes it personal. Shit, my dentist’s office is way more personal.

This time, being here feels slightly better. This time, Skye is with me, and we have an apartment and a plan. I’m down to the wire with this custody thing, and she came along in the nick of time. I glance at her, sitting in the hard-backed chair next to mine, wondering what she’s thinking. She looks lost in thought, and she pulls out a little notebook to write in. It has roses on the cover, and the edges are worn down.

I have the impulse to take her hand into mine and squeeze it. But I don’t.

Don’t want to confuse things, I think. We’ve already got them confused enough.

I look over at Skye again. She’s jotting things down, then occasionally looking around the lawyer’s waiting room, then writing down a few more words.

She’s got bigger dreams than me and an old apartment in Queens. It’s not close to her work in Soho, and it’s sure as hell not what she would have imagined for herself. At least, I think it’s not. She’ll be moving on when we’re done here.

But I want to pull these moments apart and spread them out, keeping them as long as I can.

“Mr. Dougherty,” the receptionist says, looking over the fish bowl on her desk. “Mr. Jameson will see you now.” She looks at Skye somewhat suspiciously. This isn’t exactly a great area of the city, and they don’t expect people who look like Skye to wander in with a guy like me, who previously had no chance in hell of getting his daughter back. “And this is—”

“My girlfriend,” I answer. Skye blanches, but then she looks over at me and nods. “We’re getting an apartment together for Brie. My little girl.”

We stand together and walk back to the room where I was told—three times—that Marta would retain full custody until I had a more stable living arrangement for Brie. Marta’s fucking family has these lawyer people on her side, and half of the court system too. My lawyer is on the Dougherty side of things, but, until now, it’s all seemed completely insurmountable.

But I look over at Skye, and it doesn’t seem that way anymore.

“Are they going to buy this shit?” Her voice is a low whisper, full of worry.

“They better. It’s my only strategy.”

She sighs heavily, but before she can get a smart-mouthed comment in, we’re in the lawyer’s conference room. There’s Marta and her guy, Lorne Jameson, who looks like a little bulldog. And there’s my lawyer, sitting across from him. I stop cold, because today there’s something different. Brie is here, too.

I knew it before we came today, but seeing her here is a reality I wasn’t quite ready for. Skye takes a deep breath in when she sees my daughter. I look over at her, and she cocks her head to the side, biting her lip.

“Daddy!” My daughter bursts out of her chair before Marta has a chance to catch her arm and hold her back. That’s how it usually is—Marta is always policing Brie’s quick bursts of energy, holding her back. But today, her gnarled old hand isn’t fast enough. Brie rushes into my arms and holds onto my waist. Before anyone can say a word, I’ve lifted her into my arms and twirled her around now. She’s at least fifty pounds and nearly four feet tall, but she feels as light as a feather to me. She always will.

“I missed you, Pumpkin,” I say. I never expect my heart to fill up quite like it does, like there’s no one and nothing else in the room. It surprises me every time. Recently, it’s gotten even worse—not worse, exactly—but more intense. The longing for us to be a family again. I squeeze my girl tight. When I glance at Skye, there are tears in her eyes.

“This is inappropriate. This man is only allowed supervised visitation,” Marta says. Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Her face, so similar to my ex-wife’s, has been distorted by years of hatefulness and narcissism.

“We’re here to overturn that today,” my lawyer says. “Mr. Dougherty has proven himself to be an upstanding citizen in the years since his release—”

“That’s it exactly,” Marta snarls. “Since his release. Kindly put her down, Liam.”

I don’t. Instead I shift Brie to my hip, and she nestles her head against my shoulder. “Not a chance,” I say. “Let me have five minutes. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her.”

“Please,” Brie says. “I just want to stay with Daddy.”

“That’s right,” I say. “Just a few minutes.” I kiss Brie on her cheek and take in her little kid smell—kids’ shampoo, a hint of sweat, the faint smell of the outdoors. At least Marta is keeping her bathed, I think.

“At school,” Brie whispers, “there’s a big kid who’s—”

Lorne Jameson cuts us off. “I’m afraid I do think this is inappropriate, just as Mrs. Maguire said.”

