As I sauntered by, he kept his eyes on me, studying me thoroughly and I tried not to look at him at all. If I didn’t look, then I wouldn’t be tempted.
“You sure you don’t want a ride home?” he asked when I’d finally passed him, surprising me.
I turned around and took him in at dusk. He was standing with a high-rise building behind him, the soft glow of the sun around his gorgeous thick head of hair. Random office and streetlights peppered the sky behind him and in the two times I’d seen him, he’d never looked so handsome as he did in that moment. He looked like a model ready to walk a runway and beautiful New York City was just his boring backdrop. And there was nothing boring about this city, but it sure did look that way in that moment behind him.
He was wearing a smirk that said he knew I was lost as hell and I was sure I was wearing a look that said I still wasn’t taking a ride.
I shook my head at him and shot him a smile before turning to try to find the right train home. And I decided on that long walk and three different lines it took to get there that if I saw Whitaker Aldrich again, I wasn’t sticking around. He was definitely bad news. He was too good looking for my own good.
But what were the chances that I was going to see him in this huge city again anyway? They had to be slim to none. Yeah, I had nothing to worry about.
Famous last words.
Whit
I felt a bead of sweat run down my temple as I tried to peer around the corner. A large hall table blocked my view and I held my gun tight in my grasp as I darted from the bedroom and into the hall, crouching low behind the table. The long hallway had decorative furniture here and there and I kept my eyes peeled for my assailant as best as I could with all of the obstacles blocking my view.
The air was so quiet around me, I only heard the gentle sound of my own breathing until a door creaked somewhere halfway down the hallway and I decided it must have been the bathroom door. Fuck, I’d have to somehow make it down the hall without him hearing me. With a pounding heart, I somersaulted across the hallway, scrambled on my hands and knees, gun in hand, further down the hall, and hid behind an old wingback chair, my heart pounding a million miles a minute, my blue t-shirt damp from exertion.
Coming to my feet, but still crouching low, I looked across the hallway to the quiet, dark bathroom, the door barely cracked. I knew he was in there and I wasn’t going to let him get away this time. And I damn sure wasn’t going to let him find me first.
On quiet, deft, and slow as hell feet, I creeped toward the bathroom door, careful to avoid all of the spots in the old hardwood floors that I knew were squeaky, practically holding my breath for fear of him hearing me. I made it to the wall beside the bathroom door and hid there, taking a deep breath before using my left hand to slowly push open the door while using my right to hold my weapon up, ready to shoot.
The bathroom stayed suspiciously quiet, only the small creak of the door opening making a sound. Wiping my forehead with the sleeve of my t-shirt, I edged along the wall and then the doorjamb as I finally made it to my destination, only to find the room completely empty.
My eyes darted around frantically, feeling like I’d been somehow outsmarted until they landed on the shower curtain. Fuck, yes. He was all mine. Slowly, I crept forward, my gun aimed at the shower. I leaned over and jerked the shower curtain open, ready to take aim. “Aha!” I yelled. Only I rocked back in shock at the empty shower, realizing I had truly been outmaneuvered.
A war cry rang out from the other side of the bathroom behind me and I turned quickly, my weapon raised as one tiny terrorist popped out from the cabinet under the bathroom sink, his guns flying. He held one weapon in each hand and all of a sudden I was down, a hand to my chest, Nerf bullets pummeling me in the chest and stomach.
I clutched a hand to my chest, the cold tile against my back and head. “I’m down!” I cried out dramatically.
My mini me stood above me, aiming at my face. “Do you surrender?” He had a twinkle in his eye I didn’t care too much for. It usually meant bad things for me.
“I said, I’m down, man. Take pity!” I yelled from my spot on the bathroom floor. I even let out a little groan for dramatic measure, holding both of my hands to my chest and rolling to my side.
“Hmmm,” he said, like he wasn’t done with me and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“You better not even—” I started but I was too late, the Nerf bullet hit me square between the eyes.
Oh, hell no. “What did I tell you about shooting people in the face, Andrew?” I grabbed him around his middle and dragged him to the bathroom floor with me until he was at my side.
“No fair!” he screamed as I brandished the gun from his hand and tossed it out of the bathroom and into the hallway. “You know you’re not supposed to shoot anyone in the face. It’s the rules,” I said, tickling his sides and sitting up until I was straddling his whole body and I had him at my mercy.
“Tell me you’re sorry,” I demanded, going for one of his thighs and squeezing the meat of it between my thumb and fingers over and over again.
He threw his brown head of hair back and cackled into the ceiling. “Oh, gosh!” he howled. “Stop, Daddy! Please stop!”
“Say mercy.” I laughed, adoring every tiny, white square tooth in his sweet smile. The very same dimples that sat on either side of my smile bracketed his as well and I leaned over, giving one of them a nip.
He howled beneath me. “Mercy, Daddy! Mercy, please!”
I stopped tickling him long enough to lean down and bury my face in his sweet little neck, breathing his little boy smell before blowing a raspberry there that made him squeal. “I’m serious, dude. No more freaking shooting people in the face. The neighbors got pissed when you did that last time.”
“Fine,” my adorable six-year-old son groaned as I helped him off the floor.
I tousled his dark brown hair and took in his SpongeBob pajamas. “It’s time to get dressed, bud. We’re going to Graham’s today so you can play with Chloe.”
His face fell. “I don’t wanna get dressed. I wanna stay home and play Nerf guns with you, Daddy.”
I wanted to stay home and play with him, too. It was one of my very favorite things to do in the whole wide world. But I’d already canceled on Graham once and I was eager to catch up with my childhood friend. I hadn’t seen him but twice since we’d moved back to New York from California six months ago. I was eager to catch up.
“Sorry, man. We are going to Graham’s. You’ll have fun playing with Chloe.”
He left the bathroom and turned toward his room, but I didn’t miss hearing him mutter, “Girls suck,” under his breath.
“Don’t say suck, Andrew. Suck is a word for adults.”
He turned toward me, his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so drab, Whitaker.”
I wanted to crack a smile so hard. It was a constant struggle not to laugh at my smart as hell and adorably mischievous son. “Stop quoting Grammy and you are definitely not allowed to call me Whitaker, sir.” I held my arms up over my head and started walking quickly toward him. “I’m Dad to you.” I made my best monster face and lowered my hands down and out in front of me, palms down. “Or Zombie Dad!” I garbled out and walked slowly toward him.