#smiller

You should know it’s going to be one of those nights when Scott and Lacey show up at the door and Lacey doesn’t have her backpack.

“Honey, you have to have your backpack ready when I pick you up,” you sigh.

Your night is long enough already, you don’t need the added stress of negotiating with her.

There’s no response, just the gentle lean and stretching of her arms that signals you have to take her.

Her face is already shifting, features rearranging themselves into the picture of gentle pleading.

“Daddy said I should ask if maybe I can stay another night and you can also stay,” she huffs out in one breath. She occupies her hands with the necklace you’re wearing: a dainty heart locket with pictures of her on either side.

“Lacey sweetheart. You know you have to come home with mommy today. Scott go get her backpack please.”

Lacey turns her pleading gaze on Scott and you can’t help the irritated sigh that leaves your lips when he doesn’t move.

“Please mommy it’s just today.”

She’s looking straight at you now, the corners of her lips already tilting down.

You know it's going to be one of those nights when her bottom lip starts quivering, tears already gathering on her bottom lash line.

"Mommy, please. I always have to go. I wanna stay," she says, voice wavering as she looks between you and Scott. Soft hands tug at your earrings before resting gently on your cheek, the way you rest your palm on her cheeks when you need her to focus on you.

"I wanna stay again mommy, please," she repeats, already sniffling.

You know you need to put your foot down now, respect the rules you've put in place, but with the night you've had you just don't have it in you to add ‘making Lacey cry’ to your list, so you acquiesce with a sigh and a nod, brushing past Scott as he tries not to smile.

“You look good tonight,” he says. “Real good.”

You roll your eyes, not even sparing him a glance as you push your jacket into his hands.

“Rough night, huh,” you hear him say as you walk into the living room, where Lacey’s already waiting for you on the couch, patting the empty spots next to her with a smile on her face so bright you forgive her for being Scott’s most effective weapon against you.

“Daddy and I made pizzas all on our own today,” she says, excitedly pressing her fingers into your thighs like she’s kneading dough. “Daddy was throwing it real high up. Like whoosh!! like a real pizza maker!”

“Sounds exciting! Did you throw any pizza dough in the air?”

“No. I tried a little bit but I think I’m not good at it yet,” her voice drops and you can almost see her next to Scott, little brain working over time to cobble together the co-ordination to copy him as best she could.

“A little more practice and you’ll be good in no time,” Scott promises, couch shifting as he settles in on her other side.

That perks her right up, and she makes Scott promise to help her practice the next time he has her.

“‘course, sweet pea,” he says with a squeeze.

Satisfied with his promise, she turns her attention to picking a movie, flicking through the options on the TV. She settles on Toy Story, then hops down to get some snacks with Scott.

“Drink?”

“Wine,” you sigh, sprawling across couch. “Don’t be shy, either.”

“Scale of one to ten how bad was he?” Scott calls from the kitchen.

You hear cabinet doors opening and closing, the drag of Lacey’s stepladder as she insists she can get her own snacks.

“Ten. Miserable from start to finish,” you complain as you get comfortable.

“From start to finish?”

“Start to finish,” you confirm, sitting up again when Lacey comes back with a packet of gummy worms, holding them out for you to open. You’re going to talk to Scott about candy after bed time, but for now you’re content with deducting Mom Tax in the form of three worms and popping them into your mouth while Lacey tries to get comfortable.

When Scott gets back with your drinks, you’re happy to find that he hasn’t been shy at all with your wine.

“Now we can watch,” Lacey says.

“Nuh uh, little miss,” Scott starts as she reaches for the remote. “You need to put your jammies on before we watch.”

“But why if it’s not bed time yet.”

She makes no move to get up, instead turning her most pitiful ‘please’ look onto Scott.

“Because if you fall asleep, and I wake you up to change you’re gonna be grumpy.”

“But I won’t fall asleep, I promise.”

She sticks her pinky out and you see Scott’s hand twitch.

“Yes you will sweetheart, it’s late.”

“How come mommy doesn’t have to change, but she always falls asleep on movie night?”

“Because if mommy falls asleep, I don’t have to wake her up, or carry her to bed or change her into her jammies.”

Lacey sighs. Scott sighs louder. Lacey finally gets off the couch.

“Do you want my help?”

“No,” Lacey says, then as an afterthought: “No, thank you, I mean.”

Disappointment flickers across Scott’s face, but it’s gone when he actually turns to you.

There’s a short, awkward silence as Scott puts your feet in his lap, rubbing at your calves while you take a sip.

“I didn’t know you knew how to toss dough,” you say, leaning back onto the armrest so you can look at him. He still has a little flour in his hair, which — now that you’re looking at him properly — you can see is longer than before. It curls at the nape of his neck, and a few stray strands fall into his face. He’s also got facial hair, a fact so surprising you’re shocked you didn’t notice it before.

“And you changed your look. Who are you?”

He rubs at the facial hair in a move that’s a touch too charming to be shy as he smiles at you.

“Thought I’d switch it up a little, you really just noticed?”

“I haven’t seen you in a week, Scott.”

“My hair was definitely longer, you just don’t pay attention to me,” he fake pouts, squeezing at your calf.

You sigh, sitting up so you can take another swig of wine.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, Scott. I’m sure it hurt to be spurned,” you remark. “And the dough tossing?”

“Shit. No ‘you look good’, no ‘suits you’ at least? Harsh.”

You roll your eyes.

“You look good, Scott. Facial hair does a lot for you,” you admit. You find it extremely unfair that he looks good with or without. You find it even more unfair that he’d managed to deprive you of the view the entire time you’d known each other.

“I know,” he smiles. “And I didn’t know how to toss pizza dough until two nights ago. I’d signed us up for a Make Your Own Pizza night, but the class got cancelled so I just figured out how to do it myself. Practised when she went to bed. Money saved,” he shrugs, like learning to toss dough because a pizza making class got cancelled was the easiest thing in the world.

“You learned in one night,” you say surprised.

“Not hard to be decent at it. Unless of course you have the co-ordination of a toddler.”

“Or perhaps are one,” you snort.

“Forgot that kids need to grow,” he laughs. “She was a star on the rest of the prep though,” he smiles. There’s an almost dreamy look on his face, and even though you’ve seen it plenty of times, it never fails to surprise you how sentimental Scott gets over Lacey.

You’re robbed of your chance to tease him about it when Lacey comes running back, nightie on both inside out and back to front.

“Movie time,” she says, then sighs when Scott stops her.

“You almost got it right,” he says, sliding it off of her and fixing it before putting it back on. “But the picture needs to be in the front, silly goose,” he adds with tickle of her tummy. She giggles, sharp and high-pitched as Scott scoops her up and brings her onto the couch. You can’t help the smile on your face when you watch them.

“I’ve never seen these jammies before, Lace,” you say when you notice the picture on the front.

“They’re new, because yesterdays I had an accident but then daddy didn’t have any jammies for me so I had to sleep in his t-shirt but it was huuuuuggeeeee,” she giggles. “So then after that we went to the shops and daddy got me new jammies and some more clothes and even some toys,” she nods.

“Couple months back,” Scott clarifies, but you just laugh.

“You’ve been watching me give her a backpack when she comes to yours and you had clothes?”

“You seemed to like the ritual of it. Who am I to take that from you?”

You want to argue, but Lacey’s impatient and she’s had her movie night delayed long enough so the three of you get comfortable, Lacey in the middle and you and Scott on either side.

As expected, you’re no more than halfway into the movie when Lacey’s head drops onto your arm, her eyes start drooping, eyelids fluttering in an attempt to stay awake.

“Hey sweetpea, might be bedtime,” you whisper, shaking her gently.

“But I’m not sleepy,” she says through a yawn too big for her to pretend.

“We’ll finish the movie tomorrow,” Scott promises.

“Don’t watch it without me,” she says, fighting another yawn.

“Promise. Say goodnight to your mom, and thank you,” Scott instructs.

“Night mommy, thank you for not making us go home,” she says, burrowing her face into the side of your body.

“Goodnight, sweetpea, I love you,” you murmur kissing the top of her head. You suspect she might love you too but her yawn cuts through her words, and then Scott is picking her up and carrying her to bed.

You down what’s left of your wine, consider if you’ll get away with making Scott sleep on his couch. You’re listening to the hum of the TV, enjoying the buzz. It’s been a while since you’ve spent the night at Scott’s, and he’s definitely changed some things, but it feels more familiar than it has any right to. It’s homier than his old one, and he has various Lacey Crafts displayed around the living room. Happy crayon stick figures playing in the sun stuck up on the walls, oddly shaped rocks that have been patchily painted and had googly eyes stuck on them lining the DVD cabinet beneath the TV. So much proof that Lacey lives and plays here that you may as well be back at your house.

“Refill?” Scott’s voice pulls you out of your head.

“And make it generous,” you smile.

He mock salutes, then disappears into the kitchen. With Lacey gone, you feel the urge to smooth down your dress, and you’re suddenly aware of just how overdressed you are to be lying on Scott’s couch. And then you remember it’s not really your fault and you feel yourself getting mad again at your failure of a date night.

“So, what was wrong with this one,” Scott asks when he’s back, handing you your wine. He takes a swig of his own drink before putting on the side table and joining you on the couch. You still have your legs over his lap, but he reaches out so he can trace, soft electrifying spirals on your stomach, his fingers soft and buzzy through the satin.

“You really should’ve let me take her home,” you sigh trying to change the subject. This is too close to intimate for your liking, but the wine makes you lazy and there’s no harm in letting him make you feel better, even just for a little bit.

He cocks his brow at you.

“She’s spending the rest of the break with my parents, remember?”

He rolls his eyes, and then quicker than you can process, he’s pulling you into his chest and laying down so that you’re practically on top of him.

“Tell me about your date,” he says, fingers under your chin to force you to look at him.

