Page 36 of Trusting You
“And he’s my ride,” Asher says. He makes a blowfish face at Lily and rises. “It’s nice to meet you, Carter. Maybe next time we’ll actually talk. Considering you’re, you know, living here for a while.”
Ben doesn’t look happy with that statement. I’m not used to so much bluntness, both in words and expression, and I’m a little thrown. “Sure. Yes, okay.”
“Man, congratulations,” Ben says while handing Lily back to Locke. He smacks Locke on the shoulder. “Wish we could have said it a lot earlier.”
Ah. There it is. Ben probably assumes I deliberately kept Lily a secret from Locke. Well, he can shove his theories up his ass.
Asher squeezes my shoulder as he passes, and I take it as a form of understanding. Definitely not solidarity, as it’s clear where his loyalty lies, but at least he might be willing to listen one day.
“Have fun, kids,” Asher says as they depart. Easton gives a wave, and Ben leaves with a salute. None of them look at me. Nobody says they’re sorry to hear about Paige.
It’s not like they should. She was a nobody to them in college. She may as well be a nobody to them now. A nameless mother who gave them a cute kid to protect on prom night.
“That was warm and fluffy,” I say once the apartment door is shut.
“I know, right? I’ve never seen the guys like that.” Locke chuckles as he bounces in place with Lily. He’s so absorbed, he has no idea I’m being sarcastic and simmering beside him.
A childish part of me wants to burst his bubble. “How long has she been up for?”
“Uh…” Locke looks to the ceiling. “Four hours?”
I make a show out of peering around him to see the oven clock. “And you changed her diaper how many times?”
“Oh, yeah.” Locke pales at the memory. “No childcare class could properly warn me about that. She pooped, dude. Like real, terrible poop. Singed my nostrils.”
I try not to smile.
“First time, I put the diaper on backwards. Second time, Lily ripped out of it because I didn’t do it right. Third time, I wanted to wake you up and have you do it,” he admits. “Fourth time…I don’t want to talk about it.”
I can’t help but ask, “What happened?”
“That’s between me and this tiny volcano,” Locke says, then spins Lily. “What should we have for dinner, little sputnik?”
I have to cover my mouth to stifle the laugh once I spot it. A huge streak of brown, right on the bottom of his previously snow-white tee. “What’s the state of the nursery like?”
“Again,” he says in an overly bright, singsong voice, “We’re not talking about it.”
“Fine. How about I get dinner ready for her, and you can change?”
“Change?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say while gently extricating Lily from his—hopefully sanitary—hold. “You need a new outfit.”
“Goddammit.” He pulls at his shirt. “I thought I got all of it.”
“A piece of advice, you’ll never get all of it,” I say in an equally singsong voice as I stride into the kitchen with Lily, then can’t resist adding, “Won’t that go down nicely with the ladies.”
I don’t need to turn to predict his glare.
When he returns, in a navy tee this time, I have Lily set up with a quick dinner of premade food packs I brought with me. I don’t trust Locke’s fridge enough to believe in freshness. He narrows his eyes at Lily’s food but doesn’t say anything as he pulls out a Coke, offering me one.
We drink, with Lily as our centerpiece, and barely say a word to each other. When Lily’s done, I clean up her mess and say, “Definitely time for bed, pumpkin.”
I hold out my arms, and she claps gleefully. Before I can grab her, Locke gently lays a hand on the top of her head.
“I’d like to try this time,” he says.
My hands are still spread out like an idiot’s. “Oh.”