The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,60
one thing to be played for a fool by a six-year-old, but it’s another to let it happen repeatedly. “Put Flora on the phone.”
“I can’t remember the lyrics to Deep Purple. Will you sing it for me?”
“Deep Purple?” I ask, leaning back against the hallway wall. “I haven’t played that for you yet. You been going through my music?” I don’t wait for her answer, since I know what it’ll be. She loves to steal my phone at the shop and play with it. Instead of downloading games like regular kids, she explores my music. Quickly, I rattle off a verse of “Hush” and a string of nah-nahs. “That’s enough,” I say. “I’ll sing the rest when I get home.”
“Okay. Here’s Flora.”
Flora’s barely on the line when I say, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” She lowers her voice. “But she needs boundaries, Andrew. You can’t come running every time she cries.”
“I know.” I take one last smoke, even though I feel a little sick. “I should come back anyway. I’ll be home in about an hour.”
She sighs. “If you think that’s best.”
“See you soon.” I end the call, turn around, and freeze when I see Amelia in the doorway.
“I smelled the smoke,” she says.
“Yeah.” I hold it up. “I’m done with it.”
She takes it from me. “You have a nice singing voice.”
“You heard. Of course you did. You probably also heard Bell’s tantrum all the way from Jersey.” I scratch under my jaw. “She has me by the fucking balls, that kid.”
Amelia takes a drag. “You’re leaving?”
I remove the cigarette from her hand, drop it, and step on it before stepping into her. She looks even more delicious with a smear of raspberry sauce on her cheek. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a sloppy eater?”
“Well, it has worked in my favor in the past . . .”
“You did it on purpose,” I say, impressed. “You want a kiss.”
“I want to be tasted.”
She doesn’t have to ask twice. I lean down to suck the sweetness off her face, then shift an inch to her lips. She feels good. Warm. I don’t want to go. I don’t need to spend the night here, but I do think I’ve earned a few hours of not being Dad of the Year. Haven’t I? After what everyone’s been trying to tell me about my relationship with Bell, I’m beginning to question the kind of parent I’ve been.
Amelia pulls back first, looking me in the eye. “You’re not here with me.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t. I can tell.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “But I’d like you to be. Can’t you stay a little longer? I promise to get you back before the sun comes up.”
I frown. It isn’t like Amelia to ask for more. If I could articulate the past seven years in a few sentences to get to her understand, I would. “I’m sorry. I wish I could.”
With a simple tick of her eyebrow, I can tell she doesn’t like my answer. She steps back. Her red dress is scorching, tight in the all the right places, but still covered enough to make my imagination work. It would take an idiot to walk away from her. But that’s what Bell has turned me in to—an idiot. And hard as I try, as good as Amelia looks, I can’t get Bell’s choking sobs out my ears. “Bell . . . she has a hard time,” I explain. “When her mom left—”
“It’s not really my business.” Amelia turns, walks back into the room, and doesn’t bother holding the door for me.
I catch it right before it slams. “Are you mad?” I ask.
“If you remember, I didn’t want to come back up here,” she says, removing an earring and setting it on the nightstand. “I didn’t want to be blindfolded. I didn’t even want a second night. But you were persistent. You promised it’d be worth it. Now you’re leaving?”
My instinct is to defend myself with my normal response—Bell’s my daughter and she comes first. But Amelia’s right: it isn’t her business. Amelia and I aren’t about anything outside this room. “I didn’t anticipate this,” I say. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
I can’t think too hard about the naughty ways I’d like to get back on her good side, or I won’t be able to walk out the door. “I just need to figure out what to do with Bell. Then I’ll come back to the city, any night you want.”