Marta looks at me, pleased with herself, a creepy-looking smile taking over her face. “And with your new girlfriend here too—might be confusing to Brie. Or is she even your girlfriend? My guy keeps his eye on you. I hear about you and your women from the bar. If you can rightfully call them women, that is.”

“Marta, please watch your mouth around Brie. If you didn’t want me to see her, why did you bring her here?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. “And this isn’t just some woman from the bar—”

“Please put the child down,” Jameson says. I don’t know much about this new lawyer of hers, but I can tell that his face looks like it needs to be punched. “Mrs. Maguire was unable to find childcare this afternoon, which is something she wishes to discuss. We feel you should be paying child support—”

“Child support,” I growl, protectively putting my hand behind my daughter’s head, just like I did when she was a baby and couldn’t quite sit up straight yet. “I pay child support every month. I don’t know what Marta’s been telling you, but you can check my bank statements. I’ve saved every penny. And then some.”

“And that’s why you’re living in that horrible place above the bar. It’s no place for overnight stays, let alone joint custody,” Marta says. Her lawyer puts his hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to stop speaking, but she brushes him away. “And you—you wouldn’t even be able to get her to school on time. I know you’ve got money saved somewhere. Tabby told me that a long time ago. You’ve just got it somewhere where you can’t get it to me. Or your precious little girl. How dare you even think she could live with you? When you can’t even pay for her.”

This woman is fucking nuts. I send exactly what Brie needs and more. And I have a sneaking suspicion most of it is put right back into Marta’s own hefty bank account. She plays her poor-me bit up for the judges. But I know she’s paying for a PI and a bunch of other shit to keep Brie away from me.

Skye looks over at me meaningfully and nods. Fucking Queens. Why did she have to be right about that? But I think about her in the apartment, how beautiful she looked when she was exactly where I wanted her. Maybe Queens isn’t that bad.

“I can get her to school on time when I move into a new apartment. It’s more than an apartment—it’s an old townhouse converted into apartments,” I say. Brie buries her face in my neck, her long brown hair cascading over my shoulders. “Two bedrooms. A backyard. Dishwasher, the whole nine yards.” I try to remember if there’s a washer and drier because I know it’s something Marta will find out before the day is over.

“In Hell’s Kitchen. That’s no place for a kid,” Marta huffs. “If my daughter were alive—”

I look to Skye and her eyes go wide. She regains composure before anyone in the room notices. That’s a thing you’d tell your serious girlfriend, isn’t it? That your ex-wife is dead. Shit.

“She’s not, Marta. I’m the only living parent she has. She belongs with me.”

The old woman crosses her arms, shutting the rest of the room out. Good. I know where this is going. She’s about to say something she won’t be able to take back. Fucking let her. Marta looks up at me with her vicious cornflower-blue eyes. “You were in prison for six months. You’re broke as shit, and you’re a criminal. Every one of your brothers are criminals.” She’s on a roll now, and her lawyer is trying to stop her.

“Keep going, Marta. Brie certainly needs to hear all of this,” I say. I try to make my voice threatening, but I break out into a grin even as I put my hands over my little girl’s ears. “Brie actually hates when you pull this crap. When you yell. When you gripe. It makes her anxious. Know how I know? She tells me. She cries on the phone with me.”

When you insult her. When you make her feel like garbage. For the first time in months, I feel something new rising within me. With Skye, even standing next to me, not saying anything, I feel braver and more powerful than I have when facing Marta and the courts.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Marta says. “My family is far better than yours. You’re a broke piece of shit.”

I hold Brie close, wishing I could take away every one of her grandmother’s words. “That’s where you’re wrong, on every count, Marta. I’m not broke. I’ve worked my ass off every day for two years, planning for this hearing. Waiting for it. Making sure everything was in order so I could get my little girl back. I pay you your child support. But I’ve got an account locked up for Brie, and you’re not getting your hands on that.”

“I’ll get it if you have your name on it. I’ll find a way,” Marta sneers at me. Lorne tries to shush her again, but he doesn’t succeed. “And where were you before you found this cute little ‘girlfriend’ and this magical apartment in Queens?”

