Page 31

PUMPKIN ATROCITIES

Tyler

This is not awkward at all.

Not one bit, I swear.

I don’t feel like a complete jackass at the kitchen table the next evening, sitting across from the nanny, pretending I didn’t almost fuck her.

Nope. I’m not thinking about yesterday at all. I’m definitely not imagining what could have happened as I stab a pumpkin with a tiny, ineffective carving knife.

I keep my head down while Sabrina teaches the kids how to make the world’s coolest jack-o’-lanterns. A reward, she’d said to Parker, for creativity in the science fair after school today. Not excellence, but creativity, and I appreciate her distinction.

I’d appreciate, too, if I could stop thinking about the yoga corner incident.

She seems to have moved on from that.

Her voice is light, easy—like she’s genuinely not thinking about what went down. “So if you slide it like this,” she says, leaning over to show Luna how to use the etching tool to make precise cuts, “you can carve some really cute whiskers for the seal face.”

Luna squeals a little in excitement. “Yes! And Dad, maybe this should be the new team logo since there really aren’t any actual sea dogs.”

“I’ll take that to management,” I say, gripping the serrated carving knife like it’s a weapon of war instead of an innocent Halloween tool.

Parker is locked in concentration, his tongue sticking out at the corner of his lips as he carefully slices the visor of his astronaut helmet. Sabrina leans close, guiding him as he works to carve clean lines.

Meanwhile, I…well, I’m creating something that looks—not gonna lie—exactly like the DickNose board my asshole teammates and I keep in the locker room.

The one where we draw stick figures with dicks for noses to give each other a hard time.

And here I am, apparently bringing that masterpiece into my own home, in front of my kids.

“Um, Dad?” Parker says, squinting at my pumpkin like it personally offends him. “That kind of looks like?—”

“A Basset Hound!” Sabrina cuts in, her voice a little too bright.

Parker tilts his head, skeptical. “Really?”

“Sure!” Sabrina nods way too hard. “They have those droopy faces, and, uh—look at the ears!”

I snort under my breath, but I’m grateful she jumped in before Parker could say dick face in front of Luna. Or, really, anyone. “Yeah. It’s a Basset Hound.”

Sabrina has already grabbed her phone from her pocket and googled Basset Hounds, showing the kids the pics of the droopy dog. “See? ”

Parker shrugs like okay, fair point. To me, Sabrina says, “You did a good job, Tyler.”

It’s almost placating, but her eyes linger for a beat too long. Long enough that I wonder—hope—that she’s remembering too. But then she looks away, and the moment’s gone.

Luna side-eyes me. “Dad, it’s okay if you’re not good at carving pumpkins. You’re good at carving the ice,” she says, proud of her comparison. That makes two of us. “And wait till you see my Halloween costume.”

She sounds too pleased.

“Is it a cat, still?” I ask, relieved to steer this conversation toward something that isn’t my pumpkin atrocity or the world’s sexiest kiss yesterday with the nanny.

“I can’t tell you,” she says, smirking. “But Sabrina is helping me.”

Sabrina flashes a pleased smile, wiping her hands on an orange towel with a black cat illustration. “It’s going to be amazing, and it was all Luna’s idea.”

And hell, that is great. I should be thrilled that Parker has finally warmed up to her, that Luna is bonding with her more. I should be grateful that everything feels so damn normal.

And yet, some primal, restless part of me is annoyed.

Annoyed that Sabrina has apparently put yesterday behind her so much more easily than I have.

I grip the knife harder as I carve a droopy dick face.

“Are you ready?” Luna’s voice calls out from behind her closed bedroom door at seven in the morning on Halloween.

I still haven’t seen her costume yet. It’s been one hundred percent classified on a need-to-know basis, she’d told me. Apparently, I didn’t need to know .

What I do know is that she’s been spending a suspicious amount of secret time at Sabrina’s place.

“She has a sewing machine, Dad! And it’s so cool,” Luna had said, practically vibrating with excitement.

Huh. I had no idea. “She does?”