“You’re just gonna make fun of me.”

“Obviously. But I’d also like to know, I’m curious.”

“And how would your girlfriend feel about you listening to me vent about my shitty date while lying on top of you?”

His face pulls together in confusion.

“My what?”

“Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask.

“No,” he huffs.

“Yes you are. I met her last month, Scott,” you remind him.

You remember her — driven and sweet and completely taken by Scott, clinging to him as the three of you chit chatted idly at Javi’s birthday party.

“Not anymore,” he mutters, gently pulling your hand up so he can press a kiss to your fingertips. “Funnily enough, we broke up the day after the party.”

“Scott.”

“She broke up with me! I tried,” he defends, his other hand sliding down your back to rest on your butt.

You cradle his jaw, ignoring the flutter when you feel the rough hair beneath your palms.

“Is that the reason for the new look? Heartbreak makeover?"

“No. I told you I just wanted to switch it up.” He sighs. “See how I answer your questions? Answer mine.”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re my daughter’s mom. Be weird if I didn’t care about you at least a little.”

He’s too sincere, not enough sarcasm behind his words for you to justify another deflection.

“This was a third date, and I definitely ignored some of his earlier… quirks, but he was nice overall and I thought he’d be a fun guy casually,” you start.

“You ignored someone’s little quirks? Since when?”

“Since I got told I’m too picky,” you shrug. “Anyway. I get all dolled up, look good, feel good, smell good and when I get to the restaurant I’m waiting almost twenty minutes for him to get there. NO text, NO call, NO warning. Then he gets there, doesn’t even apologise or try to compensate by complimenting me. Just ‘hi’ and a side hug and then he was pulling out his seat.”

Scott’s face has morphed into something you can only place as disgust, and you shrug.

“I figure he’s having a bad day, so I let it go and try making conversation, but all he can talk about is himself, and he snaps his fingers at the waitress, and it’s like… who is this guy? Obviously, I ask him what’s going on, thinking that maybe he’s dealing with something and do you wanna know what his answer was?”

“Please, spill.”

“He was acting like a douche, because he felt like I hadn’t invited him home quick enough and instead of coming to the conclusion that maybe I wanted to get to know him first and this is only our third fucking date,” you whisper harshly, trying your best not to get loud, “maybe I was just being wary. No, he decides that I’m purposely holding out on him because he was ‘too nice’ and maybe if he did a complete 180, I’d feel more attracted to him. Now I’m confused, because do I seem like the type of woman who dates assholes? And I ask him that, and he says that I must be, because otherwise I wouldn’t be a single mom. The fucking nerve, he’s never even asked about you. And the cherry on top?”

“You’re not done?”

He looks genuinely incredulous.

“God, I wish. The worst thing is that he picked some upscale restaurant so now I'm out a hundred bucks and I didn't even have a good time. Food was great though," you shrug.

"You paid to go on a shitty date. How empowering," Scott rolls his eyes.

"Don't start, we were having such a good time. You were almost one of the girls. "

"Just saying. I'm an asshole and I wouldn't make you pay to go on a shitty date with me," he shrugs, the pads of his fingers warm as he takes the glass from you. “Also I don’t wanna be one of the girls. I’m your daughter’s father.”

You ignore the way his fingers have slipped beneath the hem of your dress, trying desperately to focus on his face instead.

“I bet this is real amusing for you,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“Not in the slightest. I didn’t realise it was that bad.”

His fingers toy with the edges of your underwear, snapping it gently against your skin.

"Dating as a single parent is hard,” you shrug.

“I’m a single dad and I’ve been just fine.”

“Yes, ‘cause you’re a single dad,” you emphasise, pushing a finger into his chest. “Women love single dads, especially if their kids love them. And you have a daughter. Women fucking go crazy for dads with daughters.”

“Yeah well you have those,” he argues, nodding down at your boobs. “Worked on me.” He smirks down at you, and you ignore the traitorous tug of want in your stomach.

“These aren’t as effective on weird men when you’re a single mom. Having a daughter is always effective when you’re a single dad.”

“Compelling argument, except I don’t use Lacey as a flirting mechanism.”

“Oh so it’s just me you use her emotional guerrilla skills on, then?”

He scoffs.

“She wanted to stay another night. You know what she’s like when she wants something. Stubborn, just like you.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re not slick, Scott.”

“You sounded mad over text. Knew you wouldn’t say yes if I asked.”

He’s pressing kisses to the side of your head, and the scratch of his moustache more pleasant than you’d like to let him know.

“Scott?”

He hums, pulling away so he can look at you.

“I don’t need you to pity fuck me.”

He scowls in offense.

“I’ve never pity fucked you before, so why would I start now? You look good,” he says with a kiss to your cheek. “You look really good, and I don’t know about the other losers you fuck, but I never let a pretty woman get all dolled up just to send her home high and dry and out a hundred dollars.”

You sit up, pulling him up with you so you’re straddling him.

“You make it sound so kind. Almost charitable,” you mumble as you push at the hair framing his face.

“I’m nicer than you give me credit for.”

He presses a soft kiss into the crook of your neck, then squeezes at your ass. “I also missed you.”

“Scott,” you sigh.

“Nothing wrong. We’re both single right now,” he mutters into your neck. He cradles your face, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. His lips ghost over yours, and you shudder, then he’s kissing you. The pressure of his lips on yours is dizzying in a way you can’t blame on the alcohol, and he tugs at your bottom lip with a familiar hunger, his arm circling your waist as the other keeps your face cradled.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you press in closer to him, pushing him into the back of the couch as you press your tongue to his, smiling when he lets out a strangled moan beneath you. It’s an ego boost, feeling the rise and fall of Scott’s chest beneath you as you bite gently at his bottom lip, his hands on your waist as he rocks you against him.

He only pulls away to make you straddle his thigh, pressing long kisses on your throat before kissing you properly again, and your head feels light as you feel him thick and solid beneath you. Reliable, almost. His hands are under the hem of your dress again, kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you know he’s gonna leave bruises. He drags his tongue along the path marked out by the dainty chain of your locket, then presses a soft kiss to the metal heart before turning his attention to your boobs.

“Been keeping my girls happy for me?” he asks. He nips at the exposed cleavage, hands cupping them through the dress. “They’re wasted on the men you date,” he complains. A hand slips down the front of your dress, and you want to chastise him, but he’s flexing his thigh beneath you and when he takes the flesh into his mouth you lose all focus, fingers curling tighter into his hair.

The creaking of a door stops you both, sends a sharp bolt of fear down your spine. When Lacey footsteps don’t echo down the hallway you sigh in relief.

“Couch probably isn’t the best place for this,” he says, pulling your dress back into place.

You wonder whether a house with Lacey in it is ever the best place for this, but he’s already standing you up, guiding you towards the bedroom.

He’s barely locked his door when his lips are on yours again and he’s pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“We’re not supposed to do this while she’s in the house,” you whisper, fingers already fumbling with the waistband of his sleep pants.

“Relax,” he says with a firm grip on your hands. He places them on the bed next to you, and then he’s spreading your legs as he sinks down onto his knees. “You just have to be quiet for me, yeah? Look too good to end the night without something.” He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, heat blooming on your thighs when he pushes the hem of your dress up, the satin bunching up around your hips. Teeth press into the soft flesh of your thighs and you can’t help the short, strangled sound that leaves your mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispers into the skin. “Gotta be quiet, remember?”

“Sorry, I’m not used to the hair,” you sigh as he sucks at the inside of your thigh again, hands keeping your legs spread apart.

“You like it? Or d’you want it gone?”

“Keep it, it’s good,” you sigh, when you feel his tongue pressed along the edge of your panties. He just grunts, then squeezes your thigh in acknowledgement.

“My dress, Scott,” you warn him.

“I’ll be careful,” he says, as he hurriedly pushes the material until its over your hips. You have too many shirts with missing buttons to take him at his word, but he doesn’t seem interested in arguing. “You’re fucking nuts,” he says, eyes locked on the sheer scrap of fabric masquerading as underwear that you’d chosen for the night. “Wasting this on other guys,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your mound through the material. He doesn’t give you a chance to question him, laying his tongue flat against the lace, warm and flat as he holds you still. Your stomach lurches, and you’re embarrassed, but you’re beyond caring. He’s slow, tongue prodding over the material as it gets progressively wetter. You want him to hurry up, try your best to press yourself right against him, but he doesn’t budge. He uses a finger to push the sopping wet material against your clit, his other hand tightening around your thigh when your hips twitch.

“Stop, Scott. Do it properly,” you whine when he keeps mouthing at you over the material.

“Is that how we ask?”

You despise the smugness beneath his question.

“I thought you wouldn’t leave me high and dry. Thought you were different,” you fire back.

“Not dry at all,” he says, knuckle pressing into your slit. You squirm uncomfortably as the underwear sticks itself to you. “But I keep promises.”

You lie back in relief, but it’s short lived, because the moment he has your panties tossed into some dark corner of his room he’s lapping at you like a man starved. It’s torturous, made no better by the coarse drag of his facial hair and the fact that he’s paying attention to everything but your clit. He’s pressing sloppy kisses into the insides of your thighs, sucking harshly then soothing the ache with his tongue. He’s pressing his tongue flat against you, tongue teasing at your slit, coming right up so he can ghost gently over the neglected bundle of nerves at the top before he pulls away again.

You know better than to beg. He knows, he knows and he’s punishing you, and you’d rather not give him the benefit of seeing you accept this punishment.

When you’re squirming beneath his mouth, skin growing slick and your stomach tightening beyond what you think you can handle he finally gets back up.

“Turn over,” he says with a soft tap of your thighs. His pants are already halfway down his thighs, but he stops you when you reach for your zipper. “Keep it on,” he instructs as he turns you over himself, his hand pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. “This colour’s so pretty on you, you know. Can’t believe he didn’t lose all sense seeing you in this.”

