A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

“RJ?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Is your phone in your pocket?”

“No. Why? You need me to call someone?”

She wriggles around some more in my lap. “No, but there’s something hard—oh.” She lifts her head, bloodshot eyes meeting mine. She covers her mouth with her palm, and for a moment I worry she’s going to be sick again, until she asks, “Are you . . . do you have a hard-on?”

I don’t bother fighting my grin as I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “You’re doing a lot of moving around. Some parts of my body are inconsiderate and don’t really care that you’re sick.”

“I look like hell, and I probably smell terrible.” She drops her hand, giving me a quick glimpse of her smile before she snuggles back into me. Eventually the shivering subsides and her breathing evens out. Once I’m sure she’s asleep, I move her off my lap and cover her in blankets.

I make sure she has everything she needs before I put my shirt back on.

I wash my hands in the bathroom down the hall, making a mental note to call Lainey’s housekeeper so she can come in and disinfect. The last thing any of us needs is for this to be passed along.

I grab Lainey’s keys so I can return Eden’s to her, then rush back to pick up Kody. I’m grateful Lainey had me added to her very short list of approved adults who can pick him up. Currently it’s Lainey herself, Eden, and me. I’m happy to note Walter has never been given that privilege.

“Lainey working late tonight?” Kristen, one of the day care providers, asks as she leads me over to where Kody and the other infants sit in their activity centers, playing with the light-up buttons or squeezy, crinkly things. One of the other staff is sitting cross-legged on the floor, keeping them entertained.

“She’s not feeling well, so I thought it would be a good idea for me to come pick up Kody. How’s he been today?”

“He’s been great—slept well this afternoon, and he’s really loving the cereal Lainey’s been sending with him. There’s a flu bug going around, so we’ve been watching all the kids closely and, of course, making sure everyone is washing their hands.”

“I don’t think working at an aquarium with thousands of people going through on a daily basis helps much with the germ exposure.” I crouch down so I’m at Kody’s level. “How’s my little man?” I lean in and give him a kiss on the forehead, checking to make sure he’s not hot too. He smiles and makes a happy sound, holding out his arms like he’s asking to be picked up. I lift him out of the activity center, and Kristen helps me gather his things. I didn’t think to bring the stroller with me, which Lainey usually does, so it’s a bit of a juggling act, but I manage to shoulder the bags and keep my hold on Kody with a little assistance.

We head back up to Lainey’s apartment, the elevator half-full with people returning home from work.

“Mommy’s not feeling all that hot, buddy, so we’re going to take care of her, and you and me are going to have a boys’ night. Sound good?” He squawks at me, like he’s in agreement with this plan, so I keep talking. “We can watch some hockey, and I’ll even let you drink all the mommy milk you want, as long as you don’t rat me out.” Kody makes more baby sounds at me and reaches up to smack uncoordinatedly at my face. “You high-fivin’ me?”

The elevator dings and I glance up, checking to see if it’s my stop, which is when I notice that every woman on the elevator is staring at me. Thankfully, it’s my floor, so I excuse myself, and they all clamber to either move out of the way or hold the door open, since I’m laden down with baby things and a baby.

“I think my ovaries just exploded,” says one woman as the doors start to shut.

“He’s like the poster boy for DILFs,” says another one.

I don’t get to hear any more commentary, because the doors slide closed. I have to set all the bags down and root around in my pocket to find the keys.

The door across the hall opens, and Walter appears. I’m loath to admit it, but he’s not a bad-looking guy. Lean, almost wiry build, still has all of his hair—but there’s a hint of recession flirting at the temples, which means in about ten years he’ll have a horseshoe. Solidly average, maybe, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he’s an asshole. “You look like you’re struggling.”

“I got it,” I mutter, finally snagging the keys.

“Just so you know, I’ll be right here, waiting for the day when all the fun of playing house wears off and you abandon Lainey again.”