“Watch it now,” I say. “You’ve got Lyla. Miss Sandra is mine, okay?”
Like the little player he is, Roman refuses to give me a verbal commitment that he’ll stay away from my girl. He just hums quietly to himself, looking out the window innocently. But I know better.
A few minutes later, I help Roman out of his carseat and head into Sandra’s bakery. Her only customer is Mrs. Stevens, who’s leaning close to the display and apparently making a life-or-death decision between a danish or a doughnut. Lauren spots me when we come in.
“Sandra! There’s a male model out here to see you. He’s got a little kid with him too. Super cute.”
Sandra emerges from the back a few seconds later. She has flour all over her apron, hands, and even on her face. The specks of white bring out the red in her cheeks and make her look beautifully flushed. Innocent even, but I know better. I can still remember the way she rode my face. I fucking love that she can look so sweet an innocent and still let go as hard as she does between the sheets.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say.
Sandra’s cheeks get even redder and Lauren raises her eyebrows, fanning herself off with a well-manicured hand. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too,” I say. “Roman wanted to come over to your place tonight. He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“I haven’t?” he asks.
“Yeah. Remember?” I ask him, nudging him with my toe.
“I haven’t stopped asking about it,” he says mechanically, drawing grins from both Sandra and Lauren.
“Wow. So your daddy doesn’t really care one way or another? He just wants to come over because you do?”
Roman looks up at me. I raise my eyebrows and signal for him to disagree.
“No ma’am. My daddy likes you a lot. That’s why he yelled at your parents before we came here.” Roman gives me two thumbs up and I wince, scratching the back of my neck and bracing myself for the anger.
Sandra’s eyes slowly move from Roman to me. “He did what?” she asks.
“I might have had a few words with them. Hey, I know. Let’s talk about it over dinner tonight and I’ll give you all the details.”
Sandra folds her arms. “Or we could talk about it now.”
“Yeah. Wish we could,” I say quickly, scooping up Roman and carrying him over my shoulder. “Little Roman has one of those four hour stomach bugs though. He’ll have to sleep it off before we can come over.”
“Reid!” Sandra says sternly.
I wave over my shoulder, carrying a giggling Roman out of the bakery and closing the door behind us.
We’re outside Sandra’s house that evening, just before sunset. The crickets are already chirping and there’s a chill in the air. I lick my thumb and try to smooth down a clump of Roman’s hair that’s standing up in the back. He wanted to dress nice for our “date” with Miss Sandra, so he’s wearing a dress shirt, slacks that are a little too short, and of course his favorite pair of tennis shoes.
I’m wearing a button down shirt without enough buttons undone to breathe and the sleeves rolled up. Roman tried to get me to wear dress pants, but I opted for jeans.
“Ready?” I ask.
Roman nods and runs his hands through his hair, messing up the style he had going on. I smirk, knocking hard.
Sandra opens the door. She’s wearing a short black dress and her hair is shiny and falls just above her shoulders in loose brown curls. I give her a crooked smile. “You didn’t have to dress up for us,” I say.
“Come in,” she says with a shy smile.
She has no idea how much her bashfulness turns me on, but Roman’s here tonight. It’s not the time for that kind of stuff. Tonight, we’re just going to have a good time. Nothing sexual. Nothing dirty. At least that’s the plan. If the little man passes out on the couch or something, I can’t promise to behave.
“Smells good,” says Roman. He pads off toward the kitchen, nose raised in the air like he’s a bloodhound following the scent.
“Seems like his stomach bug cleared up,” says Sandra.
“Yeah. It’s wild how fast that came and went,” I say. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“You just get washed up and sit down. I’ll bring everything to the table.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Now that’s a woman who knows how to make me happy.”
She narrows her eyes. “It’s a woman who knows you will feel too guilty not to tell me what happened with my parents once you taste my cooking.”
I chuckle. “Sounds like challenge.”
I take my spot at the table beside Roman, who tucks a napkin into his collar and holds his knife and fork at the ready. Sandra kneels to pull several steaming hot trays from the oven. She clatters dishes and pans around for a few minutes, moving dishes to platters for the table.
I stand up, not wanting her to have to do it all herself. “Let me help,” I say, sliding behind her and letting my hips brush against her ass.
She bites her lip, not meeting my eye, but smiling slightly. “Fine. You can help, but don’t you dare drop anything.”
I lean close enough that only she can hear me. “Only thing I want to drop are your panties. What color?” I ask.
She licks her lips, flicking her eyes up to me. “Black,” she says.
“Hm... You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It depends what you said to my parents.”
I grab a casserole dish full of sweet potatoes and head to the table, trying not to let the need to drag her to the bedroom completely dominate my thoughts.
“This is delicious,” I say a few minutes later when she’s sitting across from Roman and I and we have everything on the table. She made something crusty like pie, but filled with beef, veggies, and cheese. There’s potatoes, carrots, and macaroni and cheese. Roman is in heaven. His plate is piled high and he’d digging into the macaroni and cheese like it owes him money, occasionally sucking in a heavy breath between bites.
“Thank you,” Sandra says.
“You trying to fatten us up so we can’t fit out the door? Cause if you wanted us to stay, all you had to do was ask.”
“Okay, then stay,” she says quickly. The moment hangs between us and she laughs a little nervously, clears her throat, and looks down at her fork. “Sorry. I was just joking. Bad joke.”
I watch her, running the moment over in my head and looking at it from every angle. “I can’t figure you out, Sandra.”
“Welcome to the club,” she says. “I hardly know what I’m thinking half the time. You’re not so easy to figure out either, you know. Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking.”
“Well,” says Roman. “He thinks your pretty. He likes you a lot, and he wants you to be my mo--”
Roman’s voice cuts off as I put a hand over his mouth and clap his back. “Easy there Bud, you’re going to choke on that macaroni if you keep talking with your mouth full.”
I move my hand away and Roman continues right where he left off. “Mommy,” he finishes.