Dirty: The Complete Series (Secret Baby Romance Love Story) (114 page)

The night before the date, I sent Zeke a
text message to let him know when and where to meet us. It was a weekend, so I
was fairly certain that he’d have at least mostly an open schedule.
We’re going to be going to the park. It’s
Brady’s favorite place other than the zoo, so I figured that’d be a good place
to interact with him. Meet us there at one?
I half-expected Zeke to come up
with an excuse or to try and offer an alternative to make the date more
exciting, but I would be firm if he tried to wriggle out of it, I told myself.

Instead, he seemed to be completely on
board.
One is great for me! Should I
bring anything?
I looked around my kitchen, where I’d already started to
assemble the components that I was going to make into a picnic lunch.

I’ve
got it all covered, for once,
I texted back to him.
Just come in comfortable clothes and be ready
to chase down a three-year-old with me if you have to.

The morning of the date, I was surprised
at how nervous I felt. I left Brady to play with his toys in his pajamas while
I put the finishing touches on everything I wanted to take with us. I’d fried up
some chicken the night before, since I knew from experience that leftover fried
chicken made for an excellent picnic meal. I also set up some cold brew coffee
in the fridge, which I strained into a thermos to drink throughout the
afternoon. To keep Brady occupied, I had plenty of different treats—cheese
cubes, mini cupcakes, grapes that would serve both for his own snacking needs
and his desire to feed the ducks, and some graham crackers with peanut butter.
For Zeke and myself I tucked a small bottle of wine into the basket, along with
a vegetable salad I’d made the night before.

Finally, when it was time to head over to
the park, I rounded up my son and got him dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and a
hat to keep the sun off of his face, and dressed myself in a comfortable pair
of soft fabric pants and a blouse and some sandals. “I’ve got a big surprise
for you when we get to the park,” I told Brady as we loaded up the car
together. I strapped him into his car seat carefully and grinned to myself,
anticipating not just my son’s surprise, but also Zeke’s surprise, when he
found out one of the orders of the day that I had in mind.

I’d bought three water guns. They weren’t
the super soaker kind, but they were enough for a little bit of fooling around
at the park between the three of us and easy enough for Brady to be able to use
without stressing. It was setting up to be a hot day, and I knew we’d all enjoy
the relief of spraying each other with a little water. I’d packed a few extra
bottles of water just for the purposes of the guns. Between that, the ducks,
and the playground next to the picnic area, I figured that Brady would have
enough to do that Zeke wouldn’t have to worry too much about entertaining my
son and could relax as much as I planned to.

I hoped that Zeke would be punctual as he
always seemed to be. We got to the park and I hauled the picnic basket and the
blanket—as well as the bag holding a change of clothes for Brady, along with
the water guns and the water to fill them—out of the car and carried it with me
to the entrance. It was slow going; Brady of course was a perfectly competent
walker, but I didn’t want to risk letting go of his hand in the crowd around
the front of the park or have him get distracted and run into the street. So my
hands were most definitely full while I wanted for Zeke to arrive.

With five minutes to spare, I spotted the
tall, good-looking man approaching the entrance to the park, and I couldn’t
help but smile to myself at the sight of him. The first thing I noticed was that
he was actually in a regular pair of jeans and a tee shirt, along with some
sneakers—and that he made the simple, casual outfit look better than it had any
right to. The second thing I noticed was that in spite of the fact that I’d
told him the night before that I had everything covered, his hands were full:
in one hand, he had a gift bag from one of the biggest toy stores in the city,
and in the other, he had a bouquet of bright red and orange tulips.

“Zeke! I told you I had everything taken
care of,” I said, shaking my head even as he extended the flowers towards me.
Brady started to hide behind my legs just as he had at the mini-golf date, but
then he realized that he recognized Zeke and stepped out in front of me
instead.

