up and lets his shoulders slump.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says gruffly.
“I shouldn’t help you relax before the social worker gets here? Because angry bull in a china shop is exactly the attitude you want her to see, right?”
“They have a picture of you in the ER from your shrimp reaction too.”
“Like anyone in the world hasn’t seen me in a bad picture. Please. I own the hell out of the shitty photos. They’re my gift to the people in the world who are having a craptastic day.”
He doesn’t reply.
Possibly because I’m digging my thumbs into a huge ball of tension behind his right shoulder blade.
“I’m calling and making you an appointment with Tiny as soon as you concede that I’m right and everything is going to be fine,” I inform him.
“Tiny?”
“My massage therapist. She’s six feet of pure magic when it comes to working out kinks.”
“I’m not using your massage therapist.”
“Shh. Trust me. It’ll change your life.”
“My life’s changed enough lately. And those pictures of you in the ER are going to be used to call into question how sober you were and if you put Remy in danger.”
“Westley. Quit being more difficult than you have to be. The ER drew blood. I can prove it was an allergic reaction, which could happen to any parent.” Oh, god. It could, couldn’t it? Will we lose Remy because I’m allergic to shellfish?
Wait. No. That doesn’t make sense. If being allergic disqualified you as a parent, then my mom couldn’t be a parent either.
Except her allergy developed as an adult too.
Fuck. Fucksticks.
Okay. Not going to worry about it.
I knead deeper, because his head is lolling to one side, and one of us needs to be relaxed in a couple hours.
It clearly won’t be me. “And I’m on baby duty tonight. Tiny can be here anytime I ask her to. And it’s not like you have plans after work, so take the fucking massage and say thank you.”
“Is this supposed to be making me relax?”
“Don’t even pretend it’s not working. I can feel your rock muscles becoming merely bouncy ball muscles. I might not be as strong as Tiny, but I have magic fingers, and you can’t deny it. You want more. You know you do.”
“Not even seven AM, and you’ve hit your one come-on for the day.”
Dammit. “That was not a come-on. That was an opportunity of a lifetime. Do you know how many people Tiny can see in a day? Six. Maybe eight if she skips her workout routine and tosses back a double Red Bull. Which means you’re like eight out of the three hundred million people in the country who could see Tiny today. You’re blessed, Westley. Still waiting on that thank you.”
“Do you ever stay focused?”
“Nope.” And that’s exactly why no one ever thought I’d succeed.
Showed them, didn’t I?
Here I am. Succeeding. Behind my grandmother’s name. Panicking over raising my cousin’s baby. Going to the office every day because I’m better at faking business than I am at faking mothering.
Hashtag success.
The social worker lady is going to see right through me and we are doomed.
I wasn’t actually kidding about living in a cardboard box out in the Everglades, and it’s not because I don’t own my house outright—I do—and it’s not because I didn’t put a clause in my contract giving me twenty-five percent share in every property I help my grandmother develop—I did.
It’s because I’ll be mortified when people discover the truth about me.
West tilts his head back to look at me, and I dig a thumb deeper into that tight muscle in his shoulder.
He grunts, and his eyes slide closed. “Social…worker…need…talk…”
“Step one: relax. Step two: conquer the world. Or the social worker. Whatever.”
That earns me a smile. And it’s one of those I-don’t-want-to-be-smiling-but-can’t-help-it smiles that makes my heart give a big ol’ fist pump. He lets his head fall forward again while I attack all the tension he’s carrying, and I smile to myself.
I’ll win him over. Sooner or later. Probably sooner, because I’m irresistible when I want to be.
I like having him around. And not just because he’s good with Remy.
He’s good with me.
It’s weird.
What’s weirder is that I like it. I don’t actually want him to leave.
Ever.
Which is an extra weird feeling to have when I consider that we haven’t slept together.
Not that I don’t want to. My vibrator and my fingers have gotten quite the workouts lately with West’s face and body as inspiration. Not that I’ll tell him that, because I