Cohen: Since I’m sure he won’t let you say no, that’s fine.
Me: He agreed to save you a slice and a half.
Cohen: Tell him I appreciate his generosity.
“Good news,” I tell him, pulling up the pizza shop app to order. “Pizza it is!”
This is my mom’s third call.
Her seventh text comes through.
Mom: Are you alive? I thought you had the night off at the hospital?
Knowing my mom, she won’t stop calling until I answer.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Noah before walking to the kitchen and returning her call.
“Honey, why have you been ignoring my calls?” she answers. “I’ve been calling you all day.”
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” Her voice is stern and worried. “Are you working too many hours at the hospital again?”
That is a regular question from her.
“No, Mom. I’m working regular ER doctor hours,” I answer.
“Which is too many hours! I don’t understand why you won’t work in a practice. Your father does.”
“I don’t want to work in a practice.”
“Hey, Jamie!”
My hand tightens around my phone at the sound of Noah yelling my name, and I turn around at the same time he comes barreling into the kitchen.
He jumps up and down, his voice rising. “Can I have a cookie?”
“Who’s that?” my mom asks.
I gulp, unable to speak. Instead, I nod as I give Noah a thumbs-up, and he dashes to the pantry. A package of cookies is in his hand when he turns and scurries to the table.
“Jamie!” my mom yelps.
I hear the wrapper opening when I speed-walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “I’m babysitting.”
“Babysitting? Babysitting who?”
“A kid.” My stomach sinks.
My mother won’t stop at that answer.
“I’d assume so. Whose kid?”
She’s also always been a nosy one.
To lie or not to lie.
My pizza threatens to come up while I fight with myself on how to answer.
“It’s Noah, Mom,” I reply, resting my back against the door. “I’m babysitting Noah.”
The line goes silent, and I double-check that she didn’t hang up on me.
“I’m sorry.” She clears her throat. “Did you say you’re babysitting Noah?”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yes.”
Another silence.
“Heather’s Noah?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Her voice lowers. “How?”
I hold the phone closer to my face and lower my voice. “I can’t exactly go into the details at the moment.”
Her shocked tone morphs into an angry one. “How long has this been happening behind our backs?”
I shut my eyes, hating the betrayal in her voice. “It’s not behind your backs.” When she doesn’t reply, I release a heavy breath. “It hasn’t been long. I wanted to make sure it stuck before I got anyone involved. I plan to ask Cohen if you can see Noah, but you can’t tell Heather about this, okay?”
“Jamie, you know I don’t like secrets.”
“If you want Cohen to even consider letting you meet Noah, you should start liking them with this one.”
Noah yells my name again.
“Look, I have to go,” I rush out.
“Call me when you leave. I want to know what he’s like.” She sighs. “Snap a picture if you can.”
8
Cohen
It’s after three in the morning when I pull into my garage.
After Noah was born, I saved every penny I could and bought the three-bedroom brick ranch. For years, Noah, Georgia, and I lived here together. She only moved out a few years ago.
Now, it’s just me and my mini-me.
I texted Jamie a few times throughout the night to check on Noah and make sure she was okay with staying so late. Around nine thirty, she told me Noah passed out on the couch, and she was putting him to bed.
Never in a million years would I have thought Jamie would be in my house, watching Noah while I worked.
I hear the TV when I walk into the house, but there’s no sign of life in the living room. I circle the couch to find Jamie sleeping with a Spider-Man blanket wrapped around her.
Staring down at her in curiosity, not creepiness, I absorb her beauty. We haven’t seen each other since the night she came over when Noah was sick.
It’s better that way.
I kept my distance to avoid what I’m doing now—drinking her in as if she were the best drink I’d ever poured. Her golden-brown hair spills over the edge of the pillow and covers half of her tan face. Even in Jamie’s dorky days, she was cute. Her lips are pouty, and I know she has two dimples that pop through her cheeks when she bursts into laughter. Her green eyes light up any room.
There’s more to Jamie than her looks.
She has the warmest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
I dip down and whisper her name, and her eyes slowly open, one at a time.
“Sorry.” A deep yawn leaves her. “I dozed off.”
I shove my hands into my pants pockets and chuckle. “He can be a handful.”
She snorts, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Oh, he’s nothing.”
I retreat a step when she rises and stretches out her arms. My eyes are on her when she stands, grabs the blanket, folds it into a neat square, and settles it on the end of the couch. Without a word and with another yawn, she snags a mug with the bar’s logo from the table, and her fuzzy-socked feet pad through the living room to the kitchen.
My gaze is on her, my eyes taking in every inch of her ass, which makes me a rude bastard. Her black yoga pants hug her body, accentuating her plump ass, and I love how casual she looks tonight and how comfortable she seems in my home. Sure, seeing her in that black dress was nice, but this is so much more.
The kitchen is quiet as she rinses out her mug and places it in the dishwasher as if she owned the place.
My mouth turns dry as I rest my back against the cabinets and search for the right words. “How’s life going?”
How’s life?
Lamest fucking question.
When did I lose my game?
“Life is living at the hospital while playing Let’s See How Many Coffees Jamie Can Drink Before She Has an Anxiety Attack.”
My eyes return to her ass when she crouches down to shut the dishwasher.
“I get you on the coffee.” I chuckle as I take the few steps to the kitchen table and collapse into a chair. I grab the pizza box, sliding it to me, and cringe when I open it. “What’s this trash?”
She arches a brow. “Pizza.”
“Did you torture my son with this pizza?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Listen, there’s a lot of shit I’ll take, but feeding my son this pineapple demon of a pizza is where I draw the line.”
“He loved it, thank you very much.” She smirks and surprisingly sits across from me. “Have you ever tried Hawaiian pizza?”