Athica Lane: The Carpino Series (6 page)

I can’t help but fidget from his touch and mere closeness.  I swear his eyes narrow as if he caught it, too.  I somehow find the words, “No problem.”

He gives my chin one more squeeze before he stands and yells for his kids.  Jordy and Cara come running.

“What do you say?” he instructs them in a dad voice.

“Thanks!” Cara yells.

“Yeah, thanks for the pizza,” Jordy adds.

“Bye Jordy.  See you tomorrow, sweet girl,” I smile back at them.

“Bye, sweet Paige!” Cara yells back, making me smile.

Cam scoops up Ariel and looks back but doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t need to.  His look says it all with that grin in his goatee.  He turns to follow his kids home while carrying his daughter’s dog that’s named after a mermaid, proving to me he’s not just hot, but hotter being a dad.  And he wasn’t once an asshole tonight.  I guess he was sort of an ass when he asked me if I had a dick, but it was kind of hot at the same time. 

Oh my.  I think I might need a cold shower. 

*****

“Night, punkin’ pie,” I say and lean down to kiss Cara on the forehead.  “Love you.”

“Love you, too, Daddy,” she says.  I turn to leave her room when she calls back to me, “Daddy, what day is it?”

I sigh knowing where this is going, “Wednesday, baby.”

“How many more days?” she asks.

“Two ‘til Friday.  Your mom has something to do after work, she’ll be here to get you a couple hours later than normal,” I explain.

“Okay,” she says and hearing my girl’s sad voice cuts me deep.  I’ve had primary custody since she was two and Jordy was four.  Cara barely knows her mom, not the way a kid should know their mom.  And it cuts me even deeper when they have to leave every other weekend because I can tell they don’t want to go with fucking Bekki.

“Sleep tight, Cara.”

“Does that mean I have two more days with Paige?” she asks, avoiding sleep like usual.

“Yeah.  Time for bed,” I say.

“I like Paige.  Maybe she can take care of us all summer,” she pushes.

“Sorry, Miss Sophia will be back next week.  You like her, too,” I say, trying to soften the blow because I can tell my shy girl has opened up to Paige in a huge way.  A way I can’t help but like since she doesn’t open up to much of anyone. 

I turn to leave and pull her door shut when I hear, “Daddy!”

“Cara,” I warn.

“The kitchen smells good,” she delays.

“Caroline,” I give her a firm warning with my voice.

“Okay, night-night,” she sighs.

“Night,” I call, pulling her door shut.

I walk across the hall to Jordy’s room and open the door where he quickly hides his game under the covers. 

“Put it away, buddy,” I say walking to him.

“All right,” he pulls it out and sits it on his nightstand.

“Goodnight,” I say and rustle his hair, leaning in to kiss his head.  “Love you, bud.”

“Night, Dad,” he calls.  Then he asks, “Was Cara asking about mom?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering.  She cries a lot there and mom doesn’t like it when she cries.”

I stand and frown, “Why does she cry?”

“I don’t know, who knows what makes her cry.  But she cries more there than here,” he shrugs his shoulders. 

“What does your mom do?” I ask.

“She tells her not to cry.”

“That’s it?” I ask, the knife cutting deeper because now I have something else to worry about. 

“Yeah,” he answers as he settles himself in bed. 

“That’s what you’ve got your phone for.  She cries or looks sad, you let her call me.  I don’t care what your mother says and I’ll tell her that when she picks you up.  But you need to look out for her when you’re there and stick close.  I need your help here, bud,” I say.

“I will.”

“I want to know what you do there, how she is with you two,” I explain.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“Night, bud.  Thanks for telling me,” I lean down to rustle his hair one more time.

Fucking Bekki.  I cringe when I think about having to deal with her, and I’m stuck dealing with her for a long-ass time. 

I walk back through the family room to the kitchen.  Hitting the fridge, I realize I need to go to the store again and I hate that about as much as I hate doing laundry.  Grabbing another beer, I can’t help but think about Paige Carpino as I stand in my clean kitchen.  I go outside to sit on the deck and look out to the woods.  This is the whole reason I bought this place a year after the divorce.  I needed space around me.  No one would need space more than me after what I went through with fucking Bekki. 

I sit and take a pull, thinking about Paige giving me shit for drinking light beer, not to mention yesterday when I assumed she had a man giving her the high life.  She looks really young, but she’s Sophia’s sister, she can’t be that young.  I can tell they’re related by their hair and skin tone, but Paige is tiny where her sister is tall and lanky.  I’ve done lanky with Bekki. I can’t help that it turns me off now more than anything.  But I know what Paige has to offer from when she was wet to the bone with my drink and it was anything but lanky. 