You’d consider him romantic if he didn’t have his erection pressed between your lips, rocking gently as he twitched against you.

“That what’s happening to you?”

You’re pushing back, reaching for him, but he just puts your hand back on the mattress.

“I’m getting there,” he says with a soft tap against one of your ass cheeks, then a slightly harder one that makes you groan into the mattress. “Always making me wait, but when it’s your turn,” he squeezes harshly, “I need to hurry up. Very unfair of you,” he clicks his tongue softly.

He’s still rocking gently, teasing, and just when you think you can’t take much more he pushes into you in one swift stroke, all the way to the base like he knows you’ll stretch to accommodate him. You can feel your dress slipping and shifting as he presses you into the arch he wants, his encouragement coming in gruff sentences as he pulls out so he can push back into you, deep and slow.

“Would never let pussy like this go to waste, are you fucking kidding me,” he mumbles, picking up the pace with no regard for the fact that you’re struggling to keep up. You turn to face him as best you can, but he’s not looking at you, eyes locked instead on where you stretch around him.

He hasn’t bothered taking his pants off the whole way, and the cotton rubs almost uncomfortably against the backs of your thighs with every thrust, but it becomes background noise as Scott fucks you, his pace brutal. You feel the cool air of the room against your back as Scott drags the zip down, but he still doesn’t take it off, just slides one of his hands in through the back so he can grope at your tits, and you bury your face back into his mattress as he squeezes at your nipple.His other hand remains anchored on your hip, occasionally coming off to push your dress back into position.

“So perfect for me,” he says when takes a brief pause, kissing down your spine before pushing the dress further up so he can bite gently at your hip. “So goddamn perfect,” he says with squeeze of your ass, using both hands to spread you open again. He holds you steady when he slides back into you — lets you feel the weight of him as he catches his breath. When he starts fucking you again, it’s rough and hard, the lewd sound of skin meeting skin mixing with your muffle moans. You’re trying to be quiet, really but when you hear the way he groans your name like he hasn’t had you like this fifty times before, you let out a pathetic whimper.

There’s a pause and then you feel his thumb, thick and wet as it prods at your asshole and you feel butterflies you haven’t felt in a while.

“You like it there?” he asks, pushing a little harder. “Feels so tight. She being neglected? Not letting your other guys in there?”

Your brain is stuck between letting him know that there are no other guys and confirming that he is in fact the only person who knows you that intimately so you just warble out a disjointed string of sounds and hope that he understands you.

“I’m real special, huh,” he gloats, gently working his way deeper. You nod against your better judgement. “Right,” he snorts. “Special enough to have you any way I want, but not special enough to take you for a proper dinner before I do it.”

He’s pressing his thumb in properly before you can respond and the pressure is more than you can handle, walls fluttering then spasming around him.

“Whatever,” he continues, rolling his hips like he can’t feel you squirming beneath him. You can feel him twitching inside you, but he keeps his strokes slow, makes you feel every inch he’s got to give you as you grasp for him, trying to breathe through the waves of pleasure washing over you. “You gonna let me back in here one day? Bet she’s all tight again, gonna have to work you up to it nice and slow.” He’s fantasising, losing his rhythm as he presses his thumb into you a little harder. “You gonna let me sweetheart? Gonna let me fill ‘er up next time?”

You nod, and he laughs.

“Glad you know what’s good for you,” he groans, and you tighten around him again. He’s swearing, barely audible complaints tumbling from his lips as he finally speeds up again. You probably wouldn’t be able to hear him anyways, too focused on keeping your voice down with your teeth pressed painfully into your lower lip. Scott’s fighting a losing battle, grunts growing louder before he finally lets out a choked groan, his hips stuttering as he empties into you, thumb gently popping out of your ass so he can pull you up to him and place a clumsy kiss on your lips. He doesn’t let you move until he’s slipped out of you, soft and slick and then he follows you as you fall back onto the bed, exhausted.

“You really gonna let me fuck you in the ass again?” Scott asks, when he’s caught his breath.

“No towel, no pyjamas, just thinking with your dick aren’t you?”

He just kisses you, slow and sweet.

“Just making sure. Circling back and all that,” he smiles.

“Just get me a towel you freak,” you command, sitting up.

You pull your dress over your head and toss it onto the floor.

“And a shirt. Then we can discuss whatever you want,” you yawn.

“You’re the greatest woman alive, you know that?”

“I ask you to take her home, and you’re telling me you got her pregnant instead?”

You watch a muscle in Javi’s face twitch as he addresses Scott, his eyes flitting to your stomach briefly.

“Not on purpose,” Scott defends with a shrug of his shoulders. He sounds almost bored when he says it, toying with non-existent lint on his shirt.

“That makes it worse, Scott. And you,” Javi turns his disappointed gaze to you. “I thought kids were for later. I thought you were focusing on your career and having fun and…” he trails off in exasperation, glancing frustratedly between yo u and Scott.

He puts his head in his hands with all the heavy disappointment of a father who just found out his teenage daughter is pregnant, and you grimace at Scott who just shrugs.

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to invite me to a shotgun wedding,” Javi blanches, eyes wide as if the possibility just dawned on him.

“Ew, no,” you squawk, nervous laughter caught in your throat.

“What do you mean ‘ew’?” Scott asks.

“Don’t take it personally, Scott. We’re just not romantically compatible,” you shrug before stretching your arms out.

“We haven’t even been on a date, you don’t know that.”

He turns to look at you and you keep your gaze focused forward on the abstract painting hanging just behind Javi.

“All we do when we talk to each other is argue, Scott.”

“That’s not all we do,” he chuckles.

“I’m not sure if this matters to you guys, but I’m still in here.”

You swallow your smartass comment, and choose instead to explain to Javi.

“This isn’t a big deal. Just figured you shouldn’t be ambushed by this since … you know. You know both of us.”

You pick at invisible lint on your jeans.

This conversation feels too sterile, businesslike. You suppose there’s no other way for it to go, really. You and Scott weren’t together so there was no need for the misty eyes and emotional ‘congratulations’. You don’t feel bad about that at all.

“How far along are you?”

“Early. I was uh… anxious afterwards. Wanted to find out sooner rather than later so I took a pregnancy test at the earliest possible time.”

Anxious was an understatement.

The full weight of your recklessness had hit you in the middle of the next day, and you'd spent a good hour trying to reassure yourself, and then distracted yourself with shitty reality TV and sugary treats.

Just over a week later you’d bought several pregnancy tests — cheap drug store ones and the fancy early detection ones with the LCD screens — and drunk so much water you thought you might burst.

Every test came back the same.

Strong, fast positives. Undeniable.

Your only consolation was that you’d caught it before any morning sickness could catch you off-guard.

“Too late to …” Javi makes a yanking motion and you sigh.

“I considered it.”

And you had. Endlessly. Almost booked an appointment too then chickened out at the last minute.

“Don’t tell me Scott talked you into keeping it,” Javi starts, already training a glare on Scott.

“Please, he’s not that persuasive.”

“Okay, I’ll have you know she sprung this on me too,” Scott defends, agitation clear in his voice.

“So you’re just… choosing to have the baby.”

“You sound confused,” you say.

“I thought you said you wanted to be in a proper relationship before you even considered a child.”

“I’m stable. Good job, a house with a spare room for the child once I get my work shit out of there. Mom and Dad will be thrilled, they’ve been asking me about kids for years,” you explain. “I’m good. A little scared, but good.”

“And I’ll be here too,” Scott chimes in.

“Sure,” you flash him a small smile, then return to analysing Javi’s painting.

“So no shotgun wedding but you guys are making a relationship work?”

“God no,” you scoff before Scott can say anything. You see him startle slightly in your periphery but you ignore it. “We don’t need to date just because I’m pregnant. We’ll co-parent. We can manage that can’t we Scott?”

You watch Scott swallow whatever he was going to say before and just nod in sullen agreement.

“Perfect,” you stand up. “Now that that’s done, I can get home.”

The jingle of Scott’s keys echos through the room as he stands up too.

“Don’t look so confused. You don’t have a car. It’s the least I can do.”

He has the type of look on his face that lets you know it’s not up for discussion, so you hug Javi goodbye and settle in for what you’re sure will be the most awkward ride of your life.

“I should probably get a car huh,” you joke after an eternal five minutes of silence.

“Probably. How the fuck do you live in Oklahoma without a car?”

“Carpool and Lyft. Sometimes the buses run on time too,” you shrug.

Silence falls again as you toy with the window switch and rack your brain for something to say.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Your stomach answers for you with an embarrassing gurgle.

“I’ve got leftovers at home, I’ll manage.”

“I’m hungry too. Let’s just grab dinner,” Scott says, already keying in a new address.

“You haven’t even asked me what I want.”

“You want leftovers. I don’t trust you to pick a place.”

You snort, but you don’t argue, just listen to the weather report as it drones on.

He takes you to a small diner smack bang in the middle of a dying or possibly already dead strip mall.

Big Joe’s is flickering above the windows in quickly fizzling neon, and the Christmas window paint is peeling but the place is packed.

“Swear by it. Best place I’ve been to since I moved to this godforsaken state,” Scott mumbles as he kills the engine.

“Hey. Oklahoma’s charming,” you defend as you slam the door.

“Careful,” he tuts.

“Sorry,” you smile as you trail behind him.

It’s bigger than it looks from outside, and a bubbly waitress with confusingly tropical nails guides you to a booth tucked away in the corner.

“It’s cute,” you muse, looking at the records on the wall and the defunct jukebox tucked away in a corner.

“Food’s good too.”

His knee is pressed into yours, his hand on your thigh while he pores over your menu with you. You’re laser focused, trying to ignore the fact that you can literally feel the heat radiating off him.

“You know, maybe Javi’s right. Maybe we should try.”

