chapter Eighteen
Night Baby
Monique
Two weeks later…
I can hear him clicking away at his computer on the floor. He has sighed almost every five seconds. It’s becoming comical. I roll my lips and try not to laugh as he does it again.
I give up on trying to sleep or acting like he’s not getting on my nerves just a little. We have been roomies for a month now. I know he’s waiting for me to speak up. It is becoming our thing.
It gets increasingly effortless each night. The level of comfort is getting easier and easier. Talking to LaSalle is like when I used to talk to my big brother. I didn’t realize how much I missed that type relationship until the last few weeks.
LaSalle has shared things about his promotion and what’s going in his family role under the guise that he wants me to be aware of where things stand with Misha, but I think he just needs to talk sometimes.
I can understand that he is going to be taking over his family and a lot of responsibility. I can hear the burden of that in his voice. I know there is still a part of him that questions, ‘why him?’
Out of him, Bobby, and Marcus, he was the chosen one. Now he has surpassed even others in the family to take over. I think it’s because he has a power within him, he hasn’t seen for himself yet.
LaSalle was meant to lead. It’s just in him. I’ve watched him over the past few weeks. The way he can be in a room full of alphas, but when he speaks they all listen. I don’t mean a room full of just any alphas, either.
LaSalle runs with men that can shut shit down on their own, so I can imagine the things they’ll accomplish as a team. It’s awe inspiring to watch. Yet, he doesn’t get it.
A smile tips my lips as he sighs again. I shift on the soft sheet and sit up in bed. He sighs again and I slap the bed and laugh.
“What is it?” I growl with no real bite.
“It took you long enough,” he says, as his head pops up over the edge of the king-sized bed.
He stands revealing his full bare chest and a pair of black pajama pants. I look up into his eyes to keep from looking at anything below his neck.
Lord, have mercy. This man is just fine. Those piercing grey eyes and that chiseled body. It’s just not right.
“What are you, like forty now,” I gasp out.
LaSalle snorts. “No,” he says in mock horror. “I’ll be thirty-eight.”
He climbs onto the bed with his laptop and makes himself comfortable. His eyes search my face. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he changes his mind.
“You don’t look old. I just knew you were older than me. Your body is insane, but since you’re not forty,” I’m babbling.
Shut the fuck up, Mo. Ugh!
LaSalle chuckles. “Thanks, I think,” he teases and elbows me.
“What’s that?” I point to his laptop to change the subject.
I squint at the screen as if I can’t see it clearly. A smile takes over my lips as I look at the pretty little princess gowns. I look back at LaSalle and he’s looking at me nervously.
“What are you up to?” I ask with a smile.
He smiles back. “We had an idea. Dylan was in Brooklyn’s office scrolling through social media. We caught him watching this video of this father and his daughter.”
LaSalle shrugs his shoulder. “Logan and I thought it was cute. We had some ideas of our own. You know not wanting to copy the guy, but do our own thing,” he gives me a nervous smile.
I think I just fell in love. Here I was, just thinking of how much of an alpha this man is, and now this. He just turned my heart to goo.
I nod. “Okay, what do you need help with?”
“Which dresses are the right size and age appropriate for my girls,” he says.
I look back at him and his cheeks are a little pink. The stubble covering his chin and cheeks only intensifies the color and makes it adorable on him. I shake my head and pluck his laptop from his lap.
I scroll the site he was surfing, until I find the girls favorites. We spend a half hour with LaSalle frowning at the choices before him. He looks like he’s deciding on world peace.
“What? What’s wrong,” I quiz.
“They all look cheap. I was thinking of something a little different,” he rubs his forehead.
“I think they will love whatever you pick,” I encourage.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “My brain is fried. Let’s call it a night. Thanks.”
“You’re a good dad,” I say and kiss him on the cheek.
He looks at me for a long moment, as I pull away. He reaches to twirls his finger around one of my curls sticking out the top of my scarf. I’m stock still, I don’t even breathe.
He leans and kisses my forehead. “Goodnight, Baby.”
With that, he slides from the bed and returns to the floor on his makeshift bed. I slip down under the covers and stare up at the ceiling as I repeat his words in my head. No one was here to cause him to use the endearment. He did it on his own.
Goodnight, Baby, I think back to him.