Game Ender, page 7
“You’re adorable,” he says.
“And you’re not getting any when I get home.”
“Let’s see how that works out for you, Spitfire. One look at my cock and you’ll be riding me like a dog in heat. Especially after watching The Bachelor.”
“Did you just call me a bit—”
“No. No, I didn’t,” Cade says, backtracking at lightning speed. “You’re beautiful tonight, sweetheart.”
“Watch it buddy or else you’ll have the pleasure of experiencing blue balls in the form of my knee in your junk and from joining your friend here in a long period of abstinence.”
“Hey! Don’t bring me into this,” I muse in mock annoyance.
This brings Abi’s attention back to me. “You haven’t answered the question, Thomas,” she says in a sing-song tone.
“That’s because there is no answer, Abi-Jane.”
“There’s always an answer.”
“You want to know why I’ve been visiting Amy? Because we’re friends.”
“That’s a cop out and you know it.”
“How is that a cop out?” I reply with a laugh, wrongly relishing in the fact that I’m frustrating her.
“You’ve been visiting her every few days since she got home from the hospital. You’ve been present, helpful and by all accounts, extremely good at cleaning.”
Cade snorts and swallows his laughter quickly by taking a swig from his beer when Abi spears him with a glare. When I don’t answer, she presses on.
“Look, I just want you to be careful with her.”
I study her and decide that honesty is best. This is Abi, one of my closest friends and all she’s doing is looking out for Amy. The same thing I’ve been trying to do.
The difference is that I’ve wanted to keep my interactions with Amy private, between just the two of us, for no other reason that I feel connected to her. I said I wanted to be here for her and that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do.
And part of me likes that Amy and I have had time away from her friends and my friends because of this exact situation.
Mia was suspicious yesterday and obviously grilled Amy before passing on the gathered intel to Abi and now I just know that the pressure is going to go on us. I don’t want that. I want to spend more time getting to know Amy because everything I’ve seen so far has me wanting more and that’s not something I’ve experienced for a long time.
“You really want to know?” I ask, knowing the answer already.
“Yes,” she replies sounding exasperated.
“I’m just being there for her. Being a friend.”
“Amy already has friends.”
“And now she has one more,” I reply with a smirk.
“And you’re doing that by cleaning for her?”
“Yep. I make snacks and cups of tea too,” I continue, a wry smile playing on my lips.
“And the secrecy?”
“So that my nosey friends don’t get ideas and start interfering.”
“You know that ship has sailed now, right?” Cade pipes up, walking across the room and sitting down in the leather recliner before grabbing the remote and turning on the television.
“Probably.”
“She has a baby, Thomas.”
“Funnily enough I know that, given that I helped deliver him.”
“You’ve gotta tread carefully,” she says.
“I know this and I want you to know, I’ve. Got. This.”
She opens her mouth to say something else but snaps it shut, instead choosing to study me, her eyes scanning my face as if looking for any sign of insincerity.
“Okay then,” she says, standing up and tilting her head down. “You’ve got this. But if you hurt her, I’ll cut your dick off.” I choke on my beer as she ruffles my hair with her fingers then moves to her husband, dipping down to kiss him.
“Right, I’m off to get my Bachelor fix. I’ll say hi to Amy for you, Thomas,” she says in a saccharine sweet voice.
“Spitfire . . .” Cade muses, meeting her eyes and communicating some unspoken command.
“You’re so no fun. That wedding ring should come with a warning. Upon use, your previously footloose and fancy-free boyfriend will turn into a spoil sport husband.” She scoots back as she says it, making sure she’s out of Cade’s reach before poking her tongue out at him.
“Bye, boys,” she adds before grabbing her purse from the coffee table and disappearing through the front door.
Thomas: How’s the bachelor thing going?
Amy: Normal people say hi when they text.
Thomas: Hi
Amy: Hi back
I wait for a while, expecting another message to come through. When it doesn’t, I almost second guess whether to text her again.
