My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (20 page)

Even more important, why are cartoon characters always so dreamy when you’re a kid? I mean I seriously wanted to marry Prince Eric and have all his babies when I was, like, seven.

Hmph.
The mysteries of life. They may never be solved.

Movie over, we talk Pippa out of pancakes for lunch and have a simple meal of PB&J. Then it’s an old-school game of Twister. I never played as a kid—another thing I missed out on.

Pippa, in the leader spot, decides she will spin the dial while Ian and I move our bodies around the mat. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that someone maybe needs to write to the company about the age levels listed on the game box. The complicated moves Pippa is reciting require an awful lot of touching and brushing of inappropriate parts.

She calls out another color/body part combo and my face ends up practically in Ian’s crotch. Next spin, I feel his package pressing against my butt. Before we know it, we’re offering cookies to the first person who goes down for a nap. Yeah. I know, I’m semi ashamed.

The fact that Pippa sleeps for a solid three hours makes me love her even more.

It’s a text from Lexi that eventually rouses me out of bed. She’s just left Brent’s place with my stuff in tow and says it went way better than she planned. Not sure what that means. Not too concerned as long as she got my stuff and I never have to see BTD again.

Pippa lobbies for pancakes again at dinner, but we manage to distract her with promises of a special dessert later. Almost all the food groups end up represented on her plate.

After dinner, with the car seat still in Ian’s truck, he chauffeurs us to the local Dairy Queen for ice cream. Ian, who stuck to the original soft serve cone while Pippa and I indulged in the Peanut Buster Parfaits, extra caramel and chocolate, tries to explain in four-year-old terms to Pippa how he and I used to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Unfortunately when you’re four, you don’t get much.

“Eeewww, so you would kiss Kissy?”

“Yes, princess, we used to like each other very much and sometimes we would kiss,” Ian answers matter-of-factly.

Deep thought is being had by the youngster. “But you kiss her now. Do you still like her?” she asks in a serious tone.

“Yes, Pippa, I like Chrissy a lot. Do you know what love means?”

She nods. “Like how Ariel loves all her thimmie-mabobs?”

“Well, yes.” Ian laughs. “That’s how much I like her. I love her.” Ian looks at me and winks. It truly melts my heart.

Pippa on the other hand is in deep,
deep
thought. She focuses her attention on me before she speaks. “So does that mean you are going to stay with me and Eeen, Kissy?”

That causes Ian to tense. I can tell he’s fighting not to look at me with Pippa’s same questioning look, but he does.

I take a moment to look at Ian—into those beautiful green eyes. I force myself to pull away from his intense stare.

Shocking myself, I focus on Pippa instead and smile. “Yes, baby, that means I’m staying.”

I’m going to stay.

Holy shit.

So I’ve decided. I haven’t worked out the details fully in my head, but I know this is what I want. Seconds before Pippa asked me the million-dollar question, I had no idea what I was planning. But the moment her question registered, I answered, speaking from the heart. I want to stay.

I know I’ll lose my spot at the gallery and that is the only thing holding me back. But it’s also the
only
thing. I think about what I have here and it doesn’t even compare. After we put Pippa down to sleep, Ian and I went over some logistics. We talked, or showed each other exactly how much we loved each other. Then we for real talked future. There was the house to take care of. Would I keep it or sell it? Where would Pippa and I live? What would Ian do? We talked about how we would approach Pippa with our relationship and would we be a family? Would we take it slow?

“I think we should take it slow,” and “You should probably just move in with me,” were blurted out at once.

Unfortunately, I’m the a-hole with the moving-in comment. Ian stares at me like I just grew two heads. “You want me to move in?” he asks, shocked.

“Well, not anymore. You want to take things slow, and now I feel like an idiot. So no. I don’t.” I pout.

Grabbing at me, he grips my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze. “Why would you feel like an idiot, Chris?”

“Because I just suggested the complete opposite of what you suggested,” I point out.

“Chris, I suggested that because I thought that’s what you would want. I am so afraid to scare you off, I feel like I need to take baby steps with you. If it were up to me, I would never let you out of my sight again.”

“Really?”

“Chrissy, we will make this work. We will take it slow with Pippa. With us. But as for my heart, it’s already fully invested. There is no reason to doubt what that wants.” He smiles, softly rubbing his thumb along my lower lip.

“Fine. Just kiss me.”

“I can do that.”

And of course he does.

I have a few more panic attacks throughout the conversation, because putting it all on the table kind of freaked me out. Secretly, I wanted both worlds. I couldn’t believe I agreed to stay, but I knew I had to choose. I had to let the gallery go. Ian soothed that fear by offering me a full-time gig at the center if I was interested. I tried to play it cool and said that I would think about it, but my glowing face at his offer was fooling no one. He got a yes from me about three minutes later. Then a tackle.

