“Let’s get out of the house next time.” His hand slides from my upper arm to my waist, covered in a tank top, as I feign a gasp.
“Out of the house? What is this you speak of?”
He chuckles, that same hand dropping from my side to my ass. Since I’m only wearing panties and there’s not a lot of fabric between his fingers and my skin, it’s not hard to figure out where he expects this to go.
Unfortunately, I’m not far enough removed from the call and the trip down memory lane to follow him there just yet.
“What should we do?” Yes, I’m stalling and, yes, I feel guilty about it. Especially since I can’t remember the last time we had sex.
“Right now?” He reaches for my top leg and pulls it to his lap. “I have a pretty good idea.”
“I mean, when we go out.” Good Lord, he’s already hard.
“I don’t care as long as it doesn’t involve Chuck E. Cheese or Build-A-Bear.”
“No? Dang it, I was hoping to get that new polka dot princess bear.”
He laughs, his fingers digging playfully into my butt. “We could get dressed up. Or you could, anyway. Preferably in something short, black, and sexy.”
“Hey, if I have to get dolled up, so do you.”
“Maybe. It might be fun to go big, fuck up Green Bay, and forget our adult responsibilities for awhile.”
A giggle escapes my lips, but as the words sink in, my amusement falters. “Sorry to tell you, but parental responsibilities never go away.”
“Yeah, but Jett will be up north. It’ll be like the good ol’ days.”
There’s that insinuation again. “Except not.”
He pulls back to look at me. “You being a party pooper?”
“I’m being realistic,” I quip, shifting out of his embrace and back to my pillow. “Whether Jett is with Jesse or not is irrelevant. We’re still parents.”
He makes a throaty sound. “Babe, I’m not suggesting we rob a freaking bank. I just mean it would be nice not to have to worry about the kid for a few hours.”
I laugh again, but there’s not a stitch of humor in it this time. “That’s just it. Whether he’s here or not, I’m going to worry about him.” And when did we start calling him ‘the kid’ anyway?
“I’m just saying it’d do us good to get out.” His sigh reeks of irritation and that fuels mine. “But since that’s where you seem to want to go with this conversation, maybe this is a good time to talk about Jesse stepping it up.”
“What?” I sit up quickly, blankets falling around my waist as I twist toward him with a scowl. “What’s your deal all of the sudden?”
“My deal? All I did was suggest we live it up a little. You’re the one getting pissy.”
“Live it up like we did before we had Jett. Which isn’t possible.”
In the glow of the moonlight streaming through the window, his clean-shaven jaw tenses as his gaze shifts to the ceiling.
“And what exactly are you suggesting Jesse do differently? He hasn’t missed a single visit in four years, he does all of the driving, he calls or texts almost daily…” What the heck more could he possibly do?
Lane folds an arm behind his head. “Jett’s getting older,” he says tightly. “Maybe it’s time to up his visitation.”
The whirling in my stomach rises to my throat. “Up his visitation?”
“He’s getting to the age where he’s going to need his dad around more.”
So many simultaneous thoughts zip through my mind that the room spins. For one, being without Jett every other weekend is hard enough. But more frequently? I could throw up just thinking about it.
And why does Lane suddenly sound so resentful? Like Jett is an inconvenience. Is it a new development or has he always felt this way?
But most unnerving is that he seems to have forgotten his role in Jett’s life. Jett may not call him Dad, but he’s been a father figure to him since the day he was born.
“He has you, too,” I remind him, frustration beginning to burn in my chest. “If you’re suggesting he needs more of a male role model, he has you.”
Lane’s face remains still, expression unchanging. Given the direction this conversation has taken, I half expect him to respond with something cold and asinine like, ‘Well, he’s not my kid, so…’
“I know that,” he says instead, but my relief is minimal. This is a conversation I never expected we’d have. “And you know I love him to death…” He shuffles the hand behind his head through his hair uncomfortably. “But it’s pretty obvious you prefer Jesse’s parenting over mine. I mean, let’s be real here.”
Wait, what? I pull back, blinking. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at how quick you were to defend him and rattle off all of the shit he does. Hasn’t missed a visit, calls all the fucking time…” His voice takes on a mocking lilt and I want to throttle him with my pillow.
“He does do those things! But that doesn’t mean I prefer him over you. It’s just… he’s a good dad.”
Lane’s cold gaze flicks to me before he swings his legs over the side of the bed, giving me his back. “Wow.”
“He is, Lane. You can’t deny that.” It might not be what he wants to hear, but it’s the truth. “It doesn’t mean that Jett doesn’t need you in his life just as much.”
“Just as much…” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Jett needs me just as much as a guy he sees four days a month. Four fucking days, Hayden. While we bust our asses here the other twenty-seven.” He laughs bitterly. “Seems fair to me.”
“This isn’t about what’s fair and not fair…” I shake my head. “We’re parents, not kindergarteners.”
“Oh, so I’m a child now. Is that what you’re saying? Me wanting to get out and live a little makes me a child. Fucking nice.” He jolts upright and spins to face me. “How the hell did I become the bad guy in this? When I’m the one who’s been here, day in and day out, for the past four years?”
“I’m not saying you’re the bad guy. It’s just—”
“He’s blood.” His nostrils flare as he glares down at me. “And no matter how hard I fucking try, that will always mean more, won’t it? He will always win.”
“This isn’t a game to be won or lost.”
He locks his hands behind his head, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes. “Why do you always defend him? Seriously, Hayden, he does the bare minimum and you act like he’s father of the fucking year. Was the dick really that good?”
Oh, hell no. I throw back the blankets and fly from the bed. “You did not just say that.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “What is it then? What’s so fucking special about a guy who does exactly what his court order tells him to do?”
“Don’t you dare.” I stab a shaking finger his way as tears gather hot and fast in my eyes. “Don’t you dare make this about that.”
His jaw pulses as we stare off from opposite sides of the bed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”