After being around her for the short time I have, I’ve no clue what to expect from her next.  One minute she’s throwin’ sass, the next she’s sweet and the next she’s being a wiseass.  When she’s throwin’ her sass she’s fiery, proving she has a backbone.  And when she’s a wiseass, she has a glint in her deep brown eyes proving she can one-up you and she likes it.  But when she’s sweet, like tonight when I made her flush and she embarrassed herself from checking me out?  There was nothing I wanted more than to take her mouth and kiss the flush right off her face.  Why that embarrassed her when she’s proved she can throw attitude and sass, I have no idea. 

And don’t even get me started when I see her squirm.

Fuck me, I think I like it all.  More than I should.  But she’s too young for me and I’ve got kids to think about. 

I drain my beer and enjoy the quiet of the night for a long time before heading back inside, locking up behind me.  I check the rest of the doors and set the alarm.  Yanking off my tee, I toss it on the floor of the laundry room while I’m there and head to bed. 

I decide to wash away my day and flip on the shower taps.  I think about business at The Shed, my asshole underage drinking quarterback, Cara being sad or my ex-fucking-wife.  I try my best to focus on all those things, but as I let the hot water run over me, my mind wanders back to the brown-eyed woman sleeping next door. 

I can’t help it.  I lean one hand against the wall and wrap the other around my cock.  For the first time in a long time, I focus on a specific woman.  I choose the wiseass with the glint in her eyes.  I can’t help but wonder how her heavy thick hair would feel in my hands, against my skin, or fuck me, across my lap as she works my cock in her mouth.

And everything about her makes me come faster and harder than usual.

I walk up to Sophia and Lanny’s door, knocking twice.  I’m on time today because no one in my world decided to do anything stupid and get arrested, things are running smooth at The Shed and I decided to put off talking to fucking Bekki until Friday.  I plain didn’t feel like dealing with her today. 

But I can’t kid myself.  Trying to get Paige Carpino out of my head is useless and all day I’ve been wondering what I’ll get from her next.  Thinking of her while jacking off in the shower last night didn’t help rid my thoughts.  As frustrating as she is, she’s more than interesting.  And I haven’t been interested in anyone for a long time.

The door swings open and I look down to my daughter at the same time another smell assaults me.  It’s not lemon, bleach or vinegar.  It’s food and it smells great.

Cara’s jumping up and down squealing, “We made dinner!  And Paige took pictures of it with a big camera.  And then someone just came and got the food.  And they gave Paige money.  But we made extra and we get to eat it!”

“What?” I ask, bending down and tossing her up to catch her in my arms. 

She puts her small hands on my cheeks the way she always does when she wants my undivided attention, “Come and see!”

I step in the house and fling the door shut, “First I need a kiss.”

She kisses me as fast as she can and jumps out of my arms to run ahead.  I follow slower, smelling the food she must be talking about.  When I turn the corner to the kitchen, I see Paige with her back to me at the sink washing a million pots, pans and all kinds of other shit.  I can’t help but let my eyes drag down her body.  She’s wearing camouflage jeans that fit her like a second skin, from cupping her heart shaped ass to the tops of her ankles where she’s standing on bare feet.  She has it topped with a little pink T-shirt and her hair is up again, in a mess on the back of her head like last night. 

“Daddy’s here!” Cara announces before skipping out of the room and I swear Paige jumps in surprise. 

She barely turns from the sink with her wet, soapy hands and peeks over her shoulder to greet me with a small smile, “Hey.”

I lean my shoulder against the wall, “Hey darlin’.  You look like you’ve been sitting around eating bonbons again.”

Paige peeks one more time grinning and throws me a, “Kinda.”

Rinsing another pan, she lays it on a towel before flipping the water off.  As she turns, my eyes go directly to her tits because her little pink shirt reads “I Eat Glitter For Breakfast”. 

Hell if her ridiculous shirt doesn’t make me grin and I raise my eyebrows to ask, “Glitter?”

“What?” she frowns.

I drag my eyes down to her tits again, pleased to have a reason to and jut my chin at her shirt.  I look back up and I’m surprised she’s not flushing, but grinning this time.

“Oh.  Well, it is the breakfast of champions.  And maybe princess fairies.  But I’m one hundred percent pure champion.  You better watch out, Just Cam.”

“I’ll consider myself warned,” I grin.

“We made dinner, as you can see,” she says, changing the subject.  “I had an event tonight.  I usually deliver, but when they called to book at the last minute I told them no since I’m keeping Noah and Cayden.  When they insisted on paying more and offered to pick it up, I couldn’t resist.  Cara helped and we have plenty.  You all are more than welcome to stay.”

