One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(3)

I nod in agreement. “Bread pudding.”

“You got it.”

Making her way around the kitchen, she pulls a few plates from the cabinets, some spoons, and dishes out three heaping helpings of her banana bread pudding. She tops them with some melted caramel and a little scoop of vanilla ice cream.

God bless this woman.

“Here you go, boys. Sulk away.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Yeah, thanks, babe,” I mimic. Calder territorially eyes me—a playful warning—and then dives into his dessert.

I do the same, scooping up ice cream, caramel, and bread pudding all in one bite.

Heaven.

“Was this supposed to be a celebration dessert?” I ask, mouth full.

“I figured it could go either way. I did pop the congratulations balloons I’d bought, figuring a congratulations on your loss wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s appreciated,” Calder says.

We sit in silence, enjoying our dessert, no need to speak about what happened on the ice. No need to hash it out. What’s done is done; we can’t go back.

When I finish my dessert, I take my plate to the sink, rinse it, and then stick it in the dishwasher. “That was really good; thank you, Rachel.”

“Anything for the tripod.” She winks.

It’s what we jokingly call ourselves, a nickname Calder doesn’t quite appreciate, being that Rachel and I get along so well that we joke around with Calder more than he wishes.

Calder takes his empty plate along with Rachel’s, presses a light kiss across her temple, and then hands me the dishes to take care of. It’s hard not to be a tripod when we look like a goddamn old married couple, a weird threesome married couple.

Wrapping Rachel in his arms from behind, Calder asks, “What are you going to do now? Take some time off?”

Propped against the counter, I grip the edge of the marble. “Yeah. I’m sure my parents will want me to stay with them for a few weeks.”

“Where do they live?” Rachel asks.

“Scranton.” I drag my hand over my face and let out a long breath of air. “Not sure I want to go there though. I know my dad, and he’ll want to rehash every angle of the game until I’m blue in the face. And staying here in Philly”—I shake my head—“I don’t want to be sequestered to my apartment in fear of running into Brawlers fans.”

“They’re brutal.”

And that’s the goddamn truth. Beyond brutal. They’ve been known to flip cars over because of a loss, and I can only imagine the kind of beating the city is taking tonight.

“Vacation then?” Rachel asks. “I heard Europe is beautiful during the summer.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I wish. As much as I would love to leave the country after tonight’s game, I have some obligations keeping me close to Philly and New York City.” I push off the counter and snag my keys. “I think I might spend a few weeks visiting my hometown.”

“Binghamton, right?” Calder asks.

I nod. “Yeah, my friend Racer lives there. It might be good to play catch-up. Thanks for the dessert and half a beer. I’m going to head out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you guys later.”

As I’m leaving, Rachel calls out, “For what it’s worth, Miller deserved a hell of a lot more than the ass-beating you gave him.”

I shut the door with a smile. Rachel is good people. Marcus, the prick, deserved so much more. Reaching into my pocket, I scan through the contacts on my phone and press send.

I turn the car on, and listen to the phone ring on my Bluetooth.

“Dude!” Racer answers. “You dropped that motherfucker so hard.”

I pull out onto the street and head to my apartment. “How are you, man?”

“Semi-drunk after watching that game, a little turned on from your right hook, and wondering why you’re calling me when most likely your dad is frothing at the mouth to recount your entire game for a good three hours.”

Racer is one of few people who know my family well. That’s what happens when you grow up together. You end up knowing the ins and outs of each other’s lives.

“Haven’t called him yet. Kind of waiting on that phone call.”

“Smart.”

Feeling awkward, I ask, “So, what would you say if I decided to come to Bing for a few weeks?”

He doesn’t skip a beat when he asks, “Too afraid to go home?”

I laugh. “Not afraid, more not in the mood.”

“Yeah, I would avoid that lecture train for as long as I could.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you asking if you can stay at my house? Because I’m on the hunt for a girl, and I don’t want you stealing her away with your brawny athletic body and good looks. It would actually be detrimental to have you around.”

Racer is such a nitwit.

“I was going to ask Mr. Lockwood if I could stay at his place for a few weeks; he’s offered it up before.”

“You fucker. Of course he would offer up his house to you. Let me guess, you leave a few signed hockey sticks around the house and call it even?”

Pretty much.

Racer and I both had Mr. Lockwood as a teacher in high school. He lives on a hill in a little cottage that overlooks the area. He’s retired now and spends his summers in the Adirondacks, leaving his cottage up for grabs for any of his friends or former students.