Drew stroked my cheek.
“Anyway, while she was taking an order at the table next to me, my phone rang, and I saw it was my mother. I let it go to voicemail because I thought maybe she’d found out what I was doing somehow and was angry. But when I listened to her message, she’d just wanted to check in on me and see if everything was alright. She said I’d seemed a little down the day before. Needless to say, I felt guilty as hell. When the waitress—my birth mother—came to deliver my toast a few minutes later, I was crying. She looked right at me and never even asked if I was okay. Couldn’t wait to dump the toast on the table and disappear.”
I sighed. “I took one more look at the woman who had given birth to me and realized my mother was the woman who’d left me the voicemail. I was biologically connected to that waitress, and she didn’t feel anything different for me than a complete stranger. Because that’s what I was…a complete stranger. I threw a twenty on the table and never looked back.”
I caught Drew’s eyes. “Being a parent is a choice, not a right. I really didn’t understand why my parents celebrated Gotcha Day until then. You’re Beck’s dad, no different than Martin Rose is mine. Anyone can become a father, but it takes a real dad to love and raise a child as his own.”
“Come here.” Drew lifted me from the floor onto his lap. He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. His previously angry and sad eyes had warmed. “Where’d you come from?”
“I broke in and showed you my ass, remember?”
He laughed, and I felt a little of the tension dissipate when he wrapped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you. I needed that.”
I was thrilled to have soothed him. Because Drew had been with Beck all week, this was actually the first afternoon we’d had alone in as long.
“I don’t have an appointment for another two hours, if there’s anything else you need.”
Drew was standing with me cradled in his arms practically before I finished the sentence. I yelped at the sudden motion. Expecting him to have me spread-eagled right there on his desk, I was surprised when he began marching toward the office door.
“No desk sex?” I asked.
“The desk is for fucking. I want to make love to you.”
Drew
I could get used to this.
I’d just gotten out of the shower and walked into the kitchen. Emerie was standing at the stove wearing one of my dress shirts, which hung to her knees, and making something that smelled almost as good as she did. Music was playing, and I hung back in the doorway and watched as she swayed from side, singing some song I didn’t recognize.
As if sensing me, after a minute she turned and smiled. “Breakfast is almost done.”
I nodded but stayed put another minute, enjoying watching her. Five days ago, after Alexa had stomped in and started in on me about wanting to take Beck on a road trip, I’d assumed my week would be shit—as was typical after one of our arguments. But Emerie had a way of calming me, making me focus on the positive. It might also have helped that she’d been in my bed every night to help me alleviate any stress, and that I’d woken this morning to her head beneath the covers and
her tongue licking me like I was a lollipop.
She smiled and winked with a blush. “Go sit. My turn to feed you.”
Yeah. There’s a distinct possibility I could get used to this.
“What time is your first appointment?” I asked. We’d finished breakfast, then I’d fucked her on the kitchen counter before cleaning up the dishes while she got ready. Now she was brushing some shit onto her eyelashes as she leaned in to the mirror.
“Ten. But I need to run to my apartment first. You?”
“No appointments until this afternoon, but I have to draft a motion and get it over to family court by then. What do you need from your apartment?”
“Clothes. Unless you think I can get away with a belt and heels with this?” She gestured to my dress shirt, which hung open, and she had nothing on underneath it. Loving the easy access, I cupped one tit in my hand before reaching down and kissing her perky nipple.
“Why don’t you keep some clothes here for the nights you stay over, so you don’t have to run home commando in your clothes from the day before?” Even though the statement came without much thought, it didn’t freak me out after I’d put it out there. Odd.
Emerie looked up at me. “Are you offering me a drawer?”
I shrugged. “Take half the closet, if you want. I don’t like the idea of you running around the city with your skirt and no underwear on in the mornings—even though I don’t really get why you can’t just turn them inside out and wear ’em again.”
She crinkled up her nose. “That’s a guy thing.”
After she finished putting on the makeup she kept in her purse, she got dressed and went back to her apartment. I called Alexa and left a message that I’d be by to pick Beck up for the weekend about five tonight.
Grateful that her voicemail had answered instead of her, I went downstairs to get some work done, still in my good mood—only to be greeted by a process server waiting at my door. I was a divorce lawyer; it wasn’t unusual to be served first thing in the morning. It was unusual for the service to be from an Atlanta court.