“Hey, Brady,” Zeke said, giving me a quick
look as he knelt down on the ground in front of my son. “I got this for you on
my way over here. I hope you like race cars?” He handed Brady the gift bag and
I suppressed the urge to groan; I felt weird about the fact that I’d let Zeke
buy me a few things for my son in our previous date together and he’d only made
it that little bit worse by bringing a gift for my son.
At least, if he’s going to bring the boy something, it’s good that he
brought something Brady would like,
I thought ruefully, as my
three-year-old son ripped the tissue paper out of the bag and threw it onto the
ground in his haste to get at the present. It was one of the nicer toy race
cars I’d seen—shiny, with big bold text on the package that said that it made
all kinds of noises and could be “upgraded” with additional accessory parts.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told Zeke
as he stood up from his crouched position. He shrugged.

“I remembered you mentioned Brady liking
race cars, and I saw it somewhere and thought it’d be nice for him to have it,”
he said matter-of-factly. “Just like I thought it would be nice for you to have
these.” He extended the tulips toward me again and I waved at the basket and
bag at my feet.

“I don’t have enough hands,” I told him
tartly. Secretly, I was almost equally thrilled, charmed, and appalled at the
gesture Zeke had made. I was touched that he had remembered my preferences,
even weeks later; I was charmed that he had thought of a gift that would almost
certainly keep Brady occupied even if nothing else in the park would. I was
appalled that he was buying more things for me—and for Brady—after our most
recent date.
Get to the end of the date,
and then have a discussion about boundaries with him,
I told myself firmly.
There was no sense in derailing anything right then—not when Brady was there to
witness any possible temper that could erupt.

“You’re right,” Zeke said blandly. “The
bouquet is too big; I should have thought of that. Two hands aren’t going to be
enough to hold it.” I frowned at that comment, confused; but before I could ask
what he meant, he leaned down and collected the handles for both the basket and
the bag, hefting them together and extending the flowers to me with his free
hand once more. Brady was practically dancing with impatience to get into the
park and find the ducks to show them his new toy car, so instead of arguing, I
accepted the flowers and shook my head to let Zeke know that I wasn’t fooled by
his strategy.

I led the way into the park, keeping a
sharp eye on my son as we walked to the picnic area. I knew that in some
respects, it would be more practical to snag one of the tables that were set
aside for the park’s patrons, but Brady would climb all over the table and I
didn’t want to stress out over keeping him from hurting himself, so I grabbed
the blanket and spread it on the grass, a little distance away from the pond
where the ducks were swimming.

I was worried that Zeke would be bored,
but right away, he was on the ground with Brady, showing him all of the new toy
car’s features, and when Brady suggested that they feed the ducks—by excitedly
pointing to the flock and calling out the silly names he’d given them, before
turning to me and asking for “duckie food,” Zeke was 100% on board with the
idea and fished a quarter out of his pocket to get a handful of the pellet feed
that the park kept topped off in dispensers near the pond to go with the halved
grapes I’d set aside.

“The ducks are going to have quite a feast,”
I said with a laugh as Brady led the way towards the pond. “Watch out, little
man. We don’t want you falling in that dirty pond.” I watched as Zeke and my
son distributed the food to the ducks, smiling to myself; Zeke had said that he
felt awkward around kids, but with Brady, he seemed to be right at ease.

I broke out the picnic food after Brady
had satisfied his curiosity about the ducks, and Zeke even managed to keep him
engaged throughout the late lunch, asking about his babysitters, about the toys
he had at home, about the ducks’ names. I let Brady wander over to the
playground after that and Zeke immediately moved to help me put everything away
and clear up; he might not have had the idea for the date, but he seemed to be
committed to making it work.

“You’re really enjoying yourself,” I
observed as we stood near the playground, watching Brady brave the jungle gym.

“It’s a great day out, the food was
excellent, the kids are entertaining; what’s not to enjoy?” I grinned to
myself, remembering the water guns. I hoped that Zeke would be on board with my
plan for the later part of the date—but I couldn’t be sure until Brady came up,
hot and sweaty, and asked for his drink.