“Her name is Elphaba, ” Luna had informed me, like I was an idiot for not knowing that.

“The sewing machine has a name?”

“Obviously.” Then she’d trotted off to work on “girl” stuff at Sabrina’s.

Now, I’m waiting, standing in the hallway outside her door, while my son—fully suited up in his hand-stitched astronaut costume—sits on the stairs, adjusting his helmet.

The door creaks open, and Luna swings it wide.

“Ta-da!” She throws her arms out, sticking the landing like she’s mid-routine on the ice.

And— holy shit.

She’s a figure skater. But not in any costume I’ve seen before.

Gone are the simple pink and black practice dresses with their little skirts that she’s worn for the programs she’s performed in showcases and minor competitions.

This one is lavender, with sheer long sleeves, fine netting along the neckline, and sparkles everywhere—over the arms and cascading down the front like stardust.

“It’s one of Sabrina’s costumes! She wore it to nationals, and she took it in for me.” Luna beams.

My jaw practically unhinges. This isn’t just a costume. It’s a gift. A damn meaningful one.

Luna even has white lace-up boots that almost look like ice skates, with silver ribbon tied around the base to sell the illusion. Impressive.

“It’s perfect,” I manage, still reeling.

Luna twirls, then grins. “Are you surprised? I wanted to surprise you, Dad. Isn’t it the coolest, fanciest skating costume ever?”

“It is,” I say, still processing the fact that Sabrina took in one of her old costumes for my daughter.

“And we’ve seen a lot,” Luna adds, since we’ve spent plenty of time watching skating competitions over the years.

Not to mention, my first-ever crush was on a figure skater— Allison Marchand.

She was eighteen when I was twelve and I could not stop watching her in the Olympics.

I could blame my mom and grandmother for their obsession with figure skating, but really I was obsessed too.

“We have,” I agree, before pointing toward the stairs. “All right, skater queen, let’s get going to school.”

“And then we get to trick-or-treat tonight,” Luna cheers.

“As if you need any more sugar,” I grumble.

“Dad, you can never have enough candy,” Parker pipes up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

We head to the garage, and—because I’m a glutton for punishment—I steal a glance at Sabrina’s door. Even though I know she’s at the rink for an early lesson.

Maybe she’ll post another video.

The thought excites me more than it should.

As I load the kids into the car, I tell myself I won’t check. I won’t.

Hell, I haven’t looked at her socials in over a week. I’m trying to break the habit of wanting her.

This is what I planned, right? To move on.

But I picture her skating the whole time I drive my kids to school.

I’m chatting with them about their teachers and friends while my mind is taunting me with images of Sabrina gliding across the ice, the spotlight on her alone, one leg extended, arms out wide, and a polished, determined smile on her beautiful face.

The pull to check her feed grows stronger all morning as I meet with Corbin and Rowan, catching up with those clowns at the gym.

“Haven’t seen you at the bocce ball court,” Corbin remarks. It’s the first thing he says as I settle in by the free weights.

“Been a little busy with work and shit,” I say. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s that thing you do on the ice with blades.”

Corbin bristles. “I get plenty of ice time thank you very much,” he says, as he parks himself on the weight bench.

“Or maybe you’ve been afraid to show your face since the bet we made,” Rowan says, clearly not willing to let me get off that easily. “I’m guessing you lost,” Rowan says.

Oh shit. I pause mid-lift of preacher curls. I fucking forgot that bet—Corbin bet I’d last a week till I was spending too much time with my hand; Rowan bet two days.

Corbin points at me, like my hesitation proves they were right. “Yep! You didn’t even last a week till you…gave in,” he says, then makes an obscene gesture with his fist.

“Pay up,” Rowan says, with a smug smile.

I smirk, shaking my head at these two. “You assume you won.”

“Won what?”

It’s Ford joining us now, setting down his water bottle with stickers of the mountains and the words Surprise Them all over it. His mantra.

“We bet on how long he’d hold out,” Corbin supplies, because of course he wants to get my goat.