Thomas: So the bachelor thing?
Amy: Did you really text me to ask about that? I know Abi gave you the third degree.
Amy: If it helps, all of the girls grilled me when they arrived. It seems that the phone tree in the group is extremely effective.
Thomas: I just thought I’d text to say Hi and see how your day was. Was it the doctor’s visit today?
Amy: It’s scary how you remember these things.
Thomas: Call it a talent of mine.
Amy: You mean you have talents other than being my man slave?
Thomas: Man-slaves walk around in loincloths and nothing else. I don’t own one, but if you insist . . .
Amy: I just spat tea all over the floor because of you. Now I’m getting weird looks.
Thomas: If you had a man slave there, he could take care of the mess.
Amy: How does one get a man slave? Is there a 1–800-loincloths-R-us?
Thomas: If there’s not, there should be.
Amy: What about an apron? Will that do in lieu of a loincloth?
Thomas: It’s hard to get good working conditions these days.
Amy: Is there a slave union?
Thomas: I should look into it.
Amy: You do that. They can advise me if the working conditions I am providing are substandard. But yes, six week check with doctor today. I’m officially all healthy, healed and ready to go.
I shouldn’t have read that text mid-swallow. Deciding it’s safer to avoid all talk of what exactly she’s ready for, I change the topic.
Thomas: How was Brody today?
“You have a goofy grin on your face,” Cade says, breaking my concentration. “And your phone is vibrating more than my wife’s bedside drawer.”
“I’ve told you more than once, Carsen. If you’re not up to the job, I’m more than happy to step in and show Abi what being with a real man is like.”
“It seems that you’ve already got your hands full with your own woman.”
Before I can stop myself, my head snaps up to find him arching a brow my way.
For a man who’s not easily embarrassed, the heat I feel in my cheeks is almost a new experience for me. Thankfully, he lets it go, switching to his default ‘give Thomas shit’ mode.
“Who are ya texting?” he says in a dumbass, teenage jock-like voice.
“Uh . . . dude . . . it’s this chick I know,” I mimic back.
“Is she hot?”
“Smoking,” I reply, sounding just like Keanu Reeves in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
“You gonna go for third base with her?”
“Nah. She’s one of those good girl types, hand holding and nothing more.”
“Duuuuude . . .” he says slowly, his lips twitching.
I stop fighting my grin and shake my head at him. “It’s just Amz. I was just checking in with her.”
“Just Amz?” His shit-eating smirk matches his teasing tone.
“Shut it.” I can’t stop myself from grinning back at him.
My phone vibrates, capturing my attention. Swiping the message open, I’m met with a photo of a sleeping Brody sucking his thumb. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’ve got it bad, dude.”
“Dude or ‘duuuuude,’” I shoot back.
“Stop deflecting. Is there more to this Amy thing than just you being there for them?”
“Honestly?” I ask, meeting his eyes.
“Yep.”
“Maybe,” I reply.
“Are you going to do something about it?”
“She’s got a lot on her plate. I’m fine with things as they are now.” I know it’s a lie, but until I know whether I even have a shot with her, I’m not going to lay myself out for anyone, even Cade.
“So you’re friend-zoning yourself?”
“I’m so far entrenched in the friend zone, I’m almost sure I’ve created a new dictatorial state.”
“Wouldn’t take much to immigrate to the ‘not-friend zone,’” he adds with a smirk.
This is a double brow lift moment. “Dr. Cade Carsen, Emergency medicine specialist, self-orphaned son of Cade and Annabel Carsen, husband, golf pro, and matchmaker? You need to update your resume.”
“You’re a dick,” he says, throwing a beer cap my way.
“And you’re a vagina.”
“I’m happy with that. They’re tough and strong and can take a good pounding when asked.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Just don’t let the girls railroad you into anything. Take it at your own pace.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Not yet but hopefully soon,” he murmurs, returning his attention to the game.