“You know where I was. I went to prison for a crime your family had me commit. To pay for the funeral expenses for your daughter. I did the time. I’m out of that life for good.” I bite my tongue. I want to tell her that I know she had me do it so she could get rid of me—so Marta could have the prize of her granddaughter to show off to her friends for the rest of her miserable years on earth. But Donnelly has coached me not to say this shit. He sits back and nods, watching the back and forth between me and Marta. If she does this at the hearing—and we both know how to push her buttons—the ball goes back into my court.

“And here you brought this whore along when you knew your girl would be here,” Marta says.

That thing clenches tight in my chest again. I look over at Skye, and I see how pale she is. Shit. This is way more than she bargained for.

“That’s not what she is,” I say. “And if I were ever able to see Brie, I might have gotten to make the introduction a lot earlier. We’ve been together for—” I search my brain for a reasonable amount of time. “Three months. Isn’t that right?”

I glance at Skye again. She’s keeping her cool. “Yeah,” she breathes. It’s the first word she’s said since we got in here, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice even if no one else in here can.

Marta looks over at her lawyer with an angry expression on her face. “I doubt that,” Marta snips. “You’ve never been with anyone for longer than a few nights. My people keep tabs on you, and you know it. This girl is nothing more than some tramp you’ve found to make you look slightly more reasonable.”

I take a deep breath. Rage has clouded my judgment before with this woman, and it’s threatening to now. When I close my eyes, I see red. When I open them, I blurt out the only thing I can think of. “This is Skye Williams, and she’s my fiancée. We’re getting married. Next weekend.”

Skye makes a small, strangled sound. But, to her credit, she keeps her cool. She shouldn’t. I’m an asshole, and I have so little to offer her in return for her help.

I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs my hand.

“Well,” Donnelly says. “Congratulations.”

This probably isn’t the proposal Skye had imagined.

But if I get her out of this mess quick and get custody again, she’ll get the one she wants. The one she deserves.

I put Brie down, still holding her close, and pull out my phone. When I open it, there’s a copy of the lease. All we have to do is sign it through the app, and we’re done.

“Brie should be able to come stay overnight after the wedding. Get to know her new room. And go to the park with us before that. For the entire day. Unsupervised.”

“Please—can I?” Brie looks at all the adults in the room, who are arguing loudly. Marta’s voice is rising. “Will it have to be locked, Skye?”

Brie turns her big brown eyes to Skye. Skye shakes her head and gives me a worried look. The comment is small, said in Brie’s quiet voice.

It might have gone unnoticed, but something dawns on Skye. She kneels on the floor next to my girl, and she takes her hands. This woman I barely know—she does this for me. She finds the key—literally—that sways everything in our favor. At least for today.

“Do you mean your bedroom, sweetheart?” Skye asks.

Brie nods. “It’s a little scary. At night. With the door locked.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “If I can stay with you, you won’t lock it, right?”

“No, honey, we won’t. Never.” Skye pulls Brie to her and hugs her tight.

The room goes quiet. Even Marta’s skeevy lawyer bites his lip and shakes his head. “I think we can arrange an overnight visit. It seems you’re making a good faith effort, and the judge will sign off on it, Dougherty. I don’t think you’ll be getting custody any time soon—”

“What the hell are you saying, Lorne?” Marta snarls at him.

“He did what the judge said, Marta,” her lawyer says. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But if you want to maintain full custody, you have to allow visitation to the biological father when he meets the judge’s orders.”

When Skye stands up, she brushes Brie’s hair away from her face, and she smiles. “The apartment is a few blocks from Brie’s school. And Liam and I will be moving in shortly. So we’ll need to see Brie there soon, too. After the wedding.” Skye cuts her eyes at me and gives me an unreadable look.

Slowly, Marta’s lawyer nods.

We stand there, waiting, watching.

Things start happening around us. Legal things. Pens to paper. The tapping of keys on laptops.

The sound of things, finally, moving forward.

Shit. I guess we have a fucking wedding to plan.

 

Chapter Ten

Skye

The days until the move pass by in a blur. I ordered a dress online that might or not fit properly. And both Liam and I focused on Brie more than anything else. Buying a bed. A lamp. A nightstand. Pictures for the walls. A twirly dress for the wedding.

