"Little, huh?" she asks. I can hear the smirk in her tone.
"Trust me, there is nothing little about him." I hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but Rachel's answering snort tells me that I had.
"He invited you to stay, so what's the problem? Why are you overthinking this?"
"I don’t want Max to be confused about who this man is in our lives when I don’t even know the answer to that question."
"He's one year old, Kylie. You don't need to have all the answers. Besides, you're allowed to have male friends."
"I suppose so." Logically, her argument makes sense, but it doesn't mean I am comfortable with it.
"You shouldn’t worry so much, it causes premature age lines."
I laugh, it's a much needed break in the tension, and feels good. Friends. I could be friends with Pace. Couldn’t I? I scrub my hands through my hair. Why does this all feel so overwhelming? "I don't want to give Pace the wrong impression by agreeing to stay here. He's probably going to think this is some kind of casual hook up."
"A man who invites a woman with a child into his home isn't looking for a casual hookup, Kylie," Rachel says.
He's not? But this is Pace.
"Is he hot?" she asks next.
"What? I don’t know."
"Of course you do. Use those green eyes of yours. Is he attractive?"
"Y-yes," I stammer. I feel warm and frustrated, and I'm not sure why.
"Then presumably he has no problems getting laid. And a woman with a baby isn't casual hookup material. No offense, honey," she finishes.
"None taken." My days of casual flirting and innocent hookups were over. I have bigger responsibilities now. "So what should I do?"
"Do you feel safe around him?"
"Yes," I answer. "Unequivocally."
"Okay, then. I think you should stay and accept the help. You know I'd invite you over here, but it's a bit of a circus."
"I know. It's fine." Rachel shares an apartment, in typical LA style, with three other girls and one guy. The place isn't overly large to begin with, and it's always a mess. No thank you.
"I wish I could help."
"No worries, we're doing okay. I better get back out there before he realizes I'm hiding in his bathroom."
"You do that. But Kylie, would it really be the worst thing in the world to have some fun with an attractive man?"
Reading between the lines, she's telling me to pull the stick out of my ass and live a little. "I'll consider it," I say.
"And one more thing, you do realize you have the world's cutest baby, right?"
"I do." Max looks just like Elan, who was an attractive man, but Max is a cute as they come. Big, bright blue eyes, but with olive skin and dark hair—nothing like my pale skin and auburn hair. The only downside is that looking at him is a constant reminder of the man who left. As horrible as it sounds, it's also made me wonder if another man could really love my son. He doesn’t look like me. If he loves me, but doesn’t see Max as a part of me, how does that work? It's a thought that occupies my brain late at night. Pace seems to like Max just fine. I know Rachel would tell me I'm being foolish and to quiet my inner self-doubts. "We'll talk soon," I say, rising to my feet.
When I head back out to the living room, Pace has cleaned up the plates from dinner and is sitting on the sofa with a bottle of beer in one hand and the remote control in the other.
"Is he down?" Pace asks, looking up and locking eyes with me.
"Yes, he's asleep. Are you sure you're okay with us taking your bed?" I ask.
"Of course. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it."
I nod. I'm beginning to understand that about him—he doesn’t do or say things just to impress. There is meaning and depth behind everything he does.
"I know you said you don't drink much, but there's more beer, if you want one."
"I'm fine, thanks." I sit down beside him, realizing that the last time we were alone on a couch, I mounted him like a horse and rode him. No, I certainly don't need to add alcohol to the equation. Geez, I'd be bucking against him like a bronco.
"I think I'm going to call it a night," I say, stifling a yawn. It's only eight o'clock, but the meds I took earlier have made me sleepy.
Pace's eyes drift from the television over to me, and he slowly surveys my body. "Are you going to need help getting in and out of that contraption?"
I glance down at myself. I have a cast and a sling over the top of that, holding my right arm still and against my body. Honestly, changing clothes and showering is probably going to be difficult to do one-armed, but I will manage somehow. My cheeks flame bright red just thinking about Pace's big hands moving against my skin to help me disrobe. "I-I'll be okay."
"Suit yourself," he says, his low voice rumbling in the silent room.
"Good night." I want to thank him again for his hospitality, knowing Max is sleeping peacefully in the other room and that we're safe and taken care of for the night makes my chest feel tight. But I tip my head to the floor and scurry off to the bedroom. After checking on Max, I grab a pair of pajamas from my bag and head into the bathroom to change.
I push my arms through the holes of my T-shirt and remove it. My bra comes off next, getting momentarily stuck against my cast, before I free it and toss it aside with my shirt. If I'd known I was going to break my arm today, I wouldn’t have worn my skintight skinny jeans. These are hard to remove on a good day. Crap.
I get the jeans halfway down my thighs and begin to shimmy my hips, hoping the move will somehow coax these babies down my legs. No luck. I push and tug and twist, but they are stuck. Placing one foot on the side of the tub, I buck against the fabric.
Shiiiit.
With my legs bound tightly in denim, I tumble to the floor with a shout.
Pace
I sprint down the hall, wondering what the hell could have caused Kylie to scream. My first thought is an intruder. I burst through the door to the bedroom, ready to defend her, but Max is asleep in the bed alone, so then I shove my way into the bathroom.
Kylie is sprawled out on the tile floor, a pair of jeans midway around her thighs, holding her arm to her chest. Her very naked chest. My brain short-circuits temporarily as the abundance of pale, creamy skin hits me.
"Shit, what happened?" I lift her to her feet.
She's breathing and not bleeding anywhere that I can see, but my eyes assess every inch of her, seeking out injury. All I discover is that she has a glorious rack. Full, bouncy C's tipped with tight pink nipples, and my dick springs to life. Her panties are lime green and are the boy shorts kind. They're cute and unexpected.