SWNOVELS Unravel Me: Chapter 10
“Is this date number two or three?” Marco pops his chin on his fist and cocks his head. “Or technically four?”
“Four,” Archie answers. “’Cause technically their park date with Connor was two, and then their dog hike this morning was three. Right, Ro?”
“I donno,” I mumble, twining my fingers through my hair, tying my French braids down, leaving the back free. It’s definitely date four. This morning when I found him and Bear out front of Wildheart, waiting for me and Piglet, he took my hand and said it was date number three. He even had his own backpack, filled with fruit and cookies for dessert after lunch on the bridge.
I slip a lilac barrette onto each braid and spin around, groaning when my two-piece bathing suit is thrust in my face.
“I’m not wearing that.” I shove it away, reach for the one-piece hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and then change my mind. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll bring a bathing suit at all.”
Marco’s brows rise. “Okay, Rosie’s going all in. Skinny-dipping. Adam will love that. Tits and ass is always the right choice.”
“I’m not going nude.” I elbow past him and into my bedroom. “I’m just not gonna swim.” So what if that’s what he invited me over to do.
Archie squeezes my shoulder. “If you’re not comfortable swimming, Ro, just tell him so. He’ll understand, given what’s happened.”
“It’s not that.” It’s definitely partially that. “Plus, he doesn’t know what happened.” I shake my head. “Okay, I’m afraid of freaking out in the pool, but mostly, he’s just so pretty . I caught a glimpse of his abs that first day on the trail, and it wasn’t even a six-pack. I swear, there were at least eight of those things. And he has that…” I gesture toward my crotch. “That stupid V that points right to his…his…”
“Anaconda?”
“Magic stick?”
“Dickmatizer?”
“Hospitalizer?”
I wave away their words. “Yeah. That.”
Archie shrugs. “So? He’s hot as fuck, what’s your point?”
I look down at myself, the body hidden behind my flowy summer dress. I love my body for everything it’s done and the world it’s given me, but it’s far from perfect. “How do I stack up to someone who looks like that?”
Archie and Marco exchange a look, and Marco nods. “She’s one of those girls who doesn’t realize she’s gorgeous.”
“I hate when she does this.” Archie sighs and takes me by the shoulders. “You, Rosie Wells, are beautiful. On the outside and the inside too. Any man would trip over his own two feet to get a smile from you, and it sounds like Adam’s done exactly that.”
“You had a baby,” Marco adds. “That doesn’t make you worth any less.”
“I’m not as thin as I used to be. And my scar—”
“Your scar is a badass badge of honor for having a life you created carved right out of you. And your stretch marks are tiger stripes, Rosie. You are strong. You are fierce. You are perfect, just the way you are.” Marco sweeps my bangs aside. “Don’t doubt that the right person won’t see that, because he will.”
“Comparing yourself to others won’t get you anywhere. It’s a useless way to spend your energy.” Archie taps my nose and winks. “And you need to reserve that, because it sounds like Adam might be able to go all night.”
I slap his hand away. “It doesn’t matter, because I definitely can’t. I passed out in his truck on the way home from our date on Wednesday.”
Marco sighs wistfully. “There’s just something about a man who drives a truck.”
Archie’s brows pull down. “I drive a truck.”
Marco waves him off. “Please, Rosie. Wear the two-piece. The bottoms are high-waisted, they show off your curves, and Adam will be drooling.”
I nibble my lip as I examine the yellow suit with little white daisies. “You really think so?”
“I know so. Now let’s touch up those toenails.”
A touch-up becomes a complete redo, and Marco even adds daisies to match my bikini, something I don’t notice until I’m done, because I’m too engrossed with thoughts of Adam.
He was a dream with Connor on Thursday. I wasn’t surprised, I guess, but I was surprised he was so nonchalant about the news. The man didn’t even bat an eye, just got down to Connor’s level and introduced himself before taking my hand and pulling us to the park. I didn’t expect it to be so easy, but I’m ashamed that I’m still here, kind of…waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Fuck, I hope there’s not another shoe.