I pick up the brown box the dress came in and put it on my bed next to my suitcase. I move slow and cautious, like a spider might jump out of it at any moment. I wring my hands nervously and stare at it for a few moments. Rhiannon is here, and I can hear her sorting jewelry on my nightstand, muttering to herself.

Dress. Okay, I’ve got the dress. It’s got cap sleeves, and a silk sash, and the skirt goes just below my knees.

Now how do I tell Rhiannon that I’m getting married?

My parents, they were surprised. More than a little bewildered. But that’s not the hard part. The hard thing is explaining this to someone who really knows me, who was in the trenches with me when I was grieving the loss of Charlie. When I was resigning myself to be a spinster forever.

“I can’t believe you’re moving in with him,” she says. “Today. You just found the place a week ago?”

I gulp. “Yeah. I did. It’s nice. And he needs a stable place for the kid. I’m doing him a favor.” I must have said ‘I’m doing him a favor’ like sixty-five times so far to Rhiannon. All the while, she’s been helping me put clothes in suitcases, nodding silently and giving me looks like she thinks I might be certifiably insane.

Married. Married, married. I’m getting married.

Here comes the bride.

Holy shit.

I swallow hard. I have that peculiar taste at the back of my throat—the taste of fear. In my job as a writer’s assistant, I got used to that taste when I was making phone calls and scheduling advertising. It’s the taste of anxiety, the taste of fear. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I need to tell her. I have to tell her.

I open my mouth to say it, and then I just start packing again. In the days since we signed the lease and made the decision to get married—my stomach drops at the thought of it—Liam has informed his entire Irish family. He had his mom book the church in Queens. He’s gotten adjustments on his brother’s tux. All I had to do was get a dress.

I did at night, online, alone. Without my best friend.

I sigh deeply.

I think of that little girl, and the urgency piles on. We need to get into that apartment so she has a place to go, a place that doesn’t terrify her. Doesn’t grind her down, doesn’t ruin her childhood. It’s all worth saving—Liam, Brie. The two of them together.

How did I get into this again?

I think of Liam. The way he makes me moan, legs shaking, brain and body seized with white hot light and energy.

“You’re in for it,” Rhiannon says, pulling me out of my reverie. She crosses her arm and watches me pack up my old pictures. “It’s been what? A couple weeks? And you’re setting down roots.”

“No—it’s not like that. It’ll all be done and over with when the court grants final custody.”

Hands against bare skin. His tongue, inside of me. I shiver when I think of it, the feeling reaching the very base of my spine. And by the way, there’s something else. We’re getting married.

“You say that like you know what you’re talking about,” Rhiannon says. “That shit could take months. I told you that you might be able to help him get custody if you can prove the grandmother is abusing the kid. Even if the girl is saying she doesn’t feel safe, it can take a while to overturn a decision like that. Depends on the judge you get. You could get one who sides with you right away. You could get the one who told Liam he needed a steady relationship, and then you’re golden. Unless he realizes it’s all a sham.”

What if it does take months? Does Liam want me with him that whole time? He said he did.

“Yeah.” I look at her. “I guess I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

“No, you didn’t. But I support you. Especially since I’ve heard about the size of his cock. You are boning him, aren’t you?”

“Uh—” I look down at the picture in my hand. It’s Charlie and me at the beach. His arm is awkwardly over my shoulders. It’s clear to me now that we didn’t even really like each other. “Not yet. We’re not boning yet. There’s plenty of other things going on.”

She pauses and starts picking out a few bras from my drawer. “Okay. That’s weird. I mean, no judgment.”

My heart pounds hard, blood rushing in my ears. “There’s something I didn’t really tell you—a few things actually.”

Rhiannon folds up a couple of my nightshirts and tosses them my way, looking at me expectantly. “Go on.” She says the words carefully.

“Charlie and I—we never—I mean—I never, with anyone.”

“What are you saying?” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I’m still a virgin. So, Liam and I are holding off. For now. I mean—I would—with him, right now.” I’m stuttering over my words, and they’re all rushing together in an idiotic jumble. “But I think he’s waiting for dramatic effect.”