He’s cutting into your burger for you.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking it’s cooked all the way through. Did you hear me?”

“Heard you, Scott. We don’t have to. I promise you, I’m not gonna think any lesser of you if we just co-parent,” you shrug, bringing your plate back in front of you. “Seriously. You’re sticking around, two parents are better than one, we don’t need to make this more complicated.”

“You think dating’s complicated?”

“I think dating a man I don’t have much in common with just because I’m pregnant with his kid is complicated.”

“You don’t know that. We might have a lot in common,” he argues between bites of his own burger.

“Like?”

“Career driven people. We know Javi,” he offers. “Both hard-headed, organised people.”

“I’m not hard-headed.”

“I’m sure you believe that.”

String covers of pop songs play over the speakers as more customers file in, children with their parents, people obviously on dates.

“Am I even your type Scott?”

You lean back, arms crossed while he stares you down. You hate admitting it, but he looks good. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose strong forearms. Smells good too, something simple but earthy.

“I don’t have a type.”

“What was your last ex like?”

“Pretty woman,” he scoffs at the way you roll your eyes. “Smart. Sweet, not quite as mouthy as you. Didn’t argue with me all the time.”

“See. Not compatible,” you motion between the two of you, shifting slightly so you can put some space between you. He follows.

“I don’t mind a little argument every now and then. I’m a big boy,” he winks.

“Okay what’s my favourite colour then?”

“Jesus, how old are we? You ask this on dates?”

“No. But this isn’t a date so it doesn’t matter,” you clarify for him. “Guess my favourite colour though.”

“Fucking. Green or some shit, I don’t know I can’t tell. Your favourite colour doesn’t matter, you don’t even know mine,” he counters.

“I’m not the one trying to build a case for dating,” you say. “Look, let’s table this for much much later. Focus on dinner and getting through this first trimester.”

“Fine. But we’re gonna talk about it,” he says returning to his food.

He doesn’t bring up dating again, the two of you occupied with people watching and minor arguments about what the best cuisine is. You manage to rope Scott into a game — guess what strangers are ordering, loser buys the baby’s crib — and then try to unrope him when he has a three meal lead.

“You’re the worst kind of loser,” he observes.

“You have a head start on me, you come here all the time you probably know these people.”

He lets you call it a draw, baits you into more heated discussions as the night goes on, the dinner rush dies down and customers filter out.

“We’re about to close,” your waitress comes back. “Y’all want any drinks before we do?”

“Shit. Didn’t see the time, I think we’re good. Just the bill,” Scott replies.

You’re rummaging through your bag for your purse when Scott looks at you with a confused stare.

“The hell are you looking for?”

“My wallet.”

“It’s on me,” he shrugs, flipping his wallet open and pulling out his card just as you find yours.

“We’re splitting it. Otherwise you’ll think this was a date,” you say, smiling at the waitress as she makes her way back.

“Or you could let me buy you dinner because I wanna do something nice,” he throws back.

“Scott, you have a lifetime of being nice to me ahead of you. We’re splitting dinner.”

Your waitress cuts off any argument Scott might have, and he watches with a scowl as you tap your card to the reader for your half.

You half expect him to bring it up on the ride home but he just broods, jaw set and hands gripping the wheel tightly as he navigates the quiet streets back to your home.

“Thanks, for coming to tell Javi with me, you didn’t need to do that,” you mumble awkwardly as he parks.

“You sounded nervous when you asked. And I figure it’s good practice for when we have to tell everyone else,” he shrugs as as he walks you to your front door, his hand brushing against the small of your back as you walk up your front steps.

He lingers at your door, thumbs hooked awkwardly through the loops of his jeans.

“No chance you let me in tonight?”

“No. Because then it’s actually a date,” you explain, leaning back onto your door. Scott just leans in, too close for comfort but with nowhere else to go you face him head on.

“How is it a date if you made me split the bill?”

“Twenty-first century, asshole. I split with all my dates.”

You take the opportunity to unlock your door and cross over the threshold into safety when Scott stumbles back a little in confusion.

“Those aren’t dates. That’s grabbing dinner with a friend.” He’s in your space again, your head spinning with just how much of your door frame he’s taking up.

“If you’re fucking fifty. This is how I do it. It means I don’t owe anything at the end of the night,” you gesture pointedly to the space between you.

“Well duh, you don’t need to fuck someone because they fed you, but why does that mean you need to split the bill? ”

“It’s polite,” you counter, “lets someone know you’re not just using them for a free meal?”

“On the second date sure. Not on the first.” He’s actually in your house now, planted firmly on the welcome mat. “And besides, you don’t strike me as the type of woman who only fucks men who take her out for dinner. I’m here, you’re hot. May as well.”

There’s a traitorous part of your brain that concedes that he has a point. You didn’t need to be together, but it’s a slope that’s too slippery for you to even consider going down.

“No.” You press a firm hand to his chest and try to ignore the traitorous tug in your stomach when you feel the firm muscle, flash back to his skin under your palms while he ploughed into you. “If we start sleeping together it gets messy, Scott. Thank you for the ride, thank you for dinner. You need to go home.”

He mulls this over, then shrugs.

“Tight programme.”

His lips twitch.

“Don’t. Go home.”

“I’ll see you around. You have my personal.”

You exhale in relief, hand over hammering heart when he pulls out of your driveway. You could control this. You and Scott could be civilised, platonic co-parents who didn’t jump each other every time they were alone.

Except your body has other ideas.

All week all you can think about is Scott. His hand on the small of your back. His knee brushing against yours in the diner. The agitated set of his jaw when you’d quibbled with him over the bill. His hands on the steering wheel. His hands on you.

Every attempt to banish Scott from your mind is futile. It’s not easy when the man in question texts you almost daily. It’s mostly links with pregnancy diet plans, questions about how you’re doing, how you’re feeling.

All innocent things but there’s something about the way he cares that has you spiralling. The thought of cool, collected Scott clicking through forums and women’s health websites to find you resources makes you wonder what else he’ll do for you.

You work yourself up, debating the pros and cons of calling him up, asking him to come over just one more time before you guys really have to keep it clean.

PROS: good sex, good orgasm, no more unwanted flashbacks. CONS: Scott smiling, Scott being right, more flashback fodder for your increasingly primal brain.

You decide to phone a friend for this one.

“Sounds like you should call him,” your friend Lucy says. “You hooked up with a guy, he’s a bit of an asshole, but the sex was so good you let him fuck you again like a month later, and now you’re playing hard to get? Am I missing something?”

You debate telling her about the pregnancy, but decide against it.

“No,” you sigh. “I just don’t want him to win.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me, hold on.” You hear her car door slam shut, the sound of the wind muffled immediately. “You’re horny. All you can think about is this guy. But you won’t call him because — and let me just make sure I understand— you don’t want him to win. What the fuck are you talking about? Win what??”

“I don’t want him to know that he’s got me worked up.”

Or that he was right about the pregnancy making you feel feral.

“I’m not following.”

“He’s annoying. And fucking smug. And if I call him he’ll show up at my house with his stupid freckles and stupid dimples and fucking stupid gorgeous smile and dumb blue eyes smirking and being smug and calling me stubborn,” you explain. You can feel your eye twitching already imagining him darkening your doorstep with that ‘I told you so,’ smirk bright as day on his face.

“Okay he can’t be that bad. He’s Javi’s friend right? Javi wouldn’t keep an asshole around.”

“Javi’s business partner which is another reason I can’t call him.”

“The business partner thing didn’t stop you before so…” you can see her rolling her eyes.

“Okay it’s stopping me now. I can’t just give in. You don’t know how annoying he is. He has to be right all the time, and he’s always baiting me into arguments and do you know he called me an honorary lawyer? Code word for bitch by the way. There’s something wrong with him and I don’t want him in me anymore.”

“Sounds like you do want him in you though. Just my professional opinion. It also sounds like you met someone exactly like you and now you don’t know what to do.”

You try not to bristle at the tail end of her statement.

“You’re not helping.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Since getting on the phone with me, you’ve called him hot several times. You said, and I quote ‘Luce, you should see his arms, he’s so fucking hot it’s not fair he’s an asshole’ and now you want me to believe you care about the business partner thing? Just fuck him. As many times as you need to get it out of your system.”

“I should’ve called Cate.”

“Cate would’ve asked for his picture. And a number, which despite the way you’re talking I don’t think you’d wanna give to her.”

You sigh.

“Babe, look. Just get yourself off and see if you have the hots for him after. Maybe you’re just pent up and need like thirty minutes with a wand.”

“You’re right,” you sigh.

“I always am. And if that doesn’t work maybe you should call him.”

There’s a long pause before Lucy continues.

“It would also be great to see a picture of the guy. Just so I know exactly what you’re possibly missing out on by being so hard-headed.”

“Goodbye Lucy, drive safe,” you snort, hanging up on her mid protest.

You know Lucy’s right. Maybe you just need to get off and post-nut clarity will do the rest.

So later that night, when you’re done with reality TV and can no longer ignore the bottomless pit of need opening up in your stomach you do try.

You try everything. You rub at yourself while listening to your favourite audios, guaranteed orgasms on any other night, except they don’t do anything but leave you slick and needy and worse off than before. You try a finger, then two, then three and all it does is make you think of Scott — how filling you up isn’t a problem for him. You break out the rabbit and the only time you get close is when you imagine Scott’s voice in your ear, telling you how well you take him with his hands on the backs of your thighs while he has you folded practically in half beneath him as he ruts in you. Not even the wand helps, all it does is leave you sweaty and unsatisfied, always on the brink but never quite toppling over that satisfying threshold.

Frustrated, annoyed and no closer to an orgasm than you were when you started you lie on your bed. The sheets are damp beneath you and you try to ignore the dull throb of your clit.

