I scowl as I carry the kid downstairs and manage to juggle getting a bottle under the hot water, all the while trying to pretend that it's not Mercedes' breast milk that's inside the clear plastic.
“It's cow tit juice instead, right?” I coo at Sadie as I bounce her and try to get her to relax. It doesn't work, no matter how I move or what I purr at her in babbled baby talk. Damn it. I balance the baby against one shoulder and squirt some milk onto my skin to check the temperature. Yeah, I actually read Mercedes' dossier. This guy knows what he's doing.
Sort of.
When I sit down and try to feed the little chick, she won't take the nipple in her mouth, screaming and howling around it. When I check her diaper, I find it … full of crap. Jesus. So that's what the smell was. Personally, I thought it was the fucking chihuahuas. They go every which where it seems. I keep stepping on tiny poops.
I am in literal hell.
I change Sadie's diaper and she finally calms down, falling asleep on my shoulder before I deposit her upstairs. By the time I do, I find my phone's all blown up from Kitty and her texts and calls.
Not around, I guess. Well, screw you. I've got other options.
I mouth the word shiiiiiiiiiit and then fall onto my back on my brother's bed, bangin' out a quick response.
Tomorrow night? Sorry, babe. The baby was crying.
Hopefully that'll win me some sympathy points, right? I'm about to put the phone away when I think of that girl, Brooke. What the hell? I'll send her a text, too. She doesn't want a boyfriend right now; the last thing I want is a girlfriend.
This could be beneficial for both of us.
Zay Roth here, from the park. Want to hit that together tomorrow? We'll be there at two if you're down.
I drop my phone next to me and take a deep breath, trying to let out all the tension in my muscles. I'm starting to get there, to feel my pulse slowing, my eyelids getting heavy … when a phone call comes in from my brother.
Wakes me. And the baby.
Thanks Toxic.
I swear, I am changing that goddamn ringtone.
I'm woken up at five in the morning by the twins bouncing on the bed and shouting at each other, the neighbor banging away on the wall between the duplexes. I groan and roll over, putting a pillow over my head and trying to dive back into the dream of me and Hubert, back at our apartment, sun streaming through the picture window in my living room, the air conditioning cooling my naked skin as I pump away at a beautiful girl in my bed.
It takes me a few seconds to realize that I'm fantasizing about Brooke Overland, the chick from the park. In my dream, her body's as soft and supple as it looked at the park, her hair smelling like peaches, her mouth hot and wild on my tattooed cock, tongue playing with the piercing in my balls.
I smirk as I drag my phone under my pillow next with me and check my texts. There's a single emoji from Pink Haired Kitty and a time that I'm assuming is for our, uh, session. The other is from Brooke, confirming that she'll be at the park. I try not to get too excited, but damn. Two dry weeks in Eureka is two too many. Having a friend with benefits around would be a huge relief.
“Alright, you little fuckers, get off the bed.” The boys gasp as I sit up and toss the pillow onto the floor. “Get your butts in that bathtub. I'm not meeting a girl with smelly kids hanging off my legs.”
The twins scream and leap from the bed, falling over each other in an attempt to escape first. I grin and chase after them, scaring them down the stairs before I head back in and grab the baby. Things are lookin' up. Mercedes' parents are stable, and it looks like they're gonna make it; Kitty's forgiven me for last night; and I've got a date with Brooke Overland.
Hard to see this day getting much better than that.
By the time our park visit rolls around, Iiiiiiii'm about ready to blow my head off.
“You're gross and weird. Our neighbor, Shiela, said you're going to the H-place because you have tattoos on your body and God doesn't like tattoos.”
I almost slam my face into the steering wheel at the next light.
“The H-place? What the … who the frick is Shiela?” I'm think it's time for a neighbor to get punched right in the eye for that shit. My brother and sister-in-law aren't religious; it's not up for some neighbor to start telling the kids that kind of crap. “No. Nobody goes to hell for having tattoos. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Forget she ever told you that.”
Kinzie makes a dramatic sound from the center row and I glare at her in the mirror, grabbing a Taylor Swift playlist from iTunes and cranking it up enough that I don't have to listen to the twins scrabbling at each other in the backseat.
I thought today was gonna be great, but … it can't get any worse, right? The baby puked milk up all over me, the dogs chewed a small hole in the upstairs bathroom door, and that pot growing neighbor next door is such a fucking dick that I'm about one incident away from marching over to his place and telling him like it is.
Park day with that hottie, Brooke Overland. That's what I need.