“Wait a second—” Rhiannon’s face dropped. It’s the look of someone who’s trust has been broken. But for so many years, I was ashamed. Waiting, wanting. Thinking it would all happen on my wedding night with Charlie, like he’d always promised. “You’re a what now—and you’re waiting to do it with Liam Dougherty?”

“I’m sorry, Rhi. I didn’t tell you. I just—”

“Hey, it’s fine. But girl, maybe you should warm up with someone else. Liam is supposed to be fucking massive. I don’t want to take you to the hospital. And besides, he’s never really stuck around with any chick. That’s what his brother told me. Come to think of it, Finn told me that a few days ago—”

“I know. I don’t expect him to. I’m just helping him because…” There’s not much of a because. “Hey, you’re hanging out with Finn?”

She waves her hand at me. “No. You are not allowed to change the subject. Finn is an old friend from high school. It was never like that at all.”

“If you say so. He’s just as hot as Liam. And Liam is like—” I struggle to find the words.

“He’s like walking sex. Like if God had created sex and made it into a person. I know what you’re getting out of the deal. I’m just worried it’s not enough. It’s not what you deserve, you know? He’s getting his daughter back, and you’re getting sex? A pretend relationship?” She walks over to me and pulls me into her arms, hugging me tight. “I just hope you don’t end up with a broken heart.”

We go back to packing, both silent for a while. After a few minutes, a thought comes to me, and I turn to Rhiannon. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

“What’s better?”

“A broken heart. I mean, I hope that’s not where I’m headed. But it’s better than sitting around this place, waiting for nothing to happen.”

Rhiannon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I mean, the guy’s a fucking legend.” She shrugs. “Might be fun for your first time. I guess looking at it as an adventure is fine.” Her voice is flat. It’s clear she doesn’t quite believe what she’s saying.

My heart flutters in my chest. When I pause to think about any of it, it doesn’t make sense. So, I’m not pausing, I’m just packing. “He’s a legend now? I thought you only knew of him like, third-hand. And only because you know Finn. It’s not like he’s giving you stories about Liam’s giant cock.”

“So, it’s giant?” She laughs and sorts through some of the perfumes on the top of the dresser. They’ve gone unused the past week. Somehow, I like the scent of my own body better. Like it’s waking up, finally, after years of being silent.

“It’s impressive. Pretty fucking impressive.” I look at her and smile. The blush rises over my cheeks, but I’m getting more used to the idea of being with him. But then I have to remind myself—I might not be. Not for long. Or does he want to keep using me, keep me there so Marta’s people think we’re really married?

“So I’ve heard. From like six women who’ve slept with him. That’s why we got you to the bar to meet him. I didn’t know you were looking for a casual fling for your first time. I thought that was more of a relationship thing. But—like I said, I get it. He’s hot. He just might disappear and start fucking a bunch of other people.”

I nod, sadly. But it’s good to remember that’s who Liam is. He’s not just the single dad who’s putting together a plan to get his daughter back. There’s more to him—he’s also the guy who took me upstairs and introduced me to his mother as his girlfriend. The guy who told three people that we’re engaged, without even proposing. Without discussing any of it beforehand.

And I’m the one keeping it from my best friend. For days, I have. Shit.

“I know. He made that plenty clear. I’m not special. I just happened to walk into the bar on the right night. And I have that conservative look.” I pull a cardigan off my bed and hold it up over my chest. “The one that judges like.”

“Whoa wait. Did he say any of that to your face?” she asks. “Because that’s not cool—” I can tell she’s about to go off on one of her rants.

“No, no he didn’t. He told me it was a temporary arrangement. That it would all get sorted out in the next month. After we’re—”

Married. Say ‘married.’

“So, he told you you’re living together for a month? At least a month? Is he going to be sleeping with other people during that time?” Rhiannon throws a couple of plain white bras in my direction.

“No.” I look down. “I don’t think so. He’ll get bored of me after he gets custody of his daughter. It’s a short-lived thing.” I pick up the bras, exasperated. The bras seem boring and old-fashioned, even though I thought they were cute when I bought them. I shove them in my bag. They’re embarrassing. They’re not the bras of a sexually active twenty-three-year-old woman. They look more like something you’d find in my seventy-year old aunt’s closet. The one who grew old with only cats and cat figurines to keep her company.

