Color spills across his chest, peeks up from his waistband. The ink above and below his abs only emphasizes how tight they are, how flat and sexy and touchable … I blink several times to clear my head. I can't really look at him without getting light-headed. I glance away and pretend not to be interested. Were his … were his nipples pierced?!
“Nice ink,” I say, hoping I sound cool. I mean, not that I care because this guy's a complete stranger with at least two kids, one of whom's a baby. I bet this man makes a lot of babies. The last thing I need to be doing is sitting here and hitting on him like this. I do not need to be making any babies. Or trying to lose my virginity with some Tattooed God Guy.
“What about you? Got any tats?” I shake my head as I look back at him. I'm sure his story's a hell of a lot more interesting than mine.
“Nope. Not a single one. I've always been scared of getting poked.” I flush as Zayden grins at me, forcing myself to smile like I meant that double entendre. If he only knew how true that was … “Does it really hurt as much as everyone says it does?”
“Naw,” he says, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. “Personally, I like getting poked.” A wink that's clearly meant in a flirtatious sort of way. “Got any piercings?”
I shake my head and smile.
“Same problem. The whole … you know, poking thing.”
“Gotcha,” he says as he looks me over again, clearly checking me out. Basically, I'm in complete shock. I'm wearing torn nude tights, a brown chiffon skirt, and a white tee that's a little too small for me. On my feet are a pair of suede boots with scuffed toes. Essentially, I'm a hot mess. “So, how come your,” a pause to look down at my hand, checking for a ring I think, “boyfriend isn't here with you today?”
I raise my eyebrows as my heart starts to pound. Holy crap. This guy really is hitting on me.
“I don't currently have a boyfriend,” I say, trying not to think about that particular screw up. Three years with the wrong guy, a guy who was supposed to be perfect. And the reason I'm still carrying my V-card. He said he wanted to wait until marriage, that his faith was important to him. Yet, he was sleeping with my friend on the side. Yeah. Great. “I'm not looking for one either,” I add, even though I really like the idea of this guy liking me.
“Well,” Mr. Tattoo says, handing his phone out to me. “I've got plans to bring the kids over here tomorrow, too. If you're gonna be around, we could always hang out. No strings attached. Personally, I'm not a fan of the tangled little fuckers either.”
I smile and—almost reluctantly—accept the phone from his hand. I am so stopping by the store and using the last of my money on a new one after this. I plug in my number and hand it back, knowing as I do though that I'm probably making a mistake here. I've got two kids and a dog to worry about, a degree, a … job. A job that I hopefully won't have to go to. If I look hard enough, maybe I could find a gas station or convenience store gig, something overnight that doesn't involve … that.
“Maybe I could bring bread for the ducks?” I say, even though I don't expect anything to come of this.
Zayden flashes another grin at me as Bella and Grace wave me over from the direction of the slide.
“Come watch!” Bella yells as they dart up the steps.
“Sounds like a plan,” he tells me as I stand up and wave good-bye.
I really don't expect to see Mr. Tattooed and Handsome ever again.
And I especially don't expect that I'll be asking him to be the girls' nanny.
Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it?
If I'm gonna be in town, I might as well have a little fun. The young looking mom with the kids was fucking ballin', baby. She had no idea how hot she was in that little white tee, her flat bare belly showing above the waistband of that ugly skirt. I mean, not that I mind a chick that knows how hot she is, but Brooke was so clueless it was kind of funny.
I grin and spin my phone in my hand, getting ready to shoot her a text message. I've also got sexy little Kitty waiting for our video chat session tonight. Maybe these two weeks don't have to be god-fucking-awful, right?
I park my butt on the couch just in time to hear a crackle from the baby monitor. Shit. Don't I, like, ever get a break here? I mean this is nonstop. How does Mercedes ever find time for games? Seriously. Does the woman not sleep?
“I'm coming, I'm coming.” I clomp up the steps two at a time, setting my phone down next to the baby's crib and hefting Sadie into my arms. She screams and throws her fuzzy brown head back, wailing like a goddamn banshee. A fist pounds on the wall from next door and I hear a grumbling shout. Motherfucker. What the hell am I gonna do about a goddamn baby? I mean, it's not like I enjoy kids or anything, but seriously? What is that asswad's problem?