Page 28 of Baby Daddy
CHAPTER 14
Dee
It took me no time to whip up spaghetti and meatballs along with a hearty salad. Rather than eating at the kitchen table, I set up dinner on the coffee table in the living room and managed to find a few votive candles for atmosphere along with a bottle of wine to accompany the meal. Soft jazz, thanks to handy Drake, drifted in the air. The candles, wine, and music should have had a calming effect on me, but I was all aflutter.
I’d be lying if I said he didn’t affect me. And it wasn’t just physical. He was funny and caring. And I felt beholden to him for saving me from Kyle. It had been years since I’d spent quality time with a man—let alone, one I was insanely attracted to. He looked even more crazy gorgeous in the candlelit room even with the silly Band-Aid above his eyebrow. I was going to have to control myself. Act professional for the rest of the evening. Keep the conversation casual. And pretend that I didn’t want those luscious lips all over me.
Sitting on the floor cattycorner to me, Drake inhaled the heaping plate of spaghetti. “Mmm. This smells awesome.”
“Thanks. It’s Tyson’s favorite.”
“Where is your daughter?”
“She’s at a sleepover. She’ll be back in the morning.”
“Man, it’s a lucky thing she wasn’t home.”
“Tell me.” The thought of her witnessing my encounter with Kyle sent an icy chill down my spine.
“Is she all recovered from the bee sting?” inquired Drake, stopping me from going down an even darker path.
“Yes, totally. Thanks for asking. She was the star of her class. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to be in an ambulance and in the hospital.” I poured us each a glass of wine. “And of course, sharing all those toys you got her with her classmates didn’t hurt.”
“She’s a really great kid.”
“Yes, she’s special. I feel very blessed. Thanks.”
He smiled at me and lifted his wine glass. “Bon appétit.”
“Bon appétit,” I repeated, clinking my glass against his. We each took a sip, and after we set the glasses down, I piled some salad into our bowls. Mental note: Do not drink on an empty stomach. I sure didn’t want a repeat of the other night.
Drake immediately dug into the spaghetti and meatballs, twirling a bountiful amount of the long pasta strands around the tines of his fork. My eyes stayed riveted on his bronzed, beautiful biceps, which flexed as he put the forkful to his mouth and sucked in the sauce-covered bundle. Then, silently he went for a meatball.
“Shit!” he blurted out as the meatball disappeared.
My heartbeat sped up with worry. “What’s the matter?”
“This is fucking amazing!”
I inwardly sighed with relief as I helped myself to a forkful of salad.
“Where did you learn to cook like this? From your mother?”
“Hardly. My mother was a drunk. She was either screwing someone or passed out so she never made us dinner. I had to take care of my little sister Lulu so I taught myself how to cook by watching the Food Network.”
If privileged Drake was shocked by this revelation, he didn’t show it. After digging into the salad, he asked, “Where did you grow up?”
“Outside Fresno…in a trailer park.” There was no point in hiding the truth. “This kids in school called me trailer trash.”
“I’m sorry,” Drake said, compassion in his voice. “Some kids can be so mean.”
While I took another long sip of the wine to stay loosened up, he twirled some more spaghetti around his fork. “What did your father do?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. He abandoned us when Lulu and I were both very young. I have no recollection of him. And have no idea if he’s dead or alive.”
“How long did you live there?”
“Too long.”