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I don’t feel the need to explain our morning. I’d like to forget it so I settle on—
Me: When will you be back?
Amberly: Late tonight hopefully.
Me: I expect pussy for payment.
Amberly: You’re awful.
Me: I’m horny. There’s a BIG difference. And by big, I mean me.
Amberly: Yeah, I picked up on that.
Me: Stop texting me and move.
Amberly: Keep the kid alive.
Me: uh huh.
Amberly: Send me a picture just so I know she’s safe.
Me: Only if you send me a picture of your tits.
She doesn’t reply, and you know, my curiosity gets the better of me, so I snap a picture of River and me. Don’t we look cute? It’s our first selfie together. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.
I send the picture.
Me: She’s alive.
And then I stare at the picture for a moment and realize just how much this kid looks like me. It’s crazy. Same eyes, same face structure, freckles.
River gets up and leaves the bathroom. I follow because fuck, you can’t leave her unattended. It’s then the text comes through from Amberly with a photo.
Amberly: Wait up for me.
A picture comes through next of her bare tits.
Stop looking. She’smine.
Here’s where shit starts to get interesting. And by interesting, I mean I’m not sure I’m cut out for babysitting. Or parenting. That first night went smoothly and she stayed in her bed in the guest room. Second night? Fuck no. Not so lucky.
It’s around one in the morning when I hear my door open, the light turns on and then there’s a patter of tiny feet running toward my bed.
Fuck me.
You’re probably thinking, why wasn’t she in your room in the first place? Well, we have twelve bedrooms in this house. If I have to take care of this kid all day long, I deserve some peace at night.
River apparently doesn’t see it that way. She gets right beside my ear and yells, “Up!” while holding her blanket in one hand and tossing stuffed animals at my head.
You know me. I don’t sleep anyway, but now she wants in my bed. No fuckin’ way. I grab my pillow and smash it over my head. “No. Go away.”
“Up!” she screams again, like it’s going to convince me to allow her to sleep with me. I only remember bits and pieces of my childhood, probably because of the number of concussions I’ve had—and the drug use—but I do remember sleeping in Ricky’s bed with him and my brothers after my dad died. While I understand the need for comfort in a strange house, I should point out the reason why I don’t want her in my bed.
I’m. Naked. I sleep that way all the time. “No. That’s not happening,” I tell her, scooting away from the edge and discretely trying to make sure my junk is covered. “Go back to bed.”
“I not sleep. Scared,” she whispers, like she’s afraid to wake someone up. “I sleep with you.” It’s like she’s forgetting she just yelled in my ear.
Let me ask you, what would you do here? I’m naked. I can’t let her in my bed. That’d be worse that’d letting her unintentionally getting into lube and dousing herself from head to toe in it. But maybe not as bad as the kid shit incident. It’s a toss-up.