My eyes go wide but I don’t say anything because although I knew that Abi and Cade would start a family in the future, for some reason the reality that this would happen—and seemingly soon—brought to the surface all my feelings of inadequacy.
To distract myself, and redirect my thoughts, I return my attention to my phone.
Thomas: You want a visitor on Thursday night?
Amy: You don’t have to, Thomas. I can clean my own house lol
Thomas: I know I don’t have to but I want to and I like helping you out around the house. Gives you time to focus on Brody.
Amy: You’re a nice guy, you know that?
Thomas: Shh don’t tell anyone, you’ll ruin my street cred.
Amy: Your secret’s safe with me.
Thomas: See you Thursday, I’ll bring takeout.
Amy: Sounds good. Have a good night.
Thomas: Enjoy your bachelor fantasy
Amy: Abi and Mia got all the good ones, but I fared all right. Who won the game?
I glance up at the screen then back down to my phone.
Thomas: Bears are leading by 14.
Amy: Such a shame. Although I know the Broncos will kick their ass in a few weeks
Those are fighting words.
Thomas: And with that, this Bears’ fan bows out. Your father and son would be ashamed of you.
Amy: The girls are eyeing me up wondering why I’m giggling.
Thomas: Tell them a hot sexy man slave sans loincloth is demanding your attention.
Amy: Lmao. Will do. See you Thursday.
And with that, I return my attention back to the game, the beer in my hand, my smart-ass best friend, and looking forward to takeout with Amy in a few days’ time.
The girls had ganged up on me the minute they all arrived on Monday night, wanting to know everything there was to know about Thomas’s visits; how often, since when, and how it all came about.
My explanation of “he wants to be there for me and Brody” didn’t seem to go over well but when they realized there was nothing more to it, they let it go.
Well, for the moment anyway. But in all honesty, that is all there is to it, no matter how much I wish things might be different.
I’d like to think we’ve built a good friendship out of it and Brody loves having him around; even if he’s barely awake long enough to see him most of the time.
Now it’s Thursday afternoon and would you believe it, in the time I have to myself while Brody is sleeping, all I can think about is why Thomas might feel the need to help me.
I’m not dumb enough to say no. I’m a single, first-time mom with an almost seven-week-old son who is thankfully a fantastic sleeper—for now, anyway—but who’s also very time-consuming for a little guy.
Thomas has surprised me. He’s nothing like the cocky playboy I’d pegged him for.
There have been moments of whoosh, instances of stomach flips, and the introduction of a whole new level of comfort with him I never thought was possible.
“So . . .” I say after eating way too much food. “How did you know I was a shrimp and chicken kind of girl?” I turn on the couch and fold my legs up under my body, getting comfortable.
He shoots me a wry smirk. “I have my ways.”
“And are those ways called Abi and Mia?”
“Maybe . . .” he replies, and unless I’m seeing things, he almost looks bashful.
“Definitely Abi. We used to have Takeout Thursdays before Brody arrived.”
“Why not now?” he asks, spooning some noodles into his mouth.
I watch the cords in his throat move, his jaw tensing and relaxing, and I swear my eyes glaze over a little.
Buck up, Amz. Remember, STD, abstinence, baby . . .
I’ve got no time for men. Even if he is really nice, like in a ‘I need to jump you and ride you like a merry-go-round’ kind of way.
I shake my head to clear my goofy haze and shrug, picking up my cup of tea and cradling it between my hands.
“She’s busy, I’m really busy . . . I don’t know, it’s just life I guess. We’re all growing up and moving on.”
His brows furrow and his expression turns contemplative before he schools his features and smiles. “Maybe we should restart this tradition. Just the Thomas and Amy version.”
Thankfully I’d just swallowed my mouthful because I kind of laugh/snort in the most unladylike way.
“You want to start Thomas Takeout Thursdays?”
