“What? No! No, it’s not a date,” I laugh nervously, looking back and forth between my daughter, who leans against the open doorjamb, and PJ who stares at my thirteen-year-old like she might suddenly sprout horns and a tail.
Which wouldn’t be completely out of the question with a teenage girl.
Anastasia grabs the box out of my hands and raises her eyebrows.
“Is he a door-to-door salesman for baby toys or something?” she asks.
She shakes the box filled with a set of multicolored blocks. For a baby. And now it’s her turn to look back and forth between us.
“I got you a present,” PJ mumbles uncomfortably, which makes it impossible for me to hide a small giggle that comes out of my mouth.
He glares at me, and that just makes me smile even harder.
“Anastasia, this is . . . um, my friend, PJ. PJ, this is my daughter, Anastasia,” I say, wondering if this makes me the world’s worst mother.
In all the baby/toddler/children/teenager parenting books I’ve read over the years, I’m pretty sure they never included a chapter about the right time to introduce to your child a man you’ve made out with, who you aren’t dating but who you would like to see naked in the near future.
“I’m sorry about the blocks. I thought you were younger. I’m really not a weird pervert or anything,” PJ tells her with a frustrated sigh, stepping into the doorway until he’s pressed up against me and lowering his mouth to my ear to whisper, “Seriously, how in the hell do you have a teenager? You called her your baby girl last night!”
He sounds annoyed, and with the way he keeps glancing over at Anastasia all wide eyed, I can only assume it’s because everyone loves babies; no one loves teenagers. Even though she can be trying at times, she’s my entire world and I don’t care how good looking he is or how great a kisser he is, if he doesn’t like teenagers, especially my teenager, he can kiss my ass.
“Because she is my baby girl! It’s a term of endearment,” I whisper back angrily.
“I’ve heard about dudes with gross fetishes. Nina told me about this guy on YouTube who likes feet and—” Anastasia says before I cut her off.
“Okay, I think it’s time to go. Or, maybe it’s time for PJ to go,” I stop her before PJ’s head explodes and before I punch him in the jaw for the teenager comment.
Is he mad that I have a teenage daughter? Does he not understand how marriage and pregnancy work? Why do I care if he’s mad? I mean, he employs an entire club full of mothers, why is this such a shock? Maybe he hates kids. Clearly he hates kids, which will make it so much easier to put him back in the “annoying” category and out of the “I want all the sex with him” one. But that doesn’t really explain why he showed up here with a present for her, albeit, one that’s about ten years too young for her, but still. He probably just hates teenagers. You and the entire universe, buddy, get in line. But he was so sweet about bringing her a gift.
This is all so confusing. I shouldn’t be allowed to have any type of adult interaction without Ariel present.
“Uh, are you forgetting something?” Anastasia asks, pulling my gaze away from PJ to look at her quizzically. “You were supposed to take me to the mall to meet Kelsey?”
I have a vague recollection of Anastasia sending me a text last night while she was at a sleepover but . . . wine.
“Shit. Was that today? Shit, fuck, damn,” I mutter, which makes my daughter look at me with wide eyes. “I swear like a truck driver now. Let’s not make a big deal out of this.”
PJ steps into the doorway and clears his throat.
“Actually, that’s where I planned on taking your mom today. I figured it was time she updates her wardrobe. As long as it wouldn’t be cramping your style, you can just go with us,” he says with a shrug.
“Cool. That works for me,” Anastasia says before I can interject and tell him this is a very bad idea.
PJ moves aside to let her out of the house, shaking the box of blocks she still carries and smirking at him as she goes. While I’m busy coming up with all the reasons why this is a bad idea and how exactly I should tell PJ off for the teenager comment, he turns back around and smiles at me.
That damn smile.
“Just so you know, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I’m just . . . a little surprised.”
