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“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“You didn’t ask.” He shrugged, his cheeks lifting.
The frustration that hit me made my blood pressure rise, despite the relief I’d felt when I discovered Paul’s true identity. If I ever needed proof that this child was mine, there it was.
Someone was playing a cruel, cruel joke on me.
And I knew exactly who it was.
When I walked into this afternoon’s parent meeting, I was met with a giant neon sign that said SPRING FESTIVAL in a funky seventies-themed font.
I happily took my seat near a group of moms who were friendly enough. I could fall into easy conversation about kids’ sports and work with these women, though I wouldn’t consider them my closest friends.
Nothing like Calla, Layla, and Rachel. I desperately needed one of those girls to get knocked up and join me over here in crazy mom town. Being the only mother in my group of girlfriends was isolating, no matter how much they included me. They planned things that seemed so simple to them but that were impossible for me to make work. I couldn’t go out for last-minute drinks during my weeks with the boys, and even if I could, I didn’t have the funds most of the time anyway. Not to mention their days were a lot freer than mine. It’s why they were constantly asking to watch the boys and encouraging me to get in good alone time. Or why Calla liked to send me fifty TikToks a day.
The seats around me slowly filled, and as the minutes ticked down, signaling that the meeting was soon to start, and as I was pulling out my phone to text Calla to check in on the boys, heat prickled at the back of my neck, sending a current of electricity down my spine. My palms tingled with a thrill akin to slowly edging toward the top of a roller coaster.
The sound of the gym door opening had me turning. There, in the doorway, was Liam. No wonder my spidey senses had gone off. He-Man himself had entered the building.
I’d stayed up half the night replaying yesterday’s interaction, wondering what his problem was. I overanalyzed till my brain was fried and I passed out, drooling on my phone with the Notes app open, leaving lines upon lines of rrrrrrr.
He’d acted so strangely, storming through my house like this grumpy, raging, muscular caveman, looking for baseball bats. And as much as I wished I could just write the man off, he had taken up all the spare room in my brain. But he’d stopped paying rent on that space six and a half years ago, and I needed to evict him once and for all.
I dropped my attention to the hardwood floor instantly, but then curiosity got the best of me and I peered back up at him. He was, surprisingly, not dressed for work. Instead, he wore dark green athletic shorts and a black compression shirt that clung to his washboard abs and put his forearms on display. I was pretty sure one of the single moms behind me was fanning herself. It was as if there was a spotlight following him as he walked in slow motion to an ’80s R&B song while a large fan blew his hair back.
I was, regrettably, all too aware of the man’s body. Every time the Wells family had a pool party at Mama B’s, he’d strut around with the confidence of a peacock. Throwing a football back and forth with our sons, laughing with his brothers and Calla, lifting one boy in each arm and tossing them into the pool. His defined calves and biceps rippling, sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, muscles highlighted from the glow of the sun. It was disgusting.
I rolled my eyes, my face suddenly oddly warm. So I locked my jaw and focused on the floor again. At least until the bleachers under me shifted and a familiar deep rumble sounded beside me.
“’Scuse me.”
There was no need to look up to see the man. My body could feel the heat of him a mile away. I crossed my legs. “Can I help you?” I asked quietly enough for just him to hear.
He didn’t respond. Heat continued to engulf me while I waited to be acknowledged. When I gave up on this little silent treatment and blinked up at him, he was wearing his signature lopsided smirk. That smirk that said I know more than you think I do.
“Mind if I sit with you?” His question was laced with arrogance.
It was a trick question. If I told him that yes, I did mind, then it would show that his presence bothered me and he would win. If I said I did want him to sit with me, then he would take it to mean he had free rein to poke my buttons, and he would win. Catch twenty-two and whatnot.
I gritted my teeth. “Not at all.”
That smile of his grew wider, white teeth sparkling and one tiny dimple making a rare appearance. This man aged like fine wine. That was not lost on me. In fact, it was incredibly hard to forget, because every time I saw him, my body reacted like I was seventeen and sitting beside him at that drive-in all over again.
“How was your day?” he asked.
I frowned. “Fine…yours?”
He nodded. “Super good. I had Los Mex for lunch and went to the gym. Now I’m squished next to you on these uncomfortable bleachers, so really, all my dreams are coming true.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes so far I swore they came all the way back around. This was one of Liam’s countless games. This sarcastic flirting. He did it to push my buttons and rile me up. And darn it if I didn’t fall for it every time. I had no doubt that was why he kept it up. I was nothing but low-hanging fruit for him.
“Is that why you’re the last one here? Too busy working on your glutes to make it on time?”
“Glad you noticed my glutes. Been working on them for you.” He leaned in a little closer, bringing with him that clean laundry scent mixed with spicy deodorant and a hint of sweat. The combination scrambled my brain.
Why was it so freaking hot in here? Did they turn the AC off at the end of the school day? I was sweating bullets over here. How young is too young for menopause and hot flashes? I was only in my midthirties, for Pete’s sake.
“Only in your dreams would I ever notice your glutes.”
