The Godparent Trap

And the kids were sleepy.

We said our good nights, kissing each of them on the forehead, then closed the door and silently walked back downstairs.

Exhausted, I went into the kitchen to tackle the dishes since I knew dirty dishes piling up were one of Rip’s many pet peeves.

He came up behind me, his breath on my neck. My entire body tensed, then relaxed into him as I leaned back, willing him to kiss down my neck. He hesitated and I counted one breath, two. And then, “Go relax, I’ll do the dishes.”

“No, it’s fine, I can just—”

“Just because you think of yourself like a servant girl doesn’t mean you are one. Go sit. You still have to post your content, right?”

A shiver ran down my spine, a shiver of excitement. “You remembered?” I still hadn’t turned around.

“You’d be surprised what I remember,” was his cryptic reply. “Grab your computer and sit on the couch so you can get comfortable and into the zone.”

“OK.” I kind of liked being bossed around by him, not that I’d ever admit it out loud.

I walked away and didn’t look back. I didn’t have to, I knew his shirtsleeves would be shoved up past amazing tan forearms, and I knew he’d look hotter than anyone had a right to while doing dishes.

Ugh. I had to stop. I wasn’t a servant-turned-princess like Cinderella, and Rip was no prince.

I grabbed my laptop and sat on the couch, immersed in my work until I started getting sleepy. The next thing I knew, I was getting tapped on the shoulder. I jolted awake and groaned as I felt drool running down my chin. “Whyyyy…?”

“Was that a general question, or are you asking why I’m saving you from sleeping like a human pretzel?”

“Too many words.” I yawned. “What time is it?”

“Ten.” He offered an apologetic smile.

“Oh no!” I scrambled for my laptop and quickly opened it, my brain still fuzzy from falling asleep on the couch. Phew, at least I’d finished the hard part before I’d face-planted onto the couch.

While I waited for my post to load so I could grab my next assignment, I felt him looking over my shoulder. “You trying to be creepy and invasive, or is it just a Friday?”

“You have over three million followers.” He sounded stunned, like it was a big deal. Did he not understand the power of social media? Instagram? TikTok? If people had that many followers, they not only had to continue to put out content, but they had to do it weekly, otherwise they lost followers or viewership, which meant lost money. How did he not get that?

“Yup, and my goal is to get two million more.”

“That’s a lot.”

Why did he sound so surprised? “Did you think I was only writing these for my health? Or my grandma?”

His eyebrows lifted up a bit. “But… all those people follow… you?”

“Yes, I know.” I sniffed and rubbed my eyes. “But regardless of your opinion, I’m not always a hot mess.” Probably a bad time to continue to wipe the drool from my chin, but whatever.

Rip crossed his arms. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” I lifted my chin in defiance. “People even want to have sex with me. Male people, not just like boyfriends, not that I have a boyfriend—that’s not the point!”

He coughed out a laugh. “No, keep going. I want to hear about all these… people.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” He sat next to me and smiled.

“Ugh, and here I thought we’d waved the white flag.”

“Maybe I just like provoking you.”