He moves in closer, and since I don’t want to look like his nearness has any effect on me whatsoever, I refuse to move, even as he reaches up and tucks a wayward strand of hair that’s fallen over my eyes behind my ear. “You don’t look anywhere near old enough to have a teenager. At all.”
His words are kind, but the way his eyes trail over me from head-to-toe is anything but kind. It’s naughty. So, so naughty.
This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date. . . .
“Hey, Mom!” Anastasia shouts from behind PJ out in the front yard. “He’s got a nice butt. I totally approve of this date!”
“IT’S NOT A DATE!” I yell after her, narrowing my eyes at PJ when he laughs. “Oh, laugh it up. Enjoy this moment now, because in about fifteen minutes, you’re going to understand the phrase What fresh hell is this? when you experience going to the mall with a teenage girl. They want everything and they hate everything equally. There will be a lot of crying, cursing, angst, misery, and possibly bloodshed.”
He laughs again, rolling his eyes as I move past him and out the door, letting him pull it closed and lock it behind us with the keys I hand him. “I’m pretty sure Anastasia won’t be doing any of those things,” he says.
“I wasn’t talking about her,” I tell him sweetly, patting his chest as his smile falters. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
Chapter 18: Pablo Jessabelle
“So, what does PJ stand for?”
“Would you believe me if I told you it literally just stands for PJ?”
I’ve asked him this same question several times throughout all of our texting conversations, but he never answers me, and it’s starting to bug me. Why is it such a secret?
“No. No I would not believe you if you told me that. No one names their child with initials. They always stand for something,” I argue, wondering if it stands for something really horrible.
What if his name’s Percival Jabulani?
Or Puck Jazzy?
Oh my God, maybe PJ stands for Ping Jethro.
How exactly does one sound sexy when shouting the name Ping Jethro during the throes of passion? And why in the hell am I even thinking about shouting his name, whatever it is, in the throes of anything?!
“What about this dress? And don’t say yes just because you think I like it. Do you like it?” PJ asks, putting an end to his name discussion, holding up a peach-colored wrap dress.
I nod, and he gives me a wink as he adds the dress to the pile of clothes I’m already holding in my arms. I quickly do the math in my head and I can feel my skin break out into a cold sweat. I can’t afford all of this. I can’t even afford the buy-one-get-one bin of socks that are sitting by the register. I probably should have protested as soon as PJ told Anastasia his plan was to take me to the mall and update my wardrobe, but I was too busy panicking about my daughter meeting him and all the questions that would follow.
Fortunately, the car ride wasn’t filled with questions about PJ and me and what we were doing together. It was just the quiet peace of a teenage girl wearing earbuds in the backseat, not paying any attention to the way I stared at PJ’s arm’s flexing as he shifted gears, or turned the steering wheel, or ran his hand through his hair while we made small talk. I almost wished she’d pulled those earplugs out and given us the third degree. Then I would have had something to focus on other than the way my heart beat faster at the way he glanced over at me and smiled when I said something that amused him; or how I had to keep crossing and uncrossing my legs because I was trapped in a small, enclosed space with this man and couldn’t escape the smell of his cologne, which did all sorts of unexpected things to my body.
> And now here we are, alone at the mall together, since Anastasia all but ran away from us to meet her friend as soon as we walked in the door. And I don’t know how to tell PJ that we need to put all this stuff back.
It’s one thing to blurt out all of your money problems under the haze of too much wine after the sun had gone down and you only had a small fire and streetlamps to see by. There’s no way I’m discussing this with him while I’m sober, in the bright light of day, under the glare of florescent lighting in Forever 21. And it’s my own fault I’m stuck in the hell on earth that is Forever 21. PJ insisted we go to the high-end department store on the other side of the mall, and I panicked. I told him I read a story about how they test all the dye for their fabrics on animals and “Oh my God, PJ! Just think of the kittens! Pink kittens and blue kittens and green kittens! Those poor defenseless animals! I will never step foot in that store again until they do right by the kittens.”