He shrugs and grins. “It is rather catchy, don’t ya think?” he says, his lips twitching with amusement.
“There would need to be rules and a firm understanding of everything the tradition entails,” I say, secretly loving the carefree and wonderfully easy banter we’ve got going. It’s like I’m seeing a whole new side of this man, Brody’s birth seemingly being the catalyst for whatever change has been made to our friendship.
I’m the first to admit that my out of control—and still not back to normal—hormones are having a field day with all this Thomas time. He’s funny, charming, yet so down to earth and thoughtful.
“Do you want to stay and watch a movie? I mean, you don’t have to, and don’t feel obligated to stay or anything, I just thought maybe, if you didn’t have any other plans, that you might want to.”
Shit. Fudge. Damn. Way to sound like a babbling idiot, Amz.
His eyes are warm and one side of his mouth is tipped up, his one dangerous dimple out and proud and firmly engaged.
“Depends . . .” he says slowly while making his way toward my entertainment center.
Okay, I’ll play. “Depends on?”
He crouches down in front of the DVD rack and runs his thumb down the titles. “Mmm?”
Deciding this could take a while, I sit down on the edge of my couch as he scans the movies before making a selection, trying hard to drag my eyes away from his perfect round ass.
Looking over his shoulder, he catches me mid-ass peek, his lips curling up into a knowing grin. Thankfully, he doesn’t call me out on it because that would be mortifying and might result in me locking myself in Brody’s room until I knew Thomas had left.
“You’re a Marvel fan,” he says, pulling out a DVD before straightening and turning toward me.
“I’m an anything superhero, superhuman, or hot guys in spandex fan.”
“Good to know,” he muses, holding out Thor and quirking a brow. “And will an Asgard prince do for your viewing pleasure tonight?”
“I’m more of a Loki fan myself, but if you’re Team Thor, don’t let me stop you.” I wave my hand out to the TV and DVD player and soon he’s sitting down at his end of the couch as the opening credits play in the background.
Um, since when did Thomas have an end of anything in my house?
I don’t know why but as soon as he sits down and I do what I normally do when I’m laxing out watching a movie, my entire body tenses. In fact I freeze when it hits me that I’m sitting on a couch, in my living room, watching a movie with Thomas. This is weird, right?
This man has seen my vagina and it wasn’t even good for me. Yet, he’s here, he bought me shrimp fried rice and kung-pao chicken and now he’s watching a DVD with me, on my couch.
He’s not cleaning, he’s not here to help me out. He bought takeout and is now slouching back on my couch, shoes off, ankles crossed, watching the screen like it’s the most riveting movie on earth.
It’s a good ten minutes into the movie when it happens.
“Sweetness, it’s a movie not a torture session. Get your ass over here.”
“What?” I gasp, my eyes bugging out of my head as I turn to look at him.
“You’re all tense and curled up in a ball over there. Unless I smell, come over here, I’m a cuddler and I’m cold. So I figure I can kill two birds with one Amy and get my cuddle fix while we watch the movie.”
Ah, hello? Universe? It’s Amy calling. Are you punking me?
It’s not like I can say no right now, not that I want to. I mean, he’s Thomas.
He’s been a rock for Brody and I since my rather impromptu birth. And not in a ‘he’s only doing this to get in my pants’ way which, to be honest, I would’ve probably expected had I not gotten to know the real man behind the cocky clown exterior.
We talk, we laugh, we’ve shared milestone moments together when Brody has done random things like his first six-hour sleep at night (I texted him randomly at two a.m. to tell him) and it was Thomas who got the gift of Brody’s first smile at four weeks old.
For a single thirty-five-year-old guy, Thomas has given up a lot of potential socializing time to help me out. He wants to cuddle me, who am I to say no?
Doesn’t mean I’m above making him work for it a little, or at least squirm.
“Oh,” I say, slipping into the role of the perfect hostess and standing up from the couch. “I’ll turn up the heat—”