Lucy’s words echo in your head and the idea crystallises. Before you can begin to tell yourself you’re wrong, you’re opening up your text conversation with Scott. Text was better. If he didn’t see it in the next fifteen minutes you could unsend it and go about your day. You deliberate. You type, delete and retype the perfect opener but everything you say reeks with the scent of a horny guy sending a desperate ‘you up?’ message.

You consider whether to call — it’s 1am and Scott currently strikes you as the type of guy who doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s sleeping — and the pull in your stomach when you think about Scott’s hands on you drive your thumb to the call button.

It rings, and rings, and rings and you’re about to hang up when he answers, a hollow yawn echoing through you speakers.

“‘Sup?”

He was asleep. You can hear it in his voice, deep and raspy and unfortunately doing nothing to solve your current dilemma.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you mumble, relieved to find you still have some shame left.

“I’m up now, so tell me what’s wrong.”

Static hums between the two of you as you mentally workshop the best way to say it.

“Still there?”

“Yeah. It’s… an uncomfortable request,” you start. When he says nothing you continue. “You know how your buddy with the pregnant girl said she was like… hornyallthetimeiguess.”

He chuckles and it sends a distinct shiver of irritability down your spine.

“Nothing’s worked for you huh,” he says. You hear the muffled sound of movement and you imagine him getting out of bed.

“How’d you know?”

“You’re way too stubborn to call me before trying to solve that particular issue yourself.”

You’re not stubborn but you’ll let him win this one. A small price to pay for what would probably be the most satisfying orgasm of your life.

“Okay, yeah. Nothing else has worked.”

You don’t mention the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him, or that when you close your eyes with your wand at the highest setting you’re hearing his voice, feeling the soft press of his hand on your stomach.

“So what’s that got to do with me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re horny, you can’t get yourself off. Where do I come in?”

You hear the soft click of a door shutting and you roll your eyes.

“Think you know very well where you come in,” you say to an irritating snicker over on his end. “You have to grow up. Before you get here, preferably.”

“Confident.”

“I can hear the echo of your parking garage.”

“Maybe I’m getting a snack. Seeing as I was woken up by an inconsiderate woman.”

You can picture his smirk, light pink lips drawn upwards slightly. The hint of a dimple.

“Scott. Please come over.”

“See how easy that was? I’ll see you in thirty.”

He’s there in twenty two.

“I hit every green,” he shrugs when you glare at him.

“I’m not a mathematician, but the odds of that happening seem low.”

“You wanna debate traffic light probability or let me fix your little problem?”

His eyes glint in the dim light of your kitchen, his voice low as he traps you against the counter. His hand traces a slow, dangerous path down your chest, pausing over your stomach as he just stares.

“Do you want water, maybe?”

The pathetic squeak breaks him out of his trance, and he chuckles.

“Not really. No.”

He nudges your thighs open with his knee, resting it between them as he slots his lips over yours, soft only for the second it takes you to relax into him before he’s groaning into you, tongue pressing against yours.

“Fucking stubborn.” He rocks into you and when he presses into your thigh you feel your stomach lurch. “Hard the whole way here,” he mumbles between kisses, teeth pulling at your bottom lip. “Could see you. Hand between your thighs desperate,” he mutters, “what else did you try?”

His lips are by your ear, teeth tugging at your earlobe while you try to make sense of what he’s saying.

“C’mon sweets, what else did you try?”

“Why’d you need to know?”

“I’ll only help if you tell me. You use a vibrator? How many fingers before you realised you needed me?”

His fingers press between your thighs, heavy and rough while his other hand tilts your chin up so you meet his eyes.

“Tell me, fuck. Tell me what you did. You think of me?”

You let out a traitorous whine and he swears under his breath.

“You did, didn’t you? You thought of me? Thought you didn’t wanna be messy.” He kisses into your neck, hand only leaving your face so he can give your breast a good squeeze.

You break away from him, dash to the other side of the counter so at least there’s something between you that isn’t alive and pulsing.

“Stop, stop. Wait,” you pant, arms out. “We need to be careful. This is delicate.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. Your head’s rushing as you take him in. Follow the hair on his chest, down down down to his happy trail, watching as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and kicks them off.

“Why would you drive here with no underwear on?”

“You called me because you were horny. I’m removing barriers to access,” he says, walking around so he can trap you against the counter again. “Your turn,” he smiles, wiggling your shirt off and letting out a low whistle as his eyes drag down your body.

“Tell me everything you did while thinking of me,” he reminds you with a soft nip at your throat.

You can feel him pulsing, leaking where he's pressed against you, rubbing slowly against you.

You don’t know whether it’s embarrassment or lust, but your tongue is heavy in your mouth as he drags his lips down your chest and takes a nipple in his mouth.

His fingers ghost over your clit and you jerk a little.

“Tell me, or I’ll stop.”

It’s like your mouth is running on a motor your brain doesn’t have the ability to shut down as you explain in long, arduous detail exactly what you’d imagined. He never stops groping at your breasts, biting at the flesh and groaning when you whimper out into the kitchen, fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders.

“So why’d it take you so long to call, hmm?” He finally asks when he comes back up. A finger presses into your entrance. “Why’d you gotta be so goddamn difficult?”

All you can do is whimper as he slides in, nice and slow, curling his finger into you slowly.

“You’re being a jerk,” you whimper into him, forehead resting on his shoulder while he adds a second finger.

“Just curious. Like pulling teeth with you.”

You’re arching into him, the sound of his fingers in you obscenely loud in the silence of the kitchen.

“Gonna call me next time right? Not as a last resort,” he tilts your chin up so you’re looking him in the eyes again. “Or do you like it this way? You like being desperate and sloppy before you call?”

In its worst act of treason yet, you feel your body shudder, your walls closing down tight around his fingers.

“Something not quite right with you,” he mutters, pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It’s messy, Scott matching desperation as he presses further into you. The edge of the counter digs into your lower back, and Scott’s pressed so firmly into you you can feel every pulse but it doesn’t stop the moan you let out into his mouth.

“Not enough,” you whine, bucking your hips into his fingers. Your breath catches when he bites gently into your shoulder, his hand palming roughly at your breast. “Scott, please,” you ask again. You can feel it building, properly this time but you know you need more. Need to feel him in you, every vein and ridge. You’re already dizzy at the thought of feeling yourself stretch around him, feeling the heavy pressure of his head as it pushes into that extra special spot within you.

“Okay. Okay,” he says, pulling his fingers out of you with an embarrassing squelch.

You watch in dazed confusion as he sits on your floor, head back against the cabinets as he grips the base of his cock.

“Tell me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

“You’re fucking joking, Scott. You’re here already. I’ve told you how bad I want it,” you whine, even as your knees bracket his hips and you lower yourself into his lap.

“Don’t be shy now. Weren’t so shy when you were waking me up for it.” Your eyes follow his hand as he pumps slowly, precum smearing along the shaft.

“You don’t have all night,” he reminds you, his other hand tightening on your hip, keeping you suspended right above him. “Go on say it. Say ‘please Scott’ say you’re sorry for being so hard-headed.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, squirming as he presses the tip into you, then pulls out.

“You are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have waited so fucking long. Just ask nicely for me sweetheart, I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

“You’re being an asshole. I’m pregnant, be nice to me.”

“This is me being nice. I got up the moment you called. Been paying real good attention to you since I got here. All I want is for you to ask me nicely.” He let’s go of himself to hold your jaw. “Say ‘please fuck me, Scotty. Sorry for being so stubborn’ easy peasy. Won’t even make you beg this time.”

It feels like you're begging and you almost regret calling him. But he’s right there. Right beneath you, aching just as badly as you are. Ready for you — and all you have to do is put your pride to the side.

Just this once.

“Please, Scotty,” you ask, grasping for him. “Please fuck me. I’m-” the words get caught in your throat but he encourages you with a smug raise of his eyebrow. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn.”

He’s not gentle, pushing up into you in one hard, satisfying thrust.

“Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell is your problem?”

It's meant to be stern, but between the breathy pitch of your voice and the way your head falls forward you know you haven't convinced him. He doesn’t even respond, no sharp quip or irritated huff, just the swift push and pull of his hips as he fucks into you, groaning in relief.

His fingers are still sticky with you as he presses them into the crease of your hips to keep you moving. Anything he does have to say is muffled when he presses his face into your chest sucking harshly at the tender flesh.

“Careful, please,”you whimper, hands on his shoulder trying to steady yourself. He nods, but he doesn’t move his head, keeps you moving firmly along his length as the sound of his skin meeting yours rings out in the silence.

“Been waiting… been waiting all week,” he finally says when he pulls his mouth off your tits, “all week for you to call. Nearly called myself,” he admits, hands squeezing your ass. “Never imagined you’d call me because you were just dying for it,” he laughs. His eyes are dark, sweat forming along his hairline.

“Not dying,” you eke out, but you know your words mean nothing when you’re so tight around him and your body is almost tingling with the need for relief.

“Feels like you are. Just so fucking, warm and wet and-” his head drops to your chest again, teeth coming down gently around your nipple. Your fingers press into his shoulder a little harder.

“See? So fucking easy. Can feel how much you like this, can’t hide from me no matter how long you pretend.”

You’re close again, but Scott’s so lost in teasing at your nipples gently that you have to slip your hand between your bodies and take care of your neglected clit yourself.

It’s pitiful really, the way you grip and pulse as you feel his tongue on your boobs but you can’t bring yourself to care that much anymore.

“There you go you’ve got it,” he encourages, “go on make yourself cum for me.”

He’s pressing sloppy kisses along your jaw, almost tender enough to distract from the fullness you feel.

“Fuck, you’re nearly there can feel it. You need me to help with that too? Can’t do it without me?”

You don’t need to look at him to see the smirk plastered across his face, and much to your dismay the cocky lilt of his voice is what gets you over, your eyes shut tight as you bury your face into the crook of his shoulder.