But the thing is—I’ve been restrained. So damn restrained in the solo department.

I set down the weights. Wiggle my fingers. “Pay up.”

Corbin’s jaw drops. “What the hell?”

My smile widens. “I’ve been such a good boy. ”

“No way,” Ford says, then knocks me with a fist. “Impressive restraint.”

“Especially since you’re obsessed with her,” Rowan adds dryly.

And…ouch.

I bristle at the word obsessed, only because it’s true.

But I’ve resisted jerking off. I’ve had to since I didn’t want to give in to all this desire. Of course, I don’t tell them I gave in to other things last week.

Nope. That wasn’t part of the bet.

Rowan’s fishing for his wallet, handing over a fresh green bill. “Man, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You’re steel, dude,” Corbin adds, forking over the payoff too.

I happily take their money. It feels good, beating my friends, but it also feels like a consolation prize.

We resume working out, but as Ford settles in at a bench, he says, “You might have won, but you’re still so screwed.”

I keep a stony face even though I know he’s right.

Later that night, as we’re grabbing Halloween bags and hustling out the door, Luna is practically bouncing like she can’t hold in a secret.

She keeps glancing at the stairs to Sabrina’s apartment. Parker’s on edge, too, pacing in his NASA-issued astronaut jumpsuit, peeking around the corner.

I narrow my eyes. “All right, what’s going on, you little stinkers? Is this another put-a-Zorro-mask-on-Dad moment?”

“No, but you need a costume,” Luna says.

“What? You don’t like my football player attire?” I gesture to my Renegades jersey and eye black. “It’s simple. Gets the job done. ”

“It’s fine,” Luna says, too quickly. “But wait till you see Sabrina’s.”

And then?—

The door to Sabrina’s place snicks open.

Footsteps sound on the stairs, and my pulse beats annoyingly fast in anticipation.

“And now…in the long program, presenting—Sabrina Snow!” Luna announces like a true commentator.

And that’s when, for the first time ever, I swear in front of my kids. “Holy shit.”

Parker gasps. “Dad.”

But I don’t even care, because—fuck.

She’s wearing a crystal-blue figure-skating costume, the exact shade of her eyes, with a patchwork of rhinestones that catch the light like prisms.

It’s one-shouldered—or is it a single-strap thing? Hell if I know the name of that style. All I know is that one shoulder is draped in soft blue fabric, while the other is bare except for a thin strap of delicate rhinestones.

It’s entirely appropriate. And incredibly sexy.

It shows off the strength in her arms, the grace in how she carries herself, and the bright, outgoing spirit that made her dress up to match my daughter.

She smiles, seeming completely unfazed by my stunned expression. “What do you think? I wore it in college.”

I think it’s going to fuel my figure skater crush for a long, long time.

I think I’m probably going to cave later and watch her videos.

“I think it’s stunning,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

Which—fuck.

I shouldn’t have said that. Not in front of the kids. Not about her.

Because stunning is not a word you use for your nanny .

I never said it about Agatha.

But the kids are too hyped up to notice my slip. They’re already rushing for the door, pumpkins made of recycled plastic clutched in their hands, riding that pure Halloween high.

Sabrina, though, is frozen in place. Like she wasn’t expecting my reaction.

Then, a small smile coasts across her lips, like the compliment meant everything to her.

“Thank you,” she says, but she clears her expression quickly as we make our way into the late October evening, the streets already filled with zombies and cowboys and Marvel heroes.

“I know candy isn’t really your guilty pleasure, but if you spot a NutRageous bar, I call dibs. ”

“That’s a rare and special candy bar,” I say, lifting a brow.

She sighs, a little wistful. “And it’s a Reese’s candy bar, so I don’t know why it’s not more common. But it’s incredible. I always wanted one on Halloween as a kid.”

I frown. “You didn’t have them?”

She laughs. “My dad never let me.”

And somehow, some way, I know I’m going to find a NutRageous bar for the figure skater I’m crushing on.

Even if I shouldn’t be.