I was only a few steps away from a life of cat figurines, I think.

A bra strap flops out of my bag like a limp noodle. I shove it back in. It’s disconcerting to feel yourself changing and then find evidence of it right in your hands.

Rhiannon keeps watching me, like she’s observing a species of a strange and rare bird.

“I hate to say it, but he’s playing you.” Rhiannon sits down in the overstuffed chair by my bedroom door, clicking her nails together as if in thought. “But you know that, right? You’re still my smart, witty best friend. The one who talks me out of bad decisions. She’s still in there, right? She hasn’t been replaced with a sex-crazed maniac.”

I shrug and bite my lip. I am a little bit sex-crazed, if I had to put a word on it. Maybe I won’t be after he actually fucks me. It could all fade away, just as quickly as it came. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

She puts her hands to her hips. “You paused.” Rhiannon sighs. “How do you know he won’t leave you with a mountain of debt with that apartment in Queens?”

“Because—he won’t. I’m going out on a limb for him, and he says he’s got me covered. We’re having his lawyer draw up an agreement when we—”

“When ‘we’ what?” Rhiannon looks at me, her eyes searching for a clue about what I’m saying. My stomach churns.

“Well, there are some complications to the hearing, and we need to make a kind of… commitment. Just for a little while.”

Rhiannon frowns and holds up her hand. “Alright. I’m going to stop you right there. I don’t like where this is going—”

“Do you have like, a navy-blue dress?” I purse my lips and look away from Rhiannon, shoving the rest of my clothes into the suitcase, willy-nilly. I didn’t even tell her about the renter we found for this place. It’s brash. It’s stupid. This whole relationship might leave me in a terribly, awfully, shitty situation. It’s not who I am. But I think of Liam, carrying me over the threshold of that apartment, spreading my legs, fucking me against the wall. Finally filling me up, after teasing me, making me wait. Like a game. A game with a very good ending.

Maybe I don’t need to be who I am. Not for right now, anyway.

And he needs his kid. That sweet girl. Something tugs deep at my heartstrings when I think of her.

“Why?” Rhiannon asks, standing up. “Why exactly do I need a dress?”

“A navy-blue dress. I think navy blue looks really good on you. And I like the color. It goes well with purple. Don’t you think?” I won’t meet her eyes.

“Purple what? What are we talking about that’s purple?” Rhiannon puts her hands on her hips.

“Flowers?” It comes out as a question, and I cringe when I say it.

Rhiannon’s face goes pale. Her freckles even turn a shade lighter. But at the same instant, there are footsteps on the stairs outside my apartment.

Good. It’s supposed to be the younger brother. What’s his name—Damian. I think. Helping me move out.

I walk briskly out of the bedroom and to the door, Rhiannon following close behind.

Tell Rhiannon. Their mother is getting the church booked this afternoon. It’ll all be fine, and then it’ll all be over quick. The contract with the lawyer takes care of it.

“I think that’s someone coming to help me move my—”

The doorknob jiggles, and I hear a familiar voice. “Damian couldn’t make it. But I got your back,” it says. When the door swings open, Liam is on the other side, wearing a grin a mile wide.

“I got a ring,” he says. “It’s not much of anything, but it’s nice, you know.” Liam barges in and whips a gold ring with a tiny diamond on it out of his pocket. “Going to look good for the next time Marta comes by. Gotta keep up appearances.”

With Rhiannon watching, mouth agape, Liam pulls me into his arms and deftly slips the ring onto my left hand. And then, he kisses me, draping me over his strong arm. Not a chaste kiss. But a kiss like he means it, like we’re actually doing this. It occurs to me, while his lips melt into mine and his hands work their way down to my ass, that we are actually doing this. In a few days.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Rhiannon looks between the two of us, and we both pull away, like we’re snapping back to reality.

“You’re Rhiannon,” Liam says, extending his hand to shake hers.

She shakes his hand warily, like she’s holding a snake that might bite. “I am.” She raises an eyebrow and glances over at me again. I hide my left hand behind my back. Like that’s going to help anything.

“You’re the maid of honor, right?” Liam asks. “You’ve got a dress, right? Blue or—” Liam looks over at me and snaps his fingers. “Navy blue.”