My phone pings as I check my hair for the hundredth time, and I scoop it up, eager to see if it’s Adam on his way over.
BRANDON
u need to come get connor. something’s wrong with him.
My heart thuds a quick, anxious beat as I wait way too long for my son’s father to pick up the phone he texted me from just seconds ago.
“Are you on your way?” he grumbles in greeting, and my chest tightens at the sound of Connor’s cries in the background.
“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
“I donno.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You said something’s wrong. Is he sick?”
Brandon groans, like the conversation is exhausting him. “I don’t fucking know, Rosie. He’s just not right. He won’t stop crying.”
“Have you tried holding him?”
“He doesn’t wanna be held.”
“Did he eat lunch?”
“We had some Timbits.”
“Timbits aren’t—” I take a deep breath and let it go, reeling in my frustration. “He might be hungry still. Can you make him a sandwich? Cut up some fruit for him?”
“He’s not fucking hungry, Rosie, he’s just miserable. I need you to come get him; he’s driving me nuts.”
“Please don’t say things like that in front of him.”
“He’s a baby. He doesn’t know what I’m saying.” Brandon sighs. “Look, are you coming or not?”
“I’m coming,” I mumble, grabbing the folded stroller from the front closet, slipping quietly out the door before Archie and Marco can catch me and force me to put my foot down, to remind Brandon that he’s supposed to have Connor until tomorrow evening, that he needs to step up and be a parent.
Instead, I type out a message I don’t want to send.
ME
I’m so sorry, Adam. I have to cancel today. I hope we can reschedule.
The second I step out of the elevator, my phone rings. Adam’s name lights my screen, and I steel my spine before I answer it.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, trouble. Everything okay?” There’s a gentleness to his voice, one that’s always there, even when his flirty side flies free.
“Yeah, totally.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, before pushing through the front doors into the warm breeze. “No, not really. I don’t know. Connor’s having a rough day, I guess. His dad wants me to come get him.”
“I’m sorry he’s struggling today.” He pauses a moment. “Does he like to swim?”
“You want me to…to bring him?”
“I want to spend the rest of the day with both of you. Is that okay?”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, of course it’s okay. It’s just…no one’s ever…I…”
“Are you going to get him now?” Adam asks, taking away the pressure to give my spiraling thoughts a voice. “Do you need a ride?”
“Brandon’s only a ten-minute walk away.”
“Okay, well, I can pick you and Connor up in about a half hour if you want to go home and grab his swimsuit and whatever else you need.”
“No, I can’t…I mean, I don’t have a car seat for him. We walk or bus everywhere.” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. This doesn’t feel like it’s going to work. “And he needs a nap, so I’d have to bring his playpen, but he might not sleep well in a different environment, and it just…I don’t know, Adam. Maybe today isn’t a good day.”
“Hey.” His quiet, patient voice stills my racing thoughts. “I’ve got a playpen for when my friend’s daughter is over. Connor can lie down here if you’re comfortable with that. I know you like routine, so if you aren’t ready to change things, I understand. But I would love to see you two, so if you want to give this a try for a day, just know that I’m here.”
My feet stop moving, and I ground myself in the moment. I feel the smooth, fake leather of the stroller handle in my fist, the hot sunshine on my cheeks, the warm breeze brushing through my hair. I see the way my dress sways gently, hear Adam’s patient, soft breath in my ear as he waits.
“Okay,” I finally say.
“Okay?”
“We’ll come. We’ll try it.” There’s a whoosh of breath on the other side of the phone, and I smile at his relief. My own relief comes at his next words, the excitement that bleeds through so vividly.
“Fuck yeah, Rosie!”
He’s exactly where I expected him to be. Both of them are, actually.
I storm by Brandon, sitting on his couch with his feet up on his coffee table, tipping a beer back while he watches baseball, and I scoop Connor out of the playpen he’s reaching for me from, crying and screaming.
