Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

“You too, handsome.” She pats his back and winks at him while she saunters off. And I may vomit everything I have ingested today, onto Madden if I don’t change my mind.

Walking out of the store and into the mall, he keeps looking at me, but I look anywhere but at him. It’s my fault I let my jealously make this weird. Friend, I’m his friend; in the zone of friends. My eyes make contact with one of my favorite stores in the mall, and an idea pops into my mind. Just friends doesn’t mean I can’t mess with him a little. We both go to speak at the same time.

“Jo, are you…”

“Madden I need to…” We both bust out laughing, and he nods for me to go on. “I was going to say, will you walk into this store with me for a minute?” I nod toward Victoria's Secret as I ask, and all the color instantly drains from his face. This is too easy. “I’m meeting up with an old friend tonight, and I need a male’s opinion.” I walk toward the store without giving him a chance to disagree.

He follows, reluctantly. I stop at the first piece of skimpy lingerie set I see. Perfect, pink is my favorite color. I hold it up and out to him and ask, “What do you think of this?”

“Ummmm,” he stutters, “it’s pink.” No shit, Sherlock. I’m evil. This is too much fun, but at least he’s imaging what I would look like in it.

“Give me just a sec,” I tell him, “I’m just gonna try this on real quick.”

“Fuckkkk meee,” I hear him mutter. I saunter off to the dressing room knowing my lingerie stash that no man may ever see just got bigger, and my work here is done.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MADDEN

“Eww,” Belle gags, pinching her nose. “Why are you spwayin’ that stinky stuff everywhere?” She’s perched on the edge of my bed while I finish getting dressed for my date.

“You don’t think it smells nice?” Why am I questioning a five-year-old about cologne? If it was left up to Belle I would be wearing cotton candy scent.

She shakes her head rapidly from side to side, her face contorted in disgust. “It smells wike rotted Play-doh.” I roll my eyes at her dramatics. I don’t even wanna know. “Why do you wanna go out on a date tonight anyway, Daddy? You should just stay home with me.” She smiles, fingers laced under her chin as she bats her eyes.

“We’ll have all day tomorrow together, Belly. Besides, Grammy said the two of you are having a girls’ night complete with fingernail polish, movies, and cupcakes.”

“Movies? You mean Golden Girwls? ’Cause that’s the only thing she watches, Daddy. And her cupcakes are muffins—she ain’t got the goods.” This girl has two speeds—full-on personality and attitude and dead to the world asleep. And, of course, I can’t blame her for the muffins. Who tries to substitute cupcakes for muffins? My mom, that’s who.

Momma has always led a very healthy and active lifestyle, but since Dad died from a heart attack, she’s been even more conscious of her diet. She was ecstatic when I made the decision to hire a trainer, even offering to meal prep for me. But this was a feat I was determined to conquer on my own. Her support is clearly unwavering and makes achieving my goals even easier.

Goals.

I’m fuckin’ crushing this weight loss. Twenty-eight fuckin’ pounds. I was confident I was losing weight, with all the workouts and diet changes, my clothes fitting looser, my breath not quite as restrained when running on the elliptical. But I didn’t expect to have lost twenty-eight pounds in the first six weeks.

The clock on my nightstand catches my attention as I pass by to the mirror on the dresser. I give myself a once-over in the new clothes Jordan helped me pick out before turning to Belle. “Alright, ya little diva. Finish getting your bag together. I don’t wanna be late, and I still have to drop you off.”

Belle huffs as she slides off the bed. “Oh alright.” She trudges down the hall to her bedroom as I slap on my watch and slide my wallet in my back pocket.

I walk down the hallway and stop at Belle’s bedroom door, my brow cocking when I see her arms full with a baby doll, crib, and her backpack. “Belly, honey, why?” I chuckle. “You have plenty of toys at Grammy’s.”

“Maybe”—she shrugs, her arms straining under the weight—"but Lilly will cry all night and keep you awake if I don’t take her with me, Daddy.”

I’ve learned in the three years since I’ve had custody of Belle that you have to pick your battles, and this isn’t one worth fighting. She has a creative imagination, and honestly, I think she mothers her baby dolls because if there’s one thing lacking in Belle’s life it’s a mom. My momma, Laney, they fill those shoes as best as they can, and I can only do so much, but there’s no love comparable to that of a momma.

I bear heavy guilt that Casey is no longer in Belly’s life, but there are no lengths I wouldn’t travel to protect my child. End of.

“Okay, Belly. Let’s get on the road.”

*~*

I pull up to the immaculate bungalow and blow out a shaky breath. “Just go on, Madden,” I coach myself, “she’s just a woman.” I continue the pep talk, “Like riding a bike.” I chant this walking up the pathway while also taking the time to notice the extremely neat landscaping she has. I need to find out who she uses, maybe see if I can get them on vendor contract for some of our projects. I knock on the perfectly painted and clean white door and am greeted by a blonde bombshell. “Y-you must be Madden. I’m Ellie. W-welcome to my home.” Her voice is small and mouse-like as she sweeps her hand toward her living room, urging me inside. “Please, m-make yourself comfortable. I’ll be just a few more minutes.” She closes the door behind me and hurries down a short hallway.

The perfection of the outside of her house should have been a warning. If not, then the hand sanitizer, the box of latex gloves, medical masks on the wall by the front door and the scent of hospital-grade cleaner as soon as I walked into her home should have definitely keyed me in. This chick, while a hot little number, is missing a few screws and even more bolts. I’m going to fuckin’ kill Carter. Kill him.

Her home is very … sterile. Clean. Unlived in, even. I sit on the couch and take in my surroundings, my ire for Carter growing. Turtles are everywhere. Large, medium, and small—every size in between. From the walls, to the centerpieces on the coffee table. What in the ever loving fuck has Carter got me into? I’d snoop around, but I’m scared I’d stumble across a turtle carcass in the damn freezer. And what’s with the— My thoughts are cut off when she appears before me, her hands twisting nervously. “A-are you ready?”

I peel myself off her plastic-covered couch and make my way to the door. Wait … where the hell did she go? “I-I just need to clean up after you. Two secs.” Dust buster in hand, she proceeds to vacuum the plastic covering then sprays Lysol on the couch, coffee table, and into the air. She disappears again then returns moments later. She grabs a pair of shoes from the closet and pulls them on, pumps hand sanitizer into her hands and rubs it in. “All set,” she chirps with a shrug as she pulls the door open and pumps more hand sanitizer into her hands.