It wasn’t my finest moment. Don’t judge me. But what was I supposed to do? I knew Forever 21 had the lowest price tags out of any store in this mall, so, here we are. And here is where I will die.
“I’m not twenty-one. I’m not even close to twenty-one. I shouldn’t be shopping here,” I mutter, skirting the main issue to avoid embarrassment like any normal person would as I stand behind PJ while he looks through a rack of tank tops.
And really, this kind of is an issue now that I think about it. Glancing around the store, I see not one woman even close to my age. The people that work here aren’t even out of high school yet. My daughter shopped here before she entered her black phase. Sure, I’m wearing her clothes right now, but should I really be shopping in a store my thirteen-year-old and all her friends frequent?
PJ continues to slide hangers along the pole attached to the wall, still looking for a tank top to add to my pile. Aside from me freaking out about how I’m not going to be able to pay for any of this stuff, PJ has been an amazing shopping partner. He’s pointed out things he thinks would look good on me, but left the final decision completely up to me. He hasn’t just walked around throwing things into a pile that he likes, without thinking about what I want or like. If I shake my head at something he suggests, he immediately puts it back and moves on to the next item. I turn away from him and continue looking around the store, growing more and more uncomfortable each time the bell goes off in the doorway, announcing that another teenager who is a hell of a lot younger than me has entered.
“This is probably the type of store where they card you, but instead of telling you that you’re aren’t old enough, they look at your driver’s license, then look at you, and then they let out a low whistle. You know the kind of whistle I’m talking about. The one that says ‘Holy shit, she’s old and now I feel really bad asking for her I.D.’ I bet an alarm goes off when I walk in the dressing room. Warning! Warning! Stretch marks, wrinkles, crow’s feet! You can’t shop here!” I ramble on.
While I’m standing here babbling all the reasons I shouldn’t be here right now, I feel the heat from PJ’s body as he moves right behind me. I feel his thighs against my ass and I feel his chest against my back. My body gives a little jolt when his hands grab my hips to pull me more snugly against him as his head comes down and his lips hover right by my ear.
“Didn’t I just tell you not more than thirty minutes ago that you look too young to have a teenager?” he asks softly, his warm breath skating over my ear and the side of my neck. “You’re sexy and beautiful and young enough to shop anywhere you damn well please. I didn’t think you were a day over twenty-five, and never would have believed you had a daughter that old until I saw it for myself.”
I close my eyes and let his words soak in, relishing the way it feels to have a man say something like this to me, even if he’s only doing it to be nice and get me to stop rambling like a lunatic.
Turning around with my armful of clothes I can’t afford, I smile up at him as I take a step back, and his hands drop from my hips. Having him touch me like that and stand so close to me makes my brain want to explode with the thousand different thoughts and wants and needs that are running through it.
“Well, aren’t you a charmer. I bet you say that to all the ladies who are pushing thirty-three.”
He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Nope. Only you. And you already know how old I am, since you were at my birthday party a few weeks ago.”
I groan as we start moving through the store.
“Don’t remind me. I’d rather forget that night ever happened. But thanks for reminding me you’re thirty-five. God, you’re really old,” I tell him with a joking grimace.
“Hey, you can’t deny that night was the best thing that ever happened to you. I still can’t believe you thought it was a children’s party,” PJ says with a laugh.
“Whatever. You would have thought the same thing under those circumstances. But you’re right, it did turn out to be the best decision I ever made.”
I suddenly realize we’re moving toward the register. My palms start to sweat, the skin on the back of my neck prickles, and my legs stop working when we’re a few feet away. PJ realizes I’m not still right next to him when he gets to the counter and looks back over his shoulder at me.
“What’s wrong?”
I can’t even get my voice to work now, either. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Probably because I’m still trying to come up with a good excuse as to why all the time he spent picking out clothes for me was a waste, so I don’t look like a complete and total loser. I could tell him I just remembered I’m allergic to synthetic fabrics and can’t possibly wear any of this. I could tell him that on my journey to freedom and independence, I decided to join a nudist colony and therefore will no longer need clothes. I could tell him I just got a text that the zombie apocalypse has officially begun, so we might as well start the looting now and run.
