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I know he’s a good man. There’s no arguing that, but that doesn’t necessarily make him the right man for me. Breakfast and throwing money at a five-year-old doesn’t make you stepparent material. I know what it’s like to fully invest in someone only for them to disappoint me in the biggest ways. I don’t want to make that mistake again.
It takes another half hour for snacks, the cart so full of them I’m embarrassed.
All I get is another wink from Brent as we make our way to the register.
Instead of getting pissy that we have to wait in line like Travis has done before, he talks easily with Ryder, reminding him that he has M&Ms in the cart already when my son points to a smaller pack on the shelf. It proves that he isn’t just going to buy any and all things, and it takes the sting off a little when we start loading everything on the conveyor belt.
The cashier has enough talent regarding her job to keep her eyes on Brent while ringing and bagging everything.
“You have such a lovely family,” she says, her eyes dropping down to his left hand before she drifts her eyes to me.
I cock an eyebrow at her because I know she’s looking for rings, something that proves he’s not on the market, but as much as I know I don’t have a claim to this man, it’s pretty brazen.
“Thank you,” he replies without correcting her.
Instead of “he isn’t my dad,” Ryder says, “He thinks he can beat me at Go Fish.”
He rolls his eyes in the way only a small child can.
We all laugh but it looks forced coming from the cashier.
I know Brent isn’t touching me because he’s trying to be respectful in front of Ryder, but there’s a part of me right now that wishes he’d stake his claim in front of this woman.
He pays, thanks her, and shoves the receipt into one of the bags.
My heart soars when he presses his palm to my back, several of his fingers disappearing under the edge of my tank top.
“That jealousy really turns me on,” he says.
I can’t even deny it.
Of course we swing by the pizza place on the way back to the house, Brent declaring he’s been on a liquid diet for a month so he deserves extra cheese. Ryder is in such a good mood he helps get plates and napkins for lunch.
“The games aren’t going anywhere,” Brent says when my son asks to be excused before finishing his slice of pizza. “You need your strength to beat me.”
Ryder accepts the challenge and not only finishes the one slice but asks for a second one. For a man who claims not to have much experience with kids, he’s really nailing it right now.
The next several hours are filled with a grown man and a five-year-old battling each other in card and board games. We’ve all laughed so much, my throat is hoarse.
We eat a casserole I found frozen in the freezer for a late dinner because we lost track of time, and it takes me longer to pull Ryder away because he’s having so much fun despite the numerous times he’s rubbed his tired eyes.
I don’t make it halfway through one of the new books Brent bought him before he’s passed out.
Closing the door quietly, I start to feel nervous about the evening. I don’t know what to do or how to act. I don’t know if the declarations he made earlier mean he wants me in his bed.
“Ah!” I scream, cupping a hand over my mouth when he grabs me and drags me into his room.
“You’re going to wake him up, and all he’s going to do is brag about kicking my ass like he did before bed.”
I chuckle, my eyes falling to his lips.
“It’s bedtime,” he says, a smoothness in his voice that travels over my skin like a promise.
I don’t argue with him when he starts peeling my clothes off of me piece by piece. Sadly, he leaves my panties on and pulls a loose t-shirt over my head.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to bed,” he says, taking a step back, his hand the last thing to fall from my hip.
He pulls off his sneakers, jeans, and then his shirt, leaving him in only a pair of tight boxer briefs.
The sight is delectable, mouthwatering even.
“To sleep?”
He chuckles, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the bed.
Disappointment threatens when he lies down and pulls me in front of him, his arms wrapped around me.
“We’re going to spoon?”
His laughter is warm on the back of my neck.
“We’re going to sleep.”
“Okay,” I say on a sigh, drawing another chuckle from him.
“And if you don’t stop wiggling…”
He doesn’t finish the threat, but it makes no difference to my body.
