Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

NICO

I was not dead. This was not my bed. Last night hadn’t been an awful, terrible nightmare.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

I really had shown up at Levi’s house, and I really had made an ass of myself. Oh god, he was never going to want to speak to me again, even though he was super nice last night and let me in the house after I threw a tantrum on his porch. Shit.

The trouble with Levi’s guest bedroom was that it was ridiculously comfortable. The mattress had one of those toppers that made you feel like you were sleeping on a cloud and the duvet cover was super fluffy. The walls were painted a pale blue and had a chair rail with a dark patterned blue wallpaper underneath it. It was calm and soothing, and there was no question that Owen had helped decorate Levi’s house. Every space was bright, light, and beautiful.

My only consolation this morning was this room was a gorgeous place to die. Would I expire of embarrassment this morning because, apparently, and unfortunately, I hadn’t last night? Now that I was fully awake, the horrifying realization of what happened hit me.

Showing up drunk on Babbo’s doorstep wasn’t the worst part. The actual worst part was crying in the restroom of a club to a stranger. All around me were the sounds of people doing things in restroom stalls or peeing in the urinal, and there I’d sat on the countertop, bawling my eyes out to a stranger in hot pants and a leather harness.

What had I been thinking?

I should never have drunk that much. And wasn’t the point of drinking that much that you wouldn’t remember what you did in the morning? How was I the most unlucky bastard in the world to be shit-faced drunk and remember every excruciating detail, including the one where I trampled on my Babbo’s flowers? The pretty pink ones he’d mentioned when I’d walked inside my bungalow the other day. Ugh, he loved his yard. I’d seen him cutting the grass with a ruler. He. Loved. It.

I had two choices at this point. Option one was to sneak out the front door and go to my house in his backyard, move out, and never speak to him again. Or I could go downstairs, admit I was an idiot, and ask him not to kick me out of the bungalow. Between the two, option one sounded like the better deal. If I went that way, I’d never have to face him again.

There’d be no reason for Babbo to come into Gabe’s office. His house was already gorgeous. The backyard bungalow was already done, so he wouldn’t be renovating anything out there. Nobody knew we’d been hooking up. Well, had been hooking up. We weren’t even hooking up anymore, and that was all on me too.

It was fine. It would be fine. Everything was fine. Before I could sneak out of bed, a firm knock sounded on the door, followed immediately by a turned knob. All I could do was watch helplessly as option one slipped through my fingers.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Babbo’s obnoxiously happy voice interrupted the doom scrolling through my brain.

“Good morning?”

“It is a good morning. It’s time to get up though. Do you want coffee or orange juice for breakfast? I think I might have apple juice, too, but I’m not sure about that.” I didn’t clearly understand what was happening right now. “I do have a mix if you want chocolate milk. Mom used to say, ‘ Rise and shine. Daylight’s wasting .’”

“Babbo, what’s going on?”

“I’m trying to get you out of bed so we can have breakfast. What else would be going on?”

“You want to have breakfast with me? I was an ass last night.”

“Language, and we all are occasionally. But we can talk about it later because right now I want pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”

“I love pancakes.”

“Then get your lazy bones out of bed, come downstairs, and have some with me,” he said with a bright, toothy smile. “You’ve got five minutes, or I’m coming back upstairs. I don’t think you’ll like how I’ll get you out of bed.” The last part included an intriguing wink.

Uh, sir, I just might. After those somewhat ominous words, Babbo shut the door. I heard the sound of his footsteps retreating down the staircase.

I didn’t even know what to think of this. Shouldn’t he be mad? I’d shown up at his door drunk, insulted him, slept over, and now he wanted to make me pancakes with a five-minute deadline? I didn’t even know what was going on, but I did know pancakes sounded good and I was hungry.

There was nothing left to do except get on with this embarrassment of a morning. I shoved the blanket off, pulled on the sweats I’d tossed haphazardly on the floor last night and made my way downstairs. I got halfway down before I turned around and went back to check the bathroom. Huzzah! The toothbrush Babbo gave me last night was still by the sink, along with the travel-size toothpaste.

While I was there, I took a quick minute to wash my face. It wasn’t helpful. I still looked like hell. My eyes had bags. My skin looked terrible, and I desperately needed moisturizer. I was no one’s idea of sexy, which was just as well because I’d never be able to flirt with Babbo again anyway.

