Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(66)
He tugs me into his arms, across his chest, and the warm feel of his smooth skin surrounds me.
“If there’s anything I can do to help out with that, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll wait.”
He tilts my chin up and slowly leans down, pressing his mouth against mine, tracing my lips with the tip of his tongue, making me tingle everywhere. And the taste of him—Dean tastes like hope and home.
“We’re worth waiting for, Lainey.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dean
I’ve never lived with a woman before—I mean, not counting Grams. It’s a surprisingly easy transition. And because it’s Lainey, it’s awesome. The intimacy of it, the little things like watching her brush her teeth, sliding into bed beside her, holding her against me through the night, seeing her sleepy-eyed sexy first thing in the morning—can’t be described as anything less than really fucking awesome.
We talk, laugh, she lets me kiss her, touch her—and sometimes when she thinks I can’t see, she gets this eager, hungry look in her pretty eyes, like she wants to rip my clothes off and screw me stupid.
And that works for me.
The downside is, she’s worried about the baby, she’s stressed about her show, she’s grateful for the help everyone is giving but feels bad that she can’t return the favor, and sometimes she gets this guarded look on her face and I know she still hasn’t made up her mind on if she believes me about the “Kelly incident.”
Jason definitely doesn’t believe me. Our relationship is like a frozen lake—cold and at a standstill. The kid can hold an impressive grudge. But I’m hoping my actions, the things I do every day, will thaw things out between us and he’ll see just how much him and his mom mean to me.
I was able to convince McCarthy to give Jay another shot at staying in my class. I used every ounce of charm and intelligence I have. I promised to accept full responsibility if Jason acted out in class again, I got sentimental and reminded her that she’s known me since I was fourteen years old—and how I’m so much less of a dumbass now than I was then and I owe it all to her. Turns out, even Miss McCarthy isn’t immune to flattery and desperation.
Sometimes it feels like the hard moments are a penance, atonement, for my past selfish, dickheaded deeds. And sometimes I’m glad for it, even when it sucks—because the very best things in life don’t come easy. You have to want them, work for them. And if it means in the end I’ll be better, stronger, more worthy of Jay and Lainey and our kid—then it’ll be more than worth it.
~
The following week, the faculty throws me a baby shower in the teacher’s lounge—also known as The Cave—at school. I’ve always been a guest at these work party things, never a guest of honor, and they went all out. I’m touched.
There are balloons and streamers and a massive pink and blue cake, because these fiends will do anything for a sugar fix.
And there are presents.
A daddy diaper bag, little Nerf drum sticks, a football chew toy, and about a hundred diapers—which according to everyone with children should get us through the first three days. Maybe.
Garrett and Callie give me a jogging stroller, so I can bring the baby when I go running around the lake.
Alison gives me a huge, gorgeously illustrated book of fairy tales.
“You might want to pre-read,” she says. “Some of them are pretty dark.”
Jerry gives me a bottle of double-malt scotch.
“For those nights when the baby won’t let you sleep—a few glasses of that, you’ll be out cold—and so will the baby, from the fumes.”
Evan gives me two fluffy, furry stuffed animals—prairie voles—Velcroed together at the paws.
And Merkle—I don’t know what the fuck Merkle gives me. It’s this weird sling contraption with tubes and . . . nipples.
I hold it up. “Please tell me this is a sex toy.”
“It’s a male breastfeeding system. So you can bond with the baby through the joys of breastfeeding.”
Garrett laughs so hard he almost falls out of his chair.
“Dude, I am begging you for pictures. Please.”
I give him the finger.
That’s not happening. I’ll do diaper duty all day long, I’ll take night shifts, I’ll sing to my kid and tap out every goddamn song I know on their diaper-covered ass.
But I’m not strapping on a pair of tits. That’s my line in the sand.
~
The next day, I’m in The Cave, eating leftover cake for lunch.
“What’s that?” Kelly points to the paper in front of me.
“I’m making a list of all the girls I’ve screwed over through the years.”
“Like one of the steps in AA except you’re not an alcoholic?” Mark asks.
“Exactly.” I nod.
“Why?” Kelly asks.
“I’ve been thinking about . . . karma. I mean, what if I have a daughter? What if some little douchebag breaks her heart because I was a jerkoff back in the day? And, I just . . . I want to be a better man, you know? Do something tangible to show Lainey that I can be.” I raise my voice and announce to the other teachers in the room, who were listening anyway, “So if anyone has any suggestions on how I can make up for doing these girls dirty—feel free to toss them out there.”