I groan, and put one hand to my face. Maybe if I stand here like this and don’t move, I’ll melt into the floor, and this will all go away.

“Wait a fucking minute, here, Skye.” Rhiannon steps over to me and pulls my hand away from my face. “You’re getting married? What the fuck? Have you even considered what this is going to do to your parents? To your fucking… life? I’ll say it again. He’s playing you. Using you.”

“She’s helping me out,” Liam says, trying to butt between the two of us. “We’ve got a solid plan.” I hold onto his arm and try to push him away from Rhiannon. I have the terrifying idea of her clawing Liam’s eyes out. Looking over at my friend, I realize it’s a definite possibility. She launches towards Liam, protective and fierce.

“Rhiannon, stop!” I shout at her.

She looks at me with a shocked expression, but she lets her hands drop to her sides. “If I’d thought it would come to this, I wouldn’t have taken you to the bar. Or yelled at you to come meet this girl here.” She says the last word with acid in her voice, looking directly at Liam. “Because she’s my best friend. She’s stood by me through all of my own bullshit, and here she is, making the biggest mistake of her life.”

Liam puts his hands up, as if he’s trying to soothe her. “But it’s temporary. It’s not a permanent decision.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” She looks between us. “It only makes it worse. You realize what you’ve got here, Liam? She’s the absolute best person I know. That’s why she’s doing this. And if I had to guess, she really, really likes you, too. Get what I’m saying?”

We’re all quiet, awkward tension in the air between the three of us.

“You’re coming to the wedding though, right?” Liam asks, breaking the silence. He grins, like none of this has had any effect on him.

Shame and anger burn together in the pit of my stomach. I put my hand over my face and slump back into the old recliner that sits in front of the T.V. “I understand if you don’t want to. I get it. I do,” I say. I look up at Rhiannon. Liam has made himself scarce, looking through a shoebox full of spices that are all probably three years past their expiration date.

Rhiannon sighs heavily. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be there. Of course, I will be. And I do have a dress. It’s like, royal blue. Is that okay?”

I look up at her and nod, smiling. It feels like an accomplishment—telling her, confessing to her. Maybe it’ll help me make sense of it all. “Yeah, that’ll be great.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so too,” I say. She walks out the door, and I can’t help thinking that she’s the one who should be having the adventure—redheaded, feisty, incredibly passionate. Not me, the little librarian, as Liam says.

When Liam walks back in the room, and I look into his eyes, those feelings fall away like petals.

He’s all mine, even if it’s only for right now.

Even if it doesn’t last.

Tonight, we’ll be alone in our own apartment, and I can keep playing pretend.

Chapter Eleven

Liam

When my brothers come and load up the U-Haul truck, I watch as Skye’s life is moved. It’s all being combined with mine.

The goal is good. It’s for my girl. My baby.

But that girl Rhiannon’s words stick with me. She’s right—Skye is a pawn in a complicated game. I’m the one who put her there, and I didn’t ask her. Didn’t stop to make sure it was all okay with her.

I watch her. Her eyes are tired from packing all day. But when she stands there on the sidewalk, the sun frames her body. Her curves are illuminated by the late afternoon light. There’s a faint sheen of perspiration on her breasts. The top she’s wearing is V-necked and low-cut. Her cut off jean shorts are just a bit too short, and I can see the tops of her thighs. It makes me think of her sweet pussy, the dark, metallic taste of her. Like pennies, sharp and forbidden. Virginal. I’m the only man who’s tasted that delicate, sweet wetness. My cock swells.

That’s the thing. Looking at her makes me forget that this is all a favor. That it’ll be over soon, and I’ll be in my own apartment in Queens. Skye’s name will be off the lease, the divorce will be rushed through, and we’ll make sure Marta is never getting shit for custody.

For a second, though, I almost forget all of that. Instead, my mind is rushing ahead to the pleasure of getting her alone inside our own place. Spreading her legs, making her scream. Fucking her for the first time, and on all the nights after that.

