His smile remains fixed as he ruffles his hair before asking, “Is it mine?”
I laugh softly. “No, it isn’t. As I said, it’s complicated.”
“Indeed. Are you free now for dinner or something?”
I look at my phone and notice the time. Masen needs to be changed and fed so I can tuck him in for the night despite how much I want to have dinner with Jason.
“I really need to get Masen down. How about next weekend? I can ask my roommate to babysit.”
“Sounds
like a plan. I’ll text you during the week?”
“Sure.”
He begins to walk away but stops, leaning into my ear. “I honestly forgot how beautiful you are, Presley.”
My body reacts instantly. I melt at his words, missing the familiarity.
I close my eyes for a brief moment as he walks away, his lingering scent invading my senses.
I miss him, and now all I can think about is next weekend.
My dinner date with my ex-fiancé.
The once love of my life. Jason Hart.
Twenty-Three
I toss and turn all night thinking about Jason and questioning whether or not I’ve made the right decision. Well, truth be told, if I hadn’t parted ways with him then, I wouldn’t have had my son. But now, after seeing Jason turn up at my doorstep, I wonder if it’s too late for us. Being in the company of Jason Hart was easy, carefree, and relaxing. He’s not the type of man to create unnecessary drama unlike some other jerk I know.
Haden, as predicted, hasn’t texted or called me after storming off in a huff. This game of his is getting old, and his short temper only causes more friction between us. Yet, when we get along, I really enjoy being around him.
Is there such a thing as male PMS? I swear, Haden Cooper could be the frontrunner for a nationwide campaign for it.
My mind refuses to shut down, and just when I begin to fall asleep, Masen wakes up demanding to be fed. Half asleep, I nestle him into a feeding position and try to keep my eyes open. For some unknown reason, he refuses to latch on, squirming uncomfortably and crying. Following the normal routine, I check his diaper, attempt to burp him, then try again to feed him. He still refuses to latch on, and an hour later, I am out of my mind.
“What do you want, Masen?” I cry, rocking him back and forth.
Nothing appears to work, and I’ve already deemed myself a horrible mother.
I grab my phone and dial Haden’s number, not expecting him to pick up after our argument earlier tonight. After several rings, he answers. The background is loud, and no surprise, he’s probably at a club getting wasted.
“Malone, are you okay?” he yells over the noise.
“No, I’m not. Masen won’t settle, and I don’t know what to do.” I hold back my tears and, of course, Masen continues to wail over me.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
That twenty minutes feel like forever, and the second my door buzzes, I scramble to answer it. Haden enters immediately, throwing his helmet, keys, and phone onto the sofa and grabbing Masen from me. He’s dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a dark gray shirt rolled up at the sleeves—it’s different from his normal casual attire of jeans and a tee on the weekends. He looks good, real good. But hey, what do I know? I’m sleep and sex-deprived, and neither one of those problems will be solved anytime soon.
He moves toward my bedroom, and I follow behind him. It only takes a couple of minutes of Haden rubbing his back in a circular motion for Masen to finally settle. When ten minutes pass without a single sound, my emotions and tired state get the better of me, and I begin to cry.
“I can’t do this… alone.”
“You’re not alone. It’s just one bad night,” he reassures me.
He moves to sit on the bed, keeping Masen comfortable and quiet while I continue to stand there like a sobbing mess. I’m a wreck, dressed in my old baseball tee and boxers with my hair a wild mess. Heavy bags have formed under my eyes, and my skin appears dry and pale.