Blinding relief is what you feel as he helps you ride him through it, but even when you're done he doesn’t stop pressing up into you as your nerves fray from the stimulation.

“Scott, hold on,” you choke out, desperately reaching for his hands.

“Fuck, you think you’re the only one who needs to cum? Isn’t this supposed to be mutual? Or am I just dick on demand to you?”

You’re shaking your head, trying to clear the settling haze as he just keeps going.

“Is that it? Can’t let me buy you dinner but want me to haul ass to give this pretty pussy relief?”

“Scott-”

“You’re gonna let me finish right sweets? Gonna let me pump you full right here on your fucking floor?”

You nod.

“Atta girl,” he kisses into the side of your head. There’s a temporary moment of relief as he pulls out of you, but it’s short lived when he puts you on all fours and presses your cheek to the cold tile floor.

“Atta girl, just take it for me, okay,” he coaxes as he presses into you again. “Just so easy, shit, fucking gushing here.” He’s relentless, squeezing and groping at your ass as he slides you along his cock like it’s nothing to him. “There we go, just like that, that feel good to you?”

You’re nodding as much as you can with your cheek against the floor, tightening at the pressure and the feeling of his thighs on yours.

“Look at you. Little miss ‘let’s not complicate it’ leaking all over her kitchen floor,” he gives your ass a light tap, hips faltering just that little bit when you squeeze around him. He does it again, slightly harder, the echo of it shifting something in your chest. “Doesn’t feel complicated to me, though. Feels pretty simple.” He leans forward, lips pressed to the back of your neck as his hand reaches down to rest on yours stomach.

“Scott,” you whisper, desperately trying to speed him along, but he doesn’t react just hums into the sweat soaked skin at the nape of your skin.

“Baby in there. That we made,” he finally speaks, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass again. “Fuck you’re gonna be so pretty. You gonna let me take care of you when your tummy’s all round right? Just like this, right?”

You mumble something, jaw slack as he keeps kissing into your back.

“Oh god, can’t wait to feel you when you’re all full,” he chokes out, pace growing sloppy,”and these,” he practically whines as he grabs your breast again, squeezing harder. “Gonna be so full, won’t know what to do with them,” he trails off, inaudible as he presses himself into you one last time, twitching with a strangled moan.

He pulls out slowly, collapsing in a heap on the floor next to you, arms open in invitation.

“There’s something wrong with you,” you pant when your head is no longer pure static.

“Me? You’re the one who called me at 1am because you were struggling to get off.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

“I’m growing an entire child. That you put in here, by the way. I’ll milk this ‘til the day I push it out,” you snort. “Besides if you can’t handle this how are you gonna handle being my delivery guy when all I want is the worst pizza invented. Or when I tell you to come over because I have excruciating back pain.”

You rest your head on his chest.

“I’m not driving thirty minutes to give you back rubs.”

“You are. Whenever I want,” you command through a yawn. “And sex. Any time,” you tack on as a joke.

“Food, back rubs, sex. I might as well just move in.”

“Funny. No.”

“I’m serious,” he rolls over to put a hand on your stomach. “Can take care of you better if I’m here with you.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, Scott.”

“I know, just extra hands. Keep you happy while she grows in there.”

“Could be a boy, maybe.”

“Mmm. But I want a girl. Little girl would be nice.”

You snort. It never occurred to you that he might have a preference.

“I’m serious though, about moving in.”

“We’ll talk later. I’m crusting up over here. And sleepy.”

“Guess I need to go?”

You sigh.

“You can stay. It’s late anyway,” you sigh, patting his hand.

“Not so strict after a good fucking right?”

“I will kick you out, don’t irritate me.”

“I live to irritate you though,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up. Mop the fucking floor. We’ll talk about my move in date later.”

You’re woken up by the sound of insistent knocking on your door, punctuated by the occasional doorbell ring.

You hadn’t made plans today, and you had a clear “no solicitation” sign on the wall next to the door. You're irate, shuffling to the door with half a mind to curse out whoever’s on the other side when you hear Lacey’s voice.

“Maybe she’s having a big sleep. Mommy likes big sleeps.”

She stretches the word ‘big’ until she’s out of breath each time.

He’s brought her home early, and without warning too, prompting your brain into helicopter parent overdrive.

You fling the door open, expecting to see a tearful Lacey on the other side. Instead you’re greeted by an overall happy sight.

Scott holding her with one arm, a bouquet of bright flowers clutched tight in her hands.

“Hi mommy! Are you finished your big sleep?”

“I am now,” you grumble, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry. We should've called first but she was just so excited,” Scott says, giving her a quick squeeze. “You wanted to say something to your mommy in person didn’t you?”

As if she’s finally remembered that there’s a reason she’s here, she thrusts the bouquet at you.

“Happy mother’s day, mommy. I have presents but daddy said later,” she reports.

“Thank you sweetpea. These are so pretty.” You step aside to let them in, and the first thing she does when Scott puts her down is hug your legs before she jets off into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call first. If it makes you feel any better she pretty much woke me up before the sun had a chance to rise.”

“It makes me feel so much better,” you smile, turning so his kiss lands on your cheek instead. You tilt your head in Lacey’s direction and laugh when he sighs.

“It’s mother’s day. She won’t be confused by us kissing.”

He leans in again, just to be met by the soft press of the bouquet against his chest. Begrudgingly, he takes it from you.

“We’ll handle breakfast. You can get back into bed.”

“I can help.”

“No can do. Lady in charge has been insisting we make you breakfast in bed,” he explains with a firm hand on your lower back. “I’ve learned it’s best to listen to her.”

You get back into bed, scrolling through your Instagram feed. The mother’s day posts are beginning to stream in — people writing paragraphs of appreciation for their mothers, or even showing off the gifts that their own kids have given them.

There’s the usual conversation happening; reminders to be sensitive to those who may have lost their mothers, or alternatively had mothers who did more harm than good. You lock your phone after sending your mother her own Mother’s Day message — and double checking that your sister remembered to send the flowers and joint sibling gift to her.

From the kitchen you can hear Scott and Lacey. It’s mostly Lacey telling Scott how she wants him to cook and Scott reminding her to be careful at the top of her step stool.

You can imagine him right now, slightly hunched over the stove while Lacey stirs batter to the best of her abilities. The way he just slots perfectly into domestic life almost troubles you, but you pack the feeling away. As long as you guys co-parented alright there was no need to interrogate it.

There’s a stretch of silence, then hushed whispers as you hear them padding down the hall.

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face when you hear the soft echo of Lacey’s knuckles against the door.

“For privacy,” she says to Scott.

You laugh. “Come in.”

She beelines straight for the bed with your card in hand while Scott trails behind her with breakfast. She doesn’t hesitate to hoist herself into your bed, the card crumpling slightly in her hand.

“I made it for you,” she beams proudly as she hands it to you. “I wrote really tidy,” she says. There’s a big red heart drawn on the front, carefully coloured in with a bright red marker.

On the inside of the cover, the words Happy Mother’s Day! are written in careful purple crayon, the dot of the exclamation mark turned into a wobbly smiley face.

You are so nice to me, and I like when you always hug me and call me sweetpea. You are the coolest mom! is written underneath, and you can see the smudges from where she’s erased letters that didn’t meet her standards. You imagine her glancing back and forth between the sentence her teacher had written for her to copy and you smile.

“Wow, you are so good at writing. You must have focused so hard, sweet pea.”

She giggles as she nods. “I took really long. To make it the best,” she explains, beaming with pride. She still looks at you very insistently, so you turn your face to the other page.

It’s a picture, printed and stuck onto the empty page then framed with Batman stickers. You’ve never seen it before, of you in the delivery room with Lacey on your chest. You’re surprised you didn’t notice the picture being taken, but most of her labour is an out-of-focus blur.

Beneath the picture she’s written I love you with a small smiley face.

She’s so small in the picture. You find it hard to reconcile that the same little bundle on your chest in that picture was sat in your bed right now, her cheek pressed against your arm as she tells you about how she used all her favourite stickers for this one.

“Thank you honey, I’ll put it on my desk at work so everyone can see,” you say with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have another present from me and daddy,” she says, pointing to the mug on the tray. “Look, look, look,” she says, patting your arm excitedly.

Scott laughs as he lowers the tray onto your lap. “What did we say about patience, sweet pea?”

“But it’s hard. I want her to see it now,” she pouts.

You let your eyes flit over the meticulously arranged food and your stomach starts growling which sends Lacey into a fit of giggles. You can still feel her gaze on you so you pick up the mug.

“A new mug, oh thank you sweetie,” you coo.

“Mommy you have to turn it. There’s a picture!”

Of course there is. You facepalm mentally as you turn it in your hands.

On the other side is a picture of you and Lacey at the pool, your face scrunched up as you try to avoid the jet of water she squeezes out of a toy. It’s ridiculous, but the look of pure glee on her face as she splashes you makes up for it.

“Awww thank you sweetheart.” You kiss the top of her head.

“And daddy too,” she reminds you. “Daddy helped.”

“Thank you Scott.”

“How come you don’t give daddy a thank you kiss on the head like me?”

You let out a short laugh.

“I don’t think daddy wants one,” you say as you take a sip of your tea.

“I wouldn’t mind one.”

You cough as you swallow, nose stinging.

Scott’s not joking, his eyebrow lifted as Lacey continues to plead his case.

“Should I close my eyes? Daddy said grown ups aren’t allowed to kiss in front of children.”

She already has her eyes screwed tight.

“It’s okay sweetpea, you can open them. I’m just kissing him on the forehead,” you laugh. You don’t ask how the topic came up, just file it away for further discussion.

“Daddy lied?” she questions with a tilt of her head.

“No,” you laugh. “Grown ups can’t kiss on the lips in front of kids, but they can kiss on the forehead.”

You motion for Scott to bend down, and you press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you, Scott.”

“Anything to see you smile today,” he says.

