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“No. My books are in my room.”
I can feel the smile start to stretch across my face as I remember my impulsive book rearranging from the other night. He yanks out the two misplaced books and I can’t help myself. “You’re only just now noticing? I’m disappointed. I thought that would drive you nuts within five minutes of you coming home the other night.”
“You did this?”
“Guilty as charged, officer.” I give him a cheeky wink.
“Well, maybe I would have noticed the other night if I hadn’t of been so…” he looks at Oliver quickly before looking back at me, “distracted when I got home.”
“Bianca, I have my art class today. Are you going to come? Pleeease?” The expression on his face is pleading and I look over at Carson who’s busy putting his books back where they belong.
“Don’t look at me,” he says without turning around. “I’m just a guy organizing his bookshelf.”
“It was only two books, Carson.”
“Well, it looks different.” His tone has a little pout in it and I roll my eyes at his obsessive-compulsive ass before turning back to Oliver.
“I don’t know, Oliver. I have a lot of things I need to do today.” I can see him physically deflate and feel a tug at my heart. Why does this kid have such a pull over me? I’ve always done everything I could to avoid children and never given it a second thought. Now this kid wants to drag me to a place where there are going to be evenmorekids and he has me actually considering it.
I mean, truthfully, I don’t have that much to do today. I was mostly going to hang out at home and work on some paintings. Of course I was making up excuses to get out of here, I wanted to be far away from Carson who is starting to bring up feelings I don’t care to examine, like ever. I’m just going to chalk it up to orgasm fatigue.
I look at Oliver’s downcast eyes and slumped shoulders and let out a huge sigh. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
“Really?” There’s hope in his voice that I’m loathe to stomp out.
“Yeah, really.”
He starts cheering and jumping around the living room like I just told him today was Christmas and his birthday all wrapped into one and I can’t help but feel affection for him.
“What time do we need to leave?”
Carson checks the clock. “In about two hours. I should probably shower. You know, wash my face.” He gives me a smirk that I would very much like to knock off his face if only I was standing a few feet closer to him. Instead, I settle on giving him the finger while Oliver’s back is turned which only seems to make his eyes sparkle with mirth. Someday I’m going to murder him.
There’s a tugging on my skirt and I look down, remembering that I really need to get out of this dress. “Can you help me with my watch?”
“No problem, kid,” I take the proffered watch from him and wrap it around his tiny wrist, strapping it into place. “Too tight?” I ask.
He fiddles with it, turning it slightly on his arm. “No, it’s good,” then takes off down the hall, to his bedroom I presume.
“We’ll see you in a few hours?” Carson asks.
I give him a quick nod and walk out the door, thankful that my walk of shame is only as far as next door.
***
Don’t any dads take their kids to this art class?
We’re in a medium sized auditorium on the outskirts of the Branson campus. The room is filled with kids of all different ages, spaced out with their own stations, and there are three volunteer student teachers walking amongst them to make sure they aren’t having any issues and offering encouragement. They’ve set up a small area of folding chairs in a corner for parents to observe and that’s where Carson and I are sitting right now. Along with every single mom in the greater Seattle area, apparently. At least I presume they’re single from the way they’ve been eyeing up Carson like a piece of meat.
From the second we walked in the room their eyes have been devouring him, head to toe. Not that I care, I just think it’s extremely rude since I’m sitting here with him. Sure, we’re not together but they don’t know that. Do they realize how desperate they look when they can’t stop staring at him?
Carson jolts me out of my thoughts when he wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes my arm. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Nothing. Just figured maybe this would help you stop staring daggers at some of these women.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, refusing to look at him.
“Sure.” Then I feel his lips plant a gentle kiss on the top of my head and I suck in a quick breath as I feel warm all over. I don’t really do public displays of affection. Hell, I’m not usually out with guys in the daytime where people would be able to see it. It feels weird and exposing. But it also makes me feel much better when a few of the women give me glares and turn away from us.
