Halftime Husband (Sassy in the City 5)

“Want to do it together? I can’t be alone in this apartment anymore anyway. It’s too big. I feel like I’m on a set for a TV show, not in real life.”

Willow giggled. “I don’t like to be alone either. Not when Dad is gone. I kind of hate it when he’s gone.”

Me too. “Let’s put some music on, then, and do this in the bathroom where the lighting is better.”

“Cool.”

She opened the door further and brought her tablet and her brushes and makeup across the hall.

I dug through my boxes and found my goodies. I brought my curling iron too. Might as well do some sexy beach waves to stay in on a Saturday night with two girls.

“We should start with a clean face,” I said, trying to gently steer her in the direction of getting that mess removed.

“I think that’s a good idea.” She started playing music.

I sang along to the lyrics as we both washed our faces. There were two acrylic stools in front of the mirrors, so we looked like we were in a Broadway dressing room with the amount of product we had splayed out.

“You know this song?”

I nodded as I dried my face with a washcloth. I turned to her. The washcloth she’d used was now covered in contouring. I wasn’t sure all the bleach in the world would get that out. “I was in one of Lil’ Sneak’s videos.”

“What?” Willow gasped. “Which one?”

“That Thing.” I swiped through my phone and pulled it up. “That’s me in the background, wearing that mesh bodysuit. That thing was so uncomfortable. It was like being caught in a fishing net.”

“Whoa. That is so cool, Dakota.”

“It was fun.” My throat tightened a little, but I ignored it. No point in crying over a fading career. Or faded.

Willow put on the tutorial and we followed the instructions, me giving her subtle encouragement and suggestions. This version was significantly better.

“We look fine,” I told her.

She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled slightly, clearly pleased.

“Want me to curl your hair?” I asked.

“Really?”

“Sure.” I touched the curling iron to see if it was hot enough.

“None of our other nannies did stuff like this,” she said, then looked away, like she’d said too much. Then she gave me a sneer in the mirror. “They were bitches.”

She was obviously testing me.

“I’m not a bitch,” I said. “I promise. Unless you’re a bitch to me, then I can be a biotch, trust me. But if you’re cool with me, I’ll be cool with you.” I figured we needed to establish that. And I wanted her to understand while I could discipline her, I didn’t want it to be necessary.

She nodded. “Cool.”

Then I threw deuces at her. “Respect.”

Willow laughed. “We should get Poppy. She might want her hair curled too.”

“Great idea.”

By the time we finally went to bed it was after midnight. I wasn’t sure when eight-year-olds were supposed to go to bed, but it was Saturday. I fell onto my bed, exhausted, but in a better place emotionally than I had been earlier. Hanging out with the girls had been entertaining and I thought I had built some trust with them.

I had gotten a “how are things going” text from Brandon earlier. It felt like a concerned father, nothing more.