Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

The giant rolled his eyes and kept walking. “I’ll be right back, Stewie.”

“Hurry up,” he called.

I marched our little parade across the lobby and into the bathroom. I set the pacifier and my papers on the hand dryer, wet a paper towel for the guy, and turned to take the baby. “I’ll hold her while you mop up.”

I sort of expected him to hand the baby over gladly, but instead he shook his head. “Nah, man. She’s perfectly clean. And she just conked out.” He was right. The baby was snuggled up with her head pillowed on his pec—lucky her—and one chubby fist clutching his shirt pocket.

Gah. I steeled myself against the melty feeling in my stomach and did what any concerned citizen would do.

“Fine, then. I’ll just, um… I’ll clean you off.” I motioned toward him with the towel.

I wasn’t sure which was more surprising, that I said those words out loud, or that the man actually stood silently and let me approach him, but I reminded myself it was definitely only because this was an emergency-type situation, not for any other reason. I definitely did not notice how hard and warm his chest was under the shirt, or the musky sandalwood scent of his cologne. He very definitely did not stare down at me and hold his breath the entire time I touched him. There was one hundred percent not any kind of weird humming vibration between the two of us, and I was definitely not thinking thoughts about how far down his tattoos went, or whether he’d like it if I traced them with my tongue—

And Jesus, maybe Aunt Marnie was right about me finding a fella, ’cause if I was finding myself getting hot by any situation that involved baby puke, it had been entirely too long since I got laid.

I cleared my throat and took a step back to assess him. “Pretty good,” I croaked.

“Yeah?” His voice was so hopeful. His smile was so sweet.

“No,” I said truthfully. “It’s still a mess.” I loosened my tie, pulled the loop off my head, and motioned for him to bend down. “This will cover the worst of it, I think. Come on,” I coaxed when he hesitated. “I’ve been told it’s fancy.”

The guy looked at me like I was crazy, but he bent so I could put the tie over his head and tighten it into place around his neck anyway. His breath was warm on my face.

I straightened his collar and gave him an approving pat, then snatched my hand away before I did something really stupid like fondle the man.

“You’ll do.” I grabbed the pacifier and brought it to the sink to wash it under hot water. “Crisis averted, friend.”

“Thanks to you.” His deep voice was pitched whisper-low for the sake of the baby. “So, how d’you know so much about kids?”

I paused in my cleaning and clenched my hands into fists. Direct hit, and the guy hadn’t even known he was aiming. But I forced my voice to be easy as I replied, “Just things I’ve picked up here and there.”

He snorted. “Your here and there must be different than mine.”

“Maybe so,” I conceded with a chuckle. I met his eyes in the mirror. “She’s adorable.”

He nodded down at the baby in his arms. “Like her mama,” he said ruefully. “Temperament like her mama too.”

Her mama. The baby’s mother. Right. As in, the third leg of this family trio.

Somehow, this seemed a painfully important reminder. I’d been way too close to asking the tattooed giant out for tater tots like a big, broody, gay Brandi who didn’t know better, when I did.

I. Knew. Better.

The giant was probably straight, almost definitely involved with someone, and I was not in the market for anything he was selling anyway, as I’d explained to Brandi minutes before.

“But her mama was cut out for this parenting gig,” the giant continued in a pitiful sigh-grumble. “I’m clearly not.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed, annoyed at myself and, therefore, annoyed at him. I cleaned the pacifier with such vicious thoroughness, germs would be afraid to land on this thing for the rest of eternity. “No one’s cut out for it. You just do it.”

“Pardon?” The man sounded genuinely bewildered by this concept, and I felt sorry for his baby mama, I really did, because the guy might be very nice to look at… and talk to…and, okay, smell… but he was clearly clueless about his parental responsibilities if he wanted a shiny gold star for doing basic childcare.

For ineptly doing basic childcare, at that.

“I said, nobody is born to parent,” I repeated clearly. “There’s no degree you’re meant to have or some qualification you weren’t born with. You just have to be a decent, responsible human who cares more about the kid than about your own whims, or stupid social-climbing ambitions, or…” I cut myself off and swallowed hard. “You just have to decide your kid deserves the best of everything, and not be too proud to try, even if you mess up. End of.”