The First Taste(33)
“I slept with someone on Friday,” I say.
Denise turns back to me, her eyes big. “What? Who?”
“You don’t know her. She isn’t from around here.”
She presses her lips together. “Why do you tell me these things?”
“You have a right to know.”
“You don’t think I’ve slept with other guys?” she asks. “I’ve never thrown it in your face.”
“You’re my friend, Denise. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“That doesn’t stir anything in you?” she asks. “Nothing?”
“What?” I ask.
“Hearing that I’ve slept with other guys.”
I shift on my feet and try to conjure an ounce of jealousy. I love Denise—as a friend. As one of the people who stepped in to help with Bell when I needed it most, I’m grateful she’s in my life. But that’s as much as I’ll ever feel for her. As long as she’s happy and treated well, I have no comments about her sex life. “If this is getting to be too much, I understand,” I say. “We’ve been hooking up for two years. I wouldn’t fault you for developing feelings. But if you are, we have to stop.”
She looks at her feet. I know what she’ll say. We’ve had this conversation before. “I’m not.”
“Good.” I look through the office window. Bell has her head down as she does homework. I put an arm around Denise’s shoulder and kiss her head. “You know I care about you. But stay the f*ck away from Bell when I’m not around. I mean it.”
She sighs, shoves me off, and walks away. “Call me next time you have a few hours free.”
NINE
“Shaving cream,” I command like I’m at the head of an army.
“Yes, sir.” Bell maneuvers herself onto the bathroom counter and gets the can. She shakes it before squirting some into her hand. Her palm is too small for the amount I need, so I let her slather what she’s got on my face before filling in the rest.
She knocks her heels against the cabinet under the sink. “You’re going to look so handsome, Daddy.”
I glide my razor down my cheek and glance at her in the reflection. “Thanks, baby.”
“All the girls will want to kiss you.”
With a heavy sigh, I give her a reprimanding look. I don’t know if it’s normal for girls her age to tease their dads about women. I can’t exactly ask around—I don’t know any other single dads. I thought I had a while longer before she moved into this phase where she starts to wonder about love and sex.
Sex.
Jesus. Christ.
Could I ever actually work up the nerve to talk about that with Bell, my precious baby? Fuck. I hope I’m right that I’ve got years left to prepare, but I’m worried that might be pushing it.
“Homework’s done?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yup. Are you going to the city?”
“Yes. Uncle Nathan has to work and Aunt Sadie needs me to go with her.”
“I love New York City. I want to live there one day.”
I slide my gaze over to her. I’m aware of her interest, but this is the first I’ve heard of wanting to move there. “It’s not a nice place.”
“But Aunt Sadie lives there, and she has a fun job and cool friends.”
“She lives in Brooklyn,” I say, “not that that’s any better.”
“Are you going to a party?”
I rinse out my razor. I don’t often leave Bell in the evenings. It can sometimes get ugly. Since she didn’t freak out too much about spending a weekend with Sadie, I’m hoping she’s grown out of it, but I don’t exactly want to test that theory. “Speaking of parties,” I say. “Did you decide what kind of cake you want for your birthday?”
“Chocolate with chocolate frosting that has blue and pink swirls,” she says. “And mint ice cream.”
“Done.”
“Will you be home in time to tuck me in?”
Fuck. I tilt my head back, shaving under my jaw. I don’t look at Bell, because like an animal, she smells fear. “I don’t think so, babe. City’s far away. I’ll be home late.”
She doesn’t respond.
I put my razor down and splash water on my face. “I need you to be good for Flora tonight,” I say about Pico’s mom, Bell’s usual sitter. “Even Pico’s coming over to play.”
Silence. When it comes to Bell, that’s never a good sign unless she’s doing homework or playing where I can see her.
“You’re a big girl, Bell. You’ll have fun tonight.”
I go into my closet, drop my towel, and pull on underwear. All I hear is the loudening knock of Bell’s heels against the cabinets. “Hey,” I call out to her. “Pico said he doesn’t believe you know all the lyrics to Metallica. Want to practice until he gets here?”
“Which song?”
“‘Sandman.’”
Immediately, she launches into the first verse. Her voice echoes through the bathroom as I get into my suit. I button my dress shirt laughing. It’s always creepy when she sings it, especially the part that’s actually a child’s voice, but she loves the song. She’s never been a fearful kid. Never believed in monsters or boogey men. She’s like me, afraid of things that’re actually scary—like being abandoned.