That stupid fucking guy who got rid of her. Didn’t show her what her body was for. Didn’t he see what he had? If she were mine, really mine, for years to come—I’d fuck her every morning. I’d make sure she was always begging for it. Always wanting it. Tell her not to wear her panties to work. Or—have her go without a bra to the market. Make sure she was feeling it, wanting it, always thinking of me. And only me.

I focus on that thought as I watch the guys load up the truck. And by the time we get back to the apartment in Queens, I’m thinking of only that—not Rhiannon’s reaction to me or all the other bad shit about this being temporary.

The guys are staying around far too long, moving furniture, loading up cabinets.

When they finally leave, Skye is asleep.

I’m roaming the apartment, still thinking of her. The things I could do to her, every day.

I like it here, this place. I won’t admit it, but I do. I think it’s because Skye is in it.

The air in the apartment is crisp. We’ve got the windows open. It’s one of those nights in early Spring that’s just warm enough to do that, after a long, desolate winter. The bed is just a mattress on the floor. Skye has been sleeping on and off, after our marathon move-in day, but she wakes when I walk in the room.

She yawns and rolls over, her breasts exposed as the sheet slips down to her waist. “I thought you were setting up the T.V.”

“Done,” I say. “An hour ago.” I walk over to her, and I feel myself growing hard already. That’s a theme with this woman. I never thought I’d be able to focus on just one girl, but this one makes me want her, bad. And pretty much all the fucking time.

It might be that I haven’t fucked her yet. In fact, it could be just that. It could be that I’ve been thinking about her for the entire day.

“I’m ready,” she says, her voice still sleepy. “I want it to be tonight.”

I smile and sit down on the bed next to her, pulling off my shirt. Her hands immediately find my hand, and she pulls my fingers to her sex.

“Slow down,” I groan. But she’s already put my fingers against her wetness, her pussy slick and hot. I think of that vice-like grip around my cock, the feeling of her clenching against me as she comes, shaking like she does.

“Please,” she says. “Two weeks. I’ve been waiting two weeks. Two weeks too long. Please.”

I slip a finger inside of her, and I press my thumb to her clit, but only lightly. “Please what? Waiting for what, exactly? What do you want me to do?”

I withdraw my finger, pulling the slickness down to the tight entrance to her ass, resting my finger there, then circling it gently. I want that, too. Her sweet, tight little hole. She shudders. “What—what are you doing?”

My thumb goes back to her clit, trailing over it. My fingertips feel every shiver of her body. “Whatever I want. When you’re mine, you’re mine to do with as I please. For the rest of our time together.”

“I don’t think I—” I slip two fingers inside of her again. I bring her own wetness up around her clit and back down to her ass. I think of taking that, too. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass. All mine.

“So, little librarian. What do you want?” I keep my fingers moving in deft circles. Her legs spread open wider, and she arches her back as I bring her closer to the edge.

“I want you to fuck me—I’m ready. Please.” Her breath hitches in her throat. “Oh God, please. Please, tonight.”

“We get married tomorrow,” I say, unbuttoning my jeans, and pulling my waistband down. My cock springs free, and I groan. “I think we should wait until then. Make it more traditional.”

“No—please. Please, tonight.” She closes her eyes, bringing her hips upward to meet my hand, covering me with her wetness. She’s close. So close that I can feel her body start to tighten, begging for release.

I pull my hand away and bring it to my aching cock, kicking my jeans away from my body. I stroke myself with the slickness from Skye’s pussy. “You want to come on my cock,” I say.

I keep stroking myself. Skye pulls herself up on one elbow and hits my arm. “Come on,” she moans. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“What do you think?” I’m so hard now that there’s precum at the tip of my cock, a pearlescent bead. I think of how it would feel to release inside of Skye’s sweet, virgin pussy. Tight, fucking hot. God. I stop when I feel the shiver at the base of my spine, the tightening in my balls.

She’s looking at me with hunger in her eyes. Her hair falls over one eye, and she brushes it away. “I don’t know. You say you do—but we haven’t—we haven’t slept together yet.” Her cheeks color pink, and a flush creeps over her breasts. Gooseflesh rises on her skin. When she blinks, I think I might see tears. But it could be my mind playing tricks on me.

“I do. I want you,” I say. “I think about it every time I’m near you. Whenever I taste your skin. But I like the build up, librarian.”