* * *

Finding him wasn’t hard. All I had to do was follow the off-key sounds of his singing as he clanked his way around the kitchen. Since Babbo hadn’t noticed me, it gave me a chance to watch him. He was moving his hips, not in rhythm, to the song while he sang, not on key, with it. But given the gusto he threw himself into it with, it wouldn’t have mattered if he was on key or on beat because he was happy.

After a particularly athletic twirl, he finally noticed me watching him in the doorway. Babbo immediately hurried over, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and gave me a quick hug.

“Morning, Sweet Boy. How’s your head feeling?”

His kiss on my temple made me feel loved and wanted and little and middle and all the other things I rarely wanted to put into words. There was no escaping the fact that now that I knew him for who he was, I also clearly knew Babbo wasn’t one-night stand material. He was an all-in Daddy, through and through. He wouldn’t believe my lie that I felt fine, so I might as well be honest.

“I could use a little aspirin. My head isn’t feeling so great.”

“I’m not surprised, Sweet Boy. How much did you have to drink last night?”

“Too damn many for my own good. I had a couple of shots, went to the dancefloor, and had a few more. They were the ones in the little test tube thingies.”

“Oh damn. You’ve got to watch those. They taste like fruit punch and fuck you up.”

“Yeah, I figured that out after, like, the fifth one, but I was already too far gone.”

“Lucky for you, pancakes are a surefire hangover cure. Do you have plans this weekend?”

“Just hang around the house. You?”

“I might, but I’ll tell you after breakfast.”

“Why then? What happens after breakfast?”

“I’m hoping I can convince you to spend the weekend with me after charming you over breakfast. By the way, did you decide whether you wanted orange juice, chocolate milk, or coffee?”

“May I please have some coffee and chocolate milk? Is two okay?”

“Anything you want, Sweet Boy.”

Babbo immediately went to work, preparing my coffee after double-checking that I really said three sugar substitutes and two teaspoons of sugar with lots of cream. He shook his head at my coffee formula and muttered under his breath about me being best friends with Wilford Brimley. Never heard of him, but Babbo made my coffee as requested. He had more words when I requested my chocolate milk with a few extra scoops. Sue me, but I liked my chocolate milk extra chocolatey.

My head hurt too much to talk, so instead, I watched Babbo work around the kitchen while he prepared breakfast. He was an efficient worker. All of his movements were measured and purposeful. It was very much unlike me when I was in the kitchen. I usually went back and forth, back and forth with no real plan, and mostly just made a mess. It took forever to get anything out of the kitchen, so by the time I was finished making it, I wasn’t even hungry anymore.

But that wasn’t a problem with Babbo. In short order, I had my requested drinks, two aspirin, and my pancakes in front of me. Without asking, he buttered my pancakes, cut them up, and then poured syrup over the top. A part of me wanted to tell him I could do it myself because I wasn’t a little. I was perfectly capable of doing it, but I kept my mouth shut instead because it made me feel wanted. I shoved the fluffy goodness in my mouth.

The claim about pancakes being a hangover cure, although maybe it was the syrup he poured on top and the extra generous pat of butter, was true. Whatever fixed the problem, my headache disappeared and my stomach felt like all the alcohol was being soaked up. Babbo cleared my dishes and refilled my coffee cup. It wasn’t as sweet as the first cup he made, but it involved much less muttering.

Once the table was cleared, Babbo made his pitch. “Nico, since you said you didn’t have plans, I’d really like it if you’d spend the weekend at the house with me.”

I’d known this request was coming, so I was surprised by my very uncool response to his plain-spoken request. I stared at him with my jaw open before saying, “Pardon me?”

“Sweet Boy, I am tired of the awkwardness. I’ve only seen you on your way to work or coming home. I have no idea what this is going to look like or how it’s going to work. You’re absolutely opposed to commitment, and I know that, but I miss hanging out with you. I’m sick of pretending I don’t miss the hell out of you. So unless you’ve gotten a better offer in the last thirty minutes, I would really like it if you would hang out with me at the house this weekend.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you used to talk about how much work you were taking home on the weekends, and it seemed like you were always busy and stressed.” Now that I’d said it out loud, he did seem more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. “Does this have something to do with the rough day you had?”

“Indirectly, yes, but I’ve decided that clusterfuck can wait until Monday. Nothing can be solved this weekend, so I refuse to think about it. So what do you say?” Babbo looked happy and carefree like he knew what my answer would be before I even said it.

