The sex. So much sex.
I groaned and wrestled with being responsible. I had to go. I didn’t have a choice.
So I gently shook her shoulder. “Dakota,” I murmured.
She didn’t move. I shook her again. “Dakota?”
“Five more minutes, Mom,” she murmured, not moving at all.
That made me smile. She really had an adorable sense of humor.
“I have to go. I need to get home before the nanny wakes up,” I said.
She just made a sound that might have been disapproval or just an acknowledgement, I wasn’t sure. I got out of bed, getting dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Most of my clothes were on the floor between her kitchen and the open bedroom door. A shower would have been nice, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. Glancing around, I didn’t see anything I could write on. I tucked my phone in my pocket, made sure I had my wallet, and went into Dakota’s dark kitchen area. We had left the countertop a disaster of half-eaten Chinese food and empty wine bottles. I looked under her sink, found her trash, and dumped the empty bottles and balled-up napkins. I put the rest in the refrigerator, then pulled sixty bucks out of my wallet. It was the last of my cash so hopefully it would cover what we’d spent.
There was a pen on the kitchen counter. I snagged it and sorted through a stack of mail, looking for something to write on. There was an envelope that had been torn open and was no longer with whatever had arrived in it, so I scrawled my number and a quick note on it and took it back to her nightstand. I set it down and gave the top of her head a kiss.
“I left my number, give me a call or text me. I had a great time with you.”
Her eyes briefly opened and she said, “Bye, Brandon.”
I hesitated. I really wanted to stay.
It sucked being an adult because I really couldn’t stay.
“Bye, Dakota,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm.”
I took one last look at her. All that soft, blond hair. Those full, delicious lips. That smile she gave when she was teasing me. Her laugh. That tight, tight body…
Fuck. I shoved my feet in my shoes and walked back through her living room with a hard cock. I was amazed I still even get a hard-on after the workout I’d put my dick through the night before. Then was glad I could.
The cold air on the street smacked me in the face, and I breathed deeply, knowing what was facing me at home. A disgruntled nanny, a belligerent twelve-year-old, and an eight-year-old who was too smart for her own good and fond of science experiments involving glue.
I loved my daughters fiercely, but there was nothing easy about being a single dad.
Pulling out my phone, I ordered a car on an app, and breakfast. I wasn’t much of a cook and I needed some pancakes and bacon. It felt like a victory morning. Old Brandon got to bone. Definitely cause for celebration.
Two hours later the desire to celebrate had disappeared over an avalanche of preteen tears. Willow had been crying into her pancakes for nearly half an hour.
“You’re new here,” I said, again, for the fourth time, because I didn’t know what else to say to comfort her. “The other girls don’t know you yet, that’s why you weren’t invited.” I didn’t have the full story because she was sobbing too hard, but it was something about a sleepover and half the seventh grade and them intentionally not inviting her.
“That’s not it,” she said, sounding viciously stubborn. “Jessica Chang started a week after me and she gets invited to everything. But she’s from Paris, so she’s like so cool. But I’m just a hick. They all say I’m a total hick.”
Bewildered, I ran my hand over the back of her head as she sat at the kitchen island, stabbing a pancake. She pulled away from my touch. “How can you be a hick when you grew up in Seattle?” I asked. “Besides, what’s wrong with being a hick? I’m a hick and I’m a fun guy.” I was trying to lighten the mood.
Willow shot me a look of disdain over her shoulder. “Ew, Dad. Stop.”
When she went back to staring morosely into her breakfast, I glanced over at Poppy, who was sitting next to Willow. Poppy rolled her eyes and shrugged. I gave her a grin. At least she still liked me. But she was only eight, and Willow had still liked me at that age too.
“Those girls are just bitches,” Poppy said.
I almost dropped my coffee. “Poppy! You can’t call them that.”
“Why not?” She tucked her sandy blond hair behind her ear and looked very unconcerned. “That’s what Lena said they are.”
“She said they’re rich bitches,” Willow clarified, as if somehow that made it better.
Lena was leaning against the far kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone. She was twenty-four and wasn’t exactly the loving Mary Poppins I had envisioned. But she had come recommended and was willing to be in residence.
“Lena,” I said, feeling a headache starting behind my eyes that wasn’t from the alcohol or the lack of sleep. It was stress, plain and simple. “Why would you say that?”
She glanced up and shrugged. “It’s true. Nasty, mean, little rich bitches.”
Whether it was true or not, the jury was still out. Willow and Poppy had only been at their private school for six weeks. But I couldn’t let Lena talk shit about kids, bitchy or not. “That’s not an appropriate thing to say.”
“Do we have any iron shavings?” Poppy asked, looking up from her iPad, clearly no longer interested in bitchy girls.
“What?” I asked, totally distracted by the randomness of the question. “Iron shavings? Between the Italian seasoning and the lemon pepper.”
She made a move to get up. I touched her arm to stop her. “Poppy, I was being sarcastic.”
“Being sarcastic with children is counterproductive,” she informed me.
I sighed. “You’re right. But why would I have iron shavings and what are you planning to do with them?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Her lips were pursed and she blinked like an owl.
It was so much easier to keep professional football players in line. I preferred screaming at some grown-ass men to stop being defeatist and get their shit together than trying to get inside the head of an eight-year-old girl. Football players, with a drive to win and lots of testosterone, I understood. I had been one.
This? I was fucking clueless. I had one daughter who desperately wanted to please everyone, fit in, and be popular, and another who was either the next Marie Curie or a budding serial killer. The jury was still out. I understood wanting to fit in, because everyone wanted that, but I hated to see Willow’s confidence in herself eroded. Poppy had plenty of confidence, just maybe not enough of an ability to ask herself if something was a good idea or not.
“Are you working today?” Willow asked, shoving her plate of tortured pancake across the quartz countertop.
“No. Do you want to go to a museum or something?” I glanced at my phone for the seventieth time, hoping Dakota had texted me. She hadn’t.
“Can we go shopping?”
That sounded like hell on earth. But I smiled and said, “Sure.” I just wanted to spend time with my daughters. And maybe remove them from Lena’s influence for a few hours. Lena clearly had no clue she was on thin ice with me at the moment.