I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can handle them?” Bitch, if I can handle models, I can handle children.
“I’m not sure. They can be a handful.” I watch his face, waiting for him to show some apprehension for a relative stranger being alone with his children. But it’s not there. Clearly he’s still small town. “Have you ever watched kids before?”
“No, but I was a personal assistant before I became homeless and jobless. I’m sure I can handle a three-year-old and five-year-old for a day.”
He turns a suspicious eye on me. “Should we put a bet on it?”
“I’m intrigued. What did you have in mind?”
“What I have in mind can’t…” He licks his lips. “I’m not leaving that up to chance. That’s happening.”
I bite my lip. “Oh really?”
He watches me, and then his attention moves when there’s a sound of an engine approaching. “How about this? You don’t have any issues with them; I get to take you dinner.”
“And if I do?”
“I still take you to dinner.”
“That’s not a bet, Barron.”
“I know. Have fun.”
“How about if I don’t have any issues, I let you take me to dinner and show you what my panties look like on your bedroom floor?”
He sighs again, his head tilted and jaw slack. “You do realize I’m going to be gone all day, and once again thinking about your goddamn panties.”
“Yep.”
“Cute.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head with a small smirk as he walks out the door. I want to keep that smirk forever and ever. I want a polaroid of it. A memory I can look back on when he knows the truth.
I know I’m living a lie.
Does it stop me?
Nope.
What if this is fate? What if I ran into that building for a reason? I didn’t know where he lived. So is it so bad that I’m suddenly sleeping on Tara’s husband’s couch?
Yes. Probably.
But damn it, if Cinderella could fit the glass slipper, why can’t I fit myself into their lives?
Taking my journal in my hand, I stare out at the barren frosty land behind his house and the frozen pond beyond that. Bringing the pen to the torn paper edges, I write what I’ve been feeling these last couple of days.
I’m not looking for love.
I was raised by the worst examples
– tainted love
But is that the truth? Barron… he’s captivating, and just his smile has me thinking this is what forever feels like.
And holy shit, he just left me alone with his kids.
What the fuck is he thinking?
Never underestimate the power of either.
KACY
After Barron leaves the house, I want to take a shower. That’d be forward of me, right? Ugh. I can’t have sex with him without taking a shower. And you better believe I’m hoping for that to happen. I have to clean up before that happens. Let’s be real. No one wants a vajungle coming at them. But I also have just a smidge of shyness that I can’t just barge into his bathroom and use it. That’d be weird, right?
You know what’s weird? Their cat. Victor? Vernon? I don’t remember. I’ve never been a cat person and therefore can’t remember their names. All I know is that he’s staring at me, and it’s as if he knows my lie. Or sees through to my soul. “Why are you staring at me?” I ask, reaching to pet him.
He doesn’t budge one bit, and if cats could say fuck you, this one does. He apparently finds interest in something else because he wanders away as if I’m not even talking to him.
When are these kids getting up? I was never allowed to sleep in as a kid. My mom used to say only the early bird gets the worms and she’d be up working before the sun came up. Though I didn’t want to eat worms. I wanted to be accepted by Camille more than anything. Even if it meant sacrificing myself and everything I loved or wanted.
On my second cup of coffee, I check the time on my phone and realize two things. Okay, three. My battery is on its last 10 percent. I haven’t bothered to charge it since I crashed into his shop. And Tara has called me four times, my mom, twice.
I listen to the message my mom left first, my heart racing with every word. “Kacy, where are you? Tara told me you quit. I went to your apartment, and some lady said you gave her all your shit. What the fuck? Really? Over me and Royce? Unbelievable.”
The line goes silent after that.
Let me tell you something about Royce Reynolds, my ex. I never took him seriously. Would you take a self-made billionaire you met at a party who bought and sold companies seriously? No. You wouldn’t. Okay, maybe you would. You’d think “wow, so this is how Julia Robert’s character in Pretty Woman felt” and chalk it up to a fluke. Or come to your damn senses when you realized he was using you. Only Royce is nothing like Richard Gere’s character, sadly. Do you want to know what his way of hitting on me was? He wasn’t asking for directions. He said, and I quote, “I have a red Ferrari you’d look good sucking dick in.”
And stupid me thought hey, this could be a good time and then fell flat on my face in love with a liar.
Months later, we started becoming exclusive, because apparently my pussy is the topnotch kind you slap a girlfriend label to, I thought okay, damn, this is pretty awesome.
Then his red Ferrari dick found its way inside my mother.
Inconvenient, sure, but it was just another sprinkle on the cake of “move the fuck on and get out of California.”
Next message. Tara.
My heart starts hammering in my chest, and I have to sit down on the couch to listen to this one. Guilty, I glance around the room as if she can see me with her family. The thing is, from the way she tells it and Barron talks about her, there’s no family with her in the picture. Her boyfriend doesn’t know she has kids, for fuck’s sake. Who leaves that out of a relationship?
Bitch, you haven’t told him you know his wife, so clearly, you’re no angel here.
True.
Pressing the Play button, I listen to Tara’s message. “Kacy, I need my list of contacts sent to me,” she snaps in that same condescending tone she’s always used with me. “You have an obligation to fulfill here, and if you’d like to avoid legal prosecution, you will send me that list.”
Oh geez. I roll my eyes. Legal prosecution over a contact list of people who only talk to her because of her name and what her D cups look like on posters. Ridiculous. With the remaining battery percentage I have left, I quickly send the list over to her in email. Not that I’m scared of legal action from Tara but the fact is, I can’t risk anything when it comes to that crazy bitch. I can’t afford any drama from her. Literally. I only have one credit card in my name that I got when I turned eighteen, no job, and no place to live. Eventually, my trust fund my grandparents gave me will run out. Though my mom’s a shitty human, I adore my grandparents. Not because of the trust fund, but because they always looked out for me.
Like it or not, I can’t live off that money forever. Okay, maybe I can in the South. I can totally see myself staying here and never leaving. When I left California, I had no destination in mind. I figured I’d drive until I found a town I could start fresh in.