“I’d really like to spend the weekend with you, Babbo.”

* * *

“I’ll start rinsing dishes. Do you mind putting the syrup in the pantry?” Babbo nodded toward a door in the small hallway that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house.

The nice thing about these historic homes was all the walls that still existed. I liked it. There wasn’t any part of the house that I didn’t think was pretty. Owen, in a surprise to no one, had done a beautiful job in here too. It was bright and airy despite having a distinctly Pacific Northwest vibe. He’d kept the character and amped up the convenience. Last night, Rory mentioned asking Owen to help make the bungalow mine. Would he? He’d left his big furniture, but all the stuff that made a house a home was missing. It was basically an empty shell.

Being jealous of his home or wondering about my own wouldn’t get the syrup put away. The pantry was as tidy as the rest of the house. Did Babbo hate that I left my clothes on the floor when we were together? Probably yes. I gave myself a firm warning to stop daydreaming and do what he’d asked me. That lasted half a second until I found his stash of board games.

He had the usual ones—Monopoly and Clue—but tucked into the back of the pile was my all-time favorite, Battleship. I dug it out and turned to the kitchen. Babbo had his back to me. The view was fantastic because his ass was so pinchable.

Babbo hadn’t mentioned sex at all. I desperately wanted to know where he stood with that because, clearly, I wouldn’t be getting it elsewhere.

“Hey, look what I found.” Babbo turned around, and a grin broke out.

“Battleship? The dishes can wait… Let’s have a war.” He tossed his towel on the counter, then backtracked to put it away properly. He was cute when he tried to be spontaneous.

“Just so you know… I’m pretty good at it.”

“Just so you know, so am I.”

With the boards set up on the kitchen table, we began the skirmishes. I won the first, and he won the second. The third round was going to crown the victor.

“All right, Sweet Boy, you need to name your prize if you win.”

Babbo’s easy grin was sexy. It was crooked and his eyes crinkled like he laughed a lot. His hair looked like it was on the verge of starting to gray, but I liked it. He wouldn’t look older with gray hair, just hot. I worked hard to concentrate on my board, but his lips were full, and when he was deep in thought, he tapped them with his finger.

“You,” I answered his question before I chickened out.

“Me?”

“Yep, I want hooking up back on the table. I know the renting from you thing is weird, but whatever.” Putting myself out there when my hair was done and I looked good was one thing. Doing it without my protective armor was scary as all get out, but I wanted Babbo.

“Sweet Boy, let’s enjoy the weekend, and we can talk about all that later.” He looked sincere. And sad. Oh god, did he not want me? “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Put that thought out of your head. Right now.”

“What thought?” I asked defensively. Waves of embarrassment washed over me. Ma said I was a pusher, and she was right. I’d never learned to leave well enough alone. I always needed one more inch out of people. Case in point, right here.

“That I don’t want you. I want you so fucking much it’s painful.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have told me no. Again.” There was no hiding the whine in my voice, and I regretted agreeing to the weekend.

“Nope, I told you no because I need to work out some things for me.”

“What kind of things?” I asked suspiciously.

“Daddy things that aren’t for boys to worry about.”

“How long is it gonna take?”

“Hours? Days? Months?” At my dropped jaw, Babbo leaned forward and kissed me on the nose. “Back to this game. You already have me, so you’ll need to pick another prize if you win.”

I wanted a pick a good one, so I let myself think carefully. Babbo patiently waited for me to think over all my options.

“Okay, I got it. I get to pick the movies and dinner tonight.”

Babbo leaned back in his chair and thought about my claim. “Hmm, that’s fair. I accept your terms.”

“What if you win?”

“I get a veto on the movies, and you have to help me fix dinner.”

“Deal, Babbo.” And then I took it one more inch. “Seal it with a kiss?”

“Seal it with a kiss.”

It had been too darn long since I’d felt his lips on mine, and it was as good as I remembered. When he leaned forward, I met him halfway. It was sweet, and I liked it. It wasn’t like the kisses we’d shared at the hotel or during our hookups after, but that was all right because I liked it just as much. The pressure was enough to remind me he was a Daddy, and he tasted sweet like syrup.

He slid his hand behind my head to steady me, and the grip anchored me. It felt like everything was going to be all right. My soft sigh earned me a smile against my lips.

I needed to win this game.