Plans. We were making plans. Something we should’ve been doing all along. I get sad to think I could have had all this the whole time. How, if I had just stayed and fought I would already have it all. But since I don’t personally know Michael J. Fox, or that mad scientist with that cool ass car, I can’t travel back in time. So we just have to start from here.

I
T’S AMAZING HOW WELL
I slept after making such huge life decisions. You would think I’d be up till the crack of dawn chewing my lip off, second-guessing my crazy plans to take my life and completely uproot it. I mean, I
did
agree to quit my job, re-date my high school boyfriend
and
live in a town I technically despise. And I can’t even blame these decisions on too much alcohol! Saved by the bell, or mouth I should say, Ian cuts off my rambling brain the best way possible. If I was looking for a selfish reason to tip my decision into the green zone to stay, it would be the morning ritual called Wake Up, Ian-style. He has some serious tongue skills and those hands seem to have my body memorized. Or as he would say, they just never forgot.

Ian insisted on taking my rental car back for me while Pip and I got dressed for the day. According to Ian, Amy and John have a perfectly good car in their garage that I can trek along in for free until we figure out more details. Not that I’ve been in their garage. Or that I need to worry about money. Another confession I should probably make soon.

Today, we plan on shopping and getting some necessities for me since I’m running low on stock. Ian said it was his personal special shopping goal today to find me a pair of gym shoes. I will, on the other hand, make it my own personal goal to find something lacy and barely there.
Man, we have different views on comfort and exercise.

True happiness is a weird feeling. Not only do you feel it on the inside but in everything you do, say or view. There is just so much that comes along with being happy. I’m dressing in my pair of designer skinny jeans, and while they grip my legs perfectly I can’t help but envision Ian’s hands gripping my thighs and squeezing as he releases inside me. When I’m brushing my teeth, saliva is dripping out of my mouth because I can’t stop smiling. I don’t put too much effort into my makeup, because let’s face it, happiness looks good on me, so I skip the lipstick and rouge. I’m clasping my bra, thinking about Ian’s hands and mouth doing their best to my goods this morning and all the love bites marking my breasts, when the doorbell rings.

“That was quick,” I say to myself. I throw on my shirt and head for the door. As I enter the hallway, I hear “I’ll get it!” from Pippa as she runs from her room, her little feet pattering toward the door. I follow her to the door, actually excited to see him again.

Love struck. Guilty.

Pippa grabs the handle but cannot turn it, so I assist. “Man that was fast—” I begin, but my sentence dies in my mouth.

“Babe!”

Not the face I was expecting to see.

At all.

Brent.

“What . . . what are you doing here?” I’m sure all the color just drained from my face.

“Babe, I came to talk some sense into you.” He makes an attempt to step inside the doorway, but unfortunately Pippa, my little sidekick, has other plans. She starts screaming.

“Stwanger danger! Stwanger danger! Stwanger danger!”

Holy hot diggity
shit.

Startled, Brent tries to sidestep around her and force his way into the house. “Jesus, babe, what’s wrong with that thing?”

I want to block his entrance, but I panic and grab his jacket to pull him inside before the neighbors hear Pippa and notify the authorities.

“Brent, seriously why are you here?” I take a better look at him. “And what happened to your eye?” I stare at his fresh shiner.

“Oh, that. You can thank your crazy friend. Barging into the penthouse, grabbing your things. Trying to tell me she thinks we’re over.”

Um newsflash, dick, we are.

“Um, Brent, we
are
over.”

“Babe, come on. It was a slip in judgment. You know how lonely I get. That’s why I need you at home. Just come home. We can work this out.” He steps closer to me, and Pippa goes at it again and jumps at his leg, hanging on like a crazy spider monkey.

“Stay away from her! Stay away from her!”

Hot diggity fuck.

“Pippa, it’s okay.” Holy freak out, this child has turned into my guard dog.

“You better get this kid off me,” Brent demands.

“Then stop moving,” I snap back. I bend down and try to unlatch Pippa’s arms from around his leg. “Honey, he’s not a bad guy. You can let him go.”

“He said he is going to take you!”

“No, honey he’s not taking me anywhere. Just let go, okay?” She releases Brent’s leg and he stumbles forward.
Man, my little warrior.
“Honey, can you go and play for a little bit in your room? I need to have an adult conversation with Brent for a little bit.”

“Like you and Eeen were having?”

Oh, my God, she heard that?

“Who’s Eeen? Some Swedish chick?” That’s Brent.

I’m not proud, but I push Pippa along before she answers that question in her special four-year-old way. She pouts, then stomps toward her room. I wait for it. And there it is. The slam of her bedroom door.

I face Brent. “You need to leave.”

“That’s fine. Just pack your things and we can go.”

I look at him in complete shock as he stands there picking lint off his ugly sports coat.
This guy is joking, right?

“I’m not going anywhere with you. You proved what a stellar guy you are when I caught tweedle-skank and tweedle-slut making nice in your bed. That’s a sure sign that We. Are. Done!” I snap.