There’s a brief moment where you think you feel your heart do a flip, but you’re shaken out of it when you feel Lacey tapping at you.

“Yeah sweetpea,” you ask, happy to have something else to focus on.

“Can I have some of your pancakes? They look tasty,” she says, fingers already reaching for your fork. At least she’d grown out of just digging her fingers into your food.

“Lacey, those are for mommy,” Scott starts, but he stops as he watches you cut off a small chunk for her.

“It’s okay. I’d be worried if she didn’t ask,” you laugh.

She eats with you as Scott gets onto the bed next to you, brainstorming possible ideas for the rest the day.

“Daddy said we can do anything today. Like watch Frozen all day. But only if you want to. Or go to the park on the swings… fun stuff like that. Or painting, daddy said we can also do painting,” she suggests.

“Oh wow. Daddy said we can watch Frozen?”

“Or fun stuff like that,” she clarifies with a mischievous grin.

“How about you let your mother pick her own activity,” Scott pipes up.

“I am. I was just saying some choices. So she can pick one,” she says.

“Or make up one of her own.”

Lacey mumbles her begrudging assent as you cut into the last of your pancakes.

“How about we spend the day watching Frozen and then get dinner,” you say.

“Pizza?”

“With dessert.”

That seems to satisfy her, and she’s rolling out of bed to go set up her plushies for the movies.

“You know we can pick something else right? Maybe a different movie. A new one, even.”

“Because I like it when she makes you sing with her. Brings me peace you will never fully understand.”

“Evil woman,” he sighs, relieving you of the tray on your lap. “Should’ve got you flowers and called it a day.”

You scoff at the idea.

“I’d tell your mom to talk to you.”

“You and my mother are closer than I’d like. It’s weird.”

“She’s Lacey’s grandma,” you explain. “And she’s cool. Not sure how you turned out this way.”

His eye twitches. “It’s your day, so I’ll play nice,” he says, even as he looks at you like he’d rather do anything but.

“Mommy, Frozen’s ready,” you hear Lacey yell.

You’re out of bed almost immediately.

"He's so hot," you sigh dreamily as you watch an ad for the new Superman. The AC in the motel is cranked all the way up but it does nothing to get rid of the sticky humidity clinging to your skin. Your eyes are glued to the TV watching as David Corenswet's Clark Kent navigates a crowd, towering head and shoulders above everyone else.

You toy with the collar of Scott's shirt, the linen of the bed scratching uncomfortably at your bare thighs.

You're lying on your stomach, head stacked on your arms. Scott sits next to you on the bed in nothing but his underwear as he pores through documents.

The exact thing he's been doing since the two of you came in from the storm two hours ago.

Scott just raises an eyebrow in response, rolling a piece of gum around his mouth as he rifles through the pages.

"He's only hot because he's playing Superman," he says some time later.

"What?"

"The guy. He's only hot because he's playing Superman. The suit makes people hot," he shrugs. His laptop is on the bedside table, but it's still on.

You roll onto your side and scoff. "Really?"

"Seriously. You could put that freak show Tyler Owens in the Superman suit and I bet you'd fucking swoon."

You tamp down the urge to remind Scott that no one considered Tyler a freak show but him, and you weren't even sure he believed it.

"Okay, so explain how he's hot as Clark Kent?"

"The knowledge that he's Superman makes him hot," Scott shrugs like it's the most logical answer in the world.

"Okay what about in Pearl?"

"I didn't watch that movie," he slings back.

"Yes you did. We watched it together at yours like, three months ago."

"You cannot call what we did 'watching a movie'," he smirks, hand resting on your calf.

"I literally showed him to you. Called him 'the sexy projectionist'?"

He scowls.

"I'm sorry, Scotty. The guy's just so fucking hot." You feel his grip on your calf tighten, but you keep going. "I mean, the shoulders, the eyes, his smile... the fucking dimples?"

You giggle as you think of the interview clips you've seen.

"And he's such a fucking nerd it's so endearing. It makes him like ten times hotter than most guys."

"Guess he's the hottest fucking man on the planet then," Scott mumbles.

"God forbid I think a complete hunk is hot," you deadpan, trying your best to focus on the TV.

"Complete hunk. Jesus," he laughs.

You're met by silence when you ask him what's hilarious, and you turn to find him working again, binder balanced on his thighs. You shrug and give your undivided attention to the eccentric cast of people on your screen.

You get about thirty minutes through the episode when you feel him shift.

"Done already?"

"You're in my bed in nothing but my t-shirt. It's distracting."

You sit up.

He follows, leaning into you until you're lying on your back.

"Scott. I was trying to get up,"you laugh. You don't try push him off, don't want to push him off, but you're not quite sure what else to say.

"I'm sure you were."

He rolls over and pulls you into his lap.

"There. You're up."

He's grinning at you but his eyes are dark in a way that sends a sliver of something sinful down your spine.

"C'mon just a little bit," he whispers, pushing your shirt up.

"Standard definition of 'a little bit', or yours?"

"Hilarious." He kisses your hand as he sits up, keeping you balanced in his lap. "Hilarious with nice tits," he adds as his hands find their way under your breasts, pawing at them while he watches you.

"You didn't care about these great tits three hours ago," you say with a laugh, but you raise your arms and let him wiggle your shirt off.

"I care now," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to one, and then the other. "I really care now."

You can feel him stirring beneath you, and you pulse a little at the thought of him. He presses his lips to yours in a possessive kiss, hand cradling your face as his tongue slides over yours.

He rolls you over again, hips pressing against yours as he leans down to kiss you again. He only pulls away to pull his boxers and underwear off.

The sight of him is imposing, no matter how many times you've seen it before — or Scott has shown you that he can always make it fit.

He's semi-hard, long and thick, fat tip leaking pre as he palms himself while he nudges himself between your legs.

"Drool much?" he drones, smirking down at you.

"Grow up," you roll your eyes, as you reach for him. He stops you with a firm hand on your wrist.

"Let me warm you up properly," he says. "Can't have you tapping out on me before I'm done."

He's got his tongue tracing along your collar bone before you can respond to him, and it stokes a flame in the pits of your stomach. He's got his hips pressed against yours, his cock heavy and throbbing as it lays sandwiched between your bodies.

The sound of arguing families is inaudible as the springs on the bed creak with the slow motion of Scott's hips.

"So fucking hot," he whispers, as he traces his tongue along the shell of your ear, still dragging his hardening length along your pussy. His tip catches on your clit, fanning the flame in your core as he presses a kiss into the side of your head.

His arm presses into the mattress next to you while he uses his other hand to grope at your breast.

He moves back to your throat, sucking harshly at the skin.

"Scotty, shit."

"It's fine. You have a turtleneck, don't you?"

"Who wears turtlenecks in spring?"

"You will, tomorrow," he says as he moves on to a different spot on your throat. His tip slides against your lower abdomen, sticky with pre as he keeps moving. He kisses you again, swallowing your whimpers every time he presses against your clit, tight and aching.

"Stop fucking around," you snap.

He doesn't answer, just presses kisses to your chest before sucking at the flesh of your breast.

"Fuck. These are so perfect. My favourite," he groans as he presses his nose into the flesh. He gropes and sucks and bites at them — his hips still pinning you beneath him — until you're dripping.

It's embarrassing, really, how easily Scott glides through your lips, now glistening around him. You're pulsing, and you know he feels it — know he wants it just as bad because he's throbbing and he nips at the skin of your breasts a little harder than normal — but he still won't do anything.

His kisses feel torturous as he works his way all over your body then back to your face.

"So fucking needy," Scott mumbles into your neck as he glides his tip through your puffy lips. You're lifting your hips, anything to get him to slide into you, but he just pushes your hips down firmly into the mattress.

"Always so greedy for me," he says as he finally nudges his tip past your entrance.

He rocks his hips gently.

"Scott please," you whine, trying to break free. You're pulsing around him, dizzy with the weight of him, the sheer pressure.

"What's the rush gorgeous?"

He nudges himself in another inch.

"Scotty," you whimper.

"God you're fucking soaked," he murmurs, brow furrowed as he watches the way you stretch around him.

"You want more?" he asks. "You think you're ready for more?"

You're not a moment into answering when he slams all the way into you, pushing a loud moan out of you.

"Shhh," he smirks, even as he presses further into you. "Gotta be quiet. Be fucking professional. You think you can do that?"

Your stomach twists at the patronising tone of his voice but you nod, desperate.

"Good girl," he whispers into your shoulder as he rocks into you again.

He's brutal from the start, so fast and so hard you can feel the bed move beneath you, hear the loud creaking of the springs as he fucks you.

He gasps into the crook of your neck, stringing together unintelligible phrases as his teeth scrape over your shoulder. His chest is pressed to yours and he's all you're aware of as the heat of your desire rages uncontrolled.

"Fuck, you hear that? Hear how easy she takes it?" Scott presses his forehead to yours. Sweat has flattened his hair to his forehead but he doesn't look tired, just determined. "All that for me?"

"Who fucking else," you choke out as he gets at that spot that makes you curl your toes into the sheets.

"Thought maybe you were still gushing over David fucking Corenswet," he mutters.

The possessive ire in his voice tips you over the edge, sends you pulsing and clenching around him as your first orgasm rips through you.

He stops long enough to flip you onto your stomach and hike your hips up so he can bully his way back into you.

"Jesus, Scott," you half-yell, still trembling with the after shocks.

"Thought maybe you were dreaming about David Corenswet's fucking dimples."

His fingers press into the globes of your ass so hard it hurts as he slides you along his length. The headboard thuds against the wall and you have to brace yourself on your arms.

He presses his forearm across your shoulder blades, leans down until your sandwiched between him and the bed.

He's all you can feel as he pistons into you, fast and hard. The sound of his skin meeting yours echoes through the room, an obscene harmony to the sound of the headboard against the wall.