“How long has he been in there for?” I ask as Connor lays his sopping cheek on my chest, grabbing a fistful of my hair as he settles himself with deep breaths.
Brandon’s shoulder pops up and down, eyes never leaving the TV. “Hour or so.”
“Seems like he just wanted some cuddles.”
His gaze flicks to me, eyes rolling. “He needs to learn he doesn’t get everything he wants by crying.”
“He’s a baby , Brandon. He can’t regulate his emotions. He’s crying because he wants comfort, and we’re his safe place.” I press my lips to Connor’s hair and rub his back, rocking him back and forth. “He just wants to be close to us. He wants interaction.”
“I’m not a TV show. I don’t always wanna entertain him.”
“You think I want to entertain him every minute? It’s hard and exhausting, but we chose to have a baby, so we do it.”
“I didn’t choose shit.”
I stop bouncing as the color leaves my face. “What did you say?”
He sighs, setting his bottle down so he can sit up and drag both hands through his hair and down his face. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
He leaps to his feet, arms wide. “It’s too much! He’s too much! All he does is cry until you come back. He takes forever to get to sleep, and I lose my own sleep because of him. I just…I don’t…” He tugs his hair, spinning away from me.
“Be very careful of your next words,” I warn lowly. “You’ve walked out on him once, just to crawl back a month later. If you do it again, you won’t be welcome back. He deserves to have people in his life who love him.”
Brandon spins on me, pointing at me with a threatening finger. “Don’t do that. I love him. He knows I do.”
Then act like it , I want to scream. Instead, I walk away, pull open his door, and glance back at him. “He deserves to be surrounded by people who want to be in his life, no matter how challenging the days can be.”
That has gotta be a nine-inch dong, at least. Maybe ten.
Do ten-inch penises exist? They must, because I’m almost certain this man is packing one.
Jesus, I wonder if his back hurts carrying that around between his legs all day.
Unless it’s padding. I’ve heard they do that sometimes, fluff the junk up with padding to make it look extra big.
But no, I don’t think so. No, the arrogant, confident look in this man’s piercing green eyes says, I’ve got a huge dick and I know it.
Connor’s as fixated as I am. He reaches out, laying his tiny hand over the photo of the man’s package. The size difference is so alarming, it’s comical.
“Connor, buddy.” I take his hand and guide him back toward the bench in the bus shelter, turning my laugh into a cough. “We don’t touch other people’s bodies, even if it’s just a picture.” A gigantic picture of a gigantic dong, tucked in a tight pair of boxer briefs.
Seriously, who the hell decided a bus shelter was a good place for an underwear ad? I don’t care if the man is—I squint at the words—God’s gift to hockey, women, and underwear. What does that even mean? I bet the model doesn’t even know. He heard his monster dick would be on display and jumped at the chance.
The rumble of an engine sounds, and Connor’s head snaps up before he races toward the sidewalk. “Brum, brum !”
I grab the stroller and follow along, but it’s not the bus.
“Tuck,” Connor states proudly, pointing at the midnight blue truck as it approaches. “Big tuck!” He waves both hands, bouncing on his toes. “Whoooa ! Hi, big tuck!”
The truck pulls to a stop beside us, and a man with a grin as devastatingly handsome as it is sheepish hops out.
“Well, hey there, little buddy,” Adam says, crouching in front of Connor. “Remember me?”
“Dada!” Connor leaps at Adam, wrapping his tiny arms around his wide shoulders. When Adam laughs and lifts him into the air, something happens inside me.
It’s the strangest thing, like something mending and unraveling all at once. I feel a pull toward a future I’ve always dreamt of, a stability I’ve craved and been deprived of for too long. And yet I’m ready to throw away nearly everything I know, all that I’ve worked for, for the smallest taste of this man, to feel his hands coast the valleys of my body, to make every inch of me come alive. Because, God, I feel alive with him, and all he’s doing is standing there, holding my world in his arms, looking at us like we might be his.
