“Shit, I missed Sanderson’s floor. Shoot,” I correct. “Don’t say shit, Max.”
My kid is too distracted to listen to me curse as he chews on his fingers and watches his uncle. Said uncle stays standing in the middle of the elevator, dumbstruck.
“Isaiah, are you getting off or not?”
A woman walks onto the elevator, standing between him and me, which makes his sudden state of shock a bit more obvious. Pretty girls tend to make him stupid.
And this one is real pretty.
Dark chocolate hair falls over tanned skin that’s covered in intricate black ink. And there’s a whole lot of skin. She’s got a little tank or bra thing under a pair of cutoff overalls, thick thighs spilling out past the frayed hem. Those thighs don’t have the same artwork that covers her arm and shoulder though.
“Hi,” Isaiah finally spits out, all dazed and distracted.
Reaching behind her, I lightly smack him on the back of the head, because the last thing he needs is another woman in another city to keep him occupied. I’ve lived the life he’s currently indulging in and now I have a fifteen-month-old on my hip to show for it. I need the added responsibility of my younger brother following in my footsteps like I need a root canal for fun.
“Get off the elevator, Isaiah.”
He nods, waving and walking backwards into the lobby. “Bye,” he says with hearts in his eyes and not to me or my son.
The woman in the elevator simply lifts one of her two Coronas in a farewell.
“Floor?” she asks, all raspy and deep before lubricating her throat with a swig of beer. She reaches past me, pressing the floor I just came from before looking back over her shoulder for my answer.
Eyes are jade green and thoroughly confused, a tiny gold septum ring shines just under the bridge of her nose, and now I get why my brother turned into a dumbstruck teenage boy because suddenly I am too.
“Should I just guess? I can press them all if you’d like and we could take a nice long elevator ride together.”
Max reaches for her, finally snapping me back into reality as if I’ve never seen a good-looking woman before.
I twist my hip to keep him from getting his little fingers tangled in her hair in a way that sounds awfully fun right about now, but this woman is not only drinking one beer at 9 a.m. on a Thursday, she’s drinking two.
I clear my throat and press Sanderson’s floor myself.
Miss Double Fisting on a Weekday flips her hair over her shoulder as she retakes her spot in the elevator next to me. Regardless of her morning beverages of choice, she doesn’t smell like booze. She smells like a cake and suddenly, I have a sweet tooth.
Out of my periphery, I catch her looking at Max with a little smile.
“You’ve got a cute kid.”
You’ve got a cute everything, is what I want to say in response.
But I don’t because, as of last fall, that’s no longer me. I no longer have the luxury of flirting with every pretty woman I pass on the street. I don’t have the chance to throw back a beer at 9 a.m. I can’t take a random woman back to my hotel room without exchanging names, intending to never see them again because said hotel rooms are cluttered with cribs, highchairs, and toys.
I especially don’t need to be throwing out flirty statements to this kind of woman. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know she’s a wild one.
“Does he speak?” she asks.
“Him?”
She laughs to herself. “I was referring to you. So, you just make it a habit of ignoring people who talk to you?”
“Uh, no.” Max goes to grab her again and I turn further away to keep him from grabbing a stranger. “Sorry. Thanks.”
My kid catapults his body across my waist, continuing to reach his chubby fingers towards her, going for either her or one of her beers, I’m not quite sure.
The woman chuckles to herself again. “Maybe he knows you need one of these.”
She offers me her second Corona.
“It’s 9 a.m.”
“And?”
“And it’s a Thursday.”
“We’re judgy too, I see.”
“Responsible,” I correct.
“Jesus,” she laughs. “You need something stronger than a Corona.”
What I need is for this elevator to move a little quicker, but she might be onto something. I do need a beer. Or ten. Or a few hours rolling around with a naked woman. I can’t remember the last time I did that. It sure as hell hasn’t happened since Max came into my life, and that was nine months ago.
“Dadda.” Max squishes my cheeks together before pointing towards the woman again.
“I know, buddy.”
I don’t know shit.
All I know is my kid won’t stop trying to throw his body off mine to get to her. Which is weird, because in general, Max isn’t big into strangers and even more so, he isn’t all that comfortable with women.
I blame it on the fact the one who gave birth to him left him to be raised by a single dad, a reckless uncle, and a team of rowdy baseball players. The only presence of a woman that’s stuck is my buddy’s fiancée, but even then, it took him a minute to warm to her.
But for some reason, he’s into this one.
“Come on, Max,” I exhale, readjusting him. “You’ve gotta stop squirming.”
“I know it’s weird to offer, but I can hold him if you wa—”
“No,” I snap.
“Geez.”
“I mean, no, thank you. He doesn’t do well with women.”
“Wonder where he got that from.”
I shoot her a pointed glance, but she just pops her shoulders and takes another swig.
Max laughs again. At literally nothing. This kid is just oddly into her, and this elevator ride is taking too fucking long.
“Did you get your smile from your mama?” she asks him, tilting her head and admiring him. “Because I don’t think your dad knows how to.”
“Funny.”
“I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcastic and you actually have a sense of humor.”
“He doesn’t have a mom.”
The space goes eerily silent the way it typically does when I say those five words. Most people are concerned they crossed a line because his mom passed away tragically, not because she didn’t tell me she was pregnant then showed up six months post-partum to flip my world upside down before leaving.
Her teasing tone immediately shifts. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“She’s alive. She just isn’t around.”
I can physically see the relief wash over her. “Oh, well that’s good. I mean, that’s not good. Or maybe it is good? Who am I to say? Goddamn, this elevator is taking forever.” She slaps a palm over her mouth, her eyes darting to Max. “I mean, gosh dang it.”
That finally makes me chuckle, a small grin sliding across my lips.
She softens a bit. “He does smile.”
“He smiles a whole lot more when he’s not being berated by a stranger in an elevator while she’s double fisting beers first thing after she wakes up.”
“Maybe she never went to sleep.” Another casual pop of her shoulders.
Dear God.
“Maybe they should stop talking about themselves in the third person like a couple of pretentious a-holes.”
The elevator finally opens on the floor she needs.
“Maybe he should loosen up every once in a while. He’s got a cute-ass kid and an even cuter smile when he shows it.” She lifts her Corona to me before chugging the rest and exiting the elevator. “Thanks for the ride, Baby Daddy. It was . . . interesting.”
That it was.
Chapter 2
Miller
I love butter. Imagine being the person who created God’s greatest gift to mankind. I could kiss them for their discovery. With bread? Perfection. Melted onto a baked potato? Heaven sent. Or my personal favorite, baked into my famous chocolate chip cookies.
Now, you might be thinking it’s a chocolate chip cookie, they’re all the same. Wrong. Dead wrong. I might be known throughout the country for my ability to fix a Michelin star-seeking restaurant’s underperforming dessert program, but I wish one of these fancy restaurants would say “fuck it” and let me bake them a goddamn chocolate chip cookie for their menu.