He's relentless, his arm keeping you pinned down as he uses you.

"How's that for fucking hot," he mutters.

None of the sentences you come up with in your brain come out coherent.

"Not so fucking mouthy now," he taunts. "Good dick shuts you up, doesn't it."

You're nodding, moans muffled by the mattress.

Your thighs hurt from being spread so wide, and your breathless and dizzy as he twitches inside of you, erratic and close.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He's reaching round for your clit, his breath warm over your ear. "He can't fuck you stupid like this," he grunts and you cry out, choking on his name as he rubs at your clit.

"Oh fuck," he breathes into your shoulder. "She might keep me in her forever," he smiles into you. "Maybe I should be. Keep you full and stupid so you can't gush over him anymore."

His possessiveness is ridiculous and you hate that it turns you on so much.

"Won't anymore Scotty. Not hotter than you," you finally choke out. "Not hotter than you. Hottest guy I know," you grit out, nerves frayed with sensitivity.

You feel the erratic stuttering of his hips, and the the sharp fleeting pain of his teeth in your shoulder. You're twitching beneath him, gushing down your thighs and his as he spills into you with a low groan.

"Holy shit," you finally say when you catch your breath. "You're the most jealous guy I know."

He pulls out of you with a pained hiss before landing two soft taps on your ass cheek.

"Gotta remind you who's boss every now and then."

"Complete fucking loser," you mutter under your breath, yelping when he bites your ass gently in retaliation.

You smile as you watch him pull his briefs back on.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just go get me a towel. And a snack. Fucking starving."

Scott Miller wears many hats: Scott Miller the Meteorologist, Scott Miller the Asshole, Scott Miller the Founder, and his favourite — Scott Miller the Father.

Scott Miller the Father gets dressed in a generic fantasy king outfit and shows up to his co-parent’s house with a smile on his face and neatly wrapped gift for his daughter, Lacey.

Scott Miller the Father follows your careful instructions for getting the house ready to accommodate fifteen children and their parents — from packing goodie bags to decorations to setting up party games in the backyard.

Scott Miller the Father sets up the grill and listens as his daughter follows him around, tiara perched on her head while she rambles about her excitement, talking about all the fun she’ll have with her friends who are coming. She shows him the sparkly bits of her dress and twirls so he can see how it fans out around her.

“Mommy even did my makeup like hers, see,” she points out, closing her eyes so that Scott can see the pink and purple eyeshadow blended over her lids, shimmering slightly in the light.

“How pretty,” Scott smiles when she opens her eyes again. “You really are the most beautiful princess ever, aren’t you?”

Scott’s heart definitely skips a beat when she giggles shyly at his compliment.

And then her eyes light up, the tell-tale sign that an idea had lodged itself in her little brain.

This is how Scott finds himself wedged in an uncomfortable plastic kiddie chair, knees up to his chest when she decides she wants all of them to match makeup — to show everyone they’re a family. She’s opted to do it herself, foregoing makeup brushes in favour of smearing bright glittery pigment across his lids while humming to herself, hand pressed into his thigh as she leans up on her tiptoes so she can reach his face. She looks at you, then her reflection in the mirror, then back to Scott.

“Like this mommy? Is this good?”

“Oh it’s perfect, you’re doing very well sweetheart,” you respond. “Wipe your fingers off before you pick a new colour,” you remind her as you watch her fingers beeline for a bright blue in the eyeshadow palette.

You see the corner of Scott’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits patiently, eyes closed as she pats and smears, occasionally wiping away the excess. When Scott’s eyelids are sufficiently glittery, and his cheeks are blushy enough she finishes off with a healthy swipe of lip gloss across his lips: sparkly, pink and bubblegum flavoured.

“Do you like it Daddy?” she asks, holding the mirror up to his face.

Scott doesn’t miss a beat.

“Of course I do, it’s so colourful!”

She cheers, applauding quickly. “I can’t wait for all my friends at the party to see it.”

Sensing his hesitation, her smile falls slightly.

“Are you gonna take it off Daddy?”

You can already tell by the slight wobble in her lip that Scott’s going to cave and you’re not surprised when he responds: “Of course not, princess. I can’t wait for everyone to see it,” with a slightly forced smile as he heaves himself out of the kiddie chair. He lifts her up, twirling around with her while she giggles and claps.

You watch them dance through the living room as you wait for the first of the guests to arrive, taking stock of the decorated room. It had only taken an entire night of blowing up balloons and wrangling them into arches, but Lacey’s kingdom is perfect. Bright and fantastic and everything she asked for.

The first guest to arrive is Lacey’s best friend Shelley, a sweet shy girl who Lacey had latched onto on her very first day in daycare and hadn’t left alone since. Her parents drop her off, offer an apology for not being able to stay, while her older brother yells for them to hurry up or he’ll miss his soccer game.

“Be glad you just have the one,” her father says while the girls beeline to Lacey’s room to play with her toys. “Just not enough hours in the day to manage them,” he sighs as he hands you her gift. You guys see him off, arms crossed as you watch him peel out of the driveway.

“Christ, I do not look forward to her teenage years,” you laugh as you bump the door closed. The muffled sounds of the girls playing drift down the hallway as you and Scott make the most of your final half-hour of peace before the rest of the guests are supposed to arrive.

You watch Scott’s hands twitch as he brings them to his face, then slowly lower them as he remembers his predicament.

“Jesus, I don’t know how you guys walk around with this shit on your face all the time. My lips are so sticky,” he complains.

“You do also have like five times the normal amount of makeup on your face,” you laugh. “Do you want me to fix it? Take a little of the lip gloss off at least.”

You already have your thumb on his bottom lip, pressing gently as you swipe when he wraps a gentle hand around your wrist.

“It’s fine. It’s just a day,” he shrugs. “Most of it’s probably going to come off on whatever I eat anyway.”

You leave it alone, the two of you opting to go through the plan for the day again: timing for games, cake, and making sure one of you is always available to watch kids on the trampoline. There’s a pit in your stomach as you think about the logistics of managing that many children and parents who would be more concerned with socialising than keeping an eye on their kids, but you’re not left with much time to keep thinking about it when you hear a decisive knock on the door, Javi, Kate and Tyler’s muffled voices floating through to you.

“Lacey, come say hi to uncle Javi,” Scott yells while you let them in.

You hear the sound of Lacey urging Shelley to come with her, and then the soft patter of feet down the hallway until Lacey appears in the living room with Shelley’s hand in hers.

“Hi Uncle Javi! Shelley this is my mommy’s friend Uncle Javi, but he’s also my daddy’s boss I think.”

Shelley gives Javi a shy wave, nodding as Lacey moves on.

“And then this is his friend Aunt Kate, but my mommy also has a friend called Aunt Cate so I have two Kates not just one Kate and then this is her boyfriend.” The two girls giggle at the word boyfriend as Lacey gestures to Tyler. “His name is Uncle Tyler and he has a big big big truck and he drives it really fast and it’s always dirty outside. Shelley likes big trucks,” Lacey explains as Shelley nods feverishly besides her.

“Did you bring it Mr Tyler?” Shelley asks, hands clasped and eyes wide.

“Sorry girls. I left her back at home. ‘Sides, not sure your dad would let you guys anywhere near it.”

The girls immediately lose interest, turning back to Javi.

“Uncle Javi why do you have a silly hat?”

Both girls tilt their heads, regarding his jester’s hat with curiosity. The bells jingle as he tilts his head this way and that.

“I’m a jester,” he says.

“What’s a jester?” Shelley asks, brows furrowed.

“It’s like… a clown? I’m here to make the princess laugh and make sure she’s having fun today,” he explains.

They both light up almost immediately, Lacey’s hand immediately slipping into Javi’s.

“Come play Transformers with us Uncle Javi, but you can’t be Bumblebee because that’s Shelley’s favourite and I’m Optimus Prime already so you have to be Megatron.”

“Lacey, you have to ask Uncle Javi if he wants to play Transformers,” Scott sighs, even as Javi leans down to pick her up.

“But why? He said his job is to make sure the princess has fun.”

A bell on Javi’s hat jingles as she flicks it.

“Because he’s a grown up jester, and he might wanna sit with the grown ups,” you offer.

“Why? Grown ups don’t even play.”

The scowl on her face is enough to draw laughs from the adults, and the lines between her brows just deepen as her and Shelley shrug at each other.

“How about this,” Javi starts, gently lowering Lacey to the ground. “You guys go get your Transformers and we can play out here. Then I can play and hang out with the grown ups.”

The girls are off without a second thought, skipping away hand-in-hand.

“You need to stop spoiling her,” Scott says as he watches them disappear down the hallway.

“You have no room to talk looking like that,” Javi snorts.

“There something wrong with the way I look?”

Scott’s arms are crossed, perfectly glossed lips pressed together in a thin line as he scowls at Javi.

“Not wrong, per se. Just very…” Javi trails off, looking over at Kate and Scott who are suddenly very interested in the balloon arches around the living room.

“Artistic. My daughter had an artistic vision, and as her father it’s my job to encourage it and providde her with good creative outlets.”

“Artistic vision? Creative outlets? Being a dad really does wonders,” Kate laughs, placing Lacey’s gift in the designated gift corner.

Scott just rolls his eyes, then bites his tongue when you shoot him a withering look.

“It’s cute. You have a heart,” Kate continues, a mischievous smirk on her face.

“I don’t know why we invited them,” Scott mumbles. “They’re not even my friends.”

“Lighten up Scotty, glitter and blush don’t go well with a frown,” you laugh, elbowing him gently.

He clicks his tongue, then excuses himself to answer the door when he hears the doorbell ring. You steel yourself, preparing for the sheer levels of energy that you’re going to be responsible for as the rest of the day goes by, and then smile when you hear Scott explaining, once again, that his makeup is a Lacey Original Artwork.