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A bleary-eyed, shirtless James answers the door, and oh dear god, there’s not an ounce of fat on him, and he has abs. Abs! With his shirt on, you can tell he’s on the skinny side, but you’d never know he is stacked with lean, deeply carved muscles and a dark happy trail of hair that starts below his belly button and leads down and down and…
He’s still wearing his sweatpants from last night, but they hang low on his hips—low enough to expose his well-defined V-shaped muscles that are, unfortunately, abruptly cut off and hidden by his waistband. Any lower, and they’d slip off, and then I’d really get an eyeful.
I kinda hope they do, I think, with a flash of heat. I know I’m staring, but I can’t look away, and I swear I see something twitch in his pants.
“Shayla? You ok?” James asks with a strained voice.
I whip my eyes up to his and have to wet my lips before I can answer. “Hmm?” Shoot, what was I supposed to be doing? “Oh! I brought the milk,” I say a little too cheerily for this early in the morning and gesture to the plastic bag with the milk and bottles inside.
He smiles, and I wonder if he can tell I was checking him out by the blush I can feel coloring my cheeks. I really, really hope not because how creepy would that be? Openly ogling a man I just officially met for the first time?
“That’s great, thank you.” He takes the bag while I stand like a doofus on his front porch, still transfixed by his abs, wondering if I should just make a break for it and run to my car to escape how embarrassed I am. But then he holds up one of the frozen milk bags, the tips of his ears turning red, and asks, “Uh, how do I feed this to him?”
Grayson’s ears must be burning because we hear him cry from his nursery. Thankful for the interruption, breaking my fixation with James’s abs, I gently push past him and drop my hot pink backpack and breast pump carrier on the floor by the front door, then make my way down the hallway.
“Good morning, sweetie. How’s my little man doing?” I scoop him up from his crib and am satisfied to see he has a full, wet diaper. I get him cleaned up in a fresh diaper and dressed in a brand-new black onesie with white elephants and matching pants, which I find in one of the plastic bins on the floor.
I hear James moving around in the front of the house, so I follow the noise until I find him in the U-shaped kitchen on the left side of the house, past the living room. It’s modest and minimally updated with painted off-white cabinets, but it’s sparse and clean like the rest of his house. The morning sunlight filters in through a small window above the kitchen sink that faces the backyard, highlighting James in all his half-naked glory with his smooth pecs and light tan nipples. Who knew men’s nipples could be so sexy?
He has everything I brought laid out on the light gray granite peninsula and looks lost as to what to do next. Grayson is rooting at my breast, and I feel my milk let down, but I don’t want a repeat of last night. My belly flutters at the memory of how James looked at me when I had both boobs hanging out. Though he might not have said anything to me about nursing Grayson in the midst of his desperation last night, judging by how awkward he was—how awkward we both were afterward—he might have a problem with it now.
Thankful that I left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual, I walk James through thawing the milk and also when and how much to feed Grayson. In the meantime, Grayson becomes increasingly fussy, and I know he must be hungry. My breasts are engorged, and finally, I can’t ignore it any longer.
With my hand on the hem of my white T-shirt with my school’s Wildcats mascot, I ask, “Do you mind if I…?”
James stops fiddling with the bags of milk and stares wide-eyed while his lips part. Since he just stands there without answering, I go ahead and drag my shirt up, and he puffs out a breath when I unclip my nursing bra, pulling one side down to free my breast. It’s amazing how much inhibition you lose about exposing yourself after getting frustrated with repeatedly trying to keep yourself and your baby covered with a blanket while you nurse. It’s still uncomfortable but bearable when you’re focused on feeding your child.
Well, a child, considering Grayson isn’t mine.
Grayson latches and makes little noises of contentment as he nurses. “There you go, sweetie. That’s better, huh?” When James continues to stare, only blinking once, I stammer out an apology, though it’s half-hearted since the relief at feeding Grayson is immediate. “I’m sorry. I know we didn’t discuss what happened last night or if you’re ok with me nursing him, but—”
“No, no. Nothing to apologize for. To be honest, it’s kind of neat you can do…that.” He gestures to my chest, though he doesn’t need to since his eyes haven’t risen past my neck.
I should probably be weirded out by or uneasy with the way he stares at me, but I figure he only does it because he’s in shock. He’ll eventually get used to it…or maybe not, because that would be weird, right? Him getting used to me nursing his nephew? I’m sure once Grayson takes to his new bottles, it won’t be an issue since he won’t need to nurse, and we can forget all about these bizarre interactions.
“Oh. Good. You know me, always happy to help.” I chuckle, making a joke of it while internally cringing at how flustered I feel with him watching me.
With Grayson taken care of, I finish going over everything James needs to do to feed him on his own. Once he has finished nursing both breasts, I double-check the time and hand him over to James for him to burp, grab my backpack and breast pump, and confirm that I’ll see them after school.
I always have a hard time leaving Lainey in the mornings, and as James closes the door behind me and I make my way to my car, I feel a small sense of that reluctance to leave Grayson as well.
Must be the hormones, I tell myself. It’s just the oxytocin from nursing him, right? Right.
* * *
School is a nightmare, but when is it ever not? It’s been this way—the bullying and mocking—ever since rumors flew about me being a slut and sleeping with Tyler at a party right after the start of Junior year. Then they double-downed, and everything got so much worse when my pregnancy started to show. Of course, no one ever said a thing to Tyler about being a teen parent other than a little bit of teasing.
Freaking typical.
They went nuclear as soon as I had Lainey and received special accommodations to take several extended breaks between classes to pump my breast milk and store the bags in the refrigerator in the teacher’s lounge. I’ve even caught some of them giving me dirty looks as I come and go.
I can’t wait until I graduate in a few more months and never have to see any of these people ever again, Tyler included.
All of it is worth it, though, when I get to see my daughter’s face at the end of the day. As soon as I walk in the door, she smiles and reaches for me to pick her up. I drop my backpack and breast pump so I can scoop her up and nuzzle her chin in the way that always makes her giggle, then make my way over to Mom to hug her.
I make a quick rendezvous to my room that I share with Lainey and my sisters to get us changed and freshened up. Thankfully, my younger sisters, Bailey and Autumn, and all their friends are otherwise occupied in the backyard, so I don’t have to listen to their back and forth bickering.
Back in the living room, I pack up some of Lainey’s toys and break down her travel crib to take with me as I quickly fill Mom in on my new job babysitting for James, near shouting to be heard with her in the kitchen, making snacks for my sisters. When I have everything shouldered and Lainey on my hip, I grab my backpack and bag with the fresh milk I pumped at school.