I can’t help myself—I tip my head and ask, “Are you asking me out, Paige?”

Her eyes get big and her brows furrow as she exclaims, “What?  No.  Of course not.  Stay, don’t stay.  I don’t care.  We have extra, I was just trying to be nice.”

I straighten away from the wall and walk to her, not able to wait another second to touch her.  When I come close, I look into her big brown eyes framed by her long lashes.  Now that I’m close, I notice they aren’t just brown.  Gold flecks surround the edges, making them deeper, like she’s inviting me in.  Needing to touch her somehow, I grab the hem of her shirt and twist it in my hand before grabbing her slim hip firmly, my thumb touching her skin. 

When she’s surprised by my touch, I say, “I’m kidding.  We’ll stay.  As long as you don’t eat glitter for dinner.”

“No,” she breathes, but doesn’t miss a beat.  “Glitter’s like oatmeal.   It’s only good for breakfast.”

“Then we’re staying,” I say giving her another squeeze and brush her skin with my thumb again before letting her go.  “What’s for dinner?”

She steps back, still surprised but not flushed this time.  She takes in a deep breath and says, “Beef Wellington, roasted balsamic salad, garlic new potatoes and sautéed Portobello mushrooms.  I made a Baileys cheesecake for dessert, but obviously my client bought the whole thing.  I mean, who wants just half a cheesecake?  Especially with Baileys Irish Cream.  Not to toot my own horn, but it’s great and I didn’t have time to bake two.  Same with the onion soufflé appetizer, but we should have plenty of food.”

“I gotta say, I’m bummed about the cheesecake, but the rest makes up for it.  But I have to know, people pay you to make them dinner?” I ask, needing to find out more about her.

She shrugs her shoulders while turning away from me and moves to the food, “I’m a caterer.  I started a few months ago.  It’s going well, but now I’m a blogger, too.  That just sort of happened.  The blogging is turning out to be more profitable than the catering, not that the catering isn’t.  It’s fine, but the blogging is pure profit, just a lot of work.  Tonight I had a dinner party for ten, nothing too hard.”

Having no idea blogging is profitable, I ask, “You blog about your catering?”

“Sort of,” she explains.  “It started out that way.  But most people who follow blogs do it because they want to make their life easier or learn how to do things themselves.  My blog focuses on easy recipes, entertaining, healthy stuff that still tastes good, products I like and want to recommend.  Really, it’s anything I want to blog about.  I sell advertising—that’s how I make money.  But the more followers I have, the more I make so my blog needs to stay fresh and original.  You want something to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having’s fine,” I say and move to lean my hips against the counter where I can watch her work.

“Beef Wellington calls for wine.  You like Merlot?”

I tip my lips, “Beer.”

“Gotcha,” she grins back.  She goes to the fridge and grabs a beer as she keeps talking, “I’ve met my goal a day early.”

“Goal?” I ask, taking my drink.

“Cara.  We’ve moved well beyond paragraphs.  She’s a chatterbox.  And for me to call someone a chatterbox is saying something.  She’s decided she likes to make salad, and not because she likes to eat salad.  She was emphatic that she
does not
like to eat salad.  But she enjoys throwing everything in a bowl and shaking it up.  She thought that was fun.  She also told me she doesn’t like her steak red, but really, it’s a shame to bake a tenderloin to well done, she’ll just have to deal with it tonight.  I don’t have the heart to massacre a Beef Wellington, it’s too good, she’ll have to eat it medium rare.  She also told me you’re a coach,” she says this last part like she’s accusing me of something.

“Yep,” I answer, taking a drink and trying to keep up with her.

Paige rolls her eyes, “Maybe Cara gets it from you.  Are you unable to speak paragraphs, too?”

I raise an eyebrow at the wiseass in front of me, “I’m the head football coach at Highland.  I coach other teams, too, through my business.”

She stops what she’s doing and turns in the middle of the kitchen to look at me, “You work at Highland?”

“Yep.”

She puts her hands on her hips and states, “I went to Highland.”

Fuck.

Could she be that young that she was there since I’ve been there?  Did I just jack off in the shower last night to a former student?  All of a sudden I’m pissed, at who I don’t know, but pissed all the same.

I frown, “How old are you?”

“Are you a teacher there?” she ignores my question.

“When did you graduate?” I bite out. 

“What do you teach?” she keeps on.

“Paige,” I demand an answer with my voice.

“
Cam
,” she mocks me. 