“What are you doing here?” I take a hesitant step toward him, my hands shaking at the realization that he means so much to me in no time at all, no rhyme or reason, and I’m afraid this will end the way life has always worked for me: him, leaving, and me, walking this road alone. “I don’t have a car seat.”
“No, but…” He opens the door behind the passenger’s seat. “I do.”
I stare for so long, Adam winds up in front of me, two fingers touching my chin, closing my mouth, amusement shining in his eyes while Connor snickers and tries to do the same to Adam.
“I didn’t run out and buy a car seat or anything,” he quickly clarifies the longer I’m silent. “I’m not…please don’t think I’m…I’m sorry if this is too much and I scared you. My friend has five cars and a seat in all of them—don’t ask me why; he’s just super ostentatious about all things—and he let me borrow one. He helped me install it, which, as it turns out, is super fuck—uh, freaking hard. There are so many rules, but he showed me how to adjust it so we can make sure it fits Connor just right.” Adam smiles. It’s extra wide, super gritty, and all teeth, like he’s just realizing how wild this is. “I totally overstepped, didn’t I? Aw, shit. I didn’t mean to. I’m so out of my realm here. The thought of you two taking the bus home alone later tonight didn’t sit well with me, so I…I…” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”
Connor lays his hand on Adam’s cheek and pulls his hat off, letting his curls spring free, a beautiful disaster Connor wastes no time burying his fingers in once he’s tossed Adam’s hat over his shoulder. “Hair,” he says simply, patting the dark tresses. He points at the truck. “Big tuck. Beep-beep!”
Connor’s simple words clear the fog from my head. Everything is simple to him. He’s easygoing and flexible. He sees something he likes—like Adam, his hat, his hair, his truck—and he takes it. I want to be like that. I don’t want to overanalyze every detail. I just want to let go and take it.
I step around Adam, peeking at the car seat. “Oh wow,” I murmur. “Top of the line.”
“Yeah,” Adam whispers in my ear. “He’s, like…super ostentatious.”
“He sounds fun.”
He swallows. “A little over the top.”
I glance over my shoulder, and Adam’s eyes drop to mine, bouncing down to my mouth, barely a breath from his with his chin dipped low, before ricocheting back up. “Connor is thirty-two inches tall and twenty-three pounds.”
“So he can still rear face,” Adam puffs out. “Which is what I figured when we installed it, and, by the way, is five hundred percent safer than forward-facing.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “You did your research.”
“I love research.” His brows pinch with his frown. “That was so lame.”
A laugh bubbles from my chest, and Adam grins. The tension between us dissipates, and I tickle Connor’s belly. “What do you think, buddy? Wanna ride in Adam’s truck?” Cause Mama wants to ride something else of Adam’s.
No. Fuck. No, Rosie. Think with your brain, not with your tits. Think with your brain, not with your tits. Think with your brain, not with your tits.
If I say it three times, maybe it’ll come true.
Adam was right about having done his research, though he insists his friend really shoved a lot of information down his throat before he pulled out of his driveway with the car seat installed. It only takes us a minute to adjust the seat perfectly for Connor, and my little guy is happy as ever as we buckle him in.
“It’s a good thing you came when you did. I don’t think Connor and I could spend another minute looking at that man’s peen.”
Adam gives me a look, and when I gesture toward the bus shelter, he throws the truck in reverse and slowly backs up until the life-size advertisement comes into view, the arrogant, devious grin, and the extra-large—possibly padded—dong.
“Jesus Christ,” Adam mutters.
“Right? Was that necessary? It’s like a bad wreck. I couldn’t look away no matter how hard I tried. That’s gotta be ten inches, no?”
“Nine,” I swear he whispers.
“What?”
“Nothing. Definitely padded.” He shifts into drive, slings his arm over my seat, checks over his shoulder, and hits me with a wink before pulling into traffic. “No more bus shelter peens for you, Rosie. I’ll protect you.”
I cup his jaw before leaning forward, surprising us both when I press my lips to his cheek. “My peen hero.”