One of the children who works at the store stands behind the counter with an annoyed look on her face while I stand here, refusing to move forward and put everything down, which just makes everything worse.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m young enough to get a shirt that says This tequila tastes like I’m not going to work tomorrow. It’s rude to be ageist,” I tell her in a haughty voice, realizing if Ariel were here right now, she’d smack me in the arm because the stick up my ass that I thought I permanently removed seems to have found its way back into me, momentarily.
PJ comes over to me and grabs all of the clothes out of my arms, turning and setting them down on the counter and telling the judgy little girl to start ringing everything up before he turns back to face me.
“PJ, I can’t . . .” I whisper with a shake of my head, trailing off as I take a few deep breaths to stop myself from crying in the middle of this stupid store.
“Hey, there’s no crying in clothes shopping,” PJ tells me with a smile. “If anyone is crying, it should be me. Shopping for women’s clothing is like the seventh circle of hell.”
I try to give him a smile, but now my mouth isn’t working either. Everything is failing me today.
He cups my cheek in one of his palms, and it’s nice to know my libido still works when she perks up and waves just from feeling his hand on me.
“This was my idea. The first step toward being successful in this business you’re starting is feeling comfortable in the clothes you wear. They should be your choices to express your personality, not things your friends pick out for you,” he tells me softly. “And since it was my idea, it’s my treat.”
As he says this, he drops his hand from my cheek, pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, and hands his credit card over to the girl ringing up the last item on the counter.
“You’re not paying for my new clothes. That’s . . . no. Not happening. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me or anyone giving me a handout,” I inform him angrily, crossing my arms in front of me with a huff.
“Cin, what I feel for you has absolutely nothing to do with sympathy
, believe me,” he tells me in a low voice that only the two of us can hear, since he’s moved right back into my personal space, making my traitorous skin break out in goosebumps with the way he’s looking at me. “And I’m not paying for your new clothes; consider it a loan. You can pay me back when this business of yours is kicking ass. Or, you can pay me back in other ways.”
My crossed arms press against his chest when his hands grab my hips again and he pulls me close.
“Oh yeah? And what other ways would that be?” I ask with a raise of one eyebrow, realizing my voice sounds awful breathy right now.
Holy shit, I just flirted with him, and I didn’t even need Ariel’s assistance.
“I could make you a list,” he says, dropping his head and sliding his cheek against mine until his lips are by my ear. “Starting with another one of those sexy lap dan—”
“Eew, are you guys gonna make out in public? That’s so gross.”
I didn’t even realize I’d closed my eyes and started turning my lips toward his until we both fly apart guiltily when Anastasia interrupts us. I don’t have time for mortification or an explanation that I wouldn’t be able to give even if I tried, since Anastasia flies right onto another topic.
“So, Ma, Mom, Mommy, my favorite mother in the whole wide world,” she starts, batting her eyelashes and folding her hands under her chin. “There’s this Supernatural shirt at Hot Topic I HAVE to have. It’s got Castiel on it. Can I get it?”
“Casty-who?” I ask in confusion.
“Oh my God, Mom,” Anastasia replies with a roll of her eyes. “Can I please get the shirt? It’s only twenty-nine dollars. I will refrain from eating the souls of my enemies for at least a month if I have this shirt. Think of the souls of my enemies, Mom.”
Our water bill is twenty-nine dollars this month. It’s bad enough I let PJ get me all hot and bothered and convince me he would pay for everything I picked out today. Now I have to embarrass myself further by telling my daughter we can’t afford it right in front of him. And I have to tell her no, right when we’ve hit a good spot in our relationship, which will make her hate me, stomp her foot, cause a scene, and tell me it’s not fair and I’m ruining her life.