“Damn it, how old are you?”

She’s fucking frustrating, because she tips her head to the side and chides, “How old are you?”

I slam my beer bottle down to the counter at my side and drop my head trying to control my temper. 

“Home Economics?” I hear her say with a smile.

I look up and frown, but she’s fucking grinning. 

“No, you probably teach PE because you’re all muscly and a coach,” she goes on smiling big.  “I bet the girls giggle when you get to the health section and have to teach sex ed.”

“You’re a frustrating woman,” I say, shaking my head. 

“Shop?  Do you build birdhouses?”

“You just don’t quit, do you?”

“You’ve gotta keep up, Just Cam,” she crosses her arms and grins.

“Math,” I say to shut her up.

“Math?” she asks, surprised.  “So you’re a smarty pants?”

“How old are you, Paige?”

“It’s rude to ask a woman how old she is,” she keeps on.

“Not when she looks as young as you,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” she smirks.  Before turning her back on me to move to the food, she adds, “You didn’t have me in class or anything.  I would definitely remember you.” 

I’ve had enough.  Leaving my beer, I move in where she’s standing and lean my hands on either side of her on the counter, boxing her in.  She jerks in surprise, feeling me at her back and twists to look up. 

I lean down to the side of her face and look into her deep brown eyes, “Darlin’, you look like you could be young.  And when I say young, I mean young.  Now, I’m not gonna play dumb and act like there’s nothing in the air between us.  I feel it and the way you flush and squirm makes me think you feel it, too.”

“I don’t flush and squirm,” she frowns, lying to me.

I move my face even closer to hers and lower my voice, “You know you do.  The air between us is tense, but fucking magnetic.  Don’t make me sit here tonight and feel like a dirty old man eating your dinner.  If you’re younger than you should be for me, I’ll be on my way.  Now how old are you, Paige?”

Still facing the counter with her back at my chest, she squirms and looks up to ask, “What’s too young for you?”

“Damn it, I’m not gonna ask again,” I say.

She turns in what little space I’ve given her and puts the heels of her hands to the counter inside mine.  Leaning her head back she says with a serious face, “I graduated from Highland eight years ago.  You do the math, Mr. Smarty Pants.”

“Twenty-five?  Twenty-six?” I ask stepping closer so we’re touching.  I feel her tits brush my chest, making me hard again because she just confirmed there’s no way we could have been there at the same time.

Taking in our closeness, she inhales and squirms again, going on, “Twenty-six.  My mom didn’t believe in being a young kindergartener.”

I drop one hand from the counter to grasp her hip, “Finally.  That was a miserable two minutes.  I don’t like feeling like a dirty old man, darlin’.”

“So you’re old?  Like, about to retire old?” she mocks me again.

“Thirty-two,” I tell her.

“I bet you’ll have an old man flat butt by next year,” she grins, giving me her wiseass again.

I let my fingers dig into her hip and shake my head for the umpteenth time since I dumped my drink on her last week.  I warn, “Dinner better be good.”

“Oh, dinner’ll kick your ass,” she promises with sass. 

I narrow my eyes and purse my lips.  Her big brown ones drop to my mouth but quickly shoot back to my eyes. 

I give her hip another squeeze and barely turn my head to yell, “Kids, dinner!” because if I don’t, I’ll take her mouth.  As much as I want to take her mouth, I want the time to taste her and enjoy it for the first time and not with the kids close by.    But her wiseass and sass is making me hard, I want to kiss it off her face.  She also makes me hard when she’s sweet.  I’m finding my body reacts to just about anything Paige Carpino gives me. 

I can’t help it—I step closer and press my body into her curvy one, bringing my other hand up to fist her hair.  Tipping her head back farther, I lean down and swipe her nose from top to tip with mine and say in a low voice, “Feed me, Paige.”

I hear and feel her take in a quick breath, exhaling it against my lips.   And now I know that not only does my body react to Paige being a wiseass, sassy and sweet, it also reacts when I finally catch her off guard.  Her eyes dip and her face turns soft, making me wonder if she’s wet for me. 

In a breathy voice she murmurs, “Yes, Cam.  I’ll feed you.”

Yeah, I bet she’s wet.

Fuck.

*****

“So The Shed’s not a shed?” I ask, holding the stem of my wine glass with my arm rested on my knee. 

We’re back outside watching the kids play on the swing set and I’m relaxed in a patio chair with my feet tucked underneath me.  Cam yanked his chair around so he’s facing me tonight and he’s sipping bourbon cut with ice, something he said he and Lanny do a lot so he knew just where to pour himself an after dinner drink.