Tied(12)

“I think I’m going to go take that bath you mentioned,” she purrs. “Want to join me?”

I run my knuckles along her jaw. “Joining you is just one of the things I’m dying to do right now.”

“Things like washing my back?”

I brush my lips against hers. “I want to wash lots of places—every nook and cranny.”

Unfortunately, washing her back and rubbing her shoulders are all I’ll be able to do tonight. But it’ll be enough for now.

I keep her legs wrapped around me as I stand up, bare assed, and walk us to the bathroom.



Having two working parents in the house isn’t always perfect—schedule conflicts and work-related stress can get in the way. But it works for us.

Now, where were we again? Before we cut to the gratuitous blow-job scene?

That’s right—elbow deep in the massacre that is James’s diaper. Try mouth-breathing—it helps with the stench.

“Good God, kid . . . what’d you do last night? Sneak out of the crib and eat a T-bone steak?”

Which brings me to the greatest invention of our time. Nope—it’s not the Internet. Or the automobile. It’s not female birth control—though that’s a good one too. The best innovation of the last century is the Diaper Genie. It’s a lifesaver.

I drop the toxic ball into the holy can and quickly close the lid. Then I get him cleaned up with the heated wipes and sprinkle on baby powder. Next I head over to the closet to pick out his clothes. A black, collared shirt, jeans, and Nike sneakers. Clothes make the man—and it works the same way with boys. It’s all about first impressions. If you actually want your kid getting knocked on his ass in the sandbox? Put him in one of those pansy sweater vests. That’ll pretty much guarantee it. James is a cool kid—and I make damn sure he dresses like one.

After I gel James’s hair and brush his teeth—with some helpful suggestions on his spitting technique—I carry him to the kitchen airplane style. Zoom. And strap him in his high chair so he can’t escape.

Next up? Breakfast. You remember how I love cereal, right? That hasn’t changed. It’s Lucky Charms for me—with extra marshmallows.

But for my son? No Lucky Charms.

Those Breakfast Club kids actually knew what they were talking about. And we really do turn into our frigging parents. And phrases like We’ll see and Because I said so just pop into your head and fly out of your mouth. It’s disturbing. Like Exorcist-possession kind of shit.

Anyway, for James’s breakfast? Organic-apple slices and whole-grain Cheerios—without sugar.

I know—it’s official—I’m a hypocrite. I can live with that. It’s not like his taste buds know what they’re missing. And when they do, I’ll shove it down his throat anyway. Because it’s good for him. If one day he decides to hate me for that? That’s okay too.

Because sometimes being a father is hard. And if it’s not? You’re not doing it right.

I pour some Cheerios onto the tray and back up halfway across the room. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one, Evans gets the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots. . . .”

I toss the Cheerio in a high arc. It lands right in James’s mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

Then I give him a high five. See—told you. Cool, right? I shovel a spoonful of cereal in my mouth and get ready for another shot. Then Kate comes into the kitchen, texting on her phone.

All that worry about losing the baby weight? It was for nothing. Look at her—snug black yoga pants hug narrow hips, a navy Penn State T-shirt shows off her flat stomach and toned arms. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, and a touch of shiny, strawberry-flavored lip gloss is her only makeup.

Gorgeous.

Kate still has that simple, low-maintenance kind of beauty. She doesn’t have to work at being hot—she just is. I maneuver next to James’s high chair and wait for Kate to look up.

Yes, it’s deliberate. Children have the power to suck the sex drive out of a relationship like a hungry black hole. So it’s important to stoke the flame—keep the coals burning hot. And something about seeing a shirtless guy with a baby turns every woman on.

Trust me—I’ve been accosted at the beach enough times to know. It’s like female frigging Viagra.

It’s different for guys. Not that a baby is a negative, necessarily—but seeing a chick with one doesn’t automatically make us want to bang her. Because deep, deep down all men are still little boys. We want all your attention on us. It’s just how it is.

I feel Kate’s eyes on me and I pop a piece of apple into James’s mouth. Then I stretch out my arms—flexing the muscles—giving her a good show. Oh, yeah—it’s working. She’s definitely wet. See how her head tilts and her eyes shine as she looks me up and down? How her lips part and she breathes just a little bit faster?

She’s remembering what we just finished doing—and thinking about when we’ll get to do it again.

“Mummy!”

Kate’s eyes shift to James. Her smile changes—no sexy, more sweet. “Hey, little man.”