The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“And what does Amelia want?”

“She doesn’t know. She may think you’re meaningless sex, but she’s a woman. They always get attached.” He leans in as if we’re old pals. “Trust me. I almost had to change jobs because of the crazy bitch I cheated with.”

My hands shoot out to grab him, compelled by some force outside my control. This time he doesn’t anticipate it, and he sucks in a breath when I catch his lapels. He darts his widened eyes over my shoulders. I sense Pico and Randy at my back. “You gutless asshole,” I grate out. “Get in your foreign car and drive yourself back to the city. Go up to your pretentious apartment, clean the shit out of your pants, and stay the fuck away from us.”

“Ten grand.” His voice breaks, and he has to clear his throat. “Ten grand, clear and simple. I write the check, you stay on your side of town, and it’s done. Free money.”

My hands shake, and the loose skin under his chin jiggles. “Fuck you.”

“T-twenty,” he says. “Name your price.”

As always, when I feel threatened, Bell pops into my mind. Amelia is there too, morning-after disheveled, unguarded on her bed. Women are objects to this man. Something to show off. Something to control. I’m so angry, my mouth won’t open so I can respond. I need to let go. For Bell. For Amelia. I’m no good to them if I get arrested for pummeling him.

“You can shove your checkbook,” Randy says from behind me when I don’t answer. “Better yet, I’ll do it for you. You look like you got a tight asshole. That’s my favorite kind.”

Reggie’s face goes white as a sheet. “Are you fucking insane? It’s twenty grand. You don’t even have to do anything.”

Then I hear it. “Daddy?”

My heart stops, and my burning rage runs suddenly cold. I release Reggie and take a step back, inhaling through my nose. Bell and Sammy stand ten feet away.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking at all of us.

Reggie’s mouth curls into a smile. “You must be Bell. Your daddy and I were just playing around.”

She scowls. “My dad doesn’t play like that.”

“Don’t look at my daughter,” I say evenly, under my breath, and Reggie turns back to me. “Pico,” I say over my shoulder, “take the kids for ice cream.”

“But—” Bell protests.

“No buts,” I say without taking my eyes off Reggie.

Randy shuffles them off. Reggie straightens his suit and takes a pen out of the same pocket. His hand jerks as he writes out a check. “Beckwith, correct? So, how much will it take? Keep it within reason.”

“You think, just because you dress up and get your lazy ass driven around and you hire people to clean the piss and shit off your toilet, that you’re better than me?” I laugh, and this time it’s genuine. “You have no idea how wrong you are. You’re a bad man. And I’ll tell you, now more than ever, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Amelia away from you.”

He shakes his head, removes a card from his pocket, and hands it to me. “Call me when you’ve changed your mind. A guy like you wouldn’t turn down this kind of money for a woman.”

“A guy like me?” I ask. “You think you know what kind of guy I am?”

He looks me up and down. “Without a doubt.” He gestures behind him, in the direction of the city. “The kind who grew up within sight of everything but had nothing. Still has nothing, even after years of labor. The kind who gets desperate. It’s sad, really.”

I cock a smile. “Maybe. I’m also the kind of guy who can make a woman feel so good, she’ll offer just about anything I can dream up.” I lean in as he had, lowering my voice, getting chummy. “The kind of guy who loves to go where no other man has been before. Not even her husband.”

When he understands what I mean, he frowns. “She wouldn’t.”

“She would. And she fucking loved it.”

His nostrils flare, his skin reddening from his neck up. “Bullshit,” he sputters. I wipe spittle off my face. “If she did, I’d know about it.”

I chuckle. “Sure you would.”

He replaces his checkbook in his jacket as the redness in his face fades. “No, you’re right . . . I’d have no idea what she does behind closed doors. How would I?”

At the front of my mind is only one thing: Bell and Sammy are right around the corner. “Get off my property.”

He walks back to his car, and the door opens before he even gets there. He slides in and slams it shut.

“Yo, what the fuck was that?” Randy asks from behind me.

“A man with a small dick who has the need and resources to try and make up for it.”

“Damn,” he says. “I assumed because of your mood things were over with her.”

“They might be.” How did I end up here? I never thought I’d be pining over a prissy city girl who seems to have more interest in her wardrobe than my daughter. Only, I’m not sure I believe that’s true, even if she wants me to think it is.

“You could’ve taken the money then,” he points out.

I turn my head over my shoulder. “Would you have?”

“Obviously,” he says with a sniff. “But nah. Not really. Too fun to watch that clenched asshole squirm.”

My shoulders ease when I remember that Randy spoke when I couldn’t, and he knew exactly what to say. “Thanks.”

“We should’ve kicked his ass.”

“If only he’d come at us ten years ago.”

Randy blows out his cheeks with a sigh. “We’re getting so old, man. What happened to the days when we could just fly off the handle?”

Down the block, Pico leans out of the ice cream shop, checking that it’s all clear. I wave him over. Reggie put me in that position in front of my daughter. I have every right to be pissed, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “Those days are over.”

TWENTY-SIX

My Camaro isn’t made for city streets. Confined by Lexington Avenue traffic, even though it’s Saturday, the car rumbles and protests each time we start and stop. Bell bounces in her car seat and accidentally kicks the dash.

“Watch it,” I say.

“Why?” she asks.

“You’ll mark up the leather. Just stay still.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Why?”

I hit the brakes a little too hard. “Because I hate driving in this fucking city, and you’re distracting me.”

“There’s valet.”

“Valet,” I mutter. “Do you think I’m made of money?”

“There,” she screeches, pointing at a pair of reversing taillights. A Honda maneuvers away from the curb, and I drop my foot on the gas. The car in front of us brakes and starts to back in, but I’m already partway there. The guy lays on his horn.

“Close your eyes,” I tell Bell.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She sighs but obeys. I stick my mi

ddle finger out the window and keep it there. He can have this spot over my dead body. After a few seconds of our standoff, a pedestrian yells at him for blaring the horn. His tires squeal as he hits the gas, and he flips the bird right back at me. I pull into the parking spot.

“You’re the one who didn’t want to take the train,” Bell points out.

I get out of the car and walk around to her side. She’s been talking about Aunt Sadie’s surprise baby shower for days, but she still knows to wait until I open her door. I let her out of the car seat and take her hand to lead her into Gramercy Park Hotel, then up to the terrace on the eighteenth floor that Nathan reserved for the afternoon.

I spot Nate right away. It isn’t hard in the explosion of floral arrangements and miniature pastries. A table at the entrance has the start of a gift pile, and I tell Bell to add ours.

Nathan’s brows are gathered as a woman in a suit taps her clipboard, showing him something. He scratches his forehead and glances up at us.

“Andrew,” he says, desperately motioning me over. “You’ve got to help me, man. They ran out of raspberry macaroons. Sadie craves raspberry everything right now.”

“Dude, she’s not going to give a rat’s ass.” I check the sheet of paper filled with pictures of desserts and their names. I point to a frosted cupcake that’s topped with chocolate shavings. “You got these?” I ask the woman.

“Yes, sir.”

Nathan looks too, nodding. “Everyone likes chocolate. Those’ll be fine.” He mops his brow as she walks away. “This is way harder than it looks.”

“When does Sadie get here?”

He checks his watch. “Ten minutes? Jill told her they were going for lunch at the restaurant downstairs.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“That was the hotel’s event planner, and she has some games and stuff set up. Jill takes over when they get here. Then we’ve got to go. This is like, chicks only.”

“No shit,” I say. “Husbands don’t typically plan baby showers.”

“I know.” He half-smiles, somehow proud of this, and looks at me sidelong. “Looking forward to seeing Amelia?”