“I’ve got something better,” I told my
little boy. I led him back over to the picnic blanket and broke out the water
guns. I looked at Zeke to see his eyes were gleaming with amusement. “You in,
Zeke?”

“You are going to get so soaked. Isn’t
she, Brady?” I had to explain to my son what the water guns were, but as soon
as they were all loaded up, and I fired off a squirt at Zeke to start
everything off, the battle waged on. Brady toddled around us, spraying
indiscriminately, and Zeke alternated between focusing on me and playfully
defending himself from my son. We all alternated focus: sometimes I was getting
squirted from both my son and Zeke, sometimes Zeke was under attack from both
Brady and me, and a few times—playfully and carefully—Brady found himself
besieged by the two grown-ups, until there was no more water for the guns.

By then, Brady was thoroughly tired out
and I knew the date had to come to an end. Zeke sensed it, too, and he offered
to help me carry the basket and bags back to the car, so that I could carry my
flowers and my son. As I strapped Brady into his car seat, sparing a moment to
watch a still-damp Zeke walk towards his car on the other end of the parking
lot from us, I realized that I wished he were coming home with us. I wanted to
spend more time with him.
Shit.
I put
all my attention on Brady’s straps, making sure I didn’t do anything wrong in
my distraction. But once I was behind the wheel and driving home while my son
fell asleep in the backseat, I couldn’t escape the realization that I was
developing actual feelings for a client.

I knew I shouldn’t have let Zeke kiss me
the first time. I definitely shouldn’t have let him kiss me a second time; and
maybe most importantly, I shouldn’t have let him get Brady involved in any of
our dates. I had gotten personal with a client, and now I was going to have to
deal with it myself. I had kept all of those details from Katie in my
reports—and now I felt guiltier than ever. I had to wonder: should I go to her
and ask to be taken off of the assignment? I thought that I could manage my
feelings, but I had already let things get too far with Zeke. My heart beat
faster in my chest and I tried to think of what the best solution would be.
Of course, the first halfway decent guy I
meet happens to be a client. Of course he is.
I sighed and pushed the idea
of Zeke out of my mind, telling myself I could handle the situation.

Chapter
Eighteen

Zeke

I sat in my living room, staring at my TV,
pretending that I was watching the show flashing across the screen but actually
thinking. I had asked six women out since Katie had called me to give me
permission to start “homework dating,” and every single one of them had turned
me down. I probably should have at least been grateful for the fact that none
of them had laughed in my face or told me I was an asshole, but it didn’t make
it any easier to know that of the six women I had asked out, none of them had
wanted to give me a chance.

I had had enough pride not to push the
point and keep myself from asking why they didn’t want to date me, but as I sat
in my apartment, feeling more than a little sorry for myself, I couldn’t help
but wonder if there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Even after the
coaching I’d gotten from Natalie, even after the assurance that I was ready for
dating, none of the women I’d gone after as practice dates on my own had wanted
me.

I checked the time; it was nine o’clock at
night—not exactly late, especially not for a Friday, but an awkward time for
calling anyone who might commiserate with me. I closed my eyes, resisting the
urge to text my friend Jim; he’d be out at a bar, chatting a bunch of women
up—probably getting shot down just as much as I had been, but because he did it
all the time, he wouldn’t care. I wasn’t about to disturb his night out with my
pity party.

You
could talk to Natalie. You’re paying for a dating coach; she should be able to
at least give you some tips on how to get a better response.
I dismissed the idea almost as quickly as I’d thought of it. Natalie was my
coach: that didn’t mean that I could call or text her whenever I wanted. She
had a life of her own and a kid to take care of. But Brady—at three years
old—was probably already in bed or very close to it.
How much harm could it really do? If she’s busy, she won’t answer your
text.
The temptation was too real. I groaned, scrubbing at my face with my
hands. I felt pathetic.
Just send a quick
text to see if she’s free, and if she doesn’t answer, give up on it for the
night.
I took a deep breath and picked